NaNoWriMo day 30, Movember day 30.

Well, today is the last day for a couple things here.

First of all, today is the final day for NoNoWriMo. I actually finished on Friday, so today is just a relaxing day watching other people cross the finish line. I had a lot of fun with it this year, and I enjoyed my story more than I did last year’s NaNo. I’d like to thank Yvonne for helping me stay motivated!

Also, today is THE LAST DAY TO DONATE TO MOVEMBER. The money goes to fight prostate and testicular cancer. That means that tomorrow, I shave this stupid moustache off.

The stupid moustache.

Here’s a random NaNoWriMo excerpt for you!

Franklin 2

Franklin Jacobs wondered where he was.

He woke up in darkness. At first, he wasn’t sure if he had been blindfolded, if the room was dark, or if he had just not opened his eye. After a few moments, however, he noticed a tiny shaft of light off to the left, around what must have been a corner. He could barely see anything, but he was sure that he was in a basement somewhere. The air was damp and cold, and he could hear a dripping from somewhere.

He tried to stand up, to move his arms, only to find that he was tired to the chair he woke up in. This meant that he had been abducted. It was not promising news, but at this point, any news was one more thing he needed to know to get out of his situation.

He was unsure of how he got here. He thought about it, and his head began to throb. This meant that he had either been drugged or knocked unconscious. At first, he had assumed he was drugged because of his grogginess and the fact that he would have killed anyone trying to fight with him. It was then, however, that he remembered the night before.

He had killed many, many cultists, but for every one he killed, it seemed there wee ten more. It was as if the entire neighborhood had been taken by the cult. He wondered how far its reach had covered. He knew that the cult had spread its influence over time, placing it’s Black Gospel in places where it might be accidentally accessed, yet hiding it from those who might try to destroy it. It was a very insidious plot they had, and it looked as if it were coming to fruition.

Jacobs prepared to bust out of his chair, but he thought he heard something. He stopped and listened carefully. He though he heard…moaning. NO, not moaning…chanting. Almost singing. He focused, trying to make out the words but it was too faint. It was coming from above him, and he assumed that he was under the church.

There doesn’t seem to be anyone else around, he thought. I’d better make my move. He focused all of his strength in his bionic shoulder, jerked and…

…nothing. The ropes did not give. He tried it again in disbelief. Again, nothing. Something was seriously wrong. He tried a third time and realized that his arm was free of the bindings, so he tried to reach over and untie himself.

Still nothing. He tried to reach further, and he felt something wet in his lap. Fuck, he thought. I think they took my arm!

Now, he was screwed. He wasn’t sure what do do. Even if he could break free, there was no way he could fight off the cultists without his super strength. For the first time since that day in the desert when he took out The Prince of Scorpions, he felt terror. He was defenseless.

No, not defenseless, he realized. I wasn’t born with that strength, and I survived the Prince without it. I can do this. He wriggles his body against the ropes. As he wriggled, he tried to bring his flesh and bone arm up, to get a hold of the rope.

After a strained five minutes, he managed to get a good grip. He started tugging, trying to get enough slack to slide down in the chair. This plan of action was proving to be an utter failure He then turned to plan B. He wobbled the chair enough to know that it was on solid concrete. He also kicked his legs out to know that they were not tied down. Then, he tipped the chair as hard as he could.

The chair hit the ground on its side with a crack, the arms splintering off. Jacobs rolled his body, breaking free of the arms of the chair which fell at his side, Then, he pushed the rest of the rope over is head with his hand, and stood up.

I’m free! Now what? He wondered. He had not thought past getting out of the chair, but he still could not see anything down here. The only thing he could really do is walk towards the light he saw. He felt his stump with his good arm and realized that these bastards had the decency to tie off his wound. They obviously wanted him to live, though he wasn’t sure why.

Holding his arm out in front of him and taking small, sliding steps across the darkened, concrete floor, he made his way to a wall. Once at the wall, he used his hand to guide himself around the corner and into the light.

He was blinded at first; moving to the pitch black darkness to the light, coupled with the beating he had received however long ago it had been, made it difficult to readjust. Tiny needles of pain shot through his retina and into his skull. He instinctively tried to cover his eye with his missing cybernetic arm. Another small surge of panic went through him, but he fought it, fought the urge to close the eye, and walked on.

