They Promised Us Eternity

Part 1: Godlike

I. Undaunted We All Barged In, Straight to Our Dooms

People's minds are curious, marvellous things. At the best of times, someone regales us with radical scientific discoveries or astonishing medical breakthroughs. Some are capable of taking our breath away with their sheer capacity for abstraction and sound reasoning; others crack us up with their unbelievable chutzpah or their knack for comedy. Certain minds wander spinning wonders all the while; a few more wonder, and that's how we end up with philosophical treatises, doctoral theses or quite few literary works with a notable tendency to wander off what we believed the tale was about.

     Me? I'm a common man; one who has a rather simple mind and a usually uncomplicated life. I enjoy what I do—most of the time, anyway—as it's what I dreamed about doing as an adult when I was a 12 year-old with too much time on his hands. I had this perfect image of what my life would look like on any given weekday: sitting alone in a room, putting on my headphones over my 'thinking GB Packers beany', then hitting play on the computer's audio player and go on to write the day's quota. Eight hours of cranking up pages and coming up with full-fledged comics books scripts.

     What? The pay is nice, I get to hang around some of the best illustrators and draughtsmen in the industry, and best of all… it pay the bills, rent and the occasional outing. So, yes; I do believe that's quite the respectable job, thank you very much.

     The only bad thing I'd have to say about it might be that it somehow led me in this fine mess I've gotten myself into. I swear, last night all I did was to take a break of the desk and look at the neighborhoods' nightscape through my studio's window. Why, I hadn't even heard a damned thing with my headphones on!

     So, here I am; forcibly stuck with a woman bound for who knows where and bent on doing heaven knows what, all the while trying our damnedest to outrun the very definite threat this very peculiar individual represents.

     Oh, and did I forget to tell you the Weather channel had forecasted possible thunderstorms yet, as soon as we went out the door, the sky seemed to immediately turn into a dark, puffy wet blanket that began to pour?

     Yes; as in 'when it doesn't rain…"

     Anyway, it's a good thing I was done with the scripts for October's two issues; that should leave those stories neatly wrapped up, and ready for the next arc… if any. For I haven't finished making up my mind about this Sophia character and just how screwed I really am; you see, it's known that I've missed a couple of deadlines in the past, but the way this whole situation is turning out… I quite possibly am going to have a brush with the other deadline, and to this seasoned script writer, it sure as hell looks ever more likely that I won't be able to skip that one.

     Damn it! I swear I was just looking to stretch my legs and get a cup of coffee.

***

"You've been awfully quiet for a while now, Mr. Writer." Sophia's voice had a soft, flowing raspiness to its pitch that made it both unique and unmistakably feminine; a strange mixture of a certain coy gruffness, tinged with sweet-sounding menace. "Quite the opposite to how you showed yourself to be during our fateful encounter."

     "Fateful… yeah, right."

     "Is that it?" She asked derisively, a smirk briefly creasing the smoothness of her cheeks.      "That's all I'm getting from you, now? Seriously?"

     "Well, it's not like I'm the one who's packing a gun, am I?"

     Sophia stopped on her tracks and turned to look at the man next to her. His body looked fit, even if slightly overweight, and despite his shoulder-length uneven-cut hair, she could tell he bathed everyday and was used to wearing clean clothes. In a city so full of ripe and sour odours coming out of every nook and cranny—some of them so overwhelming they even made her eyes water—Sophia considered this man's cleanliness to be a small blessing.

     "Oh, enough of that, already! You know quite well I have no intention to shoot you! I mean, I could've done so by now or the minute I came into your apartment."

     "You brokeinto my apartment. You didn't come in. For that, you'd have to be allowed in and I clearly remember never doing so."

     "Oh, that's more like it! Now we got us a discussion about semantics. I guess you really are a writer, after all."

     "Well, I'm not a killer, that's for sure."

     "Neither am I. I've already told you--"

     "Look, I just know I saw you there standing over two dead bodies and with a gun in your hand and, a minute later, you came through my window with this crazy--"

     Sophia looked at me as if daring me to follow up on the phrase to its obvious conclusion. I knew better than to completely piss off someone packing a gun under her parka.

     "Story; yeah, story about how these two had been following you, were doing so under orders of the very individual who killed them. I mean, really? That's what in my line of work we call a major incongruence. It just doesn't make sense; so, you'll have to excuse my skeptical cynicism about the whole thing."

     "Well, in my line of work… you're what we call a major as--"

     "Mind your language, please. I'm the one who has every right to be cursing and calling you all kinds of names, and I'm not."

     "Granted. You could've been a lot more insulting and less snarky, Mr. Writer."

