Thoughtless: Excerpt Chapter 1

Last November, I started on this dystopian sci-fi project, which I call Thoughtless. It is set in a distant future, in which an omnipresent A.I. runs the country and uses mind implants in citizens to give them guidance on how to live their lives. This story specifically follows an elite police officer who goes on an undercover assignment to find a group of terrorists and stop their plans - a mission that would require the officer to operate without an implant, and actually use his mind for the first time, leading to first time experiences and awakenings that makes him realize just how perverse society really is.

Most of the story is drafted, but a few huge plot holes exist, and the ending still needs to be wrapped up. After seeking out some criticism, it was brought to my attention that my first chapter may need work (and this might affect other aspects throughout the whole thing). The biggest thing that worries me is that the character might not grab a reader's attention right away to make them care - this is especially tricky since everybody in the book is an automaton by default. I've been told this chapter moves too fast. One thing that perplexes me is that I've been told some parts do a great job of showing and not telling, but then I also hear that I need to tell some things more - I'm not sure if that's warranted or not. There are probably other issues that I need to fix, but as of now, this excerpt represents the best I currently have. I've revised it to try and emphasize more to the character, but more work may be required.

My biggest hope is that this chapter catches your interest, keeps you reading, and keeps you intrigued enough to see what happens next. And I hope it all makes sense as-is. Enjoy, and feel free to leave critiques of your own in the comments.
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           Something was wrong. The stray thought manifested suddenly in Tom Guilding’s mind, giving him pause. When he received his assignment, a rush came over him. He was all too happy to tear away from his administrative duties at the station. He always relished the thrill of being a D-40 officer, always responding to emergencies and distresses. Catching deviants and saving citizens rejuvenated the rush that Tom always yearned for. Why then did he feel so disturbed?
           Guided by NORA, the van drove itself down the ultraway at over 200 miles per hour, its red and blue lights flashing urgently. Other cars crossed lanes to clear a straight path. As always, Tom trusted that NORA* would take him safely and efficiently the crime scene, and her voice would guide him through the next steps. He couldn’t articulate the reason for the anxiety, but the sensation grew worse as he watched the monolithic buildings passing by.
           There was nothing in his morning routine that suggested anything was wrong. He woke up on time, as prompted by NORA’s invisible alarm. His wife cooked them both oatmeal, before he conducted his daily workout and training sessions at the station. After a fast shower, he groomed his black hair, brushed his immaculately-white teeth, and donned his clean uniform. Like every morning, these actions were silent and mundane.
           The order to deploy came through Tom’s head immediately when he entered the station. The only thing NORA told him was that there was a hostage situation in the outskirts of Lansing. Deviants put lives in danger and demanded ten million units. Tom went through the motions of strapping his body armor on his body, checking out his firearm, and meeting with the rest of the team in the motorpool.
           It took half an hour for the van to reach its destination: a park nestled between a pair of tall glass buildings. The van parked itself – Tom and five other officers jumped out wordlessly. One of the men pulled out a case from the van’s back and opened it. Everybody grabbed their assault rifles – the scope on Tom’s weapon lit up as he hefted it against his chest.
           He heard NORA’s voice speaking to him softly in his mind: go left and take cover behind that parked car. Dutifully, Tom trotted across the parking lot and ducked behind a silver sedan. The other officers followed their individual instructions, taking position all around the area.
           Calmly, NORA commanded, The area is safe. Proceed into the building with caution.
           Tom stood and rushed forward, keeping his gun pointed ahead. His body was conditioned to shoot all threats he saw, with or without NORA’s voice. He took position by the building’s entrance, and waited for the others. Two more officers stood with him, while the other two aimed their rifles at the door.
