Hell's Handy-Man (Tesseract's Story)

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Hell's Handy-Man (Tesseract's Story)

Post by Tesseract on Fri May 29, 2009 2:02 pm

It had been three years since he had been sent to Hell.

His glass was empty and he debated the effort of getting the bottle off the shelf to refill it against the lethargy that held him down in the creaking console chair. In the end, his thirst won and he heaved himself up. The bottle was warm and sloshed pleasantly, and he filled his glass with careful precision. Waste not, want not.

Three years...

He looked around the dim command station, listening to the harmonics of crystalline data feeds and processor bays, bathed in the cold glow of monitors and relays that carried the life of the planet to his fingertips. Wires spilled out from a dozen places where patch panels had been ripped out and the guts jury-rigged to optimum performance. Cannibalized components were lashed to gleaming chrome consoles, augmenting functions beyond their native engineering.

Maybe, he thought, prison would have been better.

An alarm chirp began crooning and a console pulsed a sick amber warning. The man stared at it a moment, cursing irony and the divine jokester that handled the timing of such things. The deut processors had tripped the relay circuits again and the whole array had red lined and shut down in a span of a few heartbeats. Just as well, really... if he hadn’t installed the backup relay the whole compound would be a smoldering crater right now.

He raised his glass and saluted an embossed rusted plate embedded in the wall behind the data array. The plaque read “Omnicron Industries” in crisp letters, engraved over a stylized cube containing a star burst. Omnicron held the pink slip on every screw, bolt, and wire in the place. Not to mention the planet... and his soul.

“Rot in hell, you sick fucks,” he mumbled, draining the glass and setting it on top of a stack of circuit boards

He shrugged into a bulky coat, checking to make sure the thick omni-weave gloves were in the pockets. Hefting a rusted toolbox, he cast a quick glance across the myriad consoles looking for more unwanted surprises. Finding nothing worth fussing over, he pulled the frayed brim of his hat over his eyes, hunched his shoulders and opened the exterior access hatch. Wind exploded through the opening, howling as it tossed papers and debris around the room.

Three years in the Hell of Galaxy-3. He didn’t deserve this. No one did.

(to be continued)

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Hell's Handy-Man (continued)

Post by Tesseract on Fri May 29, 2009 2:44 pm

He had named the planet Omnicron-1, dutifully adhering to corporate protocol when the colony module was initialized. That was three years ago when he was optimistic and freshly thawed from stasis. As he pulled the charred circuits from the deuterium processor relays, he regretted (for the hundredth time that day) not having the balls and the foresight to name it something more apropos. Like “Hellhole-1” or “Satan’s Crack-1” or “Testicular Vise-1”.

Tossing the crisped Omnicron standard-issue hardware into the toolbox, he carefully unwrapped the new relay circuits. He had built them last week using components from the atmospheric processors, transforming the useless boilerplate engineering from the dull minds of Omnicron’s Stellar Expansion Division into something useful... even elegant. He would dearly love to have those corp drones spend just one week in the synthetic automated death trap they had engineered for him. He chuckled as he calibrated the relay signals. They’d weep and shake and piss themselves yellow if their lives actually depended on the crap had they made for him.

Satisfied the signal harmonics were nominal, he keyed the remote and triggered the restart sequence. The deep hum of the intake manifolds pulsed through the ground, followed by a keening whine as the processor grid was primed. He modulated the signals and the harmonic fluxuations evened out. Soon, the board was green and the entire array began to heave back to life, drawing in over a million gallons of seawater an hour and plucking out the sweet deadly fume of deuterium from its essence.

The man watched for a long time, tracing with his eyes the lines and seams and joints that made up the monstrous machine. Scuttle bots moved along the length and breadth of it, testing seams, adjusting flow or amperage, performing the simple analog true-false tasks that would require a dozen staff to execute. But He didn’t have a dozen staff. He didn’t have anyone. That was the deal.

“You’ll be completely alone,” the gray-suited executive had smiled as he pushed the thick contract across the table.

“That’s crazy. I’ll be dead in a week.”

The suit chuckled like a kindly uncle. “That wouldn’t serve our interests at all, now would it? Besides, if we wanted you dead, Mister Devereaux, we’d have Nigel over there put a bullet in your head.”

“Charming.”

“No, we’ve done this many times. We’ve established over a hundred of these remote stations with an eighty percent success rate.”

