So I took this challenge, where you have exactly ten minutes to type out a story. This is the result, it's very scrambled up, but the result is fine, enjoy the read.
Hollow Point
Ryan was led inside the building by the masked man. That is not to say, he (the other man) literally wore a mask, but Ryan, being blindfolded, could not see any part of his captor.
Eventually he was pushed through a door into a small room, smelling of mothballs. Although the mothballs were very distinct, the room smelled…familiar. The feeling of fear intensified until Ryan’s nerves had reached their breaking point.
“What do you want from me!” he shrieked.
“I would appreciate it if you would shut the **** up.” was the captor’s response. The kidnapper then sat Ryan on a chair and bound him to it; tying his (Ryan’s) hands and feet to the back of the hard wood.
“Now,” the other man said. “Let’s get down to business. You know what I want.”
Ryan shivered in his seat. He knew that voice, just he couldn’t place it. His teeth chattered, his hair rose. He then felt something metallic pushed hard against his temple.
“Now start talking, so I won’t have to shoot out your brains.”
“I…I don’t know what you want…” Ryan felt his fear branch out farther.
“Don’t **** around, Chambers, you know exactly what I need to hear from you, hesitate any longer and you’ll be caught with a 9 mm. Hollow Point in your head.”
Ryan was now filled with curiosity more than fear. How did this man know his name?
“Look, I know you’re a dangerous man, and that you really would kill me, but I have no clue as to what you want. How do you even know me anyway?” Ryan inquired.
“I’m giving you to five, and then I’m going to pull the trigger. No hesitating now, tell me what I need to know, then I’ll just let you go.”
Ryan cowered.
“One.”
Ryan steeled himself.
“Two.”
Continuing to shake, Ryan struggled to recognize the voice.
“Three.”
He knew it had something to do with the army, but the voice was hidden under layers of memories.
“Four.”
Ryan knew that now was not his time to die, but there was no stopping it. Unless, wait, that voice belonged to-
“Fi-“
“Sergeant Meckler!”
The man opposite him slowly removed his blindfold. Ryan shuddered. The Sergeant had a very heavily-scarred face, from when he stepped on a mine and lost both legs and nearly burned the rest of his body to a crisp. He had managed to survive that, as well as twelve small machine-gun bullets lodged in his stomach.
“So, Chambers, you know me. This makes it easier.”
“Sergeant, if you need to know about the Station plans, I can’t help you. They never filled me in on the details.”
“I have the feeling you know all about it, and what I had to do with it. So out with it, Ryan, or the last thing you’ll see in your life is this face.” The Sergeant pointed to himself.
“You want the whole story? Fine, then. You try to live with yourself after you hear it.”
"It all started with Dave Lambert. He decided that the army life wasn’t for him, and he ditched right after we, the second squad, landed in Saudi Arabia. The guys and I, well, we thought he’d been killed or dragged off by some terrorist and spent hours searching for him. Eventually, it was you who told us that it was futile, and we continued our march to Riyadh. Several days after that, a huge explosion rocked the earth. While looking for the supposed ‘Terrorist Bases’ and the source of the explosion, we found David’s watch covered in blood somewhere around an uncharted area. That area was filled with radiation, and we all had to get a decent scrubbing later on.”
“Well, one thing led to another, and the Sergeant activated the tracker lace embedded in David’s cranium. Turns out, the tracker was almost dead (in battery life and physical existence), but we managed to pick up a few signals before it died out. And you know where the signals were hitting us from? Somewhere 60 feet under Riyadh. Now, you know all this already, but here comes the part that you don’t know. Soon after that crazy guy shot you full of bullets and you were carted off, we were reassigned to investigate David Lambert, and where he’d gone.”
“I was sleeping one night when I heard distant screams. We’d been hearing this kind of **** for awhile and gotten used to it. So I went back to sleep. Wake up in the morning; I’m lying in a puddle of blood belonging to my former friend, Will Stone. Will died trying to save me, make it look like I’d been shot up too. Man, there was so much blood and anarchy; I was the only one left. And they never knew.”
