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Read u arrogant yanks Part 1 (1 Viewer)

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Sep 30, 2005
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Brazilian Rainforest, Brazil
Jones woke up in a dreadful state, there was blood exiting every perceivable aurophis and he was sweating like a black man on a rape charge. He tried hard to comprehend what had taken place only moments earlier. His supposed friends and fellow SAS members had turned their backs on him in a nasty and violent way leaving him within an inch of his life stranded in an almost uninhabitable region of the Brazilian rainforest. He slowly hauled himself to his feet using his last morsels of strength, his eyes were roaring with anger but his mind was more focused on the situation he faced. He had logically deduced that his body was close to shutting down and he was in dire need of re-energising nourishment. Luckily he was positioned but 10 yards from a riverbed and using his vast geographical knowledge knew that food would not be far away. His ingenious mind found a way of adapting to his surroundings rapidly and he quickly concocted an instrument for fishing out of a long stick and the vines of a nearby tree

His makeshift device resulted in a more than satisfactory banquet, which gave him the energy to walk around and patch up his wounds. Jones knew he would now have to direct his attentions to finding his way out of the copious amounts of jungle that lay before him. This situation was no new predicament for the experienced SAS man, he had encountered conditions like this on numerous occasions, mostly accompanied by his right hand man general Girard. Girard was a worthy accomplice in situations like these due to his unparalleled knowledge of the jungles and their inhabitants. His depth of knowledge had been accumulated as a result of his young 16-year-old mother dumping him in the Sudanese jungle as a baby. In truth he was raised by the monkeys, this taught him a lot and accounted for his ape like appearance and pugnacious aroma. Unfortunately for Jones, Girard had been killed in mysterious circumstances only a month prior to this day. He was now under the impression that Girard had met the same fate that he had nearly experienced

It took Jones around 3 days to navigate the treacherous jungle routes, encountering various breeds of deadly animals. He found it hard to pilot his way without the help of his darkened sidekick, but he soldiered on anyway and finally reached a small mountain town where he commandeered a primitive form of transport. With this he managed to finally find his way to the city where he new he had contacts that could enable him safe passage out of the country. Jones had a reliable contact in the heart of the city that he had used on numerous occasions. His name was Don Mohan, a dishevelled looking individual whose body was covered almost completely in hair, his appearance was short and he was of a balding complexion with a large protruding nose. Mohan was a an ex US marine who had been dishonourably discharged after sexually assaulting a 14 year old African girl while on duty in Zimbabwe, he had then fled to brazil in hope of a peaceful life

Jones was not a great admirer of Mohan and his paedophilic nature but he did have his uses. He was a great forger who could copy any document known to man. Jones hoped he could produce a fake passport, which would get him safely out the country to a place free of danger. Mohan lived in one of the poorest areas of Rio in a dark dreary alleyway with little in the way of street lighting. Jones approached the house cautiously aware that his betrayers may have staked out the building in order to cover all foreseeable events. As he got close he heard the distinctive noise of a door opening, instinctively diving for cover he noticed a large well-built man exiting the confines of the building. Immediately Jones knew who it was, it was none other than Mark Cyprus one of his former friends and comrade. Cyprus and Jones had joined the SAS at pretty much the same time in their lives, although they were from completely dissimilar backgrounds. Cyprus had been groomed for the armed forces all of his life, as his father was a high-ranking officer in the British army. He was a posh boy who had everything handed to him on a plate; contrary to this Jones had grown up the hard way in a small rough mining town in the heart of Yorkshire with very little in the way of encouragement. He had worked for all his life to get where he was now

Seeing Cyprus standing there angered Jones. He stepped out from where he was perched behind a bin and stood face to face with Cyprus
Jones; ‘ Sergeant Cyprus, my day of revenge has come rather sooner than I expected. I suppose you are somewhat surprised to see me.’ Cyprus stood slightly aghast for a minute before he spoke
Cyprus; ‘ I guess we underestimated you didn’t we, you are clearly more resilient than we gave you credit for’
Jones; ‘ Logic would clearly deduce that.’ Jones smiled somewhat as he spoke knowing the whole time that the only feasible conclusion to this affair would be the death of one of the two parties
Cyprus; ‘ I’ll have to make sure that I don’t make the same mistake again then wont I.’
Quickly Cyprus reached for his Bowie that he kept in his side leg pocket, Jones although still not fully rehabilitated managed to evade the strike without difficulty and gave a retaliatory punch, which was easily knocked away by his opponent. As Jones and Cyprus had trained together on countless occasions both men knew the others fighting style and moves as if their own.
‘You know you’ll never get the better of me Jones, you are a has-been and I’ve always had the beating of you my Northern friend’ Cyprus quipped as he thrashed at Jones once more with knife. At this point Jones was tired and he knew that his death would be imminent unless he did something to thwart his adversary soon. Jones stood for a minute and gathered all his strength before striking Cyprus with a beautifully précised chop to the jugular. Cyprus slowly fell to the ground shrieking with pain like a little child, he quickly began convulsing on the ground before lying motionless. It was clear to Jones at this point that Cyprus was no longer a problem to him