“And the other twenty percent?”

The kindly uncle vanished, replaced by the chilled indifferent malice of a shark circling a tuna. “If there were no risk, Mister Devereaux, I’d send my mother.”

The man packed the tools into the rusted box, shoved the gloves into his pockets and, after a final confirming glance at the processor station, began to trudge back to the jeep parked atop the ridge.

“If you had a mother,” he mumbled to himself,” you’d have sold her a long time ago.”


Last edited by Tesseract on Sat May 30, 2009 9:22 am; edited 2 times in total (Reason for editing : grammatical tweaks)

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Hell's Handy-Man (continued)

Post by Tesseract on Fri May 29, 2009 9:33 pm

The remote began to chirp happily and the man cursed mildly. The habitation pod had just come into view and he had already begun anticipating feel of the glass in his hands and the burn of the liquor on his throat. Slowing the jeep, he dug the remote from his pocket and tapped the access code. An automated messaging routine scrolled across the tiny screen. He squinted as he read it, then pulled sharply on the wheel, spraying gravel across the thin weedy bracken as he left the access road and accelerated. He’d need to program the survey drones to clear another access road.

His teeth rattling as he navigated the rough plains, the man tried to recall how long he’d been waiting for that call. A year, at least... maybe more. It was winter, he remembered that much. Early winter holed up in the habitation module while the command protocols ran the planetary systems. He was bored out of his skull and the prospect of a long, numbing hibernation chilled him more than that the icy winds that blew across the prairie.

He remembered what the suit had said, about launching a hundred of these one-man planetary colony rigs. A hundred people, men and women (hopefully), had been hurled into oblivion to baby sit a bunch of self-regulating automated construction and survey rigs. Criminals, like himself... smart, fairly stable, at the end of their rope, looking down a long prison sentence when suddenly a door opens and there’s Mister Suit with a Get Out of Jail Free card. Or maybe they weren’t all criminals. Maybe they were scientists and explorers for whom the prospect of living out the rest of their days in utter isolation held more appeal than dealing with the insanity of modern life. It didn’t matter. Omnicron couldn’t be the ONLY corporation expanding their holdings with these stellar survey pods. Maybe... maybe there were others out there. Maybe they were close.

The sun had started to set and he activated the lights on the jeep. A herd of multi-legged spider-lopes were caught in the glare and scattered in long arcing leaps towards the crumbling cliffs to the north. He wished he had thought to bring his sniper rifle. Spider-lope was good eating, but it took three pulses from the arc-rifle to bring one down. He activated a GPS pulser and tossed it into the grass as he sped by so he could return later in the summer.

The jeep crested a ridge, and the headlamps glared against a linked array of six carbide dishes all pointed to the sky, cables snaking from their base to a hut of fused panels and industrial debris. He brought the jeep to a skidding halt in front of the hut, leapt out and threw open the door. It banged against the metal wall, making the whole structure shudder dangerously, but he was already through the doorway scanning the consoles.

For months, he’d sat out here, shivering as he manually scanned the skies with his make-shift radio telescope, sweeping frequencies for anything, any sign that there was somebody else out there in the void, reaching out, trying to make contact. For months he’d stared at blank screens and listened to white noise. He finally got sick of his own desperation and programmed a search routine into the array servers, hit the button and left the shack. He hadn’t been back here for months, hadn’t even been sure it was still running, and wasn’t sure he cared. He was that far gone, that close to just letting it all go. Life. Humanity. Contact.

Now he stood in the middle of his radio hut, the door crashing against the wall, shaking the corrugated plastine and alumide plating. He stared at the screens.

They were full of light. The air was full of noise.

There wasn’t just someone out there. There were a LOT of someones out there.

And they had been very busy indeed.


Last edited by Tesseract on Sat May 30, 2009 9:26 am; edited 3 times in total (Reason for editing : tweaks and edits)

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Hell's Handyman (part IV)

Post by Tesseract on Mon Jun 08, 2009 12:09 pm

“Fucking manipulative, blood-sucking, two-faced, mud-monkey fuckers...”

It had become a mumbled litany over the past month, a mantra for him to bleed off the pressure of rage and frustration that burned behind his eyes every time he entered the command pod.

