PastMaster

WALKTHROUGH HERE- SPOLIERS- STORY BELOW

Since its taking me an age to write this story, i'm doing a quick outline of the story. Then i'll do it to its full length beneath.

Jonathon Peter Davies (known to his frinds as Davies) is sent to the London branch of The Museum by his boss. Whilst there he stumbles upon a plot by an as yet unheard of terrorist group called Sons of History, whos first attack will be do destroy aprliment by taking out parliment and then the headof the British armed forces. With no-one willing to help or believe him, Davies is forced to take action. After attemtping to take on the SOH in The Museum at night, he is captured and tortured after first being offered a chance to join them. Tied next to a bomb that is set to go off after the assination and destruction of parliment Davies finds strength he never knew he had.

After freeing himself and knocking out the sniper, he shoots at the head of the British armed forces to stop him unwittingly firing upon parliment and firing at an SOH member who was on the platform as a backup.

Amred police burst into Davies location and arrest him. This is to much for Davies who lapses into a coma due to his injuries. When he awakens, he discovers that the London attack was but the first of a worldwide stike, and that the world has changed drastically. Fortunatly, a police woman who he dictacted his action to as he fired the rifle has cleared him.

At the end, Davies muses into a cup of tea that a war has begun for the very soul of history. And that he has found himself in the middle of it.

SPOLIERS OVER
STORY STARTS NOW.

Chapter One- Awakening

The explosion of noise cut through the quiet room like a knife.

Unfortunately, it made little impression on the sleeping mass that was less than two feet from where the noise poured out of the speakers. True, the eyes did seem to move from behind the closed lids but for five seconds that was all the motion that was visible.

Then, after apparently realising that the noise was not going to go away of its own accord the mass decided to react to it. An arm, seemingly of its  own free will reached out from underneath the duvet where it had been safely cocooned for the last nine hours. Pausing only for a second where it reacted negatively to the impact of the cold air on its soft skin it headed towards the source of the offending racket, which turned out to be an I-pod.

Once, twice, the thumb hit the dial until a song was reached that the rest of the sleeping mass approved of. Satisfied that its work was done, the arm returned to the warmth and safety of the duvet.

However, whilst the arm was accomplishing its mission the brain of the mass had begun working as to the reason for the noise. There was a reason for it, a big one. However, the brain was uncertain as to the reason itself. As the brain was unable to come up with a reason to move, the mass remained in a semi-sleeping state.

Two songs later, the brain had decided that the reason for the cause of noise was of immense importance and that the mass was going to get up whether it wanted to or not. With the matter decided, the mass began rather reluctantly to move.

First the eyes clicked open, then, the same arm that had braved the outside world once before was chosen to remove the duvet from the rest of the mass.

This was accomplished in one smooth movement and revealed the rest of the naked pink body to the cold air.

Slowly the mass got out of the bed and began heading about its morning routine. The brain was grateful for this, because  it was now able to focus its full attention as to why the mass was being required to move at all.

The mass headed into the kitchen.

Click

With one finger, a pre-filled kettle began to boil and the mass headed for the fridge with a view to get some milk. This was added along with two sugars, a teabag and rather a lot of hot water into a mug that was capable of holding up to one litre.

With this task accomplished, the mass headed for a shower.

The water lanced down, red hot needles that counteracted the fuzzy feeling inside the brain and ensured that it was finally able to remember the reason for the unseemly outburst of noise.

Something called ’work’.

Ten minutes later, something that could claim to be a human emerged from the shower with wet hair and began the task of shaving and brushing its teeth.

A scalding sip of tea confirmed his suspicion that it was still to  hot to drink however it did remove even more of the fog enveloping his brain.

Discarding his towel, the body began getting dressed. Hanging on the back of the door was its uniform and with a new sense of purpose the body clothed itself.

The uniform was black. Black trousers, black socks and a black T-Shirt with a logo over the left breast. Black shoes were supposed to be worn, however black trainers were in fact chosen. Nobody had yet noticed, or if they had they hadn’t commented upon it. Besides, the black shoes were always taken in a backpack just in case.

A few more gulps of precious tea and a pair of eyes regarded themselves in a mirror. They were dark brown, almost black and in contrast with the dull, unintelligent lumps of a few minutes ago these were full of life and humour. A quick check of his flies and Jonathon Peter Davies was ready to head to work.



Chapter two- New beginnings.

Unusually for him, Jonathon did not head for his beloved bike which he had dubbed ‘the silver beast’ to cycle to work. He instead headed straight for the train station and began a journey of more than seventy miles to begin a journey that would take him to a new place of work. And danger.

It had all started for him on a cold and wet Thursday afternoon when his supervisor had waddled over to him with a superior smile on her bloated face.

“London is short staffed next week.”

