Old Drew Id
First Post
Session 1 (5/07/2003) Joe
Session 1 (5/07/2003) Joe
Joe Empire was surprised…and a little annoyed.
Well, admittedly, he should be thankful. The policeman had dropped him off at his shop, now some three hours later, without so much as a glance back. He had managed to survive the library attack with only a few minor scratches from jumping through the window (something he had always wanted to try). He had gotten to actually fight off someone who wanted to kill him, and he had survived. He had undoubtedly saved the lives of everyone else there, and he had met a girl who had willingly torn her shirt open in front of him. (Okay, it was to make bandages out of, but clearly she wanted him.) He had been questioned by the police and had refused to tell them anything important, despite rather persistent questioning.
But, unfortunately, Joe had not seen a single Man In Black.
He supposed it was to be expected. They were undoubtedly out there. They had almost certainly been there tonight. He suspected they had sent the assassins after him, to shut him up. To try to get him to stop talking, to stop writing his conspiracy-exposing newsletter. In the aftermath, Joe had watched the perimeter, waiting to see one of them, or maybe some similar cigarette-smoking shadow figure watching him. But he must have missed them.
He decided that they were good. Yes, very good, but he would catch them. Because Joe had been prepared tonight.
When he was listening to Art Bell the other night, he had been listening to a caller describe a run-in with the Freemasons, and at the time, Joe got annoyed because the caller had seen several cars and had not bothered to write down the license plate numbers. So Joe had decided then, that should he get into a similar situation, he would write down the details. They wouldn’t pull an Area 51 on old Joe, that’s for sure.
The cops had tried to play with him. They said things like “Sir, you must be in shock” and “You’re welcome to write down my badge number, sir. We’re only here to help.” and “Do you need a ride home?” But Joe knew the truth. He could see they were scared. Scared of a guy whose eyes were open to the Truth. They were scared because Joe was on to them and their shadow government mind control. Yeah, they didn’t know who they were messing with when they messed with old Joe.
So, anyhow, everyone else taken to UAB Hospital. Joe got the ambulances’ license plate numbers and the names of all of the paramedics before they left. He wondered idly if he would ever see any of them again.
Right now, he had more important things to do.
Joe pulled out his cell phone and called John Wiggs. The little punk had left him there in Vestavia tonight to get killed. It was the least he could do to come pick him up now.
“Hello?”
“John, this is me. Get over here now. I need a ride.” Joe looked at his watch. Never stay on the phone for more than forty seconds. First thing they teach you… if by ‘they’ you mean movies and books about conspiracies and similar paranoid delusions.
“Huh? Who is this?” John sounded half-asleep.
“You know I won’t say my name over an open line. Now come pick me up. I’m at the shop.” (Second thing they teach you.)
“Joe? Do you know what time it is?”
“Don’t say my name on the phone moron! Look, we’ve got to move quick. I need a ride now. Come pick me up.”
“No. Look, I’m sorry I left you tonight but--”
“Come pick me up”
“No”
“Come pick me up and I’ll give you a… thirty percent discount at the store tomorrow.”
There was a pause at the other end of the line. “Including minis?”
“No, of course not.”
There was another pause. “Including the special anime section?”
“Jeez! Fine. Get over here.”
Half an hour later, John arrived. The car ride was quiet, and Joe refused to answer any of his friend’s questions. Finally, they arrived at the library.
The scene was quiet and empty. The doors and the window that Joe had jumped through were boarded up, and there was police tape covering an area around the front door.
Instructing John to wait in the car, Joe got out and moved through the bushes, and into the trees behind the library. Trying to remember as much of the marine training as he had seen in Full Metal Jacket, Joe moved in a serpentine fashion through the trees until he stumbled upon his backpack. Hefting its significantly heavier soggy weight onto his back, he dodged and weaved his way back to the car.
Despite numerous questions from his driver, Joe would only say on the ride home that the less John knew, the less he could reveal under questioning.
At last back in his apartment, Joe locked out the world, sent John home, and opened up his bag.
The two guns were on top. Joe’s tiny .22 revolver, and the black guy’s giant cannon. Jeez, trying to compensate for something, big guy?
More importantly, five of the six books that Joe had stuffed into the bag had been ruined by the rain. But the sixth book was untouched, and unnaturally dry. Joe pulled the light-weight book onto his desk, read the title (“Coin Collecting in the Southeast, 1900-1950”) and flipped it open.
It fell open to a page featuring an old yellowing black-and-white photo in an antique style. The photo showed a dozen men and women posing for a group photo, like a class picture. The caption read: Ward Numismatic Society, 1924.
Five of the people in the picture looked exactly like the people who had been attacked in the library tonight.
Joe spent the next few hours before his store opened studying the books and researching the information online. He didn’t know what to make of anything. He just knew that he needed to know more.