           All at once, the four officers kicked the door open and hustled into the lobby. At the far end of the room, they beheld a woman tied to a chair with a gag covering her mouth. Wires were strewn all around the chair, connecting to plastic explosives by her feet.
           The officers looked all over the lobby, scanning it with their eyes and sweeping their guns back and forth. Once they determined that the area was clear, they approached the woman. She whimpered, and her face was wet with tears. One of the officers bent down and started to examine the explosives. He went through the motions of defusing it.
           Once again, the intrusive thought floated through Tom’s mind – something was wrong. He couldn’t understand the basis for his random, deviant thoughts. It intensified the rush he felt. He looked around the lobby – he didn’t know what to expect and he couldn’t even imagine what could go wrong. The anxiety guided his focus away from the situation.
           He wasn’t sure if NORA detected his rogue thoughts, but her command was a constant, soothing song in his ear – he had to cover his partners and the civilian and protect them from threats. The culprit was surely lurking somewhere in the building.
           Tom suddenly had another strange, random thought: what if he wasn’t? The building was completely empty – the woman’s crying were the only sounds in the area. Some inexplicable urge made Tom look closer. He started walking past the desk, and he continued deeper into the building.
           The other officers didn’t look up, but NORA’s voice sounded firmly in his mind: Tom, return to your position. The team needs protection.
           He blatantly ignored the command. It felt wrong to disobey NORA, but Tom couldn’t stop himself. He instinctively knew that there was a reason behind his apprehension, and he had to find it.
           Down the main corridor, Tom passed by several empty offices and a pair of elevators. Seeing nothing, he started back. A part of him felt foolish for ignoring NORA.
           Suddenly, her voice sounded in his mind: Stop. Look at the elevator.
           Tom moved his eyes to the elevators. One of the doors was wide open, revealing the empty shaft. The edges of the door jamb were bent. Looking down, he saw the elevator car a hundred feet below. He didn’t need NORA’s input to know this was unusual. His anxiety spiked, compelling him to look closer.
           When Tom pressed the button to call the elevator, nothing happened. He carefully moved along the ledge of the shaft and reached a maintenance ladder. Sliding down it, he reached the bottom.
           When he passed through a maintenance hatch, he came out in a wide, open corridor beneath the building. Fresh air touched his face, and he heard the city traffic from topside.
           A hundred feet ahead, he saw a glow against the concrete walls. He approached the light with his gun raised, and he found an alcove in the wall with electrical panels open. A computer was lying on the ground, with wires connecting it to the panels. Its screen gave off the telltale light, and it showed grids and patterns on it.
           Tom’s eyes darted among the electronics, and his pulse raced. What is this? Tom asked himself.
           NORA responded, I detect variances in the electrical grid. Somebody is sabotaging it. Tom, investigate with caution.
           Tom ran down the corridor, until he came out next to a squat, blank-looking building. Two roads led in and out of it, continuing beneath the city blocks and the layers of civilian roads. One of the doors was wide open.
           NORA told him, That door should not be open. Somebody hacked into it, and tricked us into believing it was closed.
           What is this place? Tom wondered. 
           That’s not important now, NORA said.
           Creeping around the corner of the door, Tom peered into the building and saw a loading dock. There were dozens of black vans parked inside. He also saw three strange vehicles, the likes of which he never saw before. They were small motorcycles, haphazardly welded together from scrap materials. Pieces of metal plates, tubes, pipes, and random parts made their bodies appear jagged and rough. If it wasn’t for the thick welds holding every piece in place, the bikes looked like they could fall apart.
           Near the makeshift motorcycles, Tom saw three figures standing in front of a wall. One of them was a black man with dreadlocks and a leather coat. He had a computer connected to the wall panels, and was typing furiously on the keys.
           A panel opened along the wall, and another man appeared with a satchel. His skinny body crawled out of the shaft, and he threw the bag at the third person. Even though the third person faced away from Tom, he could make out locks of black hair and an undeniably feminine shape.