Eventually, his vision started to return, and he could make out the vague shape of a staircase in front of him. He also could see that there were banners of some sort hanging from the ceiling. This whole basement area seemed to be some sort of hall, or maybe a ritual space, considering who these guys were. Jacobs wished that he could see better, in case he was being followed by any cultists who might be hiding down here. He was pretty sure that there was no one down here, but these guys knew the terrain better than he did, and wold probably be much quieter. Hedecided to lean against the wall and refocus.

After a few minutes, certain things became apparent:

1) He was definitely somewhere old; the church was his best bet
2) There were people moving and chanting above him. He was sure this was the congregation he had seen earlier.
3) He was still covered in blood, much of which wasn’t his own
4) The banners that hung from the ceiling, which were black and red, had the Esoteric Order of Q’alalth’s seal on them, which pretty much confirmed his 1st two assumptions.
5) He was pretty well screwed if he didn’t do some quick thinking.

Now that his eyes had adjusted, Jacobs could explore parts of the basement with more confidence. He left the wall, which he no longer needed to guide his way, and walked towards the staircase. As he walked into the main hall area of the basement, he noticed the smell of death wafting on the breeze. He looked around and saw that there were two rooms to his left and one to his right. He decided to try the right door first.

It was unlocked. When he swung it open, he found what appeared to be a study. Books, records, and other media sat on bookshelves in this room, which was lit by a single electric light bulb. On a desk was a note pad, which he looked at closely. There were magical symbols and seals, which he didn’t understand. He decided to make a note of this room for later; one he knew what he was doing, he might need these books and such, as they were probably components of The Black Gospel. If he decided to try to burn this place down, he might want to start with this room.

He walked over to the two other rooms. Under one of the doors was a dried puddle of blood. On closed inspection, he realized that the door was caked with blood. Jacobs was not a squeemish man, yet he feared that when he opened the door, he might not be able to handle what he saw. He gulped and slid the door open to reveal…

…A wine cellar. He walked into the room to examine a bottle just to be sure, and it was, in fact a wine cellar. He was still convinced that the mess in and around the door was in fact blood and not red wine. However, if these bottles were to be believed, then he had uncovered wine that was probably left over from when this place was a Catholic Church.
This left the last door. Jacobs walked out of the wine cellar and opened the door of this room. He was immediately knocked back by the stench. This room looked unfinished; jagged brick walls divided this room into smaller, unfinished rooms. In the middle of it all was a pit on the floor. Jacobs slowly, covering his nose and mouth as he went, approached the pit and looked down into it.

He didn’t have to look far. Piled almost to the top of the pit were bodies. Maybe seventy five to a hundred bodies, all with their throats slit. While he had seen worse in his time in the desert, Jacob almost vomited. He pushed his tongue to the roof of his mouth and grinned as big a grin as he could muster; he had been taught in his training that it was difficult to vomit like that. He was about to back away when he noticed his cybernetic arm, the wired protruding from the socket, in the it.

This led to a dilemma: should he try to recover th earm from the mass of dead bodies, or let to lay. He knew he would not be able to reattatch it, but he felt like it wa swrong to leave a piece of himself in this mass grave. He decided to go for it.

He knelt down on the floor and reached out his arm trying to grab the other arm. This proved difficult. Had he been trying to rescue anything else from the pit, he sould have had both hands and could have braced himself. He turned and stuck his leg out, hoping to catch his foot on the arm, but this, too, proved to be useless.

In the end, he relaized the inevitable truth; in order to get the arm, he would have to walk through the dead bodies. He took a deep breath and stepped on the frist one. The bodies were surpassingly firm and unyeilding, but as he walked across them, the ones on top started to belch and groan, and blood came from some of their mouths. He was glad when he was out of the pit with his arm.

Now that he had the arm, he had a weapon. While the arm was much more effective when it was attached, its weight made it a reasonably viable bludgeon. He swung it a few times, feeling its heft and getting his good arm used to its pull. He wish he had his gun, but this would do in a pinch. He then headed for the staircase.

He quietly walked up the stairs, careful not to make a sound. He realized that if he had to go up against more than a few of the cultists at any given time, he was not going to make it out. He stopped against the wall and took a deep breath, then wondered if Melissa and Ben Byrne were making any progress.

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