Please?

[Anonymous No.979929]

Name’s Revara, Samuel Revara. Private Eye. Now, in my detective days I’ve seen a lot of interesting stuff, and I’ve picked up a lot of stories. However, no experience of mine has come close to my case in early November, 2060, which marked the beginning of the end of my detective career.
It began at the end of my work day, 10 PM. My smoky 3 meter by 3 meter office was pitch black, except for the ominous glow from my blinds, a reminder of the metropolis below. The embers of my cigarette pierced the darkness, and smoke unfurled from my mouth. I grabbed my coat, preparing to leave, when:
“You’re gonna want to look at this Mr. Revara. Could be something big.”
My secretary, wielding her umbrella and obviously trying to leave, was waving a manila folder at me. Must be something important, I told myself. She wouldn’t keep me, or herself, here any longer if it were anything else.
I reluctantly took the folder, shooting her a glance saying “That will be all.” Upon further inspection, I understood why she had given it to me now. The top photo, above a small flash drive which I pocketed, was one of a man, at least what was left of him. He was sprawled on a cheap hotel room floor, probably cheap to pay for the $200 worth of hot lead now in his chest. The nature of the crime was bad, but the name of the man was worse: James Remmington, police informant, specialty in cyber-crime.

[Anonymous No.979932]

i am 12 years old and what is cliche

[Anonymous No.979933]

12:30 AM. On my way to the warehouse, my brow is heavy and my cigarettes are wet from the new rain. I’m becoming paranoid at this point, funny how a tired mind turns light into shadows, dashing from your gaze when you turn to investigate.
I’ve arrived at my destination, and I’m outside the door. From inside I hear an electric hum, but no footsteps or voices. At this, I open the door quietly and step inside.
I found myself in a small coatroom, looking into a massive warehouse filled with, at first glance, wires. However, as my eyes adjusted to the bright light, I saw what they really were: terminals. They were terminals, 10 in a row, 10 rows, all occupied. I had seen this kind of thing before, but only in fiction. What these terminals did was stimulate parts of the brain to simulate experiences, essentially virtual reality. They were strictly outlawed in the United States, because it was found that they were highly addictive, and were more than capable of deteriorating the mental faculties to those of a rat.
It was a sickening sight, each occupant had 5 thick cables jutting from the back of their neck, many with infections in the cuts made for said cables.
The terminal occupants seemed to be the only beings in the warehouse. I made my way up the stairwell to my right, to what I assumed would be a control room with, hopefully, a master terminal. Alas, there was a master terminal, and seeing it, something clicked in my mind. A flash drive was enclosed in the case folder I was given, and knowing Remmington, it would be something to shut down this network.

[Anonymous No.979931]

He had been reporting on the mob’s activity relating to illegal virtual-reality deals, online prostitution, gambling, and I had even heard there was something about virtual drugs.
Six months he’d been inside, six months he built trust faster than they could distrust him. And now he’s another name on a police report.
Shit, I thought. I’ve got a long night ahead of me.
11 PM, one hour, 4 phone calls and a favor later, I had a record of Remmy’s last reports, including from where he reported. Each sign-in was remote, from a terminal “somewhere”; that place usually remaining a “somewhere”. But not today. His last report had come from a shit-hole on skid row, probably some lowly gangster’s home, to which I was headed.
11:30 PM, I’m knocking on the door of one “Antonin Ramirez”, last known location of Remmington, aside from his two-bit hotel room. Neither response at the door, nor any rustle of activity from within. Maybe against my better judgment, I tried the door and found it unlocked.
Allowing myself in, I immediately saw various papers scattered about on the dining room table. Upon further inspection, they were all shipping manifests, and unless the mob was shipping 5 tons of “dress shoes” to and from just about every country on the globe, this was damn suspicious. The topmost manifest showed an incoming shipment, arrived as of a week ago to a warehouse in the industrial section of town.

[Anonymous No.979935]

Right as I was about to plug in the flash drive, something came to my mind. Remmington was likely operating while this network wasn’t in use, when nobody would be unplugged. But now, if I shut down this network, the users’ minds will be lost, ghosts in the informational void.
I’d love to say that this was a hard decision for me, but it wasn’t. I didn’t think about the people down there, lost in their individual fantasies.
I didn’t see that most of them were children.
I plugged the flash drive in, and as I expected it ran everything automatically. After about ten minutes there was a collective flash as each terminal’s screen flashed off, and each user started coming back to reality.
At least, that’s what I was hoping.
About one-third of the users began to seize, to my dismay. I immediately phoned 911 and ran down to those that I thought I could guide back to the real world.
Most of them just stared past me, likely at something that was not there, but there was one boy, one small boy, that spoke. He said to me, locking my gaze, “I have to save the world. I have to save them all or the Antagonist will take hold of them.”
“Then go, go and save them” I said lamely. I couldn’t think of what to say to a boy lost in some online game, to a boy whose whole life just left this world.
I was torn between a strong feeling of frustration, sadness and nausea. I stepped back from the boy, stepped back and took the whole scene in. Now half of them were seizing, one quarter staring blankly at the roof, the rest babbling to nobody in particular.

