I own nothing. I just play.
-Spaz
____________________________
requiem for a memoir
____________________________
Prolog
// hangdrip.cpp : Defines the entry point // for the console application. // //RIFF48, RIFF4Z //////////////////////////////////////// ////////////////////////////// // Includes #include stdio.h #include tchar.h //////////////////////////////////////// ////////////////////////////// // Function Declarations void Usage(void); bool DoRip(const char *pFileName); //////////////////////////////////////// ////////////////////////////// // Some Vars const char Names[]="agricor.wav"; const char pFileName[] = "English.bin"; //////////////////////////////////////// ////////////////////////////// //Main() int _tmain(int argc, char* argv[])
{
#ifdef _DEBUG DoRip(pFileName); #endif Usage();
return 0; } //////////////////////////////////////// ////////////////////////////// // Usage() void Usage(void)
Void...
It was raining again.
Void...
Her fingers rested immobile on the keyboard. Darkened eyes closed to darkness. She wasn't sure why, but it was a blessing.
A sigh escaped a pair of frozen lips. Well, not really frozen. Numbed, yes, mostly by the outstanding amount of alcohol that burned her blood. Pity, it didn't provide the supposed bliss that she watched others fade to when drunk. If anything, she just sobered more with each drink, each sound echoing across a hollow arc of thought, each raindrop thudding a rhythm in her mind.
Blinking, she stared at the screen for a moment, then at her immobile fingers. Perhaps it was past time to finish this work. She could do it in the morning. When her mind wasn't fogged with oppressing philosophical theories and drink.
She stood shakily, her head spinning. Not quite nimble, her steps carried her to the windowed door that exposed her bloodshot eyes to the outside world. Droplets of rain crashed into the clear pane, as if attempting to attack her skin itself, only to bounce off the glass to the ground far below. She swallowed, and opened her old patio doors, stepping into the rain. The water did not wet her skin, or perhaps she just couldn't feel it.
On the second story of the middle-lower class apartments that housed her, she stood barefoot on the grated patio, her view that of a dark alley. The rain slicked her short blond hair, matting the gold to her head. Why was she out here again? Any particular reason? No. Not really. Then again, as of late, nothing was done for a particular reason. She did her work. She kept a job. She made money, even though her newly deceased family provided plenty of funding. She had a car. She had a few friends.
That was her. life. A life she led the same way every day. just like everyone else. She twitched slightly, her train of thought immediately and automatically diverting away from such thoughts. Her attentions were taken by what sounded like. running footsteps in the distance. She squinted.
A lone flickering streetlight cast a shadow of a rapidly approaching man. Or so she thought. Yes. It had to be, she could hear his frantic breathing. Stupid, she thought, her heavy eyelids falling closed for a moment. This alley was a dead end.
The man must be running from something. Yes, two men. Maybe men. She couldn't see to well in the rain, and the thunder nearly took the sound of pounding feet from her ears.
However, the loud scream of gunfire rocketed across her unprepared eardrums, rattling her mind and she jolted from shock. Startled, she gasped, grasping the iron rail.
Movements blurred, she thought she saw the man run into her alley, and then there was more insane firing of guns. It was surreal. Then, there was silence.
Heart pounding, she lurched forward. There were the two men, staring at what had to be the body. Her stomach churned, bile coming up to her throat. She swallowed.
How a swallow could alert a man fifty some feet away, she didn't know, but she saw his head turn in her direction. She stumbled backwards, back inside her home. Sanctuary. Away from the sudden moment of madness that seemed to appear out of bloody nowhere. Shaking her head in denial and disbelief, she tried to calm her erratic breathing and pressed herself firmly against the interior wall beside the still open patio door. She sat there, shivering and praying that if she closed her eyes, it would go away.
The shorter man knelt, taking the pulse of the now-deceased resistant. Behind the two, the taller man scowled, touching a hand to his soaked suit. He replaced his Desert Eagle in his jacket as the shorter man stood up, nodding. A spark of satisfaction lit both men. Had they been human, perhaps they would have smiled in accomplishment.
