I'm actually in the process of writing a book called Tourniquet. It's not actually complete but if I get comments and feed back, I'll update reguarly, as I had originally started to write it for linkinparkforums.com (you might know me I'm woodyloveslinkin) but because of the successfulness of it (even though it's not finished yet) on LPF, I've been strongly advised to make a book out of it, which I will do once finished. So this is it. Chapter 1 Welcome to the New World The fog over Los Angeles had started to sweep the city of its mist and the lights from the large spherical buildings that lined the skyline and the streets. People down on the street were rushing from one end to the other. They walked and they rode their bicycles. They ate on the sidewalk where Chinese eat-in shops were always opened twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, under large advertising billboards that glowed in the dark with their neon lights. There was a girl, a young adult, she wore denim blue jeans that she had torn up the sides, matched it with a black short-sleeved top, had her hair tied back in a loose ponytail, and was kinda bored with the life that Los Angeles provided her. Just like the rest of the people that sat down at these Chinese shops. Mel sat down at one of these, eating her bowl full of noodles that the chef behind the counter, with the sweat beads and the grumpy look on his face had made her. She looked up to thank him, but he had disappeared in the mist of steam. She hated this world. A world controlled by global corporations. Spyral was the largest corporation in the world. And what did they do for a living? They made the world artificial, nothing in the world was real because of them, Mel scoffed at her own thoughts as she shoved noodles down her throat with the help of the Chinese utensils that the chef had provided her with. Spyral, the largest building in Los Angeles, the one just over the Dark Hills that had the nice arches in the hallways, the antique framed mirrors and they owned the only existing Comet’s Eye. A super magnetic charged power ball that had the ability to destroy an entire continent. From what Mel had been told by various people on the streets of LA, the Comet’s Eye was that powerful in was kept in a thick vault underneath the headquarters of the company. Mel didn’t know to be honest, only rumours. The company had destroyed the technology they hated, such as the internet and computers, and made holograms and other artificial inventions a part of every day society. Television was still there. But it had one channel. Spyral Ltd. A sad excuse for them to gloat about their profits and new sufferings they had brought to the world. Mel had thought to herself many times that she was the only normal human was around and everybody else was just holograms and ghouls of the past. The ghouls of the past were the worst things one could run into on the streets. Holograms, the really stingy ones, could be easily recognised by the pixilation and the fuzziness, and usually the lack of sound as well. Things hadn’t been the same for a couple of years now. World War Three had broken out in Europe and in the end result of America’s involvement in the fighting on the lines, just say Japan’s second attack on supposedly Pearl Harbour in history, wasn’t aimed at Hawaii and it was no ordinary bomb either. It wiped out not only capitalism and democracy; it wiped out half the population. Spyral gained control of the nation’s politics not soon after that bomb, wiped the political status of every politician clean, and exiled them for eternity. Spyral had gained that much power of the world, the world was now Eisenhower’s domino theory brought to life. The world was now just a ball with a large building on it now. Mel stopped shoving the noodles down her throat, stopped, and looked around, as people rang their bicycle bells at one another or at passing friends or relatives. The only people that were privileged enough to own cars and licensed to have cars, were the people that worked for Spyral. Mel had seen the boss of Spyral once. Mel wanted to run over and slap the boss for everything that came under her belt. She looked back to her noodles and started to pick the meat out of it. Not even the meat was real. It was over-processed and condensed tin meat that Spyral rationed the people with during the big war. Even though it wasn’t the war right now, Spyral had plenty left and encouraged the citizens of America to eat the rest of it. Mel couldn’t remember the last time she had real meat. The only real things that she had tasted lately were noodles, because they were one of out few things that were genetically real. She still didn’t know how Spyral did it, but they managed to annoy her more than her mother did. She stopped eating and swung around on her bar stool, as she suspected someone was behind her. It wasn’t a someone, it was a something. It was a hologram of the mailman, shining brilliantly in the night time. “Are you Melissa Phoenix, dear?” asked the hologram as Mel nodded and was handed what seemed to be a wavy envelope that was buzzing in and out in co-ordination to the mailman. One thing that she did like, they replaced email with an instant mailman hologram. Any place and anytime, if mail came he would be there in front of the recipient in a manner of seconds. She touched the envelope and it automatically became solid. “Take care dear.” Were the last words that came out of the hologram’s mouth as he buzzed off and disappeared out of Mel’s sight, as she opened the envelope, tearing at it impatiently like she felt it was something important. She chucked the envelope and its shreds to the ground. It was a letter from Spyral warning about what she had done the previous night. She had gotten drunk and she was going to get fined for it. Mel remembered the ordering processes of drinks at a Chinese drinking place on the west side of the town, the only place permitted to sell any alcohol beverage. Sign your name, do an identity check and then you can drink. But drink more than five standard drinks if you’re a female and you’re automatically considered drunk and discriminated by Spyral as disorderly and defiant and then the present comes in the next day after Spyral’s systems have gone through and been analysed, a five hundred dollar fine for drinking, ignore it, and be prepared to be exiled. What a society she lived in… She sighed as she put the letter down on the bench in front of her, as the chef that had made her the noodles that were going cold came out from the kitchen and leant against the bench looking to the fine in front of Melissa. “Spyral being a bitch?” asked the chef. “Why would you care?” asked Melissa. “You’re the person that makes my noodles and that’s it. I hate this society and what we have become.” “You come here every second day and order the same thing, so I think I have a right to make conversation with you,” retorted the chef, wiping his hands clean on his once-white apron. “Spyral’s always being a bitch, communism it’s called, we are the pawns in the game,” bitched Melissa. “What, do you want to go back to living like we did back in the war?” asked the chef, somewhat defending Spyral’s actions. “Spyral saved us.” “By sending me a five hundred fine for getting wasted?” asked Mel, a bit annoyed. “This isn’t democracy, its over-globalisation and corporal abuse.” “Just, do you really want to go back living like we did in the war?” asked the chef. “I had no food, no supplies for my restaurant, I nearly went bankrupt, and because of that, I got conscripted into the army and fought in Berlin against the Germans.” “Spyral would conscript us all if there was another war,” retorted Mel. “And so would the Old World, where the politicians roamed around like lions in Africa,” argued the chef. “Spyral did at least me a favour by getting rid of the politicians. Wait, were you around in the Old World? You seem a bit young to be around back then.” “Just, I was a teen,” answered Mel. “I’m Viking by the way,” introduced Viking, as he held out a hand for her to shake. She smiled and shook it with a free hand. “You’re name is….?” The lights around them started to flicker, as Viking rolled his eyes. “I have to admit Spyral does a bad job maintaining the electricity around here though.” “What are you talking about? They do a bad job at everything,” snorted Mel, as Viking was going to say something to it but didn’t. “Melissa by the way.” “Glad to meet you Melissa, see you around this place a lot but I don’t say anything,” smiled Viking, letting go of Melissa’s hand and supporting himself with his two palms faced down on the bench and Mel placed her hands by her side. “I have to go now,” said Mel, looking for excuses to not talk to a Spyral supporter. “You didn’t finish your noodles,” replied Viking, taking the bowl in his hands. “Not hungry anymore, the dry taste of artificial meat makes me sick sometimes,” explained Mel, as she got to her feet, picked up her fine, stopped, and smiled. “Nice to meet you Viking. I’ll be back tomorrow to have what I usually have.” She waved goodbye with a hand and Viking did the same thing, as he smiled and walked off just as Mel walked off down the road that was lighted by neon billboard lights and dodging bicycles and being yelled at for not sticking to the side of the road. **** Anyone like?