Two-Faced

[TheRaiRaiEatsBalloons]

martymartymartymarty

[Tokzic]

going to have to bandwagon here

what no i'm not a wolf

[Jamaican Jew]

Linwood.

[TheRaiRaiEatsBalloons]

Originally Posted by Jamaican Jew

Linwood.

true story

[Jamaican Jew]

Originally Posted by TheRaiRaiEatsBalloons

true story

I don't think he had a Myspace, though.

[qualy]

Originally Posted by Tokzic

going to have to bandwagon here

what no i'm not a wolf

Tokzic


ok ok ok seriously, I just found this thread. This is an awesome piece you've got going here mead, keep it up.

ps marty

[mead1]

Important Background Information in Flashback Format

15.5 years in the past

The night had been fairly normal for Art Steinbrunner. He was an architect by trade, and he had worked late that night. The huge merger was in a few days, and he had to finish some paperwork. He’d worked there a long time, and was now Vice President of the company. He no longer designed anything so much as manage people who designed things. This was fine with him. He was paid more for less work, and he practically set his own hours. It was perfect. Now, when an author says something is perfect, something terrible occurs, right?

Art looked at the ledger in front of him. Something stuck out at him he had never noticed before. The costs for timber were several million more then they should be. He double-checked it against the records for the past three months, and this number was way out of the ballpark. He checked to see if they were building more this month then normal, they weren’t. With his executive status, he had access to all company records. He saw no reason for this sharp increase in costs. He put it out of his mind, it probably didn’t matter. See how I used “probably” to seed doubt in your mind? It’s called foreshadowing. All the trendy authors do it.

He went home, forgot about it, and slept well. Two months passed. One morning, he went to work, and gave a presentation about the floor plan for a marine biology lab to investors. The crowd applauded, he bowed and left the podium. He always gave a cheesy bow, it was his signature move. He returned to his office and his coffee. He was interrupted shortly thereafter by the president of the company, Mr. Neuemahn. “Hello, Neuemahn.” He said with contempt. Mr. Neuemahn was a slimy fellow, and Art disliked him intensely. Mr. Neuemahn announced he was leaving the company, and was handing the reins over to Art, and that this was happening immediately. Mr. Neuemahn handed him the keys to the new office, the deed to the property, and a stack of other papers signed to make Art the legal head of the company, and said he had to leave. Art was just coming to terms with what had just happened. He left his old office, and moved into the President’s Office. It was bigger, and it had a window. He was filled in by his new secretary the schedule for the rest of his day. Art spent the next few weeks reorganizing the company, and making changes he had always wanted to see. It was business as usual on a Tuesday morning, when there was a knock on the door.

The men explained that there had been a large discrepancy in the company’s records, and that they were here to get some answers. They pointed to the same record Art had seen two months earlier, and procured other documents showing how the spare cash had been transferred and eventually ended up as a large bonus for the President of the company, which appeared to be him.

Everything was cleared up about six hours later. Art had been a Patsy. Neuemahn had left the country, but had been tracked down and picked up in Sweden. The company would bankrupt at the end of the quarter due to the missing funds. Art volunteered to testify against Neuemahn. In his heart, he knew it was the right thing to do. Art was a real Boyscout. Everything would be fine, other then Art losing his excellent job, or so it seemed.

The man in charge of the case called up a few days after the case had been resolved. New information had arisen, showing Neuemahn was actually using the funds to support a ring of Gangster-Nazi-KKK-Pedophiles known as “The Whole Shebang”. These were not good people. They were currently responsible for well over 300 counts of violent crime in the last year. And now their boss had been sent to prison, due much in part to the testimony of Art Steinbrunner. The man asked if Art would like to leave with his family to be relocated, and put into witness protection. Art accepted. As hard as it would be to leave all those he knew behind, he cared more for his family. He needed a new job anyway.

He broke the news to his family. His wife and son took it hard, but they eventually came to terms with it. It was really the only option. I mean, Gangster-Nazi-KKK-Pedophiles. They can’t really be more offensive then that. They moved about 1600 miles, and were given a large house, new cars, and the last name “Plexy”

Steve thought it was a stupid last name, but at least he got out of the last few weeks of school. Summer was ahead of him, in a new state, near enough to a new world.