He stood surrounded by the banks of jury-rigged consoles and monitors that now crammed every inch of the central pod. The towel around his neck was damp and cool; he’d finally grown disgusted of the stale sweat stink that had soaked every pore and fiber over the past weeks... the shower had been long and hot and exactly what his mind and body had needed.

He turned and followed a narrow maze-path between the consoles, stopping at last at the door to the viewing deck. Palming an access panel, the brand new plexigrade ballistic glass doors hissed open, allowing the warm bite of the prairie’s summer wind to fill the pod. He stepped through, palmed the doors shut, and stepped to the balcony.

The compound had tripled in size in the last couple weeks. Construction bots of unfamiliar configuration crawled, hauled, and mauled metal struts and crystalline matrixes into a form and function that the man had not even pondered in his years of isolation/damnation.

Now it was a whole new game.

He turned his gaze northwest, shading his eyes from the sun and wind to peer at the hilly ridge on the horizon, imagining the framework of his home-made radio telescope that lay beyond it. He had dismantled the entire system and re-assembled it outside the command pod, thinking he could make use of the central processors to filter through the mountain of data he was pulling in.

“Mud-monkey fuckers...” He wanted a drink... bad. But that was over. The game was changed and he wasn’t alone anymore.

A thunderous boom echoed across the compound and the man turned towards it, curious and unconcerned. New sounds had filled his world since those days of white noise and screens of static. He peered through the web-work of conduit, pipe, and cable at the new shipyard. The power core had just been fired up and loads of metal were being delivered. Soon production would commence and...

It was overwhelming.

He turned and re-entered the command pod, easing into a chair in front of a wide cryscreen. Blanking the display of mining status data, he keyed the command data files, loading one of the new archives that had just become available.

Mister Suit’s face filled the screen, frozen in a mid-pixel smile. He stared at it, letting his mind seethe gently in the cold soul-less depths of those empty eyes.

A month ago he had run access cable from the telescope array, splicing the data feed into the command pod’s central processors. He had just started compiling the data and conceptualizing filter programs when the system had completely locked up. Every screen, every console, every spit-and-baling-wire add-on had frozen and, for many long heartbeats, it seemed that he had killed the entire compound... and himself.

He had moved to the master array panel – hoping to reinitialize the system – when every system began its spool-down cycle, archiving configurations and vital data before shutting down completely. He tried every override code he could remember but nothing responded. Eventually... the compound went dark and the man had been plunged into terrifying stygian blackness.

Save for a single blinking monitor.

The screen read, “Enter Alpha Code:”

The man was paralyzed for a moment, and then sprinted to the habitation module, careening off walls and nearly being garroted by low-hanging cable. When he reached his quarters he fumbled a hand-torch to life and began hurling texts and printouts aside, searching for the colonization manual he had discarded years ago. He found it under a moldering pile of clothes and, holding the hand-torch in his teeth, whipped through the pages until he found the Alpha Initialization code. Tearing out the page, he tossed the manual aside and ran back to the only living console in the mile-wide compound.

He entered the code... and his world came crashing down, heralded by the vacuous smile of Mister Suit appearing on the screen.

(continued)


Last edited by Tesseract on Mon Jun 08, 2009 10:01 pm; edited 2 times in total (Reason for editing : tweaks and edits)

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Hell's Handy Man (part V)

Post by Tesseract on Mon Jun 08, 2009 2:13 pm

“Well, Mister Devereaux,” The Suit began, folding his hands in front of him on a black onyx desk, “you have certainly exceed my expectations. I expected you to be dead by now... or so completely insane that euthanasia would be a mercy.

“But you’ve proven me wrong... points for you. Now...” and he leaned forward, shark eyes flashing on the cryscreen, “you have a choice to make. But first, let me clarify your situation.

“Omicron has been leading the planetary expansion race for over a decade. You know the rules... first drop owns the rock. Our engineers have been trying to create a fully automated drop system for years, but short of a full blown AI, there are some things that only a meat puppet like you can accomplish.

“So rather than send valuable members of the science community on a one-way trip with dubious odds of survival, we elected to send criminals. Not thugs, mind you... the smart ones. The good ones.” His smile warmed slightly and nodded into the camera. “And you were the best, Mister Devereaux... no question. What did they call you? Oh, right... Tesseract. By the time they figured you out, you were somewhere else. Impressive.

“The board considered you quite a catch, but I argued against your induction into program. In the end, they granted me a few concessions provided I would be your handler. We’ll talk about those more in a moment.