     "You'd think, right?" I mumbled under my breath and saw her face suddenly light up with a wide, toothy smile.

     "Yes. Thank you for that."

II. It Wasn't Your Typical Score



"This had always been such a nice place. Lucky bastards."

     The rumor of the few cars going through Castelar Bridge and heading out to the big city—'The Horrid Maze,' as locals called it—dimmed the sound of the waves softly lapping at the lakeshore. It was very early in the morning and the surroundings remained under the cover of the slowly-retreating darkness; nevertheless, a good number of those living in Alameda Heights were already out and about, diligently getting busy, minding their own businesses and making plans, both big and small, for the rest of their day

     "Not too far from the queen of all rat holes, and it neither became a suburban pisspot nor does it remain the picturesque dorm town." The lone man continued to talk  softly talking to himself in a slow, warm baritone voice; he let his words float away along the vapor left behind by his breath as it trailed upwards into the cold, late January morning air. The man sighed and then coughed, spitting into a paper towel. "Still, even when The Horrid will almost always end up swallowing everything whole, eventually, I must confess I'm surprised at how this lil' place remains mostly unchanged and that it hasn't become anywhere nearly as rotten or crowded as Farnsworth Hill… yeah; it remains quite a nice, quiet place; its neighbor notwithstanding."


     The man stood near the edge of the lake’s northern arm the local boys called 'Greendeep Turn', attentively looking at the still-scarce traffic hurriedly passing by. He noticed how its sound was very much like that of darting, angry wasps, all whistling through the metal and concrete ribcage of a long dead monster. The solitary figure turned around and came face to face with dream-like image created by several rows of middle-class houses that the early light appeared to make them look as if they popping out of the dark blanket spread over the nearby hill; each one of these rows of houses formed tidy man-made strata, which transformed the natural elevation into a series of wide, long terraces peppered with angular, unique structures and identical, neatly-trimmed bushes and very ample, perfect lawns. A few of the buildings had their lights on in different sections of their interiors, while some others remained completely dark inside and to the man’s eyes, they were nothing more than blocky silhouettes cut against a smattering of tree foliage and the dim radiance coming from those other neighboring two-storied houses. These made him think of those shy, light-hating beetles that stubbornly try to remain under the cover of the darkness beneath a rock which had been half-lifted too suddenly for them to react and escape into the receding gloom.

     "This place is so nice, in fact, that I can clearly see how an enterprising, clever man could be pulling quite a healthy amount of jobs here. That's for sure." The loner took out a lollipop from his coat's pocket, tore the wrapper off and put it in his mouth. He put the torn wrapper in the opposite pocket and rubbed his hands. “But breakfast comes before business… I just hope I find something nice and not too fancy so I don’t have to walk back to the city to find a pricier place to eat there. "Cause I'm about done with decent… I just can’t stand the thought of having to munch on Rogelio’s greasy pancakes one more time."

***

As we were making our way out of my apartment and down the alley to the lot where I usually parked my compact SUV, I couldn't help but notice how strangely calm I was considering this woman, a perfect stranger who hadn't given me any option other than to come along with her, was a walking carrying a gun… and that she actually hadn't used it to cajole me. Saying that I had been forced to accompany her 'at gun point,' would be lying to the jury at a court of law. She actually phrased it thus:

     "Alright, I know this looks bad enough and that you probably think I'm here to kill you. But that's not what I do. My name's Sophia and I've been framed."

    And that was that. She continued to explain that what I had just saw—her standing over two dead bodies in the alleyway behind the old warehouse turned apartment-studio that I rent for $1,000 dollars a month, with an option to buy—needed some explaining and that she needed me to come with her.

     Of course, I tried to put a few points across regarding her breaking into my flat through a window that I personally had locked after sunset. Truth be told, I might have been a bit of a smart-ass while speaking my mind about her breaching the sanctity of my 

home and my seeing her lording it over two dead unknowns, of course. But what surprised me was this… this… 'aura' of calmness? Trust? Maybe, the best word to describe it would be 'innocuousness'. Even when I had seen the gun in her hand, knowing she was armed didn't set any alarms or triggered any response other than me trying to vent my surprise and fear by coming up with quips and passive-aggressive verbal abuse.

     Much good that did for me.

     So, as we went down the alley, she signalled for me to stop and I silently obeyed her; she kneeled beside one of the corpses and took something out from one of its pockets, and she then made another sign for me to keep going, so on we went to my vehicle and she asked me for the keys.

     "What?" I replied, not understanding why would she want me to hand her the keys. "Are you also stealing my car?"

     "No, you klutz! I'm taking you with me, but I'm driving."