Jonathon regarded this as a bizarre way to start a conversation, but he had to tread carefully.

“That’s bad news”

“Lots of stock coming in that they’ll be unable to cope with. It might become embarrassing.”

“I can imagine.”

“Their asking if we have any staff to spare. They say they only need one. The other London branch is sending as many as it can.”

Jonathon didn’t like where this conversation was going.

“I see.”

The smile grew wider and the normally dull eyes were alive with sadistic glee. Jonathon looked around the shop he worked. The customers were almost as numerous as the staff and there was no indication that this was going to change.

“I’ve said you’ll go. The Museum will of course pay for your travel and put you up in a three star hotel.”

“You cant do this.”

“Yes I can. Its in your contract. It says we can send you anywhere in the museum if we feel that you could be better used elsewhere. We feel you can be better used in London than here.”

Jonathon mentally reviewed the contract he had signed three months ago. He dimly remembered there being something like that in there, but he had assumed it meant staying on the same site, however their definition was different to his. After all, the museum had sites all over England. And there was no point arguing the point. He may as well go.

“When am I supposed to be there?”

The smile shrank a little. He obviously wasn’t supposed to give in this easily.

“You are expected in London for ten ‘o’ clock Monday morning. Keep all your receipts.”

The train jolting to a stop put an end to his reminiscing. He had at least managed to convince them that letting him travel back and forth was cheaper and better for his morale then making him stay in London. That victory would cost him later, but for now he savoured it. 

The shop was pretty much what he was expecting, as was the staff. A collection of people from all over the world taking this minimum wage job for varying reasons. Some of them were saving for university, others were hoping to transfer inside the museum and others were trying to feed a family. The boss was friendly enough and genuinely seemed to appreciate Jonathon being there. The other London branch had failed to send anybody so for the time being he was king of the stockroom. 

Chapter 3- The starting gun.

Another young man had risen and left for the same museum that day, however his method of arriving at work was completely different.









INTERMISSION- STUFF HAPPENS HERE

"You must admit Jonathon, the plan is quite beautiful. Using the twin guns in front of the museum to destory parliment and then having them self destruct taking this.. place with it."

Davies used several words to describe the plan. None of which came anywhere near 'beautiful.'



INTERMISSION- BAD THINGS HAPPEN HERE

RESUME
John struggled against his bonds but it was hopeless, the rope had his hands bound so tight he could barely feel his fingers let alone use them to do anything.  All he could do was sit and stare at the red numbers counting down.

Two precious minutes later, John had a brainwave. His pockets had been emptied of everything, but in all the excitement the hadn’t looked around his neck and that meant that his ID card should still be there. He grinned, with any luck that piece of plastic could save his life.

Using his mouth and another priceless minute, he was able to get the thread that held the card around his neck inside his teeth.  A few seconds later the card was on the floor and then in his hands. Jiggling the card frantically he was able to snap it into two serrated pieces. He tucked one where it could easily be reached and began  using the other as a primitive knife.

Johns hands were burning and slippery with sweat, but he tried to ignore the pain and instead focused on the red numbers that counted unstoppably down.  Eventually, he felt some give in the rope and was after a mere hour and a half to free his hands. Rubbing them in a bid to get some circulation back, John took stock of his situation.

He had physical mobility in a room not much bigger than a cupboard. The door was locked and in the next room was a bomb that was going to turn him into air pollution, he was tired, hungry and his ribs, ankle and hand hurt.

INTERMISSION- MORE BAD THINGS HAPPEN HERE

“Hello emergency services. Please state which service you require”

“Police please”

The phone rang for perhaps a second before a cool efficient female voice started speaking.

“Hello, your through to the police. How may I help you?”

Davies was in no mood to deal with cool efficient female voices, he was trying to work out the sniper rifle. He took a deep breath and hoped like hell she wouldn’t hang up on him.

“Do you have the capacity to record calls?”

“All calls are recorded as a matter of course sir. May I have your name?”

“My name is Jonathon Peter  Davies. I am a museum shop assistant temporarily transferred to London and I am about to shoot the head of the British armed forces. Did you get all that?”

The efficient voice was now annoyed.

“I’m afraid that hoax calls are a serious offence. If you do not have a genuine emergency please hang up.”

Davies looked around desperately.  Precious seconds were ticking away. He needed to get this woman on side. Now.

“Ok, I’m going to be to the point. Please listen carefully.”

With no other idea what to do, Davies worked the bolt mechanism for the gun and sent a precious round tumbling to the ground.

“Did you hear that?”

Suddenly the voice was tense, alert and a little bit distressed.

“I heard that sir.  Please state your intentions and demands.”

Davies almost dropped the rifle. She thought he was a terrorist!