--

Believe it or not, the second part of this will loop around to the creation of Marty. This was an important story part I had to get out of the way.

[T0rajir0u]

lmao sweden

[Tokzic]

so wait a minute

art dies and then steve absorbs him like SHOOP WHOOP and then boom there's sam

there i saved you the hassle of writing that arc

[Tibs]

I WILL READ THIS AT COLLEGE

[mead1]

Originally Posted by Tokzic

so wait a minute

art dies and then steve absorbs him like SHOOP WHOOP and then boom there's sam

there i saved you the hassle of writing that arc

nope srry

[mead1]

This isn't over. I'm just lazy. Expect to see more soon.

[Tokzic]

THE WITHDRAWAL IS PAINFUL

[mead1]

I KNOW, BUT YOU MUST STAY STRONG

[mead1]

Hunt: Prologue

It was Steve’s third year in college. He was living in Chicago now, going to school at James Phillip’s College. He was currently perusing a business degree. Steve wasn’t exactly sure what it was he wanted to do, but he knew what he would probably end up doing. In all likelihood, he would end up working a boring desk job, just like his father.

His father.

That was an unpleasant memory.

He could see it as though it were yesterday. Sam had been out getting some canvas for a new project he was working on. A comic of some sort. When he had arrived home, it was immediately apparent something was wrong. The first clue was the open door, the second was the papers everywhere, and the final was the grotesque gasping form of his father on the floor, with three shots in his chest. I bet nobody was expecting that. The ambulance arrived about six minutes later. He was long past help. In one final dramatic, and totally unexpected, effort, Art whispered in his son’s ear the word “Neuemahn”

At that point, Steve was unsure what to do, so he did the obvious thing. He looked up from his father, lifted his hands to the air, and shouted, in a very dramatic fashion “NEUEMAAAAAAAN!!!” He swore revenge, like a million generic teenagers before him. Aden, while nearly as broken up, took the opportunity to point out that he had seen this movie before, and that the killer was the butler. Sam sat quietly, tears running down his face. Marty was petrified. He was too shocked and frightened to move, and could barely breathe.

An unpleasant memory indeed.

--

Slightly Later in our Hero’s life

As distraught as Steve was, the loss was much worse on his mother. She had never been a very strong woman, but this was almost more then she could bear. For Steve’s sake, she held it together. She picked up a second job. Art had left them a fair amount of money in savings, but she was determined to use this to put Steve through college.

Steve had finished off his junior year of Highschool with excellent grades. Since the loss of his father, the most important thing to him and the voices in his head were not to disappoint his mother. She was on anti-depressants already, and had fits of paranoia. She had dropped the second job when Steve had picked up a part-time job at a chicken place across the street. He hadn’t wanted a job, but she simply couldn’t work double shifts every day anymore, and he understood that. Besides, the job wasn’t that bad, he liked working with people. Steve looked up, and awoke from his third-person thought sequence. It was time for work. He dressed quickly. The uniform for ChiKAAAAAAAAHN!!!! was pretty degrading. It consisted of a green-striped uniform and a hat with a dancing chicken on top. Marty remarked that the chicken on the hat looked like it was performing a “jutsu.” The other three told him to watch less anime, and to get a life. “Get a life” was a common quip in Steve’s head. Steve rode his bicycle to work, and walked in right as the clock read 4:00.

The first customer was obviously a businessman. He wore a grey suit, a novelty tie with puppies on it, and a look of perpetual hurry. He wanted a signature spicy chicken sandwich with mayo. Steve sighed, and pointed to the mayo sitting on the counter right beside the man. Once he was finished, he rang up the next customer. Then the next. Then the next.

About three hours later, his manager moved him to the drive-through window. Aden volunteered to take the reins if Steve was getting bored. Steve accepted, Aden was better at the whole drive-through thing then he was. Steve decided to play a game of cards with Sam while Aden worked. Sometimes, there was an advantage to having the other three around, he thought.

