10-30 Chap 1 redux Moose42's MHI Fan Fiction *Spoiler Alert*

[moose42]

The new chapter one is on page 3. Go figure.

Before reading this thread go out and pick up Monster Hunter International and read it! What are you still doing here! (****Possible Spoilers!!!***)

Ok guys I was inspired by This thread at 'We The Armed.com' to write a fan fiction set in the MHI universe. Since I know you guys better I figured I would post my "work" here. Constructive criticism is welcome this is basically a slightly polished rough draft. If there are spelling and or grammar errors please ignore them. If I go anywhere with this story my army of female proofreaders will take care of it.


Chapter 1
The Crawlspace

I always hated running cables in crawlspaces. They were all the same: dark, musty, filled with cobwebs and a hint of mold. This one was the absolute worst I had ever been in. My flashlight illuminated clouds of dust with every move I made. Thankfully I had sprung for a good N95 mask that kept most of that crap out of my lungs; unfortunately it began to fill with sweat. I moved forward Cat6 cable in one hand, my high output LED flashlight in the other. This hellish crawlspace was so cramped I could only crawl on my hands and knees, thick powdery dust immediately sought out every bit of exposed skin and stabbed at my eyes.

My two-way radio crackled, startling me. “Moose, hey what’s taking so stinking long?” It was Jeff, he had the hard job of grabbing the wire I stuffed up from down below. Annoyed I set down my flashlight and grabbed the radio that was clipped to my shirt pocket.

“Dude, if you wanted this job to go faster you should have picked the gopher position! I have to crawl on my hands and knees because the ceiling is so low!” Jeff was the bosses’ kid so he usually got the easy jobs and a big Christmas bonus every year. I could hardly stand the idiot.

“Fine, but I am gonna’ go have a smoke while I wait for you to get over here.” I knew he would be setting down his radio and hitting the back patio of this rundown building. I didn’t even have the desire to fight him over leaving his post. Company rules stated that the gopher had to be monitored at all times just in case he ran into trouble. Crawlspaces could be dangerous places.

The building I was under was built in 1919, it started out as a bank, then a public library, when the library moved out two years ago some real-estate genius decided to subdivide it into offices, and major renovations were underway. Running phone and network cables was how I ended up down in the musty dungeon-like crawlspace.

Thirteen bucks an hour didn’t seem to be worth this as I brushed aside a massive curtain of cobwebs with a gloved hand. My flashlight was now lying in the dirt, it pointed off to the left. It illuminated a mess of pipes and cast strange shadows onto the aging concrete walls. I thought I saw something move as I reached for my light. Shadows jumped off the pipes as my flashlight moved. Bah, it was just my imagination, I told myself as I resumed my journey to the other side of this rundown old building.

I stopped crawling for a bit to adjust my mask when I heard a faint rustling noise behind me. Jeff was probably trying to scare me by shaking the cable at the crawlspace entry, the bastard. The cable I was working so hard at dragging underneath this hellish building was suddenly yanked out of my hand. I was now pissed, I did not want to crawl back to retrieve the cable. I rolled onto my back and sat up to look and see what was messing with the spool of wire sitting near the entrance. Golden afternoon light spilled down from the open trapdoor, I yelled for Jeff to stop screwing around, and that’s when I saw it.

About twenty feet behind me I saw a lizard like creature with a long neck and green eyes. It was backlit from the light of the entrance, I raised my flashlight and illuminated the little beast for a split second before it charged me. All I saw were rough brown scales a beak and filthy feathers.

I scooped up a handful of gravel from the floor of the crawlspace and hurled it at my attacker. Rocks pelted it and it hissed louder but it didn’t slow down. In an instant it was upon me. I scrambled backward kicking with my legs. The beast pounced on my leg its beak tore through my blue jeans like paper, I tried to scream as it stabbed my calf but the pain was so great that my voice was stuck in the back of my throat. In desperation I kicked the beasts’ body with good leg, my heavy work boot connected solidly and it flew off into the darkness. I started to crawl to the exit as fast as I could; at that moment I realized that my left leg would not move. The fiendish beast let out a blood curdling scream, like that of a bird of prey. It was right behind me, my kick must not have hurt it. I knew it would be on me again in an instant. I reached for the brown leather scabbard on my belt; pulled out my Schrade lock back folder, and somehow managed to get it open with gloved hands.

With four inches of steel in one hand, and my flashlight in the other I turned to face the crawlspace demon. It was upon me again in no time its beak seeking my other leg. It struck, slicing through my right thigh above the knee. I was prepared this time, I held my knife like an ice pick and stabbed down at the body of the beast. The blade struck home right in-between a pair of folded up bat like wings. What was this thing? It let out a deafening scream as it tried in vain to remove the knife with its beak, its wings flapped and claws flailed wildly tearing into my left arm.