           NORA informed Tom, This is a robbery.
           “That means the bomb is a diversion,” Tom muttered to himself.
           NORA told him, Yes. You always were astute. Tom, you are authorized to intervene. Arrest the deviants.
           Holding up his weapon, Tom approached the figures and shouted, “Freeze!”
           Cursing, the three robbers immediately rushed to their vehicles. Tom opened fire, spraying a burst of nonlethal rounds across the chamber. One shot hit the skinny man in the leg, and he stumbled to the ground. The other two hopped onto their bikes and took off. The vehicles roared loudly as they sped out of the loading dock and onto the sublevel roads. Tom shot at them, but his bullets ricocheted uselessly off of the motorcycles’ metal armor.
           Approaching the fallen criminal, Tom bent down and handcuffed him. Lifting the man up, Tom proceeded to walk him out of the building.
           As they walked, the man remarked, “This wasn’t supposed to happen this way. How did you find us?”
           Tom didn’t answer as they continued down the maintenance corridor. Halfway down the passage, a man’s voice sounded from the deviant’s body. “Renard, talk to me buddy. What’s happening?”
           In an instant, Tom realized that the culprit had a radio. He stopped, unsure about how to proceed, and intrigued to hear more from the other voice.
           Renard stood still. Holding his skinny arms up, he showed off his handcuffs and said, “I can’t exactly answer him with these on.”
           NORA told Tom, The handcuffs remain on.
           In his mind, Tom argued, If we get them to talk, they could give us more information. If there’s more deviants, we have to find them.
           That is for us to determine. With NORA’s affirmation, Tom knew that the department was already processing new information and issuing new commands. The oligarchy would run the investigation, and give officers direction.
           The voice erupted from the radio again, “Renard? Hello? Is this thing on? Ah hell, you got caught, didn’t you? I knew you were a good-for-nothing piece of sh*t. Didn’t I tell you this would happen if you didn’t shape up?”
           Renard rolled his eyes and muttered to himself, “This can’t be happening.”
           “Hey, are there any zombies out there listening? Any cops around you? If there are, listen to this: Lucy is going to take NORA down. If you think you have a chance, you got to think fast.”
           Tom felt alarmed – even though the stranger’s message didn’t say it outright, Tom’s gut instinct told him that his unit was in danger. Before NORA could instruct him, Renard’s jacket started beeping.
           Wide-eyed, the man looked around frantically and patted his clothes. He murmured, “No, no, this can’t be happening. I didn’t think he’d go through doing this to me! This can’t be real!”
           Tom didn’t need any more confirmation – the alarm surging through his body spurred him to run. As he turned, the beeping sound became more and more rapid. The man struggled to yank the jacket off.
           With no more time to speculate or observe, Tom bolted away from him. Gaining distance was his only thought and concern. He cleared a hundred feet, before the beeping stopped.
           A deafening boom erupted. Tom was knocked ten feet forward, his body tumbling on the ground. All he heard was a high-pitched ring. Looking back, he saw a cloud of dust and fire wafting all over the loading bay. Pieces of shrapnel and rubble clattered on the ground – there was nothing left of the suspect.
           It took Tom a matter of minutes to return to the lobby. When he climbed up the elevator’s maintenance ladder, he stopped short in the hallway. The walls were charred. When he continued into the lobby, dismay overwhelmed him when he saw the entire area in ruin. The floor was blackened, with debris strewn in all directions. The bodies of three officers were thrown across the floor, partially mutilated. The only sign of the victim in the chair were scattered body parts.
           Tom’s hands shook and his feet felt weak. His first thought was that the officers failed to defuse the bomb. Then he wondered if that was true, or if it was remotely triggered. What if it was set off by the same signal that set off Renard’s bomb? The thought that Tom caused all this death and mayhem made him sick.
           Firemen already responded to the explosion, and rushed into the lobby to collect evidence. One of them guided Tom outside, where a paramedic tended to his ears. Tom shook the whole time, unnerved by the blast and disturbed that the mission failed. What bothered him the most was the fear that his own deviations were to blame.