     Seeing the earnest look in her eyes, I felt equally compelled to cuzz and hand her the keys, but after a couple of seconds I decided we both had enough of my attempts at verbal fencing and just gave key the keys.

     She nodded her thanks and got inside the SUV. She started the engine as soon as I was onboard and then drove out of the parking lot.

     "Mind you, I drive fast… just in case you're planning to jump out of a moving car, Mr. Writer."

     "That's one of the few things I don't need to experience in order to better capture the feel of it for my writing."

     "I'll count my blessings, then. I mean, I could've stumbled with an obsessive method actor or some such."

     I laughed a little at her remark. Having dated a couple of would-be actresses, he could understand why Sophia would make one such joke. 'Everything's an opportunity to build a character; all experiences allow to create a role!' Oh, boy; was in for a ride with that one. Good thing it only lasted for three months, with my wallet intact for the most part.

     "So, what was it that I saw back at the alley?" I asked after a few minutes more on the road. I was trying to make a mental map of the route we were following, but all I could say about it was the we were heading North.

     Sophia looked at me as if sizing me up and shrugged, then turned back too watching the road.

     "Other than me standing over those two goons, with Shorty's gun on my hand, you mean?"

     "Yes. Other than that, Miss Smarty Pants. I don't need to tell you I'm a key witness in a double homicide."

     She sighed and then puffed twice, her body visibly relaxing. She cleared her throat and side-glanced me one more time.

     "Well, for starters, they're fond of fancying themselves godlike," Sophia words hit me like a wave of freezing water. Her tone was serious and direct, and I was certainly not expecting to hear such a opening statement. "But as you've already witnessed, they aren't. They can be unbelievably tough, sure, but for all their resilience and quick recoveries, every single one of them remains quite mortal."

     Nor was I expecting that second one, either.

—To Be Continued…—

Title: They Promised Us Eternity

Genre: Slipstream Adventure (Science-Fiction, Techno-Thriller)

Age Range: 15-35

Word Count: 100K words

Author Name: Txabier Etxeberri Otxoa (pen name).

Why your project is a good fit:

It can add to the diversity of voices and explore the new trend of "super-heroic" fiction without blatantly ripping-off comic book tropes, but actually adding a bit of science and literary rigor to the subject matter. 

The Hook:

An unknown group has found a procedure to bring forth the next step in Human evolution, but they don't have good intentions for it.

Synopsis:

A narrator (Mr. Writer) is brought into the world of corporate cloak&dagger as three groups fight over the revolutionary genetic procedure that will give their chose godlike abilities. As the plot thickens, Mr. Writer and Sophia will face-off the CelGenTech (Celular Genetics Technologies) Group's minions in an attempt to retrieve a microfluidic chip containing the key to unlocking the first stage of "psionic ascendance" in chose human subjects. In the final confrontation with Carradine, Mr. Writer will be forced to inject Sophia with the microfluidic gen-key to save her life from the grievous wound Carradine inflicted upon her, thus turning her into the very thing she wanted to prevent.  

Target Audience:

Young Adults - Adults who enjoy adventure, espionage and fiction based around metahuman abilities (super-heroic fiction).

Author bio:

Platform: Txabier's slowly-developing is mainly made of readers who enjoy fantasy fiction and its intersectioning with horror, epic, "grimdark". space opera and science fiction, and who want deep characterization and dynamic plots.

Education: A Communications major, Txabier Etxeberri has also studied History and Industrial Engineering.

Experience: 22+ years a s translation-localization specialist has seen Txabier working on TV series, documentaries, movies (both TV and theatrical releases), video games, Classic Literature novels, magazines and a couple of comic book projects (aborted when the publishers folded in). Txabier recently published his first novel in the English language under The Ed Greenwood Group's "Hellmaw" banner, and will continue to work with the companies second and third franchises: Stormtalons and Folklore: The Affliction. Personality: Highly analytical yet easy going, Txabier enjoys a good conversation as much as a civil debate. While neither an introvert nor shy, in social situations he performs at his best when interacting with small groups. He usually has a quip or joke for almost every situation and likes to listen to others sharing their views and life experiences. His 

writing style is centred on characterization through actions rather than exposition, so the readers can expect his characters to grow through a lot dynamic sequences and dialogue as the plot advances. Txabier likes music of almost every flavor—he'll listen to everything at least once—fiction and non-fiction books on almost very subject matter—although he still has to finish a romance novel and he won't touch "shock factor" publications. He's also fond of comic books, as well as traditional and electronic war, roleplaying, card and board games. When going for his video-game fix, he's mostly into solo gaming.

Hometown: Mexico City.

Age: 44 y-o.