Session 1 (5/07/2003) Joe
Joe Empire was surprised…and a little annoyed.
Well, admittedly, he should be thankful. The policeman had dropped him off at his shop, now some three hours later, without so much as a glance back. He had managed to survive the library attack with only a few minor scratches from jumping through the window (something he had always wanted to try). He had gotten to actually fight off someone who wanted to kill him, and he had survived. He had undoubtedly saved the lives of everyone else there, and he had met a girl who had willingly torn her shirt open in front of him. (Okay, it was to make bandages out of, but clearly she wanted him.) He had been questioned by the police and had refused to tell them anything important, despite rather persistent questioning.
But, unfortunately, Joe had not seen a single Man In Black.
He supposed it was to be expected. They were undoubtedly out there. They had almost certainly been there tonight. He suspected they had sent the assassins after him, to shut him up. To try to get him to stop talking, to stop writing his conspiracy-exposing newsletter. In the aftermath, Joe had watched the perimeter, waiting to see one of them, or maybe some similar cigarette-smoking shadow figure watching him. But he must have missed them.
He decided that they were good. Yes, very good, but he would catch them. Because Joe had been prepared tonight.
When he was listening to Art Bell the other night, he had been listening to a caller describe a run-in with the Freemasons, and at the time, Joe got annoyed because the caller had seen several cars and had not bothered to write down the license plate numbers. So Joe had decided then, that should he get into a similar situation, he would write down the details. They wouldn’t pull an Area 51 on old Joe, that’s for sure.
The cops had tried to play with him. They said things like “Sir, you must be in shock” and “You’re welcome to write down my badge number, sir. We’re only here to help.” and “Do you need a ride home?” But Joe knew the truth. He could see they were scared. Scared of a guy whose eyes were open to the Truth. They were scared because Joe was on to them and their shadow government mind control. Yeah, they didn’t know who they were messing with when they messed with old Joe.
So, anyhow, everyone else taken to UAB Hospital. Joe got the ambulances’ license plate numbers and the names of all of the paramedics before they left. He wondered idly if he would ever see any of them again.
Right now, he had more important things to do.
Joe pulled out his cell phone and called John Wiggs. The little punk had left him there in Vestavia tonight to get killed. It was the least he could do to come pick him up now.
“Hello?”
“John, this is me. Get over here now. I need a ride.” Joe looked at his watch. Never stay on the phone for more than forty seconds. First thing they teach you… if by ‘they’ you mean movies and books about conspiracies and similar paranoid delusions.
“Huh? Who is this?” John sounded half-asleep.
“You know I won’t say my name over an open line. Now come pick me up. I’m at the shop.” (Second thing they teach you.)
“Joe? Do you know what time it is?”
“Don’t say my name on the phone moron! Look, we’ve got to move quick. I need a ride now. Come pick me up.”
“No. Look, I’m sorry I left you tonight but--”
“Come pick me up”
“No”
“Come pick me up and I’ll give you a… thirty percent discount at the store tomorrow.”
There was a pause at the other end of the line. “Including minis?”
“No, of course not.”
There was another pause. “Including the special anime section?”
“Jeez! Fine. Get over here.”
Half an hour later, John arrived. The car ride was quiet, and Joe refused to answer any of his friend’s questions. Finally, they arrived at the library.
The scene was quiet and empty. The doors and the window that Joe had jumped through were boarded up, and there was police tape covering an area around the front door.
Instructing John to wait in the car, Joe got out and moved through the bushes, and into the trees behind the library. Trying to remember as much of the marine training as he had seen in Full Metal Jacket, Joe moved in a serpentine fashion through the trees until he stumbled upon his backpack. Hefting its significantly heavier soggy weight onto his back, he dodged and weaved his way back to the car.
Despite numerous questions from his driver, Joe would only say on the ride home that the less John knew, the less he could reveal under questioning.
At last back in his apartment, Joe locked out the world, sent John home, and opened up his bag.
The two guns were on top. Joe’s tiny .22 revolver, and the black guy’s giant cannon. Jeez, trying to compensate for something, big guy?
More importantly, five of the six books that Joe had stuffed into the bag had been ruined by the rain. But the sixth book was untouched, and unnaturally dry. Joe pulled the light-weight book onto his desk, read the title (“Coin Collecting in the Southeast, 1900-1950”) and flipped it open.
It fell open to a page featuring an old yellowing black-and-white photo in an antique style. The photo showed a dozen men and women posing for a group photo, like a class picture. The caption read: Ward Numismatic Society, 1924.
Five of the people in the picture looked exactly like the people who had been attacked in the library tonight.
Joe spent the next few hours before his store opened studying the books and researching the information online. He didn’t know what to make of anything. He just knew that he needed to know more.
