thriller
The Last Train Ride. Content Warning.
It was the last train home. The train screeched as it rounded the bend. I tightened my grip around my purse, protecting the little cash I had left from the man in the hood and dark sunglasses staring at me. I promised myself that tonight would be different. No more cowering, no more hiding from my boss. I’d open a bottle of champagne by the fireplace, drink just enough to get buzzed then leave a message on my bosses machine demanding a meeting about a raise. Either I got paid more, or I quit.
By Alex H Mittelman 2 years ago in Fiction
The War of the Americas - Part XI
Sylvia knew she had only moments to make a decision that might very well be her last. After what he had revealed, the General would never let her leave his office, let alone the base, alive. She did not know how much more he might plan to say or how much time she may have, and her mind raced as she considered then quickly discarded one idea after another. Stalling for time by attempting to plead innocence was a losing strategy. The General knew she was an agent of the CIA and would not be convinced otherwise. She was confident she could easily take him in one-on-one combat if she chose to try and fight her way out, but she also knew he was not alone. They were surrounded by his best, most capable men. They remained invisible, but Sylvia knew they were there, and it would not be possible to take them all before at least one of them got a bullet into her or a knife. It was not so much the fact of their numbers or even skill level, she had taken on large numbers of highly trained opponents before and come out on top. It was more about the lack of knowledge of the terrain upon which she would be fighting. She had no idea of the layout of the room she was in beyond the lighted circle where her interrogation by the General had taken place. Of the base beyond this room, she knew even less having been blindfolded the very few times she had been escorted anywhere. After she had exhausted all possible options in her mind, she was resigned to fight it out. If she were going to die, it would be on her feet, and even though she knew she had no chance, she would make the enemy pay a heavy price. Sylvia prepared mentally for the fight to come, closing her eyes and breathing deeply, centering herself. Just as she was about to leap out of her chair and attack there was a tremendous explosion, then almost immediately after two more. The building shook and she almost fell to the ground, only managing to stay upright by grabbing onto the edge of the General’s large wooden desk. The lights went out briefly, then flickered back on, much dimmer, and mostly red, as the emergency backup power kicked in. Debris fell from the ceiling and dust choked the air as klaxons wailed. Suddenly a young Mexican soldier ran straight past her to the General speaking quickly, his voice quivering with excitement and fear, “Sir, it’s the Americans. They have found us. Those explosions were the impacts from three cruise missiles launched from near San Diego. Everything topside is destroyed. We have lost at least a thousand men and women.” At that, the young soldier’s voice trailed off, and he almost broke down, but regained his composure some before speaking again. “Sir, what hope do we have against the Americans? How can we possibly win when they can strike us with such force with such ease.” The General took hold of the young soldier by his shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes, there was a sadness evident in his own eyes, and in his voice as he spoke. “Son, there are no winners in war, the only question is how much do you lose? How much can you afford to lose? But as to your question, others have asked themselves the same, the Viet-Cong, the Taliban, and they endured, just as we shall. Now, I need you to gather up all our surviving forces and sound the general evacuation order. I will activate the base self-destruct procedure. The Americans will already have launched a B2 stealth bomber from Whiteman air force base in Missouri. It will be carrying at least one bunker buster.” The B-2 Spirit stealth bomber was only 30minutes from attack distance as the General spoke. A portion of its ordinance payload did consist of two 30,000-pound GBU-57 Massive Ordnance Penetrators (MOPs), commonly known as bunker busters. Although they are precision guided, unlike most bombs of that variety they are not designed to hit the target, but rather to hit beside it, then penetrate under it, creating a shock wave and large cavern or hole which the target then collapses into, obliterating and burying it in one step. They were designed to destroy other weapons, specifically weapons of mass destruction hidden in well-protected facilities deep underground. In this case the target was not a weapons storage site, however, it was built deep under a mountain and thus its capabilities would be ideal which his why the president had personally ordered its use in this attack.
