It's as if I have something INTERESTING to say!

For the past few months I've been feeling lazy, or lazier than usual, and one of the things affected have been my Newgrounds account. I visit daily, but only to watch movies, play games, check up, nothing else. I've lost motivation in doing anything else, such as voting, reviewing, or posting. No one really cares that I'm gone, but if you guys give me a reason to come back, maybe I will.

...

Otherwise, I'll...

Ah, screw it. I'll start doing all that shit again, for the sake of a new year.

No one ever comes here anyway, so I'm filling space.

My name is Jack Horner. My occupation I would rather keep a secret, but I did things most people wouldn't. I was leaning on an old, battered light post, near the corner of Warren Street. I won't say why I'm there, but I was. Darkness shrouded most of my vision, but I could still see across the street, a dank dingy bar without much light. A light rain was falling, but I liked the rain, it was depressing. Hands shoved into my pockets. Dressed as I was, torn, faded trench coat, dark fedora pulled over my eyes, white shirt and tie, smoking a cigarette, I looked like a 90s detective. The look did it for me, it inconspicuous in the mid 2000s era. Post war, Great Depression, it was like that all over again. I was waiting for my contact, fairly trustworthy, but you never know with this business.

Over across the street I could see the bar's doors opening, the neon lights now off, and some thugs in hoods emerging. They wore red, orange and yellow hoods, jeans and sneakers, the average cocky teenager. One of them in the group of four had pulled his hood down and exposed his short, orange, carrot colored hair. It seemed as if he was the leader. They were walking toward me with a confident stride, chests out, swagger, the works. They reached me, with a smirk, Carrot Top then asks me, "Mind if we borrow a smoke?" I grinned. "No." I didn't talk much, the simple refusal would have to do. Carrot Top and his buddies are mad. They don't like rejection, it's not as if any other person would say yes. "I said, can we borrow a pack of cigarettes?" He says in an even lower, more forced tone. He's increased the quantity, and used a complicated word in his minute vocabulary. Here they are, in the worst part of town, asking a complete stranger for cancer sticks. Don't they know better?

I've reached my decision to teach them a lesson at this point. I grin again and offer them a pack. "Fine, here you go. Come and get it." My voice remains the same, keeping it cool. Carrot Top sneers and the others look pleasantly surprised. They stare and avert their gaze to my left hand. In it is now a pack of smokes. Half full, I don't smoke that much. I breath in the present smoke between my lips, exhaling a second later. The Carrot makes the first move, reaching for my hand. At the same time my right hand takes the cigarette from between my teeth. Carrot Top has now reached the pack. Quick as light, I pocket them and grab his tattooed arm with my left hand. "What the f-?!" He exclaims, but doesn't get to finish, as I dig the end of the cigarette into his arm. It burns, and he pulls back his arm, eyes scathing a false fire. He throws a punch to my face, but I move my head to the right and he makes a hole in the wooden fence behind me. He screams and yells, curses wildly, and I throw a punch to his face. I can both feel and hear something breaking on impact, and he falls to the ground, squirming.

Still holding the cigarette, I put it back between my teeth. His friends stare and I can see thier eyes change targets from their friend to me. They too, have a fierce look in their eyes, mixed in with some fear. I'm not scared of a couple of street punks, and the one on the left makes a move. He moves with a quickness and agility of a blind rhino as he charges to head butt me. He's easily the largest of the punks, so maybe I shouldn't do the work, I think. I dodge again, this time my whole body moves. I hear a metallic impact beside me, the Rhino has cracked his head on the lamp post I was leaning on. It sways, it's light blinking on and off, bathing the scene in semi-darkness. The tallest one moves wildly as he tries to punch me from all around, but he's obviously watched to many movies, as I evade his barrage of fists with ease. I weave under arm and give him a firm punched to gut, Beanpole topples like a tower of blocks.

