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The Phenomenon Of Murder
By Dr Arthur Fritz
By Dr Arthur Fritz
KILL
Tocause something living to die.
Tocause something living to die.
MURDER
To kill another person deliberately and not in self-defense.
To kill another person deliberately and not in self-defense.
It happens no place else Earth, time stream Parallax 45. The phenomenon, Murder, the act of ending another human being's life.
WAR
Armed fighting between groups: a period of hostile relations between countries, states, or factions that leads to fighting between armed forces, especially in land, air, or sea battles.
Armed fighting between groups: a period of hostile relations between countries, states, or factions that leads to fighting between armed forces, especially in land, air, or sea battles.
Earth Parallax 45 has seen two major wars. The inhabitants of Parallax 45 call them World War 1 and World War 2.
The humanoids of Parallax 45 have developed highly sophisticated means of Killing, many humans devote their entire lives towards war for their countries, loved ones and selves.
Controlled experiments have found no noticeable reason or cause of murder and it remains a mystery to us, the inhabitants of Earth in the time stream Parallax 1.
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Earth Parallax 1
Crime is non existant. Every human being has a job and a warm place to live. There are no wars, there never has been. Because there has never been war Parallax 1 has no weapons, no nuclear bombs, no nerve gas, no automatic rifles.
DOOMSDAY
It's unheard of. It has never happened before, in the entire history of our time stream. Never has a human been murdered. Until January 23rd 2010, yesterday. An insane zealot named Almar Rodriguez and a force of armed followers have attacked, enslaved and murdered 35 humans in the Hawaiian islands. That is not the worst of it. Before the raid on Hawaii, Almar Rodriguez captured a nuclear powered submarine. With no effort at all he could cause a nuclear explosion with his captured sub and that would destroy us all. Our earth's atmosphere is so thinn that a single nuclear blast would cause the complete ionization of the atmosphere and eventual deestruction. In short, the air itself would catch flame and we would have no atmosphere, the earth would die.
The world does not know what to do. We have no weapons, nor the training to use them. There has never been a need for a police force, there is no crime.
There is but one choice.
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The MTARS.
The Matter Transfer and Recovery System. These war-like humans from Parallax 45 are our only hope for the survival of this planet. This principal will take explaining.
The Matter Transfer and Recovery System. These war-like humans from Parallax 45 are our only hope for the survival of this planet. This principal will take explaining.
The Multiverse.
There are an infinate number of worlds, each of these are known as time streams. Each has it's own version of each person, your doppleganger. Each time stream has it's own line of events and world conditions. Meaning at any one time an infinate number of yous are doing an infinate number of different things.
The MTARS is a very dangerous and unstable machine. Taking a human being from Parallax 45 and dragging him through the multiverse to Paralllax 1 could cause a tear in the Space Time Continuum. There is a great risk of pulling the right person from the wrong time stream, this would serve no one and would merely heighten the risk for a tear in the very fabric of existance.
This is against all the rules of nature. It is an unatural act and if I were a maan of faith, I would pray to the deity I call mine. We are playing with fire here, a single miscalculation could cause the end of all existance on all time streams.
The MTARS has been authorized by the United States Department for International Emergencies for use in our darkest hour. This qualifies.
We have already selected the candidates.
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Character Sheet
Name:
Age:
Time Stream: (Which Parallax do you come from?)
Profession: (A solider from Paralllax 45? A scientist from Parallax 1? An innocent bystander? You decide.)
Weapons: (If Applicable)
Education:
College: (If Applicable)
Bio: (Your life!)
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Age:
Time Stream: (Which Parallax do you come from?)
Profession: (A solider from Paralllax 45? A scientist from Parallax 1? An innocent bystander? You decide.)
Weapons: (If Applicable)
Education:
College: (If Applicable)
Bio: (Your life!)
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Name: Jack McAlister Carlyle "Rowdy"
Age: Born in 1981 29 Years of Age
Time Stream: Parallax 45
Profession: Ex CIA Covert Operative
Weapons: 45 ACP Caliber Auto Mag
Education: High School.