* = NORA is short for the Neurological Oligarchy of the Reformed America. I did define this acronym in the original draft, but somebody told me "don't give too much at the beginning." I still don't know if I agree with witholding this definition, but I'm looking for alternate ways to reveal this. 

Copyright 2016.

Book Review: Fahrenheit 451 (Ray Bradbury)

"It was a pleasure to burn." - Ray Bradbury
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In the future, firemen don't put out fires, they start them.  They raid people's home, collect their books, and set them ablaze.  It is a terrifying, oppressive world where literature is forbidden.  By extension, it's a world where intellect, free-thinking, and questioning authority are forbidden.  This is the world of Fahrenheit 451, and this is the story about one fireman whose eyes are opened and he becomes the very enemy he was trained to hate and destroy.

Ray Bradbury's debut novel is short, pointed, and surprisingly elegant.  It can be rather wordy, especially with so much flowery language, but it's hardly a chore to read.  It is a book full of evocative ideas, tension, and compelling characters.  At the same time, there is a huge amount of depth and detail to it that gives the book a unique voice and a lot of heart.

The story is quite fundamental - the characters, story, and themes resonate universally, and have been influential in other sci-fi works.  The book's plot and conflict are subtle at first, slowly burning until the third acts hits with a tense, action-packed confrontation and chase.  Through the eyes of Guy Montag, readers are immersed in a world full of mechanical animals and wall-sized interactive TVs.  People are kept ignorant and happy through technology.  Montag's journey is one of intellectual discover, which eventually leads to rebellion.  The revelations of the characters and their celebration of intellect underscore the importance of art and literature, and suggest that in their absence, something important will be missing from people's lives and souls.

It's actually shocking to see how accurate Bradbury was in predicting certain things.  We do live in a world of information overdrive, with massive TVs streaming media at us all the time.  We are always distracted by music and information blasted directly into our ears with headphones.  What's most shocking is how people react and behave in their environments, so displaced and distanced on personal levels by technology.  It's as if Bradbury must have glimpsed into the future and saw an apathetic world full of selfish people with feelings of entitlement.  There's also some interesting observations about knowledge and happiness - people in this book are sheltered from intellect and knowledge because it's said to make them unhappy, while TV and loud music are figurative opiates.  It's widespread censorship, depriving all so that nobody would be offended or made unhappy by something.  It very much reminded me of modern trends, where political correctness and censorship are alive and well.  It all adds up to a terrifying warning about totalitarianism, where the government controls free thought, and nobody thinks to question them.  In a world without books, nobody thinks at all.

This book is very distinctive, thanks to Bradbury's precision with language.  He doesn't shy away from detailing some nasty details (leading to the book itself being censored on a few occasions), but for the most part it's beautifully written.  Characters show some very lively dialogue and plenty of heart.  The chief tends to lecture Montag relentlessly (and this is something I've been accused of doing in my own writing, so what the heck?).  Descriptions are full and lively, and often metaphorical.  It can be a bit challenging to fully understand what Bradbury is saying with some of his metaphors, but it definitely evokes phenomenal imagery, imagination, and emotion.

Fahrenheit 451 remains one of the biggest and best classics in sci-fi for a lot of great reasons.  It was a pleasure to read.

5/5

 

Book Review: Logan's Run (William F Nolan and George Clayton Johnson)

The Logan's Run film has been a seminal staple of sci-fi cinema my whole life. It's a film that presents its unique premise with plenty of flair and adventure. It seemed essential that I had to read the original book to see where this marvelous movie came from, and how it compared.

The book is as short, breezy, and pulpy as they come. It wastes no time in establishing the funky world Logan 5 lives in, and the madcap quest he embarks on. It's a sprawling adventure that goes all over the place, from one perilous situation to another. There are definitely unique ideas and vivid settings to behold, and it is quite a wonderful sci-fi adventure at times.

Unfortunately, I did find some things to be rather wonky. Strange as it may seem, I thought the plot of the movie adaptation was handled better - it made more sense to me that Logan would be put on a mission, rather than how it is in the book, where on his very last day of living he decides to try and find Sanctuary on his own initiative. Mort importantly, the events of the book are so tightly-packed, it's almost dizzying. Logan goes from one city to another, through canyons and glaciers, confronting Sandmen and killer robots and a crazy nursery and everything. Little time is spent in between the peril to settle down and get to know the characters and their world (world-building is effectively shown, but it still feels like a lot condensed into a very small space). In the end, the actual plot and sequence of events is very random.  It's exciting at times, but not always compelling.

As far as characters go, surprisingly little is said about them. Despite all his strength and determination, I didn't think Logan's motivation was that strong, and there wasn't much for the reader to relate to. Other characters are quite flat.

Ideas and the world-building are immense, but once again, I felt the movie handled them better. The book details multiple cities worldwide, rather than just one. I can't say I can comprehend how the world as a whole could condone and conform to the system that's described, but the whole idea of controlling population by limiting age is a naturally compelling one (even if limiting it to 21 seems rather young).