I grabbed the beast by the neck, close to its head and began to squeeze as hard as I could. I dropped my flashlight in the chaos and was now fighting the beast in near darkness. I managed to grab the knife with my other hand and twisted it. Blood shot out with each beat of its heart. I yanked my knife free and wildly stabbed again, the blade glanced off the scales on its legs as it continued to thrash around furiously. I tried in vain to break its neck but failed as it thrashed around, my grip was slipping and I dared not let go of the beasts feathered neck.

In the moments that followed I wished I had brought my .40 caliber Kahr Mk40 pistol, unfortunately it was locked up in my Jeep in the parking lot. I didn’t want to get it all coated in dirt and mud as I crawled beneath the old building. It might as well have been a million miles away now that I needed it.

Even though the pain was excruciating I knew I had to hold on to this demonic chicken-bat thing until it bled out. It clawed at my chest with its sharp talons, ripping my heavy flannel shirt to shreds.

My radio crackled “Hey Marty, what the hell are you doing down there?” Had Jeff heard the muffled screams? I couldn’t respond since there was no way I was going to let go of the monsters neck. I slashed out again with my knife the blade gouging deep in one of the beasts legs, It thrashed around even more fiercely its long tail flailed catching and me in the face sending my glasses and knife flying, it didn’t matter in the darkness my vision was almost useless anyway.

With my free hand I grabbed the monsters tail close to its body and smashed it into an old drain pipe. Again and again I swung the beast with both hands trying to crush its spine on the old rusty steel pipe. Soon enough it stopped moving, warm blood covered my gloves and ran down my arms, feathers, and scales were scattered everywhere.

It let out one last chirp and went limp in my arms. Had killed it? The beast from the shadows was dead, or was it? For what seemed like eternity I held the limp beast as far away from me as possible. I wondered if it was playing dead and would strike as soon as I let go. I sat in the darkness and the pain in my legs became excruciating. I tried in vain to move my feet but they wouldn’t respond. Damn it, the hell chicken bat thing had paralyzed both of my legs below each bite.

My radio crackled again, “Marty are you ok man? You better not be screwing around!” He sounded annoyed. I decided it was ok to let go of the evil beast and dropped it on a pile of dirt, even more dust was kicked up. In the struggle my mask was ripped open and I was breathing in the stale fetid air.

I found my radio and tried to push the talk button but it slipped out of my grasp. I shucked off my gloves and weakly cried out. “I… I, killed it! Bl… blood.” Was that my voice? I sounded terrible; I needed to pull myself together.

I dragged myself over to where my flashlight lay in the dirt and examined my wounds. This wasn’t good, the bite on my right thigh was steadily gushing blood, I suddenly felt light headed, I tried to shake it off but I knew I needed to get to a doctor right away. Jeff said something on the radio but I was too busy with my bleeding leg to understand him. I pulled the bandana off my neck that I used to keep spiders from going down my shirt and made a hasty pressure bandage on the wound on my thigh, the wound on my calf would have to wait. Damn, I didn’t feel good. I started to drag myself toward the trapdoor, but it seemed hopelessly far away.

The radio crackled again, it sounded so far away, and then darkness enveloped me.

[AZMARK]

Chupacabra?

Good start, I'd be interested in reading what happens.

[moose42]

Nope not a Goatsucker.

I am working on "Chapter 2: I Hate Hospitals" right now.

[moose42]

Chapter 2
I Hate Hospitals

I vaguely remember being placed on a gurney and loaded into an ambulance. I kept fading in and out of consciousness. On the way to the hospital, I looked past the paramedics who were obviously busy trying to keep me alive, and saw my Grandfather standing there looking at me. My Grandfather had died when I was twelve.

“Grandpa, am I dying?” I managed to croak out.

He smiled, and I felt calm, all the memories of ice cream and tire swings at the old family farm, flooded my mind briefly. “No, Marty your work on earth isn’t finished yet but damn you look like crap.”

I coughed a few times, “Thanks, but at least I am still alive. You’re dead.” I tried to laugh but it hurt too much.

“Listen up grandson, I don’t know how long you will be able to see through the veil. I can only protect you so much. You need to be more careful.” He scowled he wrinkled his brow and rubbed his hand through his wispy white hair were just like I remembered seeing him do as a child.

I nodded then squinted at the old man, “Are you saying you are my guardian angel, and what was that thing that attacked me?”

He nodded, “Yes I am your guardian,” he paused a moment. “For, behold, I will send serpents, cockatrices, among you, which will not be charmed, and they shall bite you, saith the Lord. Jeremiah 8:17.” He recited the scripture from memory.