By Everyday Junglist2 years ago in Fiction
So the Story Goes on and on and on and Skewed Right, Then Cleft Down the Middle
Part One by JBazPart TwoPart ThreePart FourPart FivePart Six ⬇️⬇️⬇️ The group continued on foot for over an hour. Carl and Jaylene carried Denny and Jenny, while Adam received a piggyback ride from Thomas. Agent “Don’t call me Rance” Cochran led the way, carrying Felix inside his carrier. Carl soon saw why they had to go in on foot; the nearer they walked to the Big Blue River, the muckier the ground became.
By Mother Combs2 years ago in Fiction
Lookin’ For U
Uma Freeman is at the Bear Rock Cafe with her best friend Jennifer anxiously waiting on a phone call. “So is this mystery creep still spamming your phone?” Jennifer asked. “Yes” Uma replied anxiously. “I swear I don’t know who this is but he keeps sending me random messages everyday like “Hey beautiful” while describing what I’m wearing” Uma replied.
By Joe Patterson2 years ago in Fiction
The Riddle of Life
The old man sat in the dimly lit library, his wrinkled fingers tracing the edge of an ancient book. His eyes, sharp despite his age, scanned the room as if searching for something—or someone. I had been summoned here by a mysterious letter, signed only with the initials "M.L." It claimed that if I solved a single riddle, I could extend my life beyond the limits of time itself. "You are here for the answer, aren’t you?" the old man asked, his voice carrying the weight of centuries. I hesitated. "Are you saying it’s real? That a riddle can actually… prolong life?" He smiled faintly. "It is not the riddle that extends life, but the understanding of it." He leaned forward, placing an old parchment in front of me. The ink was faded but still legible. "I am taken but never given. The more you use me, the less you have. I exist in all, yet none can own me. What am I?" I stared at the words, my mind racing through possibilities. Money? No, that can be given. Breath? It regenerates. Time? The old man watched me closely. "Choose your answer carefully. If you are wrong, you will forget ever being here. If you are right… you will understand what it truly means to live." A chill ran down my spine. I took a deep breath and whispered my answer: "Time." The old man smiled, his eyes gleaming. "Correct." At that moment, I felt a strange sensation, as if my mind had expanded beyond the confines of my body. The ticking of the clock seemed slower, the weight of years lifting from my shoulders. The old man stood up, his figure becoming translucent. "You now understand the secret of longevity. It is not about adding more years but truly living the ones you have. Time is fleeting, but those who master it… never run out of it." The library around me faded, and I found myself back in my apartment, the letter in my hands but no trace of the old man. Yet, I felt lighter, as if I had gained something far greater than immortality—the wisdom to make every moment countrol it.
By Yongker Yongker042 years ago in Fiction
So the Story Goes on and on and on and Skewed Right
Part One by JBaz Part TwoPart ThreePart FourPart Five⬇⬇⬇ They’d returned to the interstate after driving through a few red lights on the side streets, and Special Agent Cochran sped to Bentonville, where they quickly switched SUVs. The Ford Expedition they had been forced to choose had much less space than the Suburban, and with its bright red paint, the Ford stood out.
By Mother Combs2 years ago in Fiction
Window Decoration. Content Warning.
Lily walked confidently up the city sidewalk, resume in hand. She knew the CEO of the company, and it was an easy short-term job to work during the fall. Dressing the window with holiday décor to lure shoppers would be fun as an outlet for her creative energy.
By Barb Dukeman2 years ago in Fiction
The Phantom Heist
Chapter 6: Personal Entanglement The county records office was nearly empty at 4:30 PM on a Friday. Most employees had already left for the weekend, leaving only a bored clerk who barely glanced at Sarah's badge before granting her access to the vital records archive.
By Shane D. Spear2 years ago in Fiction
Watching Over You
Most of the houses were already dark as it was almost midnight. There was something so relaxing, almost meditative, about the stroll through suburban streets. The night was warm and quiet, crickets chirping the only thing to hear. The sound of summer. Anthony took his time walking home.
By Cristal S.2 years ago in Fiction