The prose is pretty trim, tight, and easy to read. It might even come off as rather brusque in style. Descriptions are minimal, and most details about the world and the premise behind it are more shown rather than told. Action is always moving, dialogue is not bad, and the book overall gets the job done fine and dandy.

It is a fairly enjoyable piece of pulp sci-fi, but I personally value the movie more - its plotting is hammered out better, and its pacing much more even, whereas the book is tight and nonstop. I feel it's a little too fast and loose, and it doesn't quite capitalize on characters, concepts, and plotting as well as the movie does. It's worthwhile for sci-fi fans, but this is one rare case where I believe the movie is better.

3.5/5

 

Writing: National Novel Writing Month 2015 - Thoughtless

It's time once again for National Novel Writing Month! This year will be my fifth year in a row.  For those who don't know, NaNoWriMo is a worldwide event in which writers all over the world attempt to pump out 50,000 words in one month.  It's a personal goal more than anything - a way for writers to motivate themselves and improve their productivity.  There are write-ins to attend, where writers can meet face-to-face in their local regions.  It's a rather informal, casual affair to promote the creative spirit.

Realistically, I find that 50K words in a month is more than do-able - it amounts to 1,667 words a day (a few pages).  It doesn't have to be pretty - editing while writing is actually counterproductive and unwise during this period of unbridled drafting.  It doesn't even have to be finished.  As long as you can pump out 50K words by November 30th, you're a winner.  You can always use December onwards to finish, edit, and rewrite the novel.

Technically, there's nothing stopping you from copying and pasting one word 50,000 times and calling yourself a winner.  The problem is, if you do that for whatever reason, you're doing a disservice to yourself (unless you truly believe 50,000 of one word is actually sell-able as a novel - in that case, good luck).  It's all for a writer's personal benefit.

This year, I plan on tackling a story idea I've had in mind since 2012 or so.  This is an idea that came up out of a conversation I had about how technology often does our thinking for us, and removes our own capacity for thinking.  As technology becomes more convenience and intelligent, what reason does a person have to learn or exercise existing skills? If the mind doesn't get exercised often enough, it is bound to be come dulled, leading to a society of people who can't think or function without technology.

Out of that line of thinking, my new novel will be about a future where everything is run by an omnipresent artificial intelligence.  It is called NORA - the Neurological Oligarchy of the Reformed America.  It is a future in which NORA runs every department in the government, and it uses implants in every citizens' brain to analyze their lives and make their decisions for them.  It would tell everybody what to eat, what their careers are, who they should socialize with, who to marry, what to say to people, and everything else.

In this setting, the story will be about Tom Guilding, who works as a police officer in an elite first response team called D-40.  He will become involved in a case in which a terrorist named Lucifer has stolen funds from NORA, and plans to destroy the AI through some unknown, nefarious means.  In order to catch Lucifer, NORA takes out Tom's implant and sends him undercover.  It is up to Tom to find Lucifer, uncover evidence, and learn what his plan is in order to stop him.  However, without the guidance of NORA, Tom will have to exercise his mind for the first time.  He will have to operate and overcome challenges on his own.  The more he learns, however, the more he questions his loyalty and questions who the real villain is.

This novel will be entitled Thoughtless.  It will take after a lot of sci-fi classics that I know and love - stories like Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 and George Orwell's 1984, and films like Logan's Run, Equilibrium, The Matrix, Swordfish, Point Break, and The Dark Knight.  Tom is a character inspired by the heroes of these various stories - usually authority figures who are made to see the evils of a dystopian society.  Lucifer is an unhinged, unstable villain originally inspired by the various villains that John Travolta played in various films, but at this point Lucifer has become a much more menacing figure in the same vein as The Joker or Fight Club's Tyler Durden.  Altogether, my story will carry some pretty heavy-duty themes concerning the dangers of allowing technology to take over responsibility over our lives, and at its heart this will be a story about a man freeing his mind.

Some music to inspire me for this project can he heard on 8tracks.  My playlist includes a ton of electronica - bands like Kosheen, BT, the Chemical Brothers, Phutureprimitive, The Crystal Method, The Glitch Mob, Celldweller, and more - and some soundtrack music, such as the film scores for The Dark Knight, Takers, Transformers, The Social Network, Ghost in the Shell, Lucy, and more.  There's a ton of beat to it all.