Aden was on his 34th order of the night. He always counted things like that. A lady in a red minivan rolled up. She wore a purple hat, and an expression of malice.

“Young man, you need to make sure my fries are hot. I came here last night and you said my fries were hot, but when I got home, they weren’t. Don’t lie about these things. Next time I’ll have to talk to your manager.”

Aden grimaced. This lady didn’t quit. It was always something. From the condiments, to the meat, to the fries, she was never satisfied with her meal, and she always complained about it the next time. Aden was about to bag her order, when he was struck with a thought. He told her “Hold on a minute, I’ll have them make the fries fresh for you.” The lady smiled an obnoxious toothy smile. Aden stuck his head through the door to the back, where he saw his friend Marcus.

“Marcus buddy. I need you to do me a favor.” He said. Marcus looked up from the fry station, and came over. “I’ve only got a minute Steve, Lazyness is a sin.” Marcus was a rather religious guy. “Well, a lady out front wants hot fries. I want you to give a batch of fries double time in an overheated oil cart. Be sure to box them up well when they’re done.” He explained. Marcus looked back “The fires of hell in a green and white-striped box, coming right up.” Religious or not, he and Aden got along well. Steve walked up front, and informed the lady she’d have to wait for a minute, and that the fries were cooking. Aden passed the minute making her drinks, and retrieving the condiments the woman needed. The fries were ready. Aden carefully placed them at the bottom of the bag, then handed the order out the window. It was an hour before she came back.

When the woman returned, it was through the front door. She was in a rage. She yelled for a manager, and demanded they fire Steve immediately because he had tried to kill her. The manager came over to Aden, and said he would have to apologize to the lady immediately. Aden quickly put Marty in control. When it came to sucking up or making someone feel sorry for them, Marty was their man.

Marty walked over, already whimpering slightly. This was what he contributed to the group. This is what he was good at. He walked in a hunched way that made him look a few inches shorter, his face contorted in mock horror.

“Oh my god, Ma’am! I’m so sorry. You have no idea. Oh my god. Oh my god. I can’t believe this happened. I should have noticed the fries were a little hot. Oh my god. Are you alright? I am so sorry. Jesus.”

He spoke this all without stopping once. He was a seasoned veteran at getting the guys out of trouble. The woman seemed to calm down a little. Marty talked some more, apologizing every few words. Marty loved this. He just had a way with people. Left to his own devices, he would never get into these sort of situations, but those other people he lived with were pretty good at getting people angry. It amused Marty at how easily manipulated people were. When he wasn’t in control, he was always watching the people the other’s interacted with. The others never paid any attention to what was going on when they were off-duty, but he knew everyone had a weakness. Everyone had a tell. Marty would never be able to run a mile without stopping, but he had his talents. Once he had talked the woman down, he returned control to Aden, and went back to watching.

Steve’s shift went otherwise without a hitch, and he rode home at ten. His mother was waiting for him inside. She normally went to bed an hour before. This didn’t bode well for Steve.

“So mom, what are you still doing up? The doctor said you needed to be getting some more sleep these days.” He said, putting in as much concern as he could muster after a hard day at work. His mother ****ed her head, and spoke “Steve, how can you try to sound concerned? I know you weren’t at work. You were out somewhere buying drugs, weren’t you? You left the tinfoil out on the counter. I know that’s what you kids use to smoke these days. I know that isn’t something your father and I raised you for. We thought we had raised a decent child, a respectful child.” She was getting hysterical. Steve had left out the tinfoil after using it to wrap some cookies earlier that day. He didn’t want to deal with this. He gave control to Marty. Marty was good at this. He could make her calm down.

It took Marty a good hour of talking, hugging, and reassuring to convince his mother that he was not, in fact, on drugs. She went to bed, and Marty hopped on the computer for awhile. He posted about his day on his Xanga. He was incredibly shy by choice, but the people on the internet didn’t judge him. They all applauded his efforts with the lady and his mother. He was their hero. A hero of the internet. He went to bed shortly before midnight feeling accomplished.

