Underground eXperts United

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Skeptic Tank!

### ### ### ### ### #### ### ### ### #### ### ### ##### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ##### ### ### ########## ### ### ########## ### ### ### ### Underground eXperts United Presents... ####### ## ## ####### # # #### ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ##### ## ## ## ## ## #### ## ## #### # # ## ####### ####### ## ## ## ## ##### ## ## ## ## ## ####### ####### # # ###### ## ## [ Vengeance! ] [ By Hedge ] ____________________________________________________________________ ____________________________________________________________________ "VENGEANCE!" written by HEDGE The revenge is sweeter than a cold sorbet!" - Colonel Sponz He sat in a four-cornered room staring at candles. Without focusing, his eyes kept looking right into the flickering light, and you could see that he was concentrating on keeping them that way. The silence was almost unbearable, you could occasionally hear the low thunder of airplanes passing, but aside from that, numbing silence. Who knows what went on inside his head at that time. God knows he had a lot to think about, but it seemed he needed to get it together, to sort the bad from the worse so to speak. It all had happened so fast. Only a few hours earlier this place had been his apartment, but now it came closer to a pile of garbage in resemblance. The police had done a thorough job. He hadn't even had time to switch off the equipment after his last visit in the Network, before they had come crashing into the apartment. The only remainder of that there once had been a computer there was a black power cord dangling from a back of a chair. Somehow they must have forgotten it, he thought, not looking at it. He kept his eyes concentrated on the candles. Somehow you got the impression that he wasn't ready to deal with the destruction just yet. Knowing was enough, seeing it could perhaps only make things worse. They had come. Everything which could possible (in their minds) have a value in their investigation they had taken. He had a faint memory of someone speaking to him during all this, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not remember the words. All he could recall was floorboards being broken up, plates smashed and other pieces of furniture being destroyed in their "search". They even broke his only source of light, the lamp dangling from the ceiling. He mildly wondered what on earth they had expected to find in a light bulb. The only thing of interest they hadn't found was now on the table in front of him, beside the candles. The thing was a Glock 17. He had stolen it during his military service and had had many enjoying experiences with it since. Although he lacked a permit for it, there was usually never any problems in getting hold of ammunition to it. Most of the time, it was only a few phone calls away. He had kept it well hidden under a fake floor in one of his closets, and the police hadn't been able to find it. It was loaded, and lay there beside the candles, gleaming. Beside the gun lay a receipt with a phone number on it. He knew it went to the chief prosecutor of this investigation, and before he sat down in front of the candles, he had managed to get hold of the prosecutors name and address. He still had some friends he thought slowly. Even if some of those he earlier considered to be his friends had cooperated with the police and told them all they knew about him. Just to save their own asses! He had their names as well... You could feel the atmosphere in the room change as the man suddenly stood up and looked at what was left of his apartment. It was like something had came clear to him, and that he knew. You could see the difference in his eyes as well. Gone was the shocked thousand yard stare. It had been replaced by a confident look which knew what was to be done, and how to do it. He grabbed the gun, cocked it and headed towards the door. Beside the door he stopped and put on his black leather jacket, and let the gun slide down in one of its big pockets. As he stepped out in the dark autumn night he could hear the noise of the big city clearly through the brisk cold air. He stood there for a while breathing. He then started the short walk towards the subway station where a train would take him to the city. The only thing he could think of as he slowly descended down the stairs into the underground was some addresses he somehow had gotten hold of... Don't get mad, Get Even!!! ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- uXu #144 Underground eXperts United 1993 uXu #144 Call THE PHROZEN REALM -> +1-514-738-2105 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------

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E-Mail Fredric L. Rice / The Skeptic Tank