[Anonymous No.979939]

cool ctrl V, bro

[Anonymous No.979940]

At that moment the door burst open, my hand flew to my revolver. However, it was the paramedic team I had called for. Wheeling in a stretcher, they all halted and took in the scene. Either a second or a year later, they flew into action, bolting towards the nearest seizing user. It all happened so slowly, I thought. As they were systematically attempting to stabilize each patient and calling for backup, I began to do my job, separating myself as best I could from the self-righteous mentality that had me finish Remmy’s work.
This was a dead end, I thought. There was nowhere I could go from here, no papers to lead me to my next scene. It was simple enough what must have happened, though. Remmy made a virus to take down this operation, and he got caught. For that, they shot him full of lead and threw him onto my desk.
Nowhere to go from here, and seeing no point in sticking around to chat with the paramedics, I made my exit and walked to my car. Sitting down, I thought about the boy, and was overwhelmed.
“Save us, save us all” I cried to myself. I cried out of self-pity, and self-loathing. I cried for all that was lost that night, for Remmy and even for my secretary. She has to deal with this every day; she has the permanent position of “bearer of bad news”.
It came to my mind that I didn’t even know her name. However connected I might like to think I was to humanity, I was distant enough that my secretary, the closest thing to a partner I had, that I didn’t even know her name. With my connection to humanity, I thought of the weight on my chest, my revolver. Would that boy have been better off if I had ended his fantasy there?
That’s not for me to decide, though. My gun gives me authority over men, who am I to decide the fate of a boy?
And with that, I realized I had already done so, and cried ever harder.

[Anonymous No.979943]

9 AM. I’m at my desk again, haven’t slept. My secretary arrives, hanging up her coat she asks, “Make any headway on that case last night?”
I kept it simple. “It was a dead end, there’s nowhere to go. I’m closing it up.”
She looked surprised at that, but mercifully, didn’t ask. She looked even more surprised at my next question: “What’s your name?”
Taken aback, she said “A-Alice”
“That’s a nice name, Alice.”
I turned from her and lit a cigarette. I peered out the blinds and contemplated the city below. There is too much evil here for one man to dispel, I thought. If God is in his Heaven, then the Antagonist is in these streets, and I cannot fight such a power.
“I think I’m going to take a break soon, Alice.”
“Well don’t take it too soon, Mr. Revara” she said sardonically, handing me a manila folder.

C&C please.

[Anonymous No.979954]

Bump, need C&C please.

[Anonymous No.979966]

This is either a bad sample or simply has terrible charaterization. You aren't making a list here, you need characters to have a reason to give a shit about things and that isn't here at all, this work isn't worthy of any real critique because it's impossible to read through without wondering why anyone should care.

[Anonymous No.980030]

Delivered.

C&C

[Anonymous No.980052]

Bump this thread nigga. Come on lit this nigga need some criticism.

[Anonymous No.980067]

self sameless bump. Please /lit/

[Anonymous No.980077]

>>979966

OP you're ignoring what this fine gent put here, which I happen to agree with. Personally you lost me at "private eye". Sorry but that is some serious overused shit right there.

Fix up.

[OP No.980088]

Contructive Criticism please

[OP No.980110]

>>980088

Not OP. But please C&C PLEASE

[Anonymous No.980142]

I think this is good.

Just kidding

[Anonymous No.980153]

Bump this masterpiece

[Anonymous No.980161]

>I TOLD myself
>My brow IS heavy and my cigarettes ARE wet from the new rain
>I’ve arrived at my destination, and I [AM] outside the door
>However, as my eyes ADJUSTED to the bright light

Sure is crazy tense shift in here.

Also, cliched story beside, you need so much more detail. There's no need to rush through to the action (which you then proceed to rush through). Take some time, slow shit down, let us into the mind of the character as he does what he does.

[Anonymous No.980176]

This needs more dildos.

[Anonymous No.980179]

>>980176

FOCK YEA!

[Anonymous No.980215]

Lit can't critisize my work? Fuck you lit!

[OP No.980226]

>>980215

I'm a better writer that everyone here, fuck you all.

[OP No.980383]

BUMP MY THREAD PLEASE

[Anonymous No.980431]

FUCK MY PENIS PLEASEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE