cuan fiction presents:

Sonic ripples from the force of Drago's scream shattered the remainder of the steel wall. His hulking bestial dragon body stepped out of the confines of the building. He exhibited his impressive wing span. I imagine the birds that were fool enough to still be around were experiencing quite the avianic penis envy.

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Drago's bunk house had a compliment of only three guards. When you think about it, that is hardly a compliment. I figured him to be a more valuable piece to lose to an invader, but someone must have either disagreed, or figured that the man could defend himself well enough to allocate resources elsewhere. Those two guards lay dead at the entrance to the building, their ammo spent, their weapons discharged, their necks broken as an afterthought; and as I ascended the buildings interior stairwell, I couldn't help but feel sorry for poor Drago. He was prepared for an assault conducted by mortals carried out at the order of sane men. What he had endured tonight was an assault by an indestructible one woman wreckng crew sent by insane men to do the impossible and with just 7 minutes until the world became hotter and darker than he could probably imagine, I planned to kick it up a notch: Emeril style.

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There were four buildings in the complex and eight guard towers along the perimeter that linked the twenty-seven foot fence that protected it from ground based invasion. The hangar I had targeted was the central most building on the map. There was a very low probability of Drago being present in the hangar, but I had theorized during my drop that if I worked from the center, I would be able to locate Drago most efficiently. That of course was before I had dive bombed through the hangar roof and embedded myself in a fuselage… The best laid plans of mice and men, right?

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Dr. William Murray hurried down the hallway with blistering pace. He would not run. He could not, because it might draw attention from the several guards and infantrymen that he passed. His urgency might allude to his heightened sense of rage, and if so he might not be able to reach his goal unchecked. Behind the wire glasses and the unwavering intellectual personae lay a man like any other. Murray was surely capable of lust, jealousy, and while it did not come naturally to him, he was as prone to violence as the next provoked individual. Murray prided himself as being a good doctor; a scientist. At that moment, Murray's science had nothing to do with his intentions.

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hey up all nighters:

let me tell you something, I logged on tonight and I didn't know what to expect, because last night there was a nice bit with just Bris and myself, and then I watched Gladiator on DVD and just floundered online...

then, this evening, I jump on, jack in, rant for a sec...  the show launches and BOOM!

Bristol has been so supportive and just the most fantastic new addition to the c.u.a.n. family.  It feels so good to have someone that mega-positive backing you up.  The girl is golden and even her scathing wit is the kind that makes you thankful to be able to type...  thank you opposable thumbs...

 Missy Missy Missy...  what would I do without Missy...  Missy has been on board for frickin' ever and she brings such a good quality to the show, because having Missy there is like a stamp of approval.  This girl wasn't one of Y360's featured players by accident...  RMF is one of the defining blogs on Yahoo...  you go to my show at http://360.yahoo.com/diecarterupallnightdie and check out the blogroll...  best period! 

http://blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-Nx2dpPs8crUxeOdfOzLMgHU_ will get you to her site faster btw...

To log in to my cuan fiction and get a little note from Maire was phenom!!  I was looking at the writers guide 2006 tonight at work, and I hope I can get some of this stuff published...  Maire, you make me believe!

I could go on...  and on...  having Rachel back is so groovy...  man...

Look, I just wanted anyone who came here to know that I feel so 100 times better than Ihave since I left the USSRC and had my show jettisoned...  surviving the J Stew II ordeal...  has anyone heard about her, because I know she'll resurface eventually...

It's been a rough few months for all of us and I thank you for continuing to stand behind CUAN...

lastly, I would like to say that my wife Cathy let me have a Saturday night with you guys and didn't complain once, because she's the most wonderful supportive woman I have ever met...  that's why she's such a great wife and mother and mate...

now, I am off to bed...  f-ing work tomorrow (which I love) and a search for a seocnd job because c.u.a.n. is not paying any bills...

see you in the funny pages kids... 

"20 SECONDS TO HOTZONE" called the pilot.  I checked my chute and brought the goggles down over my eyes.  The wind from beyond the cargo door whipped my hair into a frenzy.  I'll bet I looked sexy as hell in the dark leather cat suit that Murray had supplied me.  The gear came complete with throat mic, ear piece receiver and a stop watch that counted down my mission objective time.  I had 16 minutes as of right now to locate, neutralize and retrieve Dalneysh Drago from inside a high security installation located at a non existent map co-ordinate that the very government that now claimed to own me would deny existed.  I smiled to myself and waited for the green jump light.

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"Is she ready?"

I turned and grinned at the good doctor.  Murray's cum still warmed my womb.  I could smell myself on him and him on me and I wanted more.  The poor man had given all he had to give.  He avoided my gaze. 

"Yes, sir."

"Damn skippy hippie." I added.  Dickerson was not moved by my exhultation.  He continued to display slides of several schematics that I had long since committed to memory.  "Now, once you enter the complex, remember that..."

"Blah blah blah." I cut him off.  "Look Colonel, I got your plan. You want Dalneysh.  I want to go home.  Fair's fair.  I'll bring you your flesh peddler."  Walking towards the colonel, I stopped short of headbutting the cocky fucker.  "Then, we can talk about what I want."

Dickerson shot a look at Murray.  "I'm well aware of what you want, Whisper."

"My name is Frankie."

"Not anymore!"

Reflexively I hoisted the good colonel up by his neck, the warm flowing of his life's blood coursing just under my fingertips.  Strangely intoxicating.  Inbetween the seconds, I caught in my peripheral the motions of the door guard as he leveled his rifle at me.  The action to my eyes was not unlike the slowly unfolding motions beneath a strobe light...  I could hear the clicking of joints inperceptable, feel the disturbance of air as his rifle moved through the stagnant laboratory air...  At once I had his muzzle in my left hand, forcing it roofward as he squeezed the trigger.  The muzzle flash and short burst of discharge sent Murray scramling to the floor.  To the colonel's credit, his pulse did not so much as quicken.  He was a cool customer, that's for sure.  I turned my gaze to the soldier and bared my teeth.  My roll in the hay with Murray had proven that my teeth were indeed a sight to be seen and painful in action.  He had the shredded coat and wounds to prove it...

"I tire of your threats, Colonel.  You may be shocked to find that I am not intimidated by you or your toy soldiers."

The colonel seemed unmoved.  "Albatross."

"What?"  I shook my head.  The room began to spin and a sharp high pitched whine filled my ears.

"Put me down."

I lowered the colonel to the ground.  He straightened his jacket collar and nodded to the guards.  Their blows came sharp and fast and the ringing in my skull sent waves of nausea through my body as their rifle butts struck my ribs again and again.  A boot to my face sent me reeling across the floor.  Blood filled my mouth, my own blood.  It was all I could do to look disgusted and growl angrily.

The colonel stood over me, unfazed.  "Now you listen to me you stupid dead cunt.  Because I am through playing with you.  You do as you're told, or I'll send you to hell and get me another recruit.  I have no time for your pride.  You are no longer Francis Victoria Johnson.  Frankie is dead.  You are an agent.  MY agent.  Your name is Whisper and you better do this job that damned quiet, or I swear you'll live just long enough to regret it.  Now, have I made myself clear?"

Through the ringing and the nausea, I read him perfectly.  It took every bit of willpower I could muster to look him in the eye and punch him square in the balls.  And it was worth every kick and punch and rifle butt that followed.  The shocked look in his eyes had been priceless...

it's just a satirical work of fiction...

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This is a screen play that I am working on.
Any likeness to a-holes living or dead is purely
coincidental.  However, I do think that
Osama is a fag and that Al-Zarqawi
tosses his salad from time to time.  C.U.A.N.
does not support discrimination on the basis
of race, religion, or misguided fundamentalist
beliefs.  We judge a-holes on a case by case
basis...  thank you, now enjoy...

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The walk back to the laboratory seemed longer than my quest for the pie. I had cleaned up my face so that maybe people would go back to staring at my rack and not notice the bloody pukey mess I had made. I probably would have to apologize for ruining pie eaters appetite. I didn't feel quite like talking to anyone at that moment.

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