A Cyrius Mess…

Cyrius day walked around the decompression chamber, the sound of his breathing heavy inside the exo-suit he wore to protect him from the coldness of space that now filled the room. He knelt down and poked at a red jellied mass that broke free and started to float across the chamber in the zero-g atmosphere. He watched as it drifted away from him, blending into the surroundings.

It’s been a long four years and I’ve seen a lot of things in that time. Some of those things have caused me to regain my faith in humanity, to believe that there is something worth saving after all. Something that somehow made the Marshal’s star that I wear mean something. Something that says that humanity has a chance.

And then… then there are days like today. Days where all the rest of that good stuff gets thrown out the nearest airlock. I’d say excuse the pun, but, it was kind of intended. See, that blob of jelly floating toward the bulkhead use to be inside of a man named Jason Fletcher. Engineer’s Mate 1st class, and from everything I can ascertain, he was the nicest guy you’d ever meet. Husband, father, Cadet program leader, coach for his son’s Zero-G Ball team.

Just an all around nice guy.

And someone decided to sabotage the decompression chamber he was in, sucking out all the atmosphere. Ten seconds in, he popped and created this Pollock masterpiece I am currently standing in the middle of. Gruesome, I know. But, as I said, earlier, it’s been a long four years.

“So, Marshal, what do you have?” said a gruff and serious looking man through the intercom system. His blue-grey uniform fit him tight, his hair was trimmed neat and just about as tight as his uniform, and his face showed his years in a most unpleasant way.

“Well, other than a really big mess…” Cyrius paused, noting that his response was going to do nothing more than irritate the situation with the Captain even more than it already was, and decided on a better tone. “That is, it appears the chamber was tampered with.” Standing and walking over to the chamber operational panel, Cyrius continued.  “The safety locks were compromised and as soon as the maintenance routine began the doors sealed, the atmosphere vented out and…” He blew his hands apart while making a popping noise.

“You do realize you are speaking about one of my crew members? A man whom I have served with for over three years? Who has a wife and child?” The Captain stood with his hands behind his back, a stern look on his face.

And there’s the tone I was trying so hard to avoid. Ok, maybe not all that hard.

“Sorry, sir.” Cyrius said, smirking to himself inside his helmet. “Truth of the matter is, I don’t know if this was a deliberate attack on Petty Officer Fletcher or if it was just his lucky day.” The captain raised an eyebrow toward him. Cyrius walked over to the monitor and pointed behind him at the mess. “Look, sir. I’m doing my best here to figure out what happened, and so far, other than being this huge enigmatic mess, that’s all I’ve been able to ascertain. And forgive me for being a touch flippant about the whole thing, but, it is just how I work, so I can stay objective about it all. Otherwise, I won’t be any use to this investigation.”

There, that will set things right.

Clearing his throat the Captain responded, “I’ve already lodged my complaint with your superior.”

PLOX!

The Captain continued, “Your replacement will be here in two days.” It was the Captain’s turn to smile.

**********************

Trying something new with this character, or at least incorporating something that I have really wanted to do since the beginning with him. The internal monologue, a la Magnum P.I., curious what you, the reader, think.

TWW 440

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: Cyrius Day, TWW

A Cyrius Mess…

Cyrius day walked around the decompression chamber, the sound of his breathing heavy inside the exo-suit he wore to protect him from the coldness of space that now filled the room. He knelt down and poked at a red jellied mass that broke free and started to float across the chamber in the zero-g atmosphere. He watched as it drifted away from him, blending into the surroundings.

It’s been a long four years and I’ve seen a lot of things in that time. Some of those things have caused me to regain my faith in humanity, to believe that there is something worth saving after all. Something that somehow made the Marshal’s star that I wear mean something. Something that says that humanity has a chance.

And then… then there are days like today. Days where all the rest of that good stuff gets thrown out the nearest airlock. I’d say excuse the pun, but, it was kind of intended. See, that blob of jelly floating toward the bulkhead use to be inside of a man named Jason Fletcher. Engineer’s Mate 1st class, and from everything I can ascertain, he was the nicest guy you’d ever meet. Husband, father, Cadet program leader, coach for his son’s Zero-G Ball team.

Just an all around nice guy.

And someone decided to sabotage the decompression chamber he was in, sucking out all the atmosphere. Ten seconds in, he popped and created this Pollock masterpiece I am currently standing in the middle of. Gruesome, I know. But, as I said, earlier, it’s been a long four years.

“So, Marshal, what do you have?” said a gruff and serious looking man through the intercom system. His blue-grey uniform fit him tight, his hair was trimmed neat and just about as tight as his uniform, and his face showed his years in a most unpleasant way.

“Well, other than a really big mess…” Cyrius paused, noting that his response was going to do nothing more than irritate the situation with the Captain even more than it already was, and decided on a better tone. “That is, it appears the chamber was tampered with.” Standing and walking over to the chamber operational panel, Cyrius continued.  “The safety locks were compromised and as soon as the maintenance routine began the doors sealed, the atmosphere vented out and…” He blew his hands apart while making a popping noise.

“You do realize you are speaking about one of my crew members? A man whom I have served with for over three years? Who has a wife and child?” The Captain stood with his hands behind his back, a stern look on his face.

And there’s the tone I was trying so hard to avoid. Ok, maybe not all that hard.

“Sorry, sir.” Cyrius said, smirking to himself inside his helmet. “Truth of the matter is, I don’t know if this was a deliberate attack on Petty Officer Fletcher or if it was just his lucky day.” The captain raised an eyebrow toward him. Cyrius walked over to the monitor and pointed behind him at the mess. “Look, sir. I’m doing my best here to figure out what happened, and so far, other than being this huge enigmatic mess, that’s all I’ve been able to ascertain. And forgive me for being a touch flippant about the whole thing, but, it is just how I work, so I can stay objective about it all. Otherwise, I won’t be any use to this investigation.”