“Who’s they?” asked the Sergeant.
“They are the crazy bastards who killed Stone, Rigley, Henrich, Field, Rizinski, DeMarko, Melbourne, and Kade. They almost killed me too. I cleaned up the blood, covered the guys in blankets, it was the best burial I could give them. I walked out of the tent and one of those ****ers slammed the butt of his gun on my forehead. I got knocked out cold. I awaken once more to dry blood all over my face (though this time it’s mine), a splitting headache, and cracked lips. They gagged me, but didn’t blindfold me.”
“I thought it was over, man. I thought they were going to torture me in the worst way, hot pokers on the nuts, slowly slicing off my toes and fingers, but they just left me there. One guy came in and gave me water and some kind of soup. The water was warm and the soup was bland and cold, but it was nourishment, which was the last thing I was expecting.”
“So they get the gag off me, and this one guy who speaks perfect English starts asking me questions. About my culture, about the army, about America. Well, this guy knew what he was doing and I answered all the questions truthfully and honestly. Only one problem: the guy’s last question was ‘Is your Army building a base within Saudi Arabia?’ I answered wrong. I said no. The man took out a knife and stuck it in my knee.” Ryan winced in the memory.
“What does this have to do with Lambert?” The Sergeant inquired.
“Hold on, I’m getting there.” Said Ryan. “Anyways, the guy takes the knife out immediately and patches up my shin. I guess he decided that I wasn’t useful anymore, so he dropped me in a different room, and this time I was blindfolded. For some reason they didn’t bind my hands and I took off the blindfold.”
“Instantly, I wished I was dead. The carnage I saw…” Ryan winced again, and then vomited on the floor of the room. The Sergeant cleaned up the mess and urged Ryan to keep talking.
“David and many others, their bodies cut in half by some kind of machine. Gore everywhere. Dave’s guts splayed out on the floor. Grey stains all over, covering the brown stains of the blood. And the smell…my god.” Ryan winced once more, and then held his breath. After a time, he continued to speak.
“I wondered if there was a possibility of killing myself with my blindfold, hanging myself, but I had nothing to hang from, and the blindfold was too short. Eventually, the smell just...blanked me out. But I must've woken up again.”
“Finally I’d had enough. I banged on the door. Nobody came. I thought I’d be stuck with all those bodies forever. Eventually the door just popped open, not by itself, but as if the person who’d done it didn’t want to be known. That was fine with me. I walked out cautiously.”
“What happened after that is hazy, but here’s the main stuff. I found a written letter from one terrorist to another, explaining about how they were using ‘the blood of America’ to fuel their nuclear research. Well, that’s exactly what they were doing.”
“I find several weapons on the floor, just, you know, lying there. I pick one of them up, and just walk out of there. It’s like they abandoned it while I was in that room, which must’ve been a total of 15 minutes. It’s at this time that a chopper touches down, and I find out that I’m being rescued. I gave the letter to the CIA and led a normal life until now.”
Ryan screwed up his face, as if remembering an outward detail.
“Okay, that was good, Private Ryan.” The Sergeant Smirked. “But there’s one thing we didn’t touch down on; is there a Station being built or not?”
Ryan showed no emotion. His face stood still. The word echoed.
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“You sure about that Ryan?”
“One hundred percent sure, Sergeant Meckler.”
“Oh, good, in that case you can leave.”
“What?”
“Yes, just walk out that door and you’ll be free.” The Sergeant smiled.
And then Ryan noticed the smell. The mothballs covered it up, but…
Ryan stood up aggressively, walked to the door, pushed it open…
And he found himself in the carnage room. He turned around.
The Sergeant had stopped grinning. His gun was back in his hand.
“Sorry Ryan, this is how it works.
The gun discharged, sending a hollow point bullet flying into Ryan Chambers’ skull. Ryan had time to think about his girlfriend, and then he died.