After dumping Cypus’ body in the bin he had originally hidden behind, Jones entered Mohan’s dwelling. Not to his great surprise he found Mohan’s body slumped over his desk. He had a bullet between his eyes, on his desks were passports and papers from all different countries along with pornographic material of what Jones perceived to be under aged girls. He then proceeded to methodically scan the area for materials that would be of use to him. In the desk was a Gloch 13 c gun, which would probably be of great use to him as well as a number of passports. In the background he heard the sound of what appeared to be the police. This perturbed him greatly as the last thing he needed to do was explain why he was in a room with a dead body and illegal pornography. That was a situation he had faced far too often in the past.

Jones exited the building via a back window in order to evade the local law enforcement, he ran quickly down the street until the sirens could be heard no longer, his pace slowed to a quaint stroll and he began to soak up the surroundings that enveloped him. Out of nowhere a little tiny child ran up to Jones and tugged upon his arm.
Jones: ‘What’s your name little girl, and what appears to be your problem’
The girl then explained her situation; her name was Sabreena Kebabi and she was but 12 years old. She was one of the smallest girls Jones had ever laid eyes on, her face was somewhat disfigured and of a dirty Asian type colour. The girl had gone on to explain how she was a local prostitute and she was with Mohan when he got shot. The fact that she was a prostitute disturbed Jones thoroughly but he let her continue
Kebabi; ‘These two men just came in and shot him in the head’ she spoke quickly and nervously ‘I managed to hide in the bathroom and they never saw me thankfully’ The conversation led Jones to deduce that there was another assailant on the loose. He did the honourable thing and cut the girls throat for three reasons. 1) She had seen too much and could disclose his identity, 2) He abhorred her life as a prostitute and thought it better she was dead and 3) She had a rather annoying voice that grated on him severely

The conversation with the girl had left Jones on tenterhooks; he knew there was at least one man out there who had no intention of letting him leave Rio alive

Braker Street, England
In a dark cold room in the central slums of London sat Jermaine Girard philosophising about what he was to do. Girard was presumed dead by many but little did they know he was very much alive and was indeed also plotting revenge against those that had blighted his life. In the month since his supposed death Girard had managed to return to England and break into an old abandoned house, which he made his centre of operations. His aim was to find out why his fellow SAS members had left him for dead and get to the bottom of this whole conspiracy. Girard using his valuable skills and resources gathered in his years as an SAS member had managed to put together a few pieces of the intrinsic puzzle that lay before him. Girard had managed to hack into important defence documents and what he saw shocked him. His closest ally Jones was about to be eliminated in the same fashion as that planned for Girard himself. Girard ran from his squalid building and got on the first plane towards Brazil. He had no intention of letting this treachery occur.
Re: Read u arrogant yanks Part 2

Rio, Brazil
In the 30 minutes since Jones had communicated with the young girl he had gradually made his way across the city making sure he covered his tracks and that he wasn’t being followed. He made his way to a busy intersection where he managed to hail a local taxi driver. Jones; ‘eu preciso comunicar com o o mais perto aeroporto, e vamos’ (I need to get to the nearest airport, and step on it)
‘sim sim senhor’ the overweight individual replied. When they reached the destination Jones eradicated the driver silently and covertly. The driver had taken Jones to a small private airfield on the periphery of Rio. The now tired Jones scoped out the area using some binoculars he had acquired from Mohan’s office. As he did so he saw the lights of an approaching plane. Quickly he hid in some nearby shrubbery, where he waited for the small Cessna plane to land and its inhabitants to egress. As the plane doors opened Jones waited with a sense of anxiety. The man who left the plane was about 6-1, coloured and of a goofy appearance. Jones wiped his eyes a couple of times in disbelief, he could not believe who stood before him, it was his right hand man Girard. Sooner had he acknowledged his once assumed fallen comrade than they were met by rapid fire from what sounded like an AK47 assault riffle. Both men ran immediately to the safety of the plane. Girard managed to get the plane started again despite the fact it had been riddled with gunfire. As the plane took off they could see there would be assassin. Mutually they recognised that this was Bert Goober and that this wouldn’t be their last meeting with said man