There, that will set things right.

Clearing his throat the Captain responded, “I’ve already lodged my complaint with your superior.”

PLOX!

The Captain continued, “Your replacement will be here in two days.” It was the Captain’s turn to smile.

**********************

Trying something new with this character, or at least incorporating something that I have really wanted to do since the beginning with him. The internal monologue, a la Magnum P.I., curious what you, the reader, think.

TWW 440

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: Cyrius Day, TWW http://ift.tt/1ff22HK

All in Another Day’s Work…

Cyrius Day stood against the wall, his Mk8 blaster in his hands, as he looked over at Sage and nodded. Sage, her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, smiled back at him as she nodded and gripped her M-12 shotgun a bit tighter. He held up his left hand with three fingers extended and slowly counted down. As the last finger fell, he surged forth and busted through the door, raising his gun up as he crossed from left to right. Sage followed on his heels, scanning the room with the barrel of her gun.

“Gibson Hughes! We know you’re in here. Might as well just come out peacefully.” Sage said as she moved forward toward the only other door in the empty room.

“You’ll never take me alive!” Shouted a male voice from behind the door.

“Could he be more cliche?”  Cyrius quipped to Sage, moving toward the door. As if in response, the wooden door splintered apart as a det-round impacted into it, spraying the room with splinters, shrapnel and smoke. A moment later, Gibson lumbered into the room, his massive frame slamming into Sage, sending her and her shotgun skittering across the floor. Seeing the shotgun, he moved toward it as Cyrius, still dazed from the explosion, raised his weapon toward Gibson.

“Seriously, don’t make me kill you. I really don’t want to have to do that much paperwork.” He said, the gun still shaking in his hands. Gibson stopped, slightly bent over as he reached out for the shotgun.

“You wouldn’t.” Gibson said looking over his shoulder at Cyrius. Cyrius let lose a round into the wall behind Gibson, missing his head by inches.

Shrugging both his shoulders and his gun Cyrius said, “Either way, the Anderian Congress will get their fugitive, I’ll get paid, and you, well, you’re just going to have a bad day, so I guess it depends on how bad of a day you want to have. Breathing is completely optional on your part.”

Gibson, who’s eyes had widened drastically, slowly straightened up to his six-foot, seven inch height. Cyrius gestured with his gun barrel toward the wall, and Gibson moved toward it, putting his hands behind his head.

Sage began to stand to her feet, wiping blood from her lip with the back of her hand. She retrieved her shotgun and walked over to Gibson, placing the barrel against the back of his neck. “I should just pull the trigger.” She spat out.

“How did you two even find me?” Gibson asked angrily as Cyrius stepped forward, the restraints in his hands.

“You see,” Cyrius started smugly as he attached the first restraint, “catching bad guys is kind of like an art form, and well, I’m just a master painter.” He finished attaching the restraints and turned Gibson to walk toward the exit.

“You’re a master something.” Sage retorted.

He smirked as he looked at her, saying, “Jealousy is an ugly color on you.”

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: Cyrius Day

All in Another Day’s Work…

Cyrius Day stood against the wall, his Mk8 blaster in his hands, as he looked over at Sage and nodded. Sage, her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, smiled back at him as she nodded and gripped her M-12 shotgun a bit tighter. He held up his left hand with three fingers extended and slowly counted down. As the last finger fell, he surged forth and busted through the door, raising his gun up as he crossed from left to right. Sage followed on his heels, scanning the room with the barrel of her gun.

“Gibson Hughes! We know you’re in here. Might as well just come out peacefully.” Sage said as she moved forward toward the only other door in the empty room.

“You’ll never take me alive!” Shouted a male voice from behind the door.

“Could he be more cliche?”  Cyrius quipped to Sage, moving toward the door. As if in response, the wooden door splintered apart as a det-round impacted into it, spraying the room with splinters, shrapnel and smoke. A moment later, Gibson lumbered into the room, his massive frame slamming into Sage, sending her and her shotgun skittering across the floor. Seeing the shotgun, he moved toward it as Cyrius, still dazed from the explosion, raised his weapon toward Gibson.

“Seriously, don’t make me kill you. I really don’t want to have to do that much paperwork.” He said, the gun still shaking in his hands. Gibson stopped, slightly bent over as he reached out for the shotgun.

“You wouldn’t.” Gibson said looking over his shoulder at Cyrius. Cyrius let lose a round into the wall behind Gibson, missing his head by inches.

Shrugging both his shoulders and his gun Cyrius said, “Either way, the Anderian Congress will get their fugitive, I’ll get paid, and you, well, you’re just going to have a bad day, so I guess it depends on how bad of a day you want to have. Breathing is completely optional on your part.”

Gibson, who’s eyes had widened drastically, slowly straightened up to his six-foot, seven inch height. Cyrius gestured with his gun barrel toward the wall, and Gibson moved toward it, putting his hands behind his head.

Sage began to stand to her feet, wiping blood from her lip with the back of her hand. She retrieved her shotgun and walked over to Gibson, placing the barrel against the back of his neck. “I should just pull the trigger.” She spat out.

“How did you two even find me?” Gibson asked angrily as Cyrius stepped forward, the restraints in his hands.

“You see,” Cyrius started smugly as he attached the first restraint, “catching bad guys is kind of like an art form, and well, I’m just a master painter.” He finished attaching the restraints and turned Gibson to walk toward the exit.

“You’re a master something.” Sage retorted.

He smirked as he looked at her, saying, “Jealousy is an ugly color on you.”

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: Cyrius Day http://ift.tt/1JM3wXX