The last one, the smallest of them all, is looking just scared now. He's wriggling and squirming, And I think that's the last of my treatment. But no, he's carrying a knife. A switchblade, still outlawed, but this one's the kind where it stuns you. State-of-the-art. It shines in the light, and I can see some electric sparks dance menacingly in the flat of the blade. He lunges, and this time, whatever oath theses kids are under, He's following it. He's at least thirteen. I can possibly do it. I'm not weak by any means, but I have some morals. His eyes are blazing as he rushes toward me, and have only a second to react. He swings, and I move. The only sound is the crack of metal on the hard, paved, tarmac street. He's dropped the knife, and collapsed on his knees, sobbing. I pull him up on his feet and look him in the eyes. "I'm sure you know better than this kid. Think about it, and go home." I say solemnly. He nods. I'm not the giving type, sure not as hell the nicest, but I feel better, so does he. Shortstop runs away, not looking back. I smile, genuine one, and I turn to the others.

The Beanpole is clutching his stomach, moaning in pain. He had thrown up. The Rhino on the floor, unconscious. There's some blood, but it's mostly a minor scratch. The Carrot Top has spit out some teeth, and also groaning. It's my turn to smirk this time, and I leave, satisfied. All this time my cigarette has burned up and I throw it away. I turn, and have one final look. Then I go and meet my contact.

=UPDATE POINT=

I walk toward the alley near the bar. It's still raining, I shuffle my Baretta around calmly, anticipating any possible movement. They dark shadows of the alley are shifting around, and my contact comes out of the dark. He's a spindly little kid, name was Jeremy Finster. An all around nerd, but somehow he knew a lot of things in the underground. Brown, straight, hair in a bowl cut, thick black glasses, pocket protector and orthopedic shoes, his braces shone in the moonlight. The kid also had on a work shirt and a lab coat over it, with some black shorts. He walked with a stunted gait, and smiled like he was in front of a camera on school picture day. "Oh, it's you, Jack." He said in a nasally tone. "You know why I'm here." I replied, keeping my face in the dark. "Of course, of course, but you'll need to show me some collateral, you know?" He grinned. I flashed him a look at the green I had in my jacket pocket. "What do you know about the The Group?" I demanded.

"Oh, them. To be honest, I'd rather not talk about them... They're bad news..." He shifted nervously, twitching. "Why not?" I bared my teeth and moved closer. "Well... alright fine. But you've got to keep this a secret. At all costs. You didn't hear it from me. This conversation never happened" I nodded. "Alright. Well, The Group was formed by the Terror Cell." The Terror Cell was today's variant of terrorist group. They threatened the entire world security and had weapons to obliterate millions. A lot of black market deals had gone down, and entire armies and even scientists were on their side. "The Group is, an organization that recruited more members, developed more weapons, handled things on the civilian end. They are efficiently the Terror Cell's Human Resources, Employment and Management departments. They even have their own army, the The Enforcers. If you want an address, there's a warehouse that The Group usually arranges their deals in." He said all this shivering, looking behind his back all the time. "Right," I said "So they're bad news. Nothing I don't already know."

I took out a couple of bills and threw them at him. He snatched them out of the air, like a hungry animal. I don't blame him. Money was hard to come by around here, and even harder to keep. "Thanks man, my mom was getting hungry. Anyway, I'll see ya. and THIS NEVER HAPPENED." He tries to vanish mysteriously, but tripped on a trash can on the way. He was a real mother's boy, but then there's nothing wrong with that. In this day and age, your family is all you had to hang on. Unless you count your regular prostitute. I stepped out of they alley. My first case in days. It was a hard one. A widow came in when I was sitting down at my desk. A blonde, and a hot one at that. She looked like someone that could make a priest forget his vows on the first look. I asked her out as she threw cash on the table, but she only smiled and told me to solve the case. Her husband had been murdered. The Group, was all she told me, and she walked away, leaving me thinking.