This is one of those projects that's been bouncing around in my head for a while, and it'll be quite a blast to finally manifest it into a tangible form.  My progress can be tracked at the NaNoWriMo website, and I should be able to get this whole thing completed before the end of the year.

Film Review: Moonraker (007)

James Bond has been to just about every country on the Earth. Now, his struggles take him above and beyond...into outer space

In the aftermath of the blockbuster supergiants, Star Wars and Close Encounters of the Third Kind, sci-fi was becoming huge in the late 70s. For better or for worse, producers decided to rocket this Bond picture into space and capitalize off of the craze. What results is easily the most stupidly excessive film of the lot. This is one long film that includes Bond skydiving, Bond trying out astronaut training machines, Bond going hunting, Bond going to Rio, Bond going to Venice for a big boat chase scene, Bond going to the Amazon jungle for an even bigger boat chase scene, and then after all that, Bond finally reaches space. The space scenes are probably the biggest highlight, as we watch a fleet of space shuttles departing Earth, Bond confronting the bad guy in a massive space station, and inevitably, there's an all-out laser-beam battle everywhere. Those lasers sure are cool. Just about every scene looks larger than life, thanks to all the grand views and exotic locations that serve as a background to the elaborate onslaught of peril and action. They pretty much throw everything at you - the sum of all the parts will seem messy, but if you take it scene-by-scene, it is a genuinely fun and fulfilling experience.

The plot pretty much goes through the motions of every other Bond adventure, simply swapping out secret lairs for a space station. All the usual elements are there - gadgets galore, ladies, class. It's nothing original or deep. It has practically nothing to do with Ian Fleming's original novel (which is actually a decent spy thriller). You just have to watch it for what it is: escapism at its most extreme.

This film uses excellent photography and editing. Roger Moore plays the same old Bond we all know and love (or hate) by now. Lois Chiles plays a rather flat character. Michael Lonsdale is okay to watch as the villain, but his performance is rather robotic in nature. Richard Kiel is awesome. Writing is not too terrible, especially given the material. This production spares no expense on the lavish locations, sets, props, costumes, and special effects. John Barry's music score is not bad, but I am not a fan of Shirley Bassey's theme song.

Moonraker represents the absolute height of excess in a James Bond film - it's so ridiculous, it has to be seen to be believed. I personally value the film the most for just being a nonstop chain of fun scenes, all the way to its far-out climax.

3.5/5 (Experience: Good | Story: Average | Film: Pretty Good)

Book Review: Battle Royale (Koushun Takami)

You may have heard of The Running Man and The Hunger Games - disturbing tales of the future in which human lives are put on the line in bloodsport entertainment.  From Japan, Battle Royale is another horrific vision of the future:  42 junior high school students rounded up on an island and forced to fight to the death under the eyes of an authoritarian government.

The harrowing premise is what initially hooked me into the BR films, and finally into this novel.  It has aspects that are familiar to the genre (which is not that big to begin with - just like The Running Man and Escape From New York, characters are coerced into action with explosive collars.  The survivalist struggle and the game-like nature of the whole affair will bring The Hunger Games to mind - I've seen many people accusing it of ripping off BR).  While the set-up and concepts used are neat, they are actually the low points of the book.  Some of the things that makes this perfectly readable are its agreeable pacing, its harrowing action scenes and violence, and the dynamic ways in which characters clash and band together.  The only bad thing is that this is a long book that chronicles every single student - it's not confusing, thankfully, but it can feel like a daunting read because of its sheer length and the level of detail Takami went into.

Fortunately, it is the characters that keeps this whole story glued together.  The three main characters are a likable bunch, whose struggles comprise the bulk of the novel and all its more thrilling parts.  What's really surprising is that the other 40+ characters receive a good amount of treatment too - even if they have short-lived parts, the author gives you just enough to understand them as people.  Thus, all the death in the book carries substantial weight.  Having to track all these characters, the plot moves around at a good rate, but it doesn't amount to much more than a struggle for survival (and possibly escape) on one island.  Background is given on the type of government that runs the BR program, and the characters often vow to tear the system down, but it's all left as a mere cliffhanger.