“The reason we’re having this little one-way chat is that you’ve broken the rules. You tried to look outside your little planetary cage and, in so doing, have compromised your anonymity in the system and quite possibly your very life.

“Bravo. Kudos. Truth be told, you were nearing the end of your usefulness. All your work and modifications to the systems have come close to creating the perfect automated system. Oh yes, we’ve been monitoring you. Even the incredible lag of intergalactic communication wouldn’t stop us from keeping an eye on our little lab rats. Your schematics are already being incorporated into the next generation Colonization Pods.”

“You blood-sucking...” The man hissed to the screen.

“I’m sure you’re pissed as hell about that,” The Suit continued breezily, “But truth be told, I don’t give a rat’s ass. You gave all your rights to us when you signed the contract to get out of you prison term. But that’s legal fluff... let’s talk about the Xen and the Titans and the other Terrans that are swarming all around you out there, shall we?

“We don’t know much. Everything we’ve learned has been through covert surveillance and second hand reports. The Xen are a hive-mind insectoid race that infest a third of the galaxy. They have some kind of telepathic bond that extends their awareness across vast interstellar distances. Their technology is organic and they use it with deadly proficiency.

The Titans are a technically advanced and brutal culture, using particle energy tech like we use electricity. Their notion of diplomacy appears to be to blow everything up and then negotiate with the survivors.” The Suit shrugged, “It’s worked well for them so far.

“And then there’s us... the Terrans. When I said Omicron has lead the planetary expansion race, I didn’t mean to imply there weren’t other runners. There are... from rival corps to academic researchers to military first-strikers. It’s a real mess... and you’re smack dab in the middle of it.”

Suit leaned back into a dark leather chair and the camera panned in following him. He looked... angry. Intense. Earnest? No... couldn’t be.

“Let me make this clear, Devereaux,” Suit continued, “This is your ass... and it’s my ass. The board wanted to make you the spearhead for our first major corporate beachhead in Galaxy 3. So they loaded a bunch of extra crap into your Colony Pod. Crap that would stay dormant and untraceable until you fulfilled certain criteria. Doing a data dump of Xen transmissions into the processor core was one of those criteria.

“But like I said, I wasn’t a big fan of investing a lot of effort and money into a thief... no offense. We might as well just give you the ship and wave bye-bye. So they conceded to allow me a few controls to ensure your focused attention and cooperation.”

Suddenly, the man’s skin was on fire, his skin crisping under a blistering heat while his brain screamed as white hot lances of pain slashed inside his skull. He had just drawn breath for his first howl of pain when it was gone. His skin tingled and his head ached, but he wasn’t...

“If you need to go change your pants, just pause the play back. What you just experienced was my own flavor of behavioral modification. It’s wrapped around your brainstem and embedded in your first three vertebrae. It’s simple really. As long as it receives a data pulse from the central core every hour, it remains dormant. If it doesn’t receive the pulse or receives a different coded signal, it basically switches every nerve in your body on overdrive.

“I’m told that 10 minutes of that would be like a complete biological scrub of your humanity... you’d just be organs twitching and autonomic functions going through the motions. Personally, I don’t think you’d last 5 minutes, but that’s just my opinion. I don’t think much of you... obviously, otherwise I wouldn’t have made them install that thing in the first place.

“SO... here’s the deal. You will access the new archives available, activate them, and begin construction on the facilities you’ll find there. I’ll expect you to work that Tesseract magic on them, ‘cause they’re the same basic crap you got launched with. You’ll ALSO find specs for projected benchmarks and production goals.

“Meet them. All of them. All the time. If any benchmark or quota is missed, the brain-burner will kick off for one-minute every hour until it’s met. If the quota isn’t met in a week, it’ll kick on every half-hour... and so on. You get the picture.”

Suit tilted the chair back and the smile returned. “So don’t let me down. Otherwise, I won't get the substantial bonus I was promised for pulling this thing off. Of course, you’ll be a twitching heap of fried nerves and meat. So really... it’s a win-win for me.

“You’re choice, Devereaux... painful death, or galactic exploration in the name of corporate domination.

“To be honest, I’ll be interested as hell to see which one you choose.”