The warehouse was near the docks, looking out on Aiereles Bay. Ships came through and through all the time, it was one of the biggest ports in the country. It's polluted waters stained the hulls of ship and poisoned the wildlife, if any. I looked out over they bay's waters, as they reflected the city's many lights among the shiny surface. I took out a lighter and lit another cigarette. I walked among Airay Street, the street closest to the water. I was in the port area now, the only people I saw were dock workers in dirty overalls and oil stained caps. I walked past them, only dim street lights lighting my path. I came across the main dock office, which held the incoming and outgoing ship records, cargo, warehouses and other things to only a dock worker would care about. And me. The lights were off, so I made my move. I smashed the window next to the door and unlocked it. Subtlety could go screw itself, I thought. Inside were a few desks, stacks of paper, file cabinets, office stationary, and another door. I shuffled some papers around, skimming and reading them as I went. Nothing of interest. I walked toward the other door, which read, "Dock Manager" and tried it. It was unlocked.

I entered. The room was neat, uncluttered, unlike the office. One cabinet, a picture of a boat, a maple desk with a desk lamp and computer on it. Perfect. I sat down behind the desk on a comfy, black leather swivel chair. Relaxing for a minute, I made use of the silver ash tray on the desk and got to work. I turned on the computer, and waited for the reboot to finish, and was dismayed at the password screen that was presented to me. Fortunately, there was a hint. What I'm best at, it said. I looked around, no pictures showing him fishing or hunting. There was only one picture, of him and his stunning wife. I tried several different times and was amused by the discovery of the password. A mild profanity was the password, and I contemplated his immatureness. I explored his files, until I came across the warehouse owners file. Repeatedly the computer required me to enter his password, and now the humor had grown droll and boring. I searched and found one match to my query. STAR labs, Scientific Technology And Research labs, owned a warehouse, in fact, it was scheduled to be used tonight. I memorized the location. Interestingly, very little detail was provided, and another password entry was needed just to get into the file itself. However, that was all I needed.

I heard a noise as soon as I logged off. A police siren, and a flashlight beam shone through the door way. It moved quickly, and a voice sounded. "Report was genuine, window's been broken." A gruff voice. "Clear the place, make sure you check the manager's office, it's open." A different, lighter, women's voice. "Alright, alright!" Footsteps thudded heavily, and I immediately shut the computer down using the main computer power button. I grabbed the ashtray and flung it past the office door and behind a table in the office. "Huh? what th-?" I unlocked the window behind me and clambered hoisted myself through the window. "Hey you! Stop!" He saw me, and fired a shot of his gun. It missed and struck the east wall of the adjacent warehouse. "STOP!!!" They both yelled. I ran between warehouses and broke open a warehouse door. It was shrouded in darkness, and I hid behind a large wooden box. Fortunately, after around 15 minutes, the noise had stopped. I came out, and saw no one. Satisfied, I looked at my watch. 11:45. It was time to go to the warehouse.

I have decided to just make one newspost for updates and things for my page. I know no one cares, but it's me that wants to keep track of things around here. I might update regularly, or not. By the way, if you want to add me to MSN; wolferz_fenrir@hotmail.com.

News:

Ahhh... sweet, sweet boredom. I have exams soon... I'm probably going to study at the last minute as always.

Updates:

18/07/08: Level up! Current Level: 11.
25/07/08: I have joined the ranks of the NGPD as a Police Officer!
18/08/08: I hate school. That is all.
01/10/08: YAY new month.

Random Fact about me:

I understand the materials in school, but I'm too god damned lazy to do anything but copy.

Comic of the day/week/month

Finally, just what I've been waiting for! Summer break is finally here and I can sit around bored and playing video games. For 2 and a half months! This freaking rules! ... That doesn't seem that appealing anymore. Come to think of it, last year's break, all I did was sit around as well... I am so sad. Please give me some suggestions! ^^

Just something I made out of boredom...

It's rather small in size, though.

Is March 13. And check this out. No one famous was born on my birthday. At least no one that anyone on Newgrounds would know about. Just wanted to share this "revelation". That's it. NO ONE

How many do you know? I hear the regular ones every day (shit, fuck), but I'm looking for some more classy or less understandable ones, you know the kind of type where they don't even know you're insulting them. Insults, bad words, the like.

I wanna be all classy like.

Bored... I need something to do... I was born looking bored ...