“I don’t have any demands. Now I need you to let me speak without interrupting. And as for the trace that your probably running on this call I’ll save you the time. I am on the second floor of the museum, facing the podium where the head of the armed forces is going to fire the twin guns we have outside. Unfortunately,  the shells are live and will destroy parliament and kill everyone in it. Ten seconds later a bomb will destroy the museum and everybody in it. Now I don’t have time to explain it to everybody so I’m doing the only other thing possible. Now listen,  even if I do stop this the bomb will go off at half past eleven. Do you understand?”

The voice was now convinced.

INTERMISSION- GOOD THINGS HAPPEN HERE

After eighteen hours in adeep sleep Davies awoke to find a world changed by the events that he had become involved in. At first his mother refused to leave his side and smothered him so totally he wondered if being blown up was really so bad. However, eventually she was persuaded to leave and three people entered the room.

Two of them were in full unifrm, one for the police and one for the army, with the third in a suit. John was keeping a close eye on Army guys handgun. He had shot at their chief after all.

However, it was the suit who spoke first.

"How are you feeling mr. Davies?"

"John shot him a look and took another sip of tea. It was his fifth cup since coming back to the land of the living, but only his second of builders tea. In his weakoned stae he had even been willing to drink Earl Grey, but now he had some strength back.

"I'll live mr.?"

"Pendraggon, Arthur Pendraggon, I'm with the security services."

John tore his eyes away fro Army guys handgun and looked him up and down. He looked like a spy. Bland and undramatic. The guy looked as interesting as a coat of magnolia paint.

We'd like to ask you a few questions if your up to it?"

John put the tea down.

"Am I being charged?"

The three men looked uneasy at the prospect. The police officer spoke first.

"Mr. Davies I assure you, were we to prent you with any charges all of us would be looking for new jobs come tomorrow morning."

And with that, they began asking question after question for ove three hours. Davies found himself reliving every second since that first train journey. Eventually, it was over and he could ask some of his own.

"So,these 'Saviours of History' (John was heavily sarcastic) nw that I foiled their attack, have you been able to catch them?"

The three men looked at each other as if unsre of what to say. Pendraggon broke the sudden and uncomfortable silence.

"It appears that they are largerthan we thought. They launched operations all around the globe. At 11 local time, other museums were attacked."

John suddenly wished for some Southern Comfort. Lots.

"How many? How many other museums?"

"The louvres gone. As is the Smithsonian, the Australian national museum to name but three. Only in London were they foiled. They promise further attacks until they are placed as they put it 'in control of history'."

Davies took a deep breath and looked into his nearly empty teacup as though it contained all the answers.

"So." He muttered "The war has begun."


Sometimes a single decision can impact on a mans life in ways that he cant possibly imagine. Sometimes these choices are obvious, decided whether or not to marry a woman, or to take a certain job. For one young man, the decision that changed his life was what to do during his lunch break.

As a result of this single decision, the young man was beaten, tortured. shot at the head of the Armed Forces and narrowly avoided being shot himself. However, that event was almost six months ago and he hoped that it was over. Now he was just waiting for the nightmares to stop.

It wasn't over.

The people he had angered did not forget.

The people he had angered did not forgive.

The people he had angered were looking for a way to get even.

CHAPTER ONE

To the outside observer, the morning routine of Jonathon Peter Davies appeared to have changed little over the last six months. The I-pod still functioned as an alarm clock, he still changed songs until he found one he liked, his morning eye opener was still tea, even the amount of time he spent in the shower was roughly the same. He even worked at the same location and rode the same bike.

However, to Davies himself his morning routine was vastly different. Where once his I-pod had forced him to arise from his warm comfy bed, he now found that it was his only release from the constant nightmares of what he had done and had done to him. More and more he questioned his decision to stay at the Museum, but it was the only job that he had ever really wanted and he was not going to let S.O.H. take it away from him.

With the terrors of the night put firmly behind him, Davies grabbed his beloved bike and, with his I-pod turned up and an open country road ahead of him started to cycle to work.

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Other people were also heading to work on that fine sunny morning. One of them was sitting in a cafe in London. This was not somewhere that he wanted to be. He hated England with every fiber of his being, pathetic cowardly people who hid behind their white cliffs and history and running to the Americans whenever they got into trouble. However, someone had offered to spend a vast amount of money on his group if he agreed to the meeting in this place. And so, he had swallowed his loathing and agreed. He just hoped it was worth his time.

At exactly ten minutes past eleven, his contact arrived. A serious looking young man in a suit, a copy of the Times was under his arm and there was a serious look on his face. However, that brightened into a welcoming smile when the two made eye contact.

"Peter? Is that you? I havent seen you in ages! How have you been?"

"Far too long." (In fact he had never laid eyes on this person before but the general public didn't know that.)

"Are you still married to Maria?"

"No,