Bio: Born on a cold morning in the pacific northwest, he was christened Jack Mcalister Carlyle. As a child he was an untouchable, neither unpopular or popular. Instead he floated in the middle, seen by none but seeing everything. This turned from a running joke with himself into a habit and, when he graduated high school with straight A's, he was given a scholarship to go to the school of his choice, but Jack MCalister Carlyle turned it down. What Jack did, was apply to a trucking company and learn to operate a semi truck, just as his father had. He worked for a time, but his heart was never in it. At 23 he applied to the Central Intelligence Agency. The rest is classified, was eaten or burned.
Rowdy was not seen or heard from again for 5 years. What happened was never released, talked about or even acknowledged it's existance. This time, Jack was behind the wheel of a semi truck, a Peterbilt. The nickname "Rowdy" was hung on him when he busted an accustic guitar over the head of a dispatcher who had screwed him out of a lot of money.
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Rowdy was nearly asleep in the bunk of his Peterbilt. Floating in that place between alertness and slumber, where you cannot fully trust what you see and hear, it may be a dream. Suddenly there was a harsh crackling sound and all the air was pulled from his lungs, as if a tremendously fat man had jumped on top of him. Rowdy could feel the senation of movement, but he could not move himself. His eyes shot open, he knew they were open, but the entire world was pitch black. A searing pain was begining to form in th epit of his stomach and he could feel it spreading thorugh his entire being. It felt as if someone was ramming a searing poker down his throat. Jack's eyes began to involuntarilly close and Jack McAlister Carlyle, ceased to exist.
All at once, full consciousnes came eback to Rowdy. Someone was shining a light into his eyes and snapping his fingers. The man wore a goatee and a warm smile. He was mouthing something, but Jack could not make out the words yet, merely a thruming sound. It hurt to keep his eyes open, the harsh light caused the headache to grow worse.
"Mr Carlyle, Mr Carlyle, can you hear me?" The goateed man asked, still snapping his fingers.
"Yes, I can hear you fine. Where am I?" Rowdy asked, grunting through his pain.
"You are safe, Mr Carlyle. We need your help."
Age: Born in 1981 29 Years of Age
Time Stream: Parallax 45
Profession: Ex CIA Covert Operative
Weapons: 45 ACP Caliber Auto Mag
Education: High School.
Bio: Born on a cold morning in the pacific northwest, he was christened Jack Mcalister Carlyle. As a child he was an untouchable, neither unpopular or popular. Instead he floated in the middle, seen by none but seeing everything. This turned from a running joke with himself into a habit and, when he graduated high school with straight A's, he was given a scholarship to go to the school of his choice, but Jack MCalister Carlyle turned it down. What Jack did, was apply to a trucking company and learn to operate a semi truck, just as his father had. He worked for a time, but his heart was never in it. At 23 he applied to the Central Intelligence Agency. The rest is classified, was eaten or burned.
Rowdy was not seen or heard from again for 5 years. What happened was never released, talked about or even acknowledged it's existance. This time, Jack was behind the wheel of a semi truck, a Peterbilt. The nickname "Rowdy" was hung on him when he busted an accustic guitar over the head of a dispatcher who had screwed him out of a lot of money.
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Rowdy was nearly asleep in the bunk of his Peterbilt. Floating in that place between alertness and slumber, where you cannot fully trust what you see and hear, it may be a dream. Suddenly there was a harsh crackling sound and all the air was pulled from his lungs, as if a tremendously fat man had jumped on top of him. Rowdy could feel the senation of movement, but he could not move himself. His eyes shot open, he knew they were open, but the entire world was pitch black. A searing pain was begining to form in th epit of his stomach and he could feel it spreading thorugh his entire being. It felt as if someone was ramming a searing poker down his throat. Jack's eyes began to involuntarilly close and Jack McAlister Carlyle, ceased to exist.
All at once, full consciousnes came eback to Rowdy. Someone was shining a light into his eyes and snapping his fingers. The man wore a goatee and a warm smile. He was mouthing something, but Jack could not make out the words yet, merely a thruming sound. It hurt to keep his eyes open, the harsh light caused the headache to grow worse.
"Mr Carlyle, Mr Carlyle, can you hear me?" The goateed man asked, still snapping his fingers.
"Yes, I can hear you fine. Where am I?" Rowdy asked, grunting through his pain.
"You are safe, Mr Carlyle. We need your help."