Hollow Point
Ryan was led inside the building by the masked man. That is not to say, he (the other man) literally wore a mask, but Ryan, being blindfolded, could not see any part of his captor.
Eventually he was pushed through a door into a small room, smelling of mothballs. Although the mothballs were very distinct, the room smelled…familiar. The feeling of fear intensified until Ryan’s nerves had reached their breaking point.
“What do you want from me!” he shrieked.
“I would appreciate it if you would shut the **** up.” was the captor’s response. The kidnapper then sat Ryan on a chair and bound him to it; tying his (Ryan’s) hands and feet to the back of the hard wood.
“Now,” the other man said. “Let’s get down to business. You know what I want.”
Ryan shivered in his seat. He knew that voice, just he couldn’t place it. His teeth chattered, his hair rose. He then felt something metallic pushed hard against his temple.
“Now start talking, so I won’t have to shoot out your brains.”
“I…I don’t know what you want…” Ryan felt his fear branch out farther.
“Don’t **** around, Chambers, you know exactly what I need to hear from you, hesitate any longer and you’ll be caught with a 9 mm. Hollow Point in your head.”
Ryan was now filled with curiosity more than fear. How did this man know his name?
“Look, I know you’re a dangerous man, and that you really would kill me, but I have no clue as to what you want. How do you even know me anyway?” Ryan inquired.
“I’m giving you to five, and then I’m going to pull the trigger. No hesitating now, tell me what I need to know, then I’ll just let you go.”
Ryan cowered.
“One.”
Ryan steeled himself.
“Two.”
Continuing to shake, Ryan struggled to recognize the voice.
“Three.”
He knew it had something to do with the army, but the voice was hidden under layers of memories.
“Four.”
Ryan knew that now was not his time to die, but there was no stopping it. Unless, wait, that voice belonged to-
“Fi-“
“Sergeant Meckler!”
The man opposite him slowly removed his blindfold. Ryan shuddered. The Sergeant had a very heavily-scarred face, from when he stepped on a mine and lost both legs and nearly burned the rest of his body to a crisp. He had managed to survive that, as well as twelve small machine-gun bullets lodged in his stomach.
“So, Chambers, you know me. This makes it easier.”
“Sergeant, if you need to know about the Station plans, I can’t help you. They never filled me in on the details.”
“I have the feeling you know all about it, and what I had to do with it. So out with it, Ryan, or the last thing you’ll see in your life is this face.” The Sergeant pointed to himself.
“You want the whole story? Fine, then. You try to live with yourself after you hear it.”
"It all started with Dave Lambert. He decided that the army life wasn’t for him, and he ditched right after we, the second squad, landed in Saudi Arabia. The guys and I, well, we thought he’d been killed or dragged off by some terrorist and spent hours searching for him. Eventually, it was you who told us that it was futile, and we continued our march to Riyadh. Several days after that, a huge explosion rocked the earth. While looking for the supposed ‘Terrorist Bases’ and the source of the explosion, we found David’s watch covered in blood somewhere around an uncharted area. That area was filled with radiation, and we all had to get a decent scrubbing later on.”
“Well, one thing led to another, and the Sergeant activated the tracker lace embedded in David’s cranium. Turns out, the tracker was almost dead (in battery life and physical existence), but we managed to pick up a few signals before it died out. And you know where the signals were hitting us from? Somewhere 60 feet under Riyadh. Now, you know all this already, but here comes the part that you don’t know. Soon after that crazy guy shot you full of bullets and you were carted off, we were reassigned to investigate David Lambert, and where he’d gone.”
“I was sleeping one night when I heard distant screams. We’d been hearing this kind of **** for awhile and gotten used to it. So I went back to sleep. Wake up in the morning; I’m lying in a puddle of blood belonging to my former friend, Will Stone. Will died trying to save me, make it look like I’d been shot up too. Man, there was so much blood and anarchy; I was the only one left. And they never knew.”
