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2006.04.03

[The_Secret_Life_of_Gabriel_Miller: Operation_DEATH]

Gabriel Miller fanfic continues! So suck it, Liebchen.

Volume 2

Gabriel lay on the titanium floor and stared at the titanium ceiling for hours. He attempted to compose poems for his own edification, even though he had no paper or pen to save them for posterity, but even his Poetic Muse had abandoned him for the moment. He sat up when he heard the heavy titanium door slide open with a grinding sound. Two women walked inside—one was short and curvaceous with a dazzling, artificially whitened smile. The other was…formidable and armed with a stun gun. The petite member of the pair bent over to tousle Gabriel’s hair affectionately.

“Hey, Fishhead!” she exclaimed brightly.

Gabriel felt a wave of relief, “Virgo!” he cried. “You know, I never realized until right now how much I missed you.” He nodded at the other woman slightly less enthusiastically. “Taurus.” She grunted in reply.

Virgo smiled happily, “Yeah, it’s been a while, huh?”

“Well, it looks like I’ve been drafted back into service. Unless you’re here to rescue me…”

Virgo bit her lip and made an exaggerated frowny face. “Sorry, sweetie pie, no can do. We’ve got strict orders to take you to the boss…”

She wants to talk to me? What for?”

“Oh, I don’t know. They don’t tell us peons what’s going on. So Fishhead, let’s just get you up. We don’t want to have to use that awful stun gun, do we?”

Gabriel’s face fell. “No, we do not.”

Taurus demonstrated its effects on him with a sadistic grin. “Ahhhhh, fuck!” Gabriel cried as he fell to the floor again.

Virgo rolled her eyes. “Taurus, sweetie, let’s not play around too much. She’s waiting on us…”

Gabriel, feeling weakened, wasn’t so much restrained by his former cohorts as he was supported by them as they walked down a labyrinth of blinding white, empty corridors. Gabriel was at first disoriented, but his memory eventually returned as he was led to the largest and arguably most comfortable room in the entire compound. The door opened, and Gabriel was forcibly pushed into a very comfortable plush chair in front of a large mahogany desk. Behind the desk, large windows revealed a breathtaking ocean scene; the entire building was, in fact, completely underwater.

A middle-aged woman sat at the desk, typing into a laptop. She did not look up when Gabriel was brought in. She looked like a friendly, nondescript soccer mother, but he knew better than to speak before being spoken to. Finally, she addressed him with a terse “Pisces.”

“Capricorn…ma’am.” Gabriel acknowledged in return.

“I’ve been told that you were less than cooperative on your way here,” she noted wryly.

“Would you expect any less of me?”

“No, of course not. Well, I’ll cut to the chase, as we don’t have a lot of time. Pisces, we have a job that requires your unique skills, knowledge, talents, and expertise.”

“In other words,” Gabriel replied, “a suicide mission.”

“Bingo,” Capricorn said with a smile. “Pisces, I don’t have to remind you about our continued rivalry with The Tarot, do I?”

Gabriel briefly pondered whether it would have been more or less manly to have joined a secret spying syndicate based on tarot cards as opposed to astrology. He wondered why the only spying organizations he had ever heard of seemed so New Age-y. Couldn’t they have been named after deadly reptiles or natural disasters? Perhaps one day, he thought, I’ll start up my own outfit and call myself “Eruption.” But returning to the matter at hand, he recalled that he had no love for members of The Tarot. Not after a mysterious figure known only as “The Fool” threw Aries off of the rock of Gibraltar right in front of Gabriel’s helpless eyes…

“Tarot…hmmm…that name rings a bell,” Gabriel shrugged.

“Good,” Capricorn said. “Because we’ve been keeping a close eye on them and their so-called ‘Doomsday Weapon.’”

“Do you mean that you’re actually going to save the world, Capricorn?”

“Don’t be insipid,” she scolded. “We want it for ourselves. The Doomsday Weapon is being developed, naturally by ‘Death’ because they’re not terribly creative. Of course, he’s an elusive little man, but we have managed to track down someone who could give us a little leverage…his only son. Your mission is to intercept Death’s son and bring him back here—alive and unharmed—so that we can figure out what he knows or at least use him as a bargaining chip.”

“That’s it?!” Gabriel scoffed. “You forcibly reactivated me for a simple kidnapping?”

“Oh, this is no simple kidnapping, Pisces dear,” Capricorn replied, “For Death’s son is a rock and roll type, a keyboardist named Alessandro Cortini, and your mission is to abduct him in front of a few thousand people in the middle of a concert…”

“Couldn’t we just grab him when he’s by himself sometime…maybe late at night?” Gabriel asked.

“Shhh,” Capricorn dismissed him with a wave. Taurus zapped him with the stun gun, for good measure. Another individual entered the room and stood next to Capricorn.

“Peaches?!” Gabriel sputtered.

“Pisces, meet the new Aries,” Capricorn proudly proclaimed. “She’s been doing some important reconnaissance. Aries, would you like to give us some more information?”

“Well, ma’am,” Aries began, “the most dangerous factor in this entire operation is not security or the public, but rather the lead singer/songwriter, Trent Reznor. He doesn’t know what the fuck is going on—if you pardon the expression, ma’am—but he is short-tempered and powerfully built. He will not gladly suffer this skinny-looking prick carrying off his keyboardist in the middle of his show. He doesn’t appear to know any martial arts, but he does throw things around quite a bit.”

“Thank you, Aries,” Capricorn smiled. “Pisces, Aries will be filling you in on more information and getting you the proper credentials to get you backstage at the right moment. In the meantime, you’re going to need these,” she said to Gabriel as she returned his trusty nunchucks. “And do know that we’re going to be keeping an eye on you just in the unlikely case that you develop any ideas of your own.”

To be continued…

Posted by maise in tales_of_terror | Permalink

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Comments

As always, the only consistently interesting thing on this site...

Is me. WHATEVER, Maise.

Posted by: Gabriel | Apr 3, 2006 10:03:51 AM

omg, brilliant! So is the new Aries a clone of the one murdered by Death? This is just ITCHING to be a graphic novel...

Posted by: Baal Glyttr | Apr 3, 2006 10:24:41 AM

Perhaps one day, he thought, I’ll start up my own outfit and call myself “Eruption.”

Awwww yeah, Maise.

I can't wait until Trent reveals his secret mastery of the ancient Shaolin art of DIM MAK -- the "death touch"...

Posted by: Jane | Apr 3, 2006 10:32:27 AM

As usual, the only consistently entertaining thing on this site...

is Me.

WHATEVER, doggie-bitch.

Posted by: Gabriel | Apr 3, 2006 11:05:02 AM

Hey, y'all, it's been suggested that to keep things neat and tidy on the sidebar, I subtitle each volume in this series. So if anyone can think of better subtitles than me, feel free to post suggestions.

Extra points if you can work in the words DEATH, DOOM, DEADLY, and TOXIC JIZZ.

Posted by: maise | Apr 3, 2006 11:24:34 AM

Project: JIZZLOBBER

Zodiac's KISS

Up In the OUTHOLE

Goth Me DEADLY

Posted by: Gabriel | Apr 3, 2006 12:32:21 PM

Oh! Just noticed your sneaky use of the now-famous (at least on WTC) phrase, "What the fuck is going on?" In-jokes like that are nice.

Alessandro always did strike me as being the most likely band member to be associated with an international crime syndicate. I mean, as we've said, he looks like he's operating the Mir space station in the video for "The Hand That Feeds." He does that a little too well, methinks.

Posted by: emerald527 | Apr 3, 2006 1:09:02 PM

Duly noted. I am madly in love with "Goth Me DEADLY."

Posted by: maise | Apr 3, 2006 1:10:29 PM

Of course you are.

Posted by: Gabriel | Apr 3, 2006 5:20:40 PM

I can never figure out how anyone can remember the "band" members' names... but that's just me.

Oh, and Gabriel? The only thing on this website that is consistently repetitive, monotonously lame, and fucking boring is you. Repeated notation of the exact parameters of Trent's hotness is infinitely more entertaining than your jizz.

Posted by: Dierdre | Apr 3, 2006 11:19:07 PM

Trite.
Predictable.
Self-absorbed.
Try again.

Posted by: Fireweed | Apr 4, 2006 4:45:19 AM

Fuck, Maise. I think you failed at literary greatness on this one.

Meanwhile, a little info about Fireweed:

Fireweed is a rank, slightly hairy plant, growing from 1 to 7 feet high. The thick, somewhat fleshy stem is virgate, sulcate, leafy to the top, branching above, the branches erect. The whole plant is succulent, the odour rank and slightly aromatic, with a bitterish and somewhat acrid and disagreeable taste.

In the United States Fireweed is a very troublesome weed; the fields often get infested with it.

Sounds grody, no?

Posted by: Jane | Apr 4, 2006 7:11:31 AM

Wow, sounds like some botanist just got out of some very sexually charged, yet emotionally draining and ultimately disappointing affair.

Meanwhile, I may be doomed to rightful obscurity if I don't get my act together with my Gabriel Miller fanfiction. Although it's as though the wind has been knocked out of me, I must pick myself back up, find my pen in this ruined landscape, and try again.

Posted by: maise | Apr 4, 2006 7:32:18 AM

I had no idea it was possible to go even deeper into the toilet, but you people have managed.

Posted by: Dom | Apr 4, 2006 10:13:14 AM

OMG, it's Dom! Hey, everyone! It's Dom!

I've missed you, Li'l Buddy! The other haters are just amateurs, compared to you. Although I thought that you were a fan of Gabe's...

Posted by: maise | Apr 4, 2006 10:19:14 AM

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