As they turned to leave, the taller one paused, something whispering to his consciousness, like. a new code ghosting across his own interface. At first, he thought it to be the mainframe sending data through his earpiece, but after touching a slick finger to his ear, the equipment was silent. Squinting behind dark glasses, he turned, his eyes scanning the immediate area. A flicker of movement caught his eye from above.
"What is it?" the shorter one asked, words slow and melodic.
"I saw something," he replied in a deeper voice, again touching his earpiece. The other tapped in to find his superior requesting information on residents of the houses and apartments that lined the buildings around them. Data streamed through their minds.
"If so, we will be required to erase the witnesses memory."
"I know," He answered, listening. The home above belonged to an Anna Incarus, a nineteen-year-old programmer for a small anti-viral software firm nestled within the city. He blinked, waiting as raindrops trickled through his hair and down his nose, some choosing to race across his sculpted eyebrows while others climbed down his chin. His eyes were trained on the building, inhuman as they stared motionless at what could be perceived as another task to take care of.
However, the mainframe informed him that no human was currently within the household, and all others in the area were not conscious of the agent's actions. Smith and Brown were to return to base for further data on the next target for investigation.
Smith frowned, and sent his report to Brown beside him without so much as a word. He could have sworn he saw movement. but he would not question the mainframe. Nothing could exist in the Matrix without it's knowing, and therefor it was he who must he in error.
The two agents departed.
A few hours later, a stiff-necked Anna awoke with a mind boggling headache and a sore body. The girl winced, rolling her shoulders. Why in the world had she fallen asleep against. a wall? And damn it, the open patio door was a flashing light to thugs. God. Groaning in protest, she stood shakily, and made her way to her bed, with the help of the walls for support. As she collapsed, one last thought flickered in her mind: I have got to cut down on the caffeine. My dreams just keep getting weirder and weirder.
-Spaz
____________________________
requiem for a memoir
____________________________
Prolog
// hangdrip.cpp : Defines the entry point // for the console application. // //RIFF48, RIFF4Z //////////////////////////////////////// ////////////////////////////// // Includes #include stdio.h #include tchar.h //////////////////////////////////////// ////////////////////////////// // Function Declarations void Usage(void); bool DoRip(const char *pFileName); //////////////////////////////////////// ////////////////////////////// // Some Vars const char Names[]="agricor.wav"; const char pFileName[] = "English.bin"; //////////////////////////////////////// ////////////////////////////// //Main() int _tmain(int argc, char* argv[])
{
#ifdef _DEBUG DoRip(pFileName); #endif Usage();
return 0; } //////////////////////////////////////// ////////////////////////////// // Usage() void Usage(void)
Void...
It was raining again.
Void...
Her fingers rested immobile on the keyboard. Darkened eyes closed to darkness. She wasn't sure why, but it was a blessing.
A sigh escaped a pair of frozen lips. Well, not really frozen. Numbed, yes, mostly by the outstanding amount of alcohol that burned her blood. Pity, it didn't provide the supposed bliss that she watched others fade to when drunk. If anything, she just sobered more with each drink, each sound echoing across a hollow arc of thought, each raindrop thudding a rhythm in her mind.
Blinking, she stared at the screen for a moment, then at her immobile fingers. Perhaps it was past time to finish this work. She could do it in the morning. When her mind wasn't fogged with oppressing philosophical theories and drink.
She stood shakily, her head spinning. Not quite nimble, her steps carried her to the windowed door that exposed her bloodshot eyes to the outside world. Droplets of rain crashed into the clear pane, as if attempting to attack her skin itself, only to bounce off the glass to the ground far below. She swallowed, and opened her old patio doors, stepping into the rain. The water did not wet her skin, or perhaps she just couldn't feel it.