Last edited by Tesseract on Mon Jun 08, 2009 10:08 pm; edited 2 times in total (Reason for editing : tweaks and edits)

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Re: Hell's Handy-Man (Tesseract's Story)

Post by Tesseract on Fri Aug 21, 2009 2:28 pm

Consciousness returned and, with it, the acrid tang of vomit and urine. He tried lifting his head and immediately abandoned the effort as sparks of light and pain filled his eyes. He settled for a slow roll to his side, pausing after to let his body recuperate from the effort.

When his eyes regained the ability to focus he squinted at the digital read out on the wall console. Twenty minutes. He’d been unconscious for twenty minutes. With great effort, he lifted the kill-switch timer from the floor. Wiping the view plate, he read the timer.

Forty-five seconds. The brain-burner had fired his system for nearly a minute. It was getting longer.

He rolled on to his stomach and heaved himself to his hands and knees. Panting, he gripped the console rack housing the transmission cores and pulled himself vertical. He swallowed, bile and blood burning his throat, and carefully made his way to the habitation pod.

-----------------------------------------------

He tapped out three more neural balancer tablets into his palm and swallowed them dry. Rubbing his eyes, he focused his attention on the screen before him, but the transmission logs blurred anyway. Annoyed, he pushed himself back from the console and leaned back to stare at the ceiling. The shower had refreshed him, but the aftershocks of the brain-burner took a while to shake off.

The first time he’d tried to hack the data core for the burner’s subroutines, it had fired him up for fifteen seconds. Then for thirty seconds when he’d tried to cut power to the transmissions sub-grid. This last episode had been triggered by an attempt to reconfigure the broadcast frequencies.

His brain ached... but he smiled as he recounted what he’d learned. He discovered which data sectors controlled the burner’s subroutines. He knew which circuit relay powered the burners transmission systems, and he knew the bandwidth the signal board cast on.

Bolstered by his mental recounting, he leaned forward again and examined the transmission logs again. He’d installed broad spectrum receivers throughout the compound, pulling in vast amounts of signal telemetry for every system from the atmospheric sensors to the deep-core mines. It was fascinating to see how the systems spoke to each other, the wireless data symphony that bordered on sentience.

But it was only a narrow window of data that interested him. There must be some kind of anomaly that correlated to...

...and there it was.

A spike in the T-band frequencies that corresponded exactly with the burner’s activation time. It couldn’t be coincidence, but the man ran sweeps of every broadcast component in the compound. And there it was again... and again... and again.

He slapped the arms of the chair and shouted, howling in victory like a wolf at the moon. He leapt up and paced the room, thinking furiously, his eyes darting at the stacked displays on the console. It couldn’t be THAT easy. Grey Suit was a soulless arrogant prick, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d done his home work and anticipated every move so far, so there was no reason for planning Independence Day just yet.

But he was closer... just that much closer.

Claxons erupted across the compound with piercing wails that sent the man sprinting to the command pod. The lights in the access tunnels had shifted from cool blue to warm amber making it hard to see the remote keypad he held as he ran. The mini crys-screen flashed a single word... INBOUND.

The man forced his legs to run faster.


----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He burst into the Command Pod just as the alloyed blast screens sealed over the windows, shielding the room completely. A quick glance around the room showed that every display had been re-tasked to defensive programs. The main display that dominated the far wall showed a familiar simulated view of his planet from space.

There were light pulses moving across the display, converging on...

He leapt over a data rack and hurled himself at the primary console, fingers dancing to call up details on those disturbing points of light. As the screens responded, the man paused, stunned...

“Oh crap...”

In the years to come, the man would come to scoff at such a fleet... even welcome it. But today, this instant was the first he had seen a Titan raiding party. He didn’t recognize the sleek ships that filled his monitors as frail scout vessels. Nor did he realize the much larger ship they escorted was merely a transport. And it really didn’t matter... his planet was under attack. HE was under attack.

The paralysis of this realization lasted several moments, but at last his brain engaged and he pushed his chair to the main defensive station array. He had run hundreds of simulated launches of the fighters he had been dutifully producing as per Omicron’s specifications, but had never ordered an actual launch of the fleet. He hadn't planned on actually needing them... the whole 'defensive initiative' was just bureaucratic bullshit, right? He realized in that moment that, once again, they were one step ahead of him. He loaded the sequences and, as he thumbed the “engage” switch, his hands trembled. He turned his attention anxiously to the hanger bays...