A lump of bile welled up in the back of my mouth “Are you saying monsters and demons are real?”

“Yes they are.” With that he was gone.

***

I opened my eyes and looked around; I was in a hospital recovery room. Flowers and cards littered the table next to me, Mylar balloons floated above my bed. I had no idea how long I had been lying there. Judging by the wilted roses I had been out for at least a few days.

I remembered the paralysis I had experienced in the crawlspace and I dreaded the thought of sitting in a wheelchair for the rest of my life. I wiggled my toes and sighed a long deep sigh of relief, “Thank God, I will walk again.” I stated to no one in particular.

A gruff voice groaned, “Finally sleeping beauty decided to wake up!” a large clean shaven dark haired man wearing hospital scrubs was sitting across the room on an uncomfortable chair.

I scowled at the man “You have terrible bedside manners for a nurse.” I stated dryly. That pissed him off; he jumped out of his chair and his face flushed red.

“Nurse? I am a freaking federal agent, cable boy!” he yelled in my face. Feds in my hospital room what the hell was going on?

“Agent Grant, sit down!” An older man in scrubs stood in the doorway, he didn’t look pleased. He held a fancy coffee cup from one of those trendy Mocha places. “Forgive my colleague here he doesn’t like wearing hospital clothes.” He said as he shut the door and pulled the curtain to block the window.

“Mr. Miller, I am Special Agent Pierce, you’ve already met Special Agent Grant. We’re from the FBI.” The agent said.

“Yeah he seems to have a chip on his shoulder.” Agent Grant looked like he wanted to rip the IV out of my arm but he bit his tongue with his boss in the room.

Pierce rolled his eyes. “Do you know what it was that attacked you?”

I sat silent for a moment trying to figure out what to tell these government goons. I figured they had probably already examined the body of the Chicken-Bat from hell. “Yeah it was a Cockatrice.” Agent Pierce’s eyes widened in shock I figured he was expecting an ‘I don’t know.’

He recovered quickly and stated quite seriously, “Yes it was, how in the hell did you know that?” I didn’t like where this was going so I tried to change the subject. My head hurt.

“Why are you guys wearing scrubs?” I asked “Don’t Feds usually wear cheap suits?”

Pierce rolled his eyes “We are trying to keep a low profile here, and didn’t want your Mother to suspect anything.” Mom, yeah she had probably been by my bedside this whole time crying for hours.

The older agent seemed to read my mind, “Its 2:00 am and your mother FINALLY went home to get some sleep.” He really must have been annoyed with her hovering by my bedside, I chuckled.

“Back on the subject Mr. Miller, how did you know that beast was a Cockatrice?” He took a sip from his overpriced coffee.

I hesitated, “Well when it bit me it paralyzed my legs. I figured paralysis was the ‘turn to stone’ power of the myths.” It seemed plausible to me. “I played D&D when I was a kid.” I added.

“You were lucky it was just a juvenile the adults can cause paralysis with their gaze.” I felt sick; the Chicken-Bat from hell that tore me up wasn’t even fully grown.

The agent nodded “If you tell anyone about this you will be breaking the Unearthly Forces Disclosure Act, the penalty it carries…”

“Is death.” Grant said it with a sadistic smile.

“Then why did you tell me?” I was confused. “If I told anyone about that beast they would just think I was another one of those conspiracy theory nutcases blabbering about chem-trails or that we faked the moon landing.”

Pierce shook his head, “Because as you found out the other day that monsters are real.” I suddenly had a migraine, this fed confirmed what my grandfather had told me, I still wasn’t sure if he was a dream or not. “Chem-trails are not real and we did land on the moon. So it really doesn’t matter what those ‘nutcases’ say does it?”

I closed my eyes and tried to make it all go away, when I opened them again the two men were still in my room. “So what do I need to do?”

“Tell people a snake bit you.” Pierce said as he dropped the local newspaper on my lap. The headline read, Local Man Hospitalized After Snake Attack. I was greeted by my driver’s license photo, and a story about how a large rattle snake had made a nest beneath the old library building. I looked up from the paper and the men were gone.


I think I am out of creative juice for one day.

[moose42]

(Chapter 2 continued)

The next few days flew by. My legs really didn’t work right, for a while, but after some physical therapy I could walk with crutches and then a cane. I was released from the hospital and stayed at my parents’ house, my mother insisted. She stayed home from work for a week and acted like my personal nurse.

One morning when my mother was out shopping as I was discovering how awful daytime television really was there was a knock at the door. Annoyed I looked out the front window and saw a black suburban parked out in front of the house. Then the doorbell rang twice. I hoped it wasn’t more stinking feds. I had lied, like they told me, to everyone about my encounter.