This novel is written with plenty of flair.  It does a great job of getting into each characters' thoughts and feelings.  There are some parts that come off as a little odd, such as in how specific it gets with certain details (like character height and weight) and general wording.  Dialogue appears realistic, but it can be rather melodramatic, especially when characters talk about their love lives and crushes (in this respect, it almost comes off as very anime-like).  Chances are that some of these aspects are just inherent cultural traits to Japanese literature that I might be ignorant of.

Battle Royale is a perfectly enjoyable and juicy read.  It's not always the best story or prose, but it is uncompromising in its vision, and compelling with its characters.

Comparatively, the novel is a grade better than the movie - the film does have good moments in its own right, but it always came off as rather stuff and drab to me.  However, I do prefer the Hunger Games a little more, thanks to its pacing and worldbuilding.

4/5 (Experience:  Good | Story:  Pretty Good | Book:  Pretty Good)

Novel: Untitled Project Redraft

As part of re-evaluating the things I've written over the years, I decided to rewrite this story completely from scratch.  I originally entitled it Pada Jai, but I'd like to call it something else when it eventually reaches its finalized form.

Originally, this was conceived as Star Wars fan fiction - I was contemplating the moral roles of the films (the Jedi and the Sith) and wanted to present a middle ground or grey area in between the two.  I came up with Pada Jai as a fictitious faction that uses the Force with no concern over good or evil, and could possibly use evil powers for good or vice-versa.  The point was, I wanted a type of Force use that was unrestricted, so a person could perform even crazier stunts and powerful moves that others in the universe couldn't even dream of.

Eventually, this idea evolved into its own bizarre universe.  I took a sociology class a while back, for college credit.  Part of it talked about corporate accountability, and part of that lesson regarded pollution and the environment.  Somehow, it spurred me into taking the Pada Jai concept and centering it on a disgruntled company employee in some distant future.  Somehow, this all evolved into what it is now:  a dark, brutal tale of a man betrayed by his friend, who unleashed a parasite that attaches to the brain and grants superhuman strength and power, but at the cost of his consciousness.  Freed from the confines of being a Star Wars story, I found that I could accomplish much more and be more original.

In its original draft, I split this up into three stories, about 40,000 words each (which is agonizingly short, in retrospect).  I was generally copying the plot structures of popular movie trilogies at the time (Star Wars and The Matrix), so I ended each story with some kind of cliffhanger, until it all built up to an all-out battle.

I think I always knew that there was something wonky and flaky with these books, but now that I look back on them, I realize they're downright terrible.  The prose is weird and the dialogue is stupid.  There is action galore - in one scene I actually had a 1-vs-100 man fight and I counted all the deaths to make sure they added up - but none of these scenes are really that great, because there's no attachment to the characters during these parts.  Some of my creative decisions were dumb.  Worst of all, I tried so hard to make this crass and pulpy, I wound up expending tons of swearing, vulgarity, blood, gore, and sex, but with no real finesse.  It comes off as trashy and puerile.

Obviously, I still see value and potential to the story - otherwise, I wouldn't bother revisiting it.  Is is all intended to be a tale about the abuse of power, of vengeance, and the inner struggle between savagery and civility.  I have a cast of characters that could be filled with life, and a whole universe to play with that you've probably never seen before.

To illustrate how much things have changed, I thought I'd post the past and present iterations of the opening sections of this story.

The original draft from 2005 appears below.  It's a pretty weak opening that tells more than it shows, and feels way too detached to work. 

Old Draft:

Chapter One:  New Arrivals at the Corjo Labor Camp

            Life on planet Corjo was truly miserable.  It was a hot, humid jungle world teaming with alien life.  Two blazing suns beamed heat down on the green world, drenching the laboring prisoners in sweat.  Now and then, prisoners were known to die from the heat exhaustion.

The prisoners’ work added to the misery; they were forced to unearth the ruins of an ancient alien civilization.  The expedition was long and hard, and the Corjan city was immense.  The ruins sprawled out for twenty square miles, and after five decades of nonstop labor, only half of it was fully uncovered.

            Every month, the prisoners at the Corjo labor camp would gather around the shuttle landing pad and watch the shuttle land.  The long rectangular vessel came as scheduled to deliver supplies, and most importantly, more prisoners.