On the second story of the middle-lower class apartments that housed her, she stood barefoot on the grated patio, her view that of a dark alley. The rain slicked her short blond hair, matting the gold to her head. Why was she out here again? Any particular reason? No. Not really. Then again, as of late, nothing was done for a particular reason. She did her work. She kept a job. She made money, even though her newly deceased family provided plenty of funding. She had a car. She had a few friends.
That was her. life. A life she led the same way every day. just like everyone else. She twitched slightly, her train of thought immediately and automatically diverting away from such thoughts. Her attentions were taken by what sounded like. running footsteps in the distance. She squinted.
A lone flickering streetlight cast a shadow of a rapidly approaching man. Or so she thought. Yes. It had to be, she could hear his frantic breathing. Stupid, she thought, her heavy eyelids falling closed for a moment. This alley was a dead end.
The man must be running from something. Yes, two men. Maybe men. She couldn't see to well in the rain, and the thunder nearly took the sound of pounding feet from her ears.
However, the loud scream of gunfire rocketed across her unprepared eardrums, rattling her mind and she jolted from shock. Startled, she gasped, grasping the iron rail.
Movements blurred, she thought she saw the man run into her alley, and then there was more insane firing of guns. It was surreal. Then, there was silence.
Heart pounding, she lurched forward. There were the two men, staring at what had to be the body. Her stomach churned, bile coming up to her throat. She swallowed.
How a swallow could alert a man fifty some feet away, she didn't know, but she saw his head turn in her direction. She stumbled backwards, back inside her home. Sanctuary. Away from the sudden moment of madness that seemed to appear out of bloody nowhere. Shaking her head in denial and disbelief, she tried to calm her erratic breathing and pressed herself firmly against the interior wall beside the still open patio door. She sat there, shivering and praying that if she closed her eyes, it would go away.
The shorter man knelt, taking the pulse of the now-deceased resistant. Behind the two, the taller man scowled, touching a hand to his soaked suit. He replaced his Desert Eagle in his jacket as the shorter man stood up, nodding. A spark of satisfaction lit both men. Had they been human, perhaps they would have smiled in accomplishment.
As they turned to leave, the taller one paused, something whispering to his consciousness, like. a new code ghosting across his own interface. At first, he thought it to be the mainframe sending data through his earpiece, but after touching a slick finger to his ear, the equipment was silent. Squinting behind dark glasses, he turned, his eyes scanning the immediate area. A flicker of movement caught his eye from above.
"What is it?" the shorter one asked, words slow and melodic.
"I saw something," he replied in a deeper voice, again touching his earpiece. The other tapped in to find his superior requesting information on residents of the houses and apartments that lined the buildings around them. Data streamed through their minds.
"If so, we will be required to erase the witnesses memory."
"I know," He answered, listening. The home above belonged to an Anna Incarus, a nineteen-year-old programmer for a small anti-viral software firm nestled within the city. He blinked, waiting as raindrops trickled through his hair and down his nose, some choosing to race across his sculpted eyebrows while others climbed down his chin. His eyes were trained on the building, inhuman as they stared motionless at what could be perceived as another task to take care of.
However, the mainframe informed him that no human was currently within the household, and all others in the area were not conscious of the agent's actions. Smith and Brown were to return to base for further data on the next target for investigation.
Smith frowned, and sent his report to Brown beside him without so much as a word. He could have sworn he saw movement. but he would not question the mainframe. Nothing could exist in the Matrix without it's knowing, and therefor it was he who must he in error.
The two agents departed.
A few hours later, a stiff-necked Anna awoke with a mind boggling headache and a sore body. The girl winced, rolling her shoulders. Why in the world had she fallen asleep against. a wall? And damn it, the open patio door was a flashing light to thugs. God. Groaning in protest, she stood shakily, and made her way to her bed, with the help of the walls for support. As she collapsed, one last thought flickered in her mind: I have got to cut down on the caffeine. My dreams just keep getting weirder and weirder.