“Who’s they?” asked the Sergeant.
“They are the crazy bastards who killed Stone, Rigley, Henrich, Field, Rizinski, DeMarko, Melbourne, and Kade. They almost killed me too. I cleaned up the blood, covered the guys in blankets, it was the best burial I could give them. I walked out of the tent and one of those ****ers slammed the butt of his gun on my forehead. I got knocked out cold. I awaken once more to dry blood all over my face (though this time it’s mine), a splitting headache, and cracked lips. They gagged me, but didn’t blindfold me.”
“I thought it was over, man. I thought they were going to torture me in the worst way, hot pokers on the nuts, slowly slicing off my toes and fingers, but they just left me there. One guy came in and gave me water and some kind of soup. The water was warm and the soup was bland and cold, but it was nourishment, which was the last thing I was expecting.”
“So they get the gag off me, and this one guy who speaks perfect English starts asking me questions. About my culture, about the army, about America. Well, this guy knew what he was doing and I answered all the questions truthfully and honestly. Only one problem: the guy’s last question was ‘Is your Army building a base within Saudi Arabia?’ I answered wrong. I said no. The man took out a knife and stuck it in my knee.” Ryan winced in the memory.
“What does this have to do with Lambert?” The Sergeant inquired.
“Hold on, I’m getting there.” Said Ryan. “Anyways, the guy takes the knife out immediately and patches up my shin. I guess he decided that I wasn’t useful anymore, so he dropped me in a different room, and this time I was blindfolded. For some reason they didn’t bind my hands and I took off the blindfold.”
“Instantly, I wished I was dead. The carnage I saw…” Ryan winced again, and then vomited on the floor of the room. The Sergeant cleaned up the mess and urged Ryan to keep talking.
“David and many others, their bodies cut in half by some kind of machine. Gore everywhere. Dave’s guts splayed out on the floor. Grey stains all over, covering the brown stains of the blood. And the smell…my god.” Ryan winced once more, and then held his breath. After a time, he continued to speak.
“I wondered if there was a possibility of killing myself with my blindfold, hanging myself, but I had nothing to hang from, and the blindfold was too short. Eventually, the smell just...blanked me out. But I must've woken up again.”
“Finally I’d had enough. I banged on the door. Nobody came. I thought I’d be stuck with all those bodies forever. Eventually the door just popped open, not by itself, but as if the person who’d done it didn’t want to be known. That was fine with me. I walked out cautiously.”
“What happened after that is hazy, but here’s the main stuff. I found a written letter from one terrorist to another, explaining about how they were using ‘the blood of America’ to fuel their nuclear research. Well, that’s exactly what they were doing.”
“I find several weapons on the floor, just, you know, lying there. I pick one of them up, and just walk out of there. It’s like they abandoned it while I was in that room, which must’ve been a total of 15 minutes. It’s at this time that a chopper touches down, and I find out that I’m being rescued. I gave the letter to the CIA and led a normal life until now.”
Ryan screwed up his face, as if remembering an outward detail.
“Okay, that was good, Private Ryan.” The Sergeant Smirked. “But there’s one thing we didn’t touch down on; is there a Station being built or not?”
Ryan showed no emotion. His face stood still. The word echoed.
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“You sure about that Ryan?”
“One hundred percent sure, Sergeant Meckler.”
“Oh, good, in that case you can leave.”
“What?”
“Yes, just walk out that door and you’ll be free.” The Sergeant smiled.
And then Ryan noticed the smell. The mothballs covered it up, but…
Ryan stood up aggressively, walked to the door, pushed it open…
And he found himself in the carnage room. He turned around.
The Sergeant had stopped grinning. His gun was back in his hand.
“Sorry Ryan, this is how it works.
The gun discharged, sending a hollow point bullet flying into Ryan Chambers’ skull. Ryan had time to think about his girlfriend, and then he died.
<He Got Laid
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