            Life on Corjo would change dramatically, for of the twelve prisoners on board, two of them caught the most attention.  As they came out, the watching prisoners mocked and harassed them.  One of the newcomers was a young lady named Ryla Corinthia.  She was twenty-five years old with soft turquoise eyes and sandy blonde hair.  She was slender and beautiful.  As she exited the idle shuttle, all of the male prisoners gawked at her - some of them with a look of hunger.  She avoided their eyes and shyly retreated behind the other newcomers.

            But someone else’s eyes remained fixed on hers.  Another new prisoner named Gerard stared at her and flicked his tongue obnoxiously.  He was a strong, burly, crude young man with curly black hair and wicked yellow eyes.

            Guards came off the shuttle, clad in body armor with reflective silver helmets.  They herded all of the new prisoners in an orderly line, facing the administrative building directly in front of the shuttle pad.

            The prison camp was surprisingly sparse for such a large-scale operation.  There were six flat concrete buildings surrounding the shuttle pad, which included a barracks, an armory, an administrative building, a warehouse, a motor pool, and a prisoner processing building.  All of these buildings were surrounded by a fence, separating the prisoners from their overseers.  Four towers stood guard along the fence line, with robotic turrets that scanned everything around them.

            On the other side of the fence were six cabins for the prisoners, and a mess hall.  There were two guard towers as well.  There was no fence to separate the prisoner’s yard from the jungle.  Only the concrete and the gravel on the ground marked the camp’s boundaries.

            An old man stepped out of the administrative building and approached the new prisoners.  He was fifty years old, but looked to be a hundred.  He had thin gray hair and dark indigo eyes.  His face was etched with deep, unnatural wrinkles.  Combined with his skeletal figure, he looked like a specter.

            He announced in a surprisingly boisterous voice, “Welcome to Corjo! I am warden Chen; I am in charge of everything here, so you must do everything I say.  If you fail to obey my orders or my rules, we will resort to deadly force.  Is that understood?”

            A few prisoners muttered an acknowledgement.

            “When I ask you a question, I expect an answer!” Chen roared. “Do you understand me?”

            Ten of the twelve prisoners shouted back, “Yes sir!”

            “Don’t call me sir! I’ve worked in this company for fifty years! I’ve earned my title as warden! You must answer as, ‘Yes warden Chen’!”

            “Yes warden Chen!” eleven of the twelve prisoners replied.  A stern-looking man didn’t bother saying anything.

            Chen gestured at the silent prisoner.  One of the guards brandished a rifle and aimed it at the prisoner.  It fired an invisible beam of sound waves at him; the inaudible beam penetrated his ears and made his head hurt immensely.  The prisoner crumpled to the ground, grasping his head in pain.

            The guard stopped the beam and allowed the prisoner to recuperate.

            “That’s more like it,” Chen said.  He paced in front of the prisoners and lectured, “We are here to dig the Corjan ruins; that is your only duty here for the rest of your lives.  I expect all of you to dig and dig to the best of your ability.  If I feel you’re not doing your jobs well, you will be punished!

            “Escape is generally impossible.  This shuttle pad is off limits, and anyone caught in this area will be shot.  The only other option is the jungle.  There is no fence to keep you from entering or exiting the jungle.  There is only an invisible perimeter line that gives off a chemical scent to keep predators away.  If you enter the jungle on your own, you won’t last long!

            “You will obey the guards at all times.  You will report to roll call every morning without exception.  Failure will result in punishment! Remember, too, that anyone caught in the restricted fenced areas will be shot!

            “Meals are served for thirty minutes twice a day.  An announcement will be made when it is time to eat.  If you miss it, you get nothing!

            “Now,” Chen concluded, “all prisoners will report to building five for processing.”

            The guards made all of the new prisoners march to the prisoner processing building.  Ryla was at the front of the line.  She obediently stepped into the building and found herself facing a guard seated behind a desk.

            The guard ordered, “Please empty your pockets and remove all your belongings and place them on the desk.”

            Ryla handed over everything from her pockets:  some money, some bland chewing gum, and several ID cards.  The guard curiously glanced at the cards, noting that