Normal
folder
M through R › Pretender
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
4
Views:
3,700
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
M through R › Pretender
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
4
Views:
3,700
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own The Pretender, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Normal
Title: Normal
Author: Mandy
E-mail: kitty_amazon@yahoo.com
Rating: NC-17
Category: S
Spoilers: Everything.
Key words: JMPR
Summary: What happens when the world ends?
Disclaimer: Not mine blah blah blah no infringement intended, no profit gained.
Normal
Prologue
Miss Parker sat in front of her television. There was broken glass on the floor, from where she haoppeopped her vodka and lime. It was a little past six in the morning, and she was still in her pyjamas. The sun was barely up, the paper hadn’t arrived yet, the sky was falling in on her, and all before breakfast.
On the news they told her about the FBI bust on a major corporation known as the Centre located in Blue Cove, Delaware. She watched her brother refusing to comment as he was pushed, handcuffed, into a car by some FBI-type suit. She watched members of a swat team milling about in the background as a man explained to a reporter that the corporation had been under investigation for some time, and it was only with the leak of some new information that they had been able to break the case wide open. At the bottom of the screen, a line of text scrolled across, reading, “FBI busts Delaware Corporation guilty of human rights violations”.
It went on. It was the biggest conspiracy scandal in American history, it seemed, and every spokesperson from every organization that thought they might have something to say on the subject was interviewed, from Amnesty International to the Salvation Army. As the day unfolded, so did more and more horrific details – of multiple subterranean levels, of children and adults who appeared to be being kept prisoners, of laboratories and doctors and weapons, of a horror show being housed in a guileless building on the shoreline.
The media was all over it. They swarmed over every available inch of the building, and Miss Parker could hear the hovering choppers. She watched boxes of evidence being carried out the front doors, children and adults emerging blinking into the sunlight, frightened by the noise and activity. They had been the prisoners, and they were put hastily into ambulances and driven away.
The Centre’s staff was escorted out also, corralled for questioning, heckled by reporters. No arrests were being made, reporters said earnestly, beyond those of a Mr Robert “Lyle” Bowman and a Mr William Raines, who had been implicated as key powers early in the investigation.
Her phone rang constantly. She screened, and Broots left several frantic messages on her machine. He wanted to know if they should flee the country. Sydney, calmer, left messages enquiring if she was all right. Most times, the caller hung up before leaving a message. She knew whom they were from.
At four in the afternoon, Parker swept up the broken glass from the floor, ate a piece of toast and went to sit back in front of the television. She drank vodka straight from the bottle, getting steadily drunk. It was horrendous. Every new scrap of information notched up the media’s frenzy. The President made a statement from the Whitehouse, promising that all those responsible would be brought to justice.
At six pm, Miss Parker held her gun on her lap, and took her phone off the hook. She wondered when they would come for her, and decided she’d rather die than go to prison.
*
Author: Mandy
E-mail: kitty_amazon@yahoo.com
Rating: NC-17
Category: S
Spoilers: Everything.
Key words: JMPR
Summary: What happens when the world ends?
Disclaimer: Not mine blah blah blah no infringement intended, no profit gained.
Normal
Prologue
Miss Parker sat in front of her television. There was broken glass on the floor, from where she haoppeopped her vodka and lime. It was a little past six in the morning, and she was still in her pyjamas. The sun was barely up, the paper hadn’t arrived yet, the sky was falling in on her, and all before breakfast.
On the news they told her about the FBI bust on a major corporation known as the Centre located in Blue Cove, Delaware. She watched her brother refusing to comment as he was pushed, handcuffed, into a car by some FBI-type suit. She watched members of a swat team milling about in the background as a man explained to a reporter that the corporation had been under investigation for some time, and it was only with the leak of some new information that they had been able to break the case wide open. At the bottom of the screen, a line of text scrolled across, reading, “FBI busts Delaware Corporation guilty of human rights violations”.
It went on. It was the biggest conspiracy scandal in American history, it seemed, and every spokesperson from every organization that thought they might have something to say on the subject was interviewed, from Amnesty International to the Salvation Army. As the day unfolded, so did more and more horrific details – of multiple subterranean levels, of children and adults who appeared to be being kept prisoners, of laboratories and doctors and weapons, of a horror show being housed in a guileless building on the shoreline.
The media was all over it. They swarmed over every available inch of the building, and Miss Parker could hear the hovering choppers. She watched boxes of evidence being carried out the front doors, children and adults emerging blinking into the sunlight, frightened by the noise and activity. They had been the prisoners, and they were put hastily into ambulances and driven away.
The Centre’s staff was escorted out also, corralled for questioning, heckled by reporters. No arrests were being made, reporters said earnestly, beyond those of a Mr Robert “Lyle” Bowman and a Mr William Raines, who had been implicated as key powers early in the investigation.
Her phone rang constantly. She screened, and Broots left several frantic messages on her machine. He wanted to know if they should flee the country. Sydney, calmer, left messages enquiring if she was all right. Most times, the caller hung up before leaving a message. She knew whom they were from.
At four in the afternoon, Parker swept up the broken glass from the floor, ate a piece of toast and went to sit back in front of the television. She drank vodka straight from the bottle, getting steadily drunk. It was horrendous. Every new scrap of information notched up the media’s frenzy. The President made a statement from the Whitehouse, promising that all those responsible would be brought to justice.
At six pm, Miss Parker held her gun on her lap, and took her phone off the hook. She wondered when they would come for her, and decided she’d rather die than go to prison.
*