Gradually the plane rose further and further until they were clear of danger.
Jones; ‘its good to see you my old mucker, I thought you were a dead man walking’
Girard; ‘Inconceivable my friend, it takes more than a few bullets to keep me down. You should know that by now. Judging by what I’ve been reading I was expecting to see you in a body bag’
Jones; ‘It was close I wont deny it, but I could not be deceased knowing that these scoundrels were still running amok. We need to get to the bottom of this whole conspiracy or at least die trying’
The two men conversed the whole flight about past encounters and exploits, they had incurred many a good and bad day together in times preceding these. Girard landed the plane discreetly on a small runway on the edge of Heathrow airport. There the two men commandeered a taxi and made their way towards Girard’s humble abode. As they approached the building Girard put his arm across Jones and stopped him
Girard; ‘I deduce that we have encountered some visitors.’
Jones; ‘How have you deduced that my learned friend’
Girard; ‘ It was elementary, I left these leaves ahead of us in a particular fashion, it is clear to me now that they have been disturbed in a way owing only to that of a human being’

Girard’s prediction was not fallacious; his already messy home had been destroyed to an extent one had not seen before
Jones; ‘It looks like someone’s been through here with a fine toothed comb, either that or you’ve not been paying your cleaner’ Girard managed a chuckle out of his large ape like mouth, Jones had always been able to make light of a bad situation. All of Girard’s documents had been ransacked and all his research obliterated
Jones; ‘G whiz that’s a bit of a set back, is there much missing.’
Girard; ‘ I am afraid so Jonesy, it looks like they got everything. All my research means nothing now, we are back to square one again’ Girard let out a big sigh before making his way to the fridge where he pulled out two cold beers
Jones; ‘I see they at least left some things of importance’ he chuckled
The two of them then proceeded to drink well into the night until day broke and the alcohol was no longer

Soho, London
In a small café in the heart of Soho sat an averagely sized middle-aged man in a suit. He was sat sipping a warm cappuccino reading the financial times. This individual had played a significant part in the conspiracies to eradicate both Jones and Girard. The suited man was not alone though, next to him clutching a bagel was Bert Goober the assassin who had been involved in the shootout at the airport. Goober was a short child like individual with what one could only describe as a weasely appearance. The man in the suit on the other hand looked like a more distinguished kind of gentlemen. He was in fact a high-ranking member of the British intelligence agency and went by the name of Dick Everest. Everest had never liked the cut of Jones’ jib and held a grudge because he had once dated his precious daughter Kathleen. Suddenly Everest put down his paper and began to speak in a posh patronising accent
Everest; ‘So did you and Cyprus get the job done in Rio’
Goober; ‘I’m afraid we had a few problems…’
Everest interjected ‘ I don’t want to hear any excuses Goober, what about Girard have u managed to track him down and finish the job on him’
Everest; ‘ it seems Girard was on to us, he managed to track us down to Rio and help Jones evade are advances. Also we lost Cyprus in the process, I cant apologise enough guv’
Everest; ‘ you dissatisfy me again Goober, I should of known you weren’t up to it after you botched up the job on Girard a month ago. I simply can’t tolerate failure. Jones and Girard can’t be allowed to go unhindered in their search to identify my plot, there is just too much at stake for you to mess up yet again. I will now have to go to great time and money to find a replacement for you incompetents.’
At that point Everest got up from his seat pulled out a gun and shot Goober in the chest, much to the amazement of those seated in the vicinity

