“Mr. Moreau! Mr. Moreau” a Dark haired reporter waved to Joker as he walked by in the hospital lobby. ”Khalisah Bint Sinan AL-Jilani of Westerlund News. Would you answer a few questions?”
“No.” said Joker as he continued on to the hospitals elevator.
“Mr. Moreau, humanity demands to know...” AL-Jilani started. but stopped as Joker turned around with his fists clenched.
“ I said I didn’t want to answer your bullshit questions!”Joker hissed and pointed harshly at AL-Jilani.
“Try Urdnot Wrex, I hear he loves pushy reporters who won’t take no for an answer. In fact, he has a nice collection of their heads mounted on his wall.” he added as he entered the elevator with two guards.
Jeff “Joker” Moreau nodded to the pair of guards as he arrived on his floor, an action he had repeated hundreds of times for the small army guarding the entire building. Joker felt a rush of air as the elevator door slid closed behind him. He moved down the small corridor to a small unassuming room. Opening the door he looked towards the center of the room. Commander Shepard lay, comatose, amid a mass of ...
A MP who preformed mouth-to-mouth resuscitation revived Dr. MacDonald. He told the police he and his wife stayed up drinking some orange liquor. She went to bed and he stayed up to finish watching the Johnny Carson show. MacDonald fell asleep on the sofa. He was awakened by screams of his wife and daughters. MacDonald claimed that three men standing over the sofa started to attack him with a bladed weapon and a baseball bat. He identified the person holding the bat as a black man with an army jacket with E-6 stripes and two white men, one carrying the bladed weapon. Before he was knocked unconscious he said that there was a lady in the back with a large floppy hat, holding a candle and was saying “acid is groovy” and “kill the pigs.”
"I'm heading out to make an arrest." He replied, his tone carried a slight hint of Incertitude as to the motive of this inquiry.
“Ah yeah sure,” Mason agreed. “Majestic’s the first word that pops into my mind when I think of macaroni penguins.”
A Serbian terrorist group (named the Black Hand) had heard about the news of the Archduke’s visit and had planned several attacks to end his life. All seven young men of the group were specially trained in marksmanship and bomb throwing. Each was stationed along the route that the Archduke’s car would go. The first two terrorists were unable to throw there bombs because the street was too crowded, and the car was traveling quite fast. The third terrorist threw a grenade which exploded on the car after the Archduke’s. Although the archduke and his wife were unhurt, some of his attendants were injured and had to be taken to hospital. The Archduke insisted on visiting them at the hospital. But on the way there, the driver took a wrong turn and had to reverse. Gavrilo decided to take this chance and fired two bullets through the window. The first hit the pregnant Sophia in the stomach, which she died almost instantly.
Flanagan got in Clawd’s face, an unfathomable look of rage in his eyes. “Tell me.”
“I know you di’nt, but we gotta get out of here or you're gonna get shot.”
As darkness envelops the long and winding streets within the walls of castle Azelran, I hold my breath as I duck into one of the many alleyways running between the streets. The whole city is deserted, and even the inns are dead silent. Houses loom above me from all sides, as I trip over bins and stray pieces of rubbish. What has he done? Has he put everyone to sleep so I am alone? So that he can get me? As if. I won't go down without a fight. The cobbles fly beneath my feet. My tunic flutters in the wind, my long hair unfurling behind me in a chocolate brown mass. With my boots pounding on the paved stones, I skid around another corner, shivers running down my spine. I must get away. I don't care if it's never been done before. I have to leave.
“ ‘ I remember having this silly idea he might come to the hospital where I was. With a sabre cut, I suppose, and a bandage around his head. Or shot through the shoulder. Something picturesque.’
Eden considered herself a master of the death stare, and it shut people up most of the time. Black-ringed eyes, wide and uninviting--it's what she excelled at. Her stare said: "don't even dream of talking to me."
"And what do you want from me, you frightening monstrosity whom my innocent and sheltered eyes should never have been made to look upon?"
The hallways always seemed to have a chill around this place. The cold, crisp, and synthetic air the roamed through the interior of the Venator Class cruiser (fig. 1) felt better than naturally produced oxygen of a planet. Too hundreds of thousands of clone soldiers, Venator Class cruisers were home. After being in countless battles, the cruiser known as The Providence had become a well-known vessel amongst the outer rim territories. This cruiser was what CT-2532 called home. CT-2532 was just his rank number, he preferred to be called Jex.
In the bright early morning, the sun shone in on the white marble pillars and the stone floor was bleached white with light. In the throne room all the gods had left to do their duties to the mortals. Zeus and Poseidon though remained sitting on golden thrones high up above the ground.
Wings wrapped and snapped the highest tree limbs, claws lacerated the trunks, bleeding sticky with sap. I could smell it. "Oh yeah. This was definitely it!"
Quinn could imagine the scowl on the other voice's face. "No, you stupid good-for-thing... just no! We brought the wrong person. See, he doesn't have ichor."
she always used to wish for a way to escape her life. She saw memories