--

I'll get around to the creation of Marty someday

[Tokzic]

Wait - what was wrong with the fries, again?

[whiteflame]

He overheated them... "I want you to give a batch of fries double time in an overheated oil cart. Be sure to box them up well when they’re done.” He explained. Marcus looked back “The fires of hell in a green and white-striped box"

[mead1]

Hunt: This time for serious

They had an address. They had waited a long time for this address. After completing college, they had started a mediocre job as a code monkey for a local business. It paid alright, but a good amount of the check went to Mr. Forrest. Steve had paid Forrest for the last few months to find where Neuemahn had run off to. Neuemahn had spent time in prison, been a model prisoner, and had been released a month or so before Steve’s Father’s death. The despicable man had been cleared of any suspicion relating to Art Plexy’s murder the previous year, and had left the country almost immediately. Steve had paid attention to the case. Neuemahn had a great lawyer, and these days that was what determined one’s guilt or innocence. Steve had been there that day, while the other three watched. With the pounding of a gavel, the man who had undoubtedly murdered his father walked free. Steve stared at Neuemahn with the cold rage of four men as he cradled his crying mother.. He knew Neuemahn had seen him that day. He knew the man could see his hatred. This pleased all four of them. They wanted him to be afraid. The police had told Steve they would keep him informed, but he knew they would never find any further leads.

Steve’s mother had died a few months later. She had been on Anti-Depressants for the day, and sedatives at night. For Steve’s mother, there was no sleep by natural means, only tears. It was a terrible way to be living, Steve thought, and apparently his mother had thought so too. One morning, she had simply not awakened. An empty pill bottle lay on her bedside table. The funeral had not really even taken place. Since her breakdown after being fired from her retail job, she never really left the house. There had been no friends to invite, and Steve was her only living relative. She had been put in the ground without a show, not even a minister. During her last months, she had lost even her faith in God. Steve personally had shared this sentiment for as long as he could remember. The only real mourning of his mother had taken place within his head, where nobody could see. Nobody, anyway, who wasn’t also destroyed by loss.

Steve knew the only four people who could dispense justice in this matter were all inside of his head. Art was the father of all of them. So, there had been a consensus amongst all four. This was quite a rare occurrence. They would find him. This was where Mr. Forrest came in. He was a seedy looking man, with an old-fashioned hat and trench coat. He looked like something that walked out of an old black-and-white detective film. He would meet Steve once a month, and they would exchange envelopes. Steve handed over money, Forrest handed over information. Neuemahn was moving around, never staying in one place long enough to be caught up with. Steve looked over the receipts, the pictures, the signatures. This was clearly a man on the run from something. Probably Steve himself. He had hopped the pond to England, and had been moving from country to country. This month however was different. Neuemahn had stopped. He had purchased a house in Germany, and appeared to have settled down. This was their chance. Preparations had to be made quickly for them to leave. This man could not be allowed to enjoy life after what he had done to them. He had a small amount of money put away for this purpose. He had had a long time to plan for this day.

Marty

Steve was a pretty normal eighth grader. At Kingston Middle he was an example of moderation in all aspects. He had a few friends, he had a few “enemies” (because middle school enemies are serious business), he got fair grades, and played tag at recess. One fateful day, however, he came into contact with something that would change his life forever. The period started innocently enough, with him and his friends filing in a line into the computer lab to work on their English stories. Steve was writing a story about a girl who was suffocated by her own hair. He thought it was a pretty funny idea. As he was finishing off the third page, his friend Byran called him over. The teacher had just left, and Byran had something awesome to show him.

Byran had something up called “mycorner”. It sort of looked like a ridiculous way for people with low self-esteem to complement each other. He really didn’t see the attraction to something like that. Byran, however, was crazy about it. Since they were good friends, Steve agreed to make one for Byran’s sake when he got home. He returned to his seat, and wrote for the rest of the period. He wanted to finish the story so he wouldn’t have to work on it at home. The bell rang twenty minutes later, and he was done. Steve had English seventh period, so it was time to go home.