Braker Street, London
Jones and Girard both awoke from their alcohol induced slumber with blinding headaches. Neither of them could knock back as much as they did in their prime without suffering the consequences. As trainees they had frequented their academy nightclub abundantly. Back then drinking in the armed forces had not been so heavily frowned upon and the two socialites would drink away night after night with gay abandon. Today would be a long day for the two men. As Girard’s hideaway had been compromised they would have to find a new place of rest, somewhere discreet but in the heart of city. Jones and Girard left the house after first viewing neighbours, both men had missed this the most when they were out on ops and watched it at every conceivable opportunity. Girard through his black roots knew a considerable amount of degradated areas where they could find an abandoned building. As they were walking down a particularly dubious looking street in the slums of London they were approached by a group of individuals all dressed in hooded attires. The leader of the gang approached Jones and Girard with his followers close behind. He was a Black man with a scar on his left cheek
Black man; ‘Yo bluds give us ure money and ure phones or me and my brares will juck u to ure headpieces’
Jones; ‘ I’m afraid I am unfamiliar with your unusual vernaculars so therefore am unable to comply’ Girard had always tried to teach Jones the London street slang but Jones had always been unwilling to learn. Jones response naturally meant the situation escalated, one of the group pulled out a knife and foolishly waved it in Girard’s face. Girard in a swift movement broke the man’s arm and took him to the floor. At the same point of time Jones performed his infamous chop to the jugular of the black man rendering him immobile. At this point the four remaining members of the gang attempted to rush Jones and Girard, but all four were easily dispensed of. Jones and Girard loved a good ruck and occasionally went out of their way to show off their fighting skills. This was a prime example of their in bedded arrogance.

Soho, London
After shooting Goober, Everest calmly finished off his cappuccino and exited the café where a plush looking limousine was outside waiting for him. He stepped into the limo with an air of self-importance. He had half of Scotland Yard on his pay role and more protection around him than Alcatraz. He knew his murderous ways would go unpunished and this gave him an excitable feeling inside. Everest embarked on a twenty-minute drive until he reached a large modern looking house in a posh part of the city. Everest exited the car and requested that the driver waited while he conducted his affairs. Dick Everest had a look of deep anxiety on his face as he approached the large wooden door to the front of the building; he knew his superiors would not to be too impressed with his recent findings and he knew it was his head on the line. Everest rang the bell and was met by a female voice
Everest; ‘ I’m here to speak to Mr Cox.’ At that moment he was buzzed in and the large door open.
Re: Read u arrogant yanks Part 3

. Everest made his way up two flights of stairs before reaching the study of Mr Ritchie Cox. He was a trusted member of the government and the head of the intelligence service. Sat with Cox was his closet associate and bodyguard Danny Fiddle. Fiddle was an Irish man who had been involved with the IRA during the heart of their bombing campaigns. In the room next to the study was Cox’s receptionist Elga who was also an Irish national with links to the IRA. Elga and Danny were married and had met through their mutual hatred of the English.

Everest slowly walked into the room fearful of the grilling he was about to receive. He sat down on a luscious leather chair in the corner of the room as Elgin brought in some tea and pastries
Cox; ‘So Dick I hope you have some good news to report to me’
Everest; ‘ I’m afraid not sir it would appear that both Jones and Girard are on the loose somewhere in London and they appear to be in cahoots. I’ve lost two of my best men to make matters worse.’
Cox sent his tea crashing to the ground in an unceremonious fashion; his face was one of great disgust
Cox; ‘ How can one person be so incompetent. I give one simple task of killing two men and you continually manage to mess it up. I’m going to give you one last chance but if you fail me it will be your last act as a living person’
I guess you want criticism so here goes (don't be offended)

The story needs to be slowed down just a bit and the imagery needs some fine tuning. The dialogue is awful, sorry but I can't see people saying things like "Sergeant Cyprus, my day of revenge has come rather sooner than I expected", sorry I don't see it happening. A little survival research would help the first part of the story when Jones is stranded in the jungle, a stick with a vine tied to it won't catch many fish.

Sorry, I don't mean to rag on your story, I think it could be very good if you would slow down, do some more research and try to make the dialogue more believable.

But you need not listen to me, I am not a writer (I would like to be though) nor am I a expert in the literary world, but I figured I would give you my honest opinion and try to not hold back for fear of feelings. Please don't be mad about my remarks, I do believe you have some good stuff here it just needs some fine tuning.
Dialogue's awkward.

The narration is too...passive...

Instead of:

" In a dark cold room in the central slums of London sat Jermaine Girard philosophising about what he was to do."

Jermaine Girard sat philosophising in a dark cold room.

Make your characters do the action. Don't describe them doing it. And watch out for too many descriptions.

If you're going to insult people who criticize your story, why even post it here? Get your mommy to read it. And are we supposed to sympathize with Jones? He's a prick.
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