I put my small .40 caliber pistol in my pocket, grabbed my cane and hobbled over to the front door. I looked through the peephole and saw two men in jeans and leather jackets; well at least they weren’t Feds. I opened the door slowly, I figured I would try and get them off balance “If you’re selling Girl Scout cookies I don’t want any.”

The older man of the two, with a few wispy stands of grey in his thinning hair, chuckled, “Mr. Martin Miller? I didn’t figure you for a joker.”

“Yes I’m Marty, what do you guys want?” I hadn’t expected them to know my name.
The older man extended his hand like he wanted to shake mine,
“We know you weren’t bit by a snake.” My eyes must have betrayed the truth of his statement.
I hesitated, and didn’t grab his hand. “It was a rattlesnake, didn’t you read the paper?”

The younger man with a chiseled jaw and the frame of an Offensive lineman snorted “Sure, like everything you read in the birdcage liner is true.” He said as he rolled his eyes.

“Can we come in Mr. Miller?” The older man asked.

“Not until I know who you are, and you tell me why you’re packing heat.” I had noticed a slight bulge beneath the older man’s jacket, probably a large auto in a shoulder holster.

“My name’s Stan Adams, this here’s Dan Vickers.” He said as he leaned his head toward his partner, “You of all people should know why we carry firearms, especially since you have one in your pocket.”

I was intrigued, and I didn’t feel any malice or danger from these guys, “Ok Stan, and Dan, come have a seat on the couch.” I motioned my hand toward the couch and let the men in as I closed and locked the door behind them. Dan plopped down on the couch while Stan waited for me to take a seat in the lazy boy. Mom did buy nice furniture.

Stan got right down to business. “Look Mr. Miller we know the Feds have threatened you with death if you talk about your supernatural encounter, we aren’t with the Government and you have nothing to fear from us.”

Dan added, “Yeah we don’t always ‘get along’ with the suits.”

“Don’t you want to know what it was that tore you up?” Stan probed.

I smiled smugly, these guys underestimated me. “It was a juvenile Cockatrice. Or what I like to call the Chicken-Bat from hell.” The two men looked at each other then back at me.

Stan smiled, “Yes and you managed to kill it with your bare hands, impressive to say the least. Most people would have frozen and let the little SOB peck them to death. You kept fighting even though it paralyzed your legs.” He pointed to my bandages; I was wearing shorts to make changing them easier.

“Who are you guys? Why are you here?” I asked intrigued.

Dan’s eyes were deadly serious “We’re hunters, we exterminate evil.”

Stan was judging my character with his eyes, “We represent Monster Hunters International’s Rocky Mountain Division. We need men like you to kill monsters. So what do you say interested?”

Was I ever!

[Precision]

I like the story. The character development is quick, you already have a character who is interesting.

critiques. Show don't tell.

"...in the musty dungeon like crawl space" to something like "...in this discarded air filter of a corridor" or " down in this four foot high dust bin of a passage.

Musty to me means damp. So does dungeon-like. To me this counteracts the dry and dusty image you portrayed earlier.

I don't like the use of the work "like" in descriptions but that may just be a personal thing.

My suggestion would be to go back and each description where you tell about something, attempt to re-word it so you are showing (painting a picture) so I can see it. The images will be much more graphic and the prose will be much richer as well.

Other than that, I like the story so far.

Oh and I might call it Dungeons and Dragons instead of D&D just because many people won't know the shorthand.

[moose42]

Thanks for the feedback like I said above this is really just a rough draft. Thanks for taking the time to read it. I don't know what the heck I am doing but hey it's just for fun.

[Drone 7 of lots more]

So far so good. I'm not a big fan of product placement but as long as you don't tell us the model number and stats of the <fill in blank> every time it's used I'll get over it.

[Jericho941]

Couple of things that stuck out:

Early progression's like a carbon copy of the original book: Go to work, get attacked by monster, shoot monster with concealed weapon, visit from spiritual guardian, wake up in hospital.

Also, the main character having a visit from a spiritual guardian is another issue in and of itself. Again, too much like the original, especially given that Owen was like some kind of Chosen One, whose fate was a matter of centuries-old prophecy, and it was vitally important that he succeed in his prophecied task. So he gets visits from the old monster hunter in moments of unconsciousness.

Aside from that, the only other stuff that sticks out is the equipment naming with everything, like the particle mask.

So, it could use a bit of a shake-up, especially if you want to go a similar route with your character's fate.

[moose42]

I unfortunately realize how much of a carbon copy this has turned into. I never intended to "white wash" the plot and fill in new names and places. Thankfully chapter 3 is diverting wildly from the "formula."

I never expected to go beyond 1-2 pages, so the plot kinda evolved as I went. I am having too much fun now to stop.

Thanks.