Bus rides were Steve’s least favorite part of the day. Nobody he knew rode his bus, and everyone was always so loud. Steve wished he had somebody to talk to. This was the last time he would ever wish this. His bus ride took about ten minutes. He got off the bus, and went inside. Steve hopped on to the computer, and made himself a mycorner. He didn’t put up a photo, but he made a page fairly honestly, and it looked pretty nice. This done, he started to wonder what the point was. Steve was a little bored, so he decided to make one that wasn’t really about him. He named it “Marty”.

Marty was many things Steve was not. Steve made him to be a totally different person, character flaws and all. Steve had always enjoyed writing for the characters. To him, creating a character was akin to creating life. You weren’t making something that was, but you were making something that could be, or might have been. Steve made Marty a coward. He left subtle hints at that on the page. Steve made him eloquent. He pulled up a thesaurus and made his document fairly wordy. More then anything else, Steve made Marty a loser. Losers were always good characters. They always garnered pity, and tended to come out on top in the end. Marty was an internet person. He wasn’t a big social scene guy, but he was a brilliant orator when need be. Marty was submissive, but he was sly. He would always act a little bit dumber then he was. Steve liked this character.

Once he had finished the page, Steve wrote a about Marty on his computer. He wasn’t sure why he did it. They were little stories, more about who Marty was then what he did. Most less then a page long. Steve wrote five, and decided that was plenty. He left the computer to join his parents for dinner, who had been calling him for the last half an hour.

The next day was pretty much average until the final period. The class sat down, and the teacher asked for the stories they had written. Try as he might, Steve could not find his. He remembered vaguely that he had printed it out, but he really wasn’t sure where it had gone from there. He didn’t have time to dwell on this though, the teacher was coming around, grading book in hand. This was not a good situation. He thought to himself “What would Marty do?” He had the oddest sensation just then. As though someone had tapped him on the shoulder. He turned his head. He didn’t see the other side of the classroom, however, he saw a conference table. There were two seats, in the one on the opposite side there was someone who looked almost exactly like him. There were slight differences, darker hair, a little shorter, a little chubbier, but it was definitely Steve.

Steve was understandably confused by this. The other him stood up, and extended a hand. “Hi, I’m Marty.” He said. Steve raised his eyebrow significantly. “I made you. You aren’t real.” He said, trying hard to believe it. Marty looked at him, and replied “Yeah, you did make me. Thanks for that. I’m pretty sure I’m real though.” Steve was further confused when he turned around to look at the room he was standing in. Behind him, he saw a gigantic screen. On the screen, he could see the classroom, frozen like a picture. Underneath was what looked like a set of binoculars. He imagined he had been looking through those before he had turned around. Steve was dazed and confused. He sat down and tried to piece together what was going on. Marty looked at him, and asked “Mind if I have a go?” Steve wasn’t really sure what he meant, but he nodded. Marty got up, and looked through the binoculars. Suddenly, the world moved once more on the screen.

He saw the teacher approach, and ask for his paper. He saw the view shift, and a pair of hands that looked exactly like his own begin to rifle through his backpack. The view shifted back up and shook from side to side. “Sorry ma’am, it looks like I left it at home. I’m really intensely sorry about that. I worked for two hours combing out the errors. It’s really top notch. When you see it tomorrow, it will blow your socks off, I guarantee it.” His teacher looked back for a moment, and then nodded curtly, moving on to the next student. Steve was amazed. His teacher never took late work.

Steve tapped Marty on the shoulder. Marty turned around and stood up, the world behind him freezing again. “Well,” Steve said, “I guess I’m sharing this body now. It’s a little weird to think of, and I’m not entirely sure that I’m not crazy, but I may as well assume I’m not. I guess we should split time evenly or something?” Marty looked at the screen for a moment, then replied. “Are you crazy? Just let you know when you need me. I don’t want to be out there any more then necessary. Those people are pretty scary.”

--

So there's the birth of Marty. I'm thinking I'll get to Sam after we hop back to present day, and I go a bit farther with "Hunt"

[TheRaiRaiEatsBalloons]

Originally Posted by mead1

You left the tinfoil out on the counter.

HAHAHAHA

[mead1]

In-Joke get.