...and watched as the slow dance of ship prep began to unfold with agonizing precision. The Titan ships had breached the outer atmosphere, and only a small percentage of his fleet had been fueled. He resisted the urge to leap onto the tarmac and push the ships himself as the raiders hurtled through the atmosphere and began to angle their vectors towards... the stockyards.

As the realization dawned upon him, the man laughed. They didn’t want his blood... they wanted his resources. They were thieves! He leaned back into the chair, his laughter mingling with the tones and blips that tracked the Titan invaders, his tension washing away with each chuckle. Then he leaned forward, wiping a tear from his eye with his sleeve, and engaged the wide range of recording devices he had installed all over the compound. Each moment of the heist was preserved for analysis and consideration. He allowed his own fleet to cycle through its launch protocols, then watched it left off and soar to its orbital position (long after the Titan raiders had plundered his metal and crystal reserves and casually flew off).

Then he leaned forward and began altering the production queues at the shipyard.

Irony is all well and good, he thought, but I’ll be goddamned if we’ll be repeating THIS little learning experience.

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Re: Hell's Handy-Man (Tesseract's Story)

Post by Ron12473 on Mon Dec 14, 2009 7:33 am

Holy mother of Christ! Eloquent, poetic, and well for us less-versed people of the world- just damn good story Tess!
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Re: Hell's Handy-Man (Tesseract's Story)

Post by deadmonkey on Mon Dec 14, 2009 10:29 pm

wow that was an awsome experience like living the game i love the description of emmotion nice work tess

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Re: Hell's Handy-Man (Tesseract's Story)

Post by Tesseract on Tue Dec 15, 2009 8:29 am

Thanks, Monkey! I've been lax in drafting the remaining chapters... perhaps the holidays will open some time to revisit our hero in his quest for freedom. Wink

And thank you, Ron... you are too kind, sir! Very Happy

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Re: Hell's Handy-Man (Tesseract's Story)

Post by SoulKat on Thu Dec 24, 2009 10:37 pm

This explains so much...the anger, the bitterness...the need for solitude. You need to come visit our planet, where the command center is decorated in pleasing shades of pink with vases of daisies all around, and bagels and fresh fruit are always available. We can sip xen tea and chant mantras together. Then the corporate bigwigs won't seem so overbearing. Poor, poor Tesseract.

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Re: Hell's Handy-Man (Tesseract's Story)

Post by Supax Tull on Thu Dec 24, 2009 11:26 pm

lol,lol
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Re: Hell's Handy-Man (Tesseract's Story)

Post by Tesseract on Mon Dec 28, 2009 7:59 am

Lovely thought... delightful. If it's between accepting your charming invitation and throwing myself into the reactor pods of Ron's Motherships, I'll.... well... I'll have to get back to you on that one.

<grump>

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Re: Hell's Handy-Man (Tesseract's Story)

Post by Deboe on Mon Dec 28, 2009 1:58 pm

I finally had some time to read this story all the way through and I am certainly sorry I didn't do so sooner. This is so wonderfully crafted. I especially like the idea of criminal masterminds being sent into deep space to develop planets for corporate tycoons.

As always you never cease to amaze me Tess.
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Re: Hell's Handy-Man (Tesseract's Story)

Post by Tesseract on Mon Dec 28, 2009 6:03 pm

:😊: Thanks, Deboe... Very Happy

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Re: Hell's Handy-Man (Tesseract's Story)

Post by SoulKat on Wed Jan 06, 2010 7:54 pm

Aww..you're blushing! How cute is that?!! Laughing

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Re: Hell's Handy-Man (Tesseract's Story)

Post by Tesseract on Wed Jan 06, 2010 8:25 pm

<grump>

I ate 12 Jalapenos with lunch, that's all. Trying to eat "healthier", right? Razz

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Re: Hell's Handy-Man (Tesseract's Story)

Post by Supax Tull on Wed Jan 06, 2010 11:08 pm

How many Titans did you eat with those Jalapenos? To eat healthier, you must make sure that you eat a balanced diet.
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Re: Hell's Handy-Man (Tesseract's Story)

Post by Tesseract on Fri Jan 08, 2010 2:21 pm

Pfeh... I agree completely. A diet exclusively comprised of Titans leaves you hungrier than when you sat down in the first place.

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Re: Hell's Handy-Man (Tesseract's Story)

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