Interview with a rager

The security officer unlocked and opened the heavy door to the isolation cell. Inside there was a person, curled up on in the corner on the far side. There was nothing else in the room, no chair, no bed, no toilet.

“Get up you dammed heathen, Mrs. Carson is here to talk at you,” the guard barked, walking over and using the end of his nightstick to punch the prisoner in the kidney. When he didn’t move, the guard drew the baton back to deliver a full power blow. He turned his head when he was prevented from completing the swing.

So this is my first attempt at writing a story for the Whateley Universe. I originally started this several years ago but after a few chapters I found myself with serious writers block. Recent stories on here and on the Whateley site have encouraged me to reattempt the story. This is only the prologue. There is hopefully much more to come. Of course any help would be appreciated and if you spot any mistakes or issues don't hesitate to let me know. I will apologise in advance if I have made any mistakes with the lore.

And here is the final chapters of The Unfortunate Experiences of Mike Cross. The story has come to its end, and hopefully one that everybody likes.

Heir to a Title Chapter 33.

Jerry Tanner has a a lot of experience with games, but can he survive being caught in a game played by the gods?

Light's Promise (Part 3 of 6)

by Erisian

Chapter 8 - Memories

Once the stomach agreed to at least a temporary truce, I’d gone back to the hospital to sit with Danielle. Now that I knew her spirit wasn’t there all I could sense was the hollow absence. Her body lay in the bed, heart pumping and lungs moving, but it was empty like a still life painting where the fruit bowl’s contents had been cruelly ripped from the canvas. What was left was only a blank outline of where Danielle’s spirit should have been.

It was wrong. So very wrong.

 

Gaby Book 16 - Sweet Sixteen

 
 
“And just when were you going mention the cinema?” Mum demanded as I walked into the lounge after Garde, Herr Sebenschuh was on taxi duty tonight.
I was caught a little on the hop to say the least.

The Angel of Chicago

Part Eleven: Rescue

by

Rodford Edmiston

The two combatants paused, both panting and sweating. After several minutes of hard fighting, Halberd was all the more furious that his opponent was holding his own, despite his certainty that he was the superior. Crunch must be cheating, somehow! As he had in all of his formal matches! How else could he be champion?!

This is what happens when my patrons ask for something new; blame them. This one is older than it looks, but at I finally stopped being lazy about posting it here. Please, enjoy.

So I was trying to write, and my muse was giving me fits. So instead of writing what I was intending this little scenario popped into my head and I thought it was too funny not to share. It only took about ten minutes to type out. Hope you enjoy.~ Rebecca Jane

The Petulant Muse

CHAPTER 38
I had turned up at the Crown Court for that final day, all five having eventually folded at their Plea and Direction Hearing, and as the crimes were not just indictable to the higher court but appalling in their very nature, there was no messing about with magistrates and hierarchies. We walked in, dressed in our best civilian clothes, as befitted our new (for some of us) and officially recognised status as DC rather than PC. Sammy outlined the facts of the case, four men stood up behind their publicly-funded representative and said the G-word, and the reports that had already been prepared and read by the judge were properly taken into account as he delivered ten years to each of them.

There was simply too much going through my head to go back to sleep, so I stayed up. My name, my true name, was, if those figures could be trusted, Jamie. It wasn’t that bad of a name, so that was good. But still, those figures, they screamed it out in anger and pain. What happened? What did I do? Most importantly, what was the Dark Place? The last time, I assumed that I was dreaming, and that place was a representation of my mind. Now, I was sure that I wasn’t dreaming. This raised the question: if I wasn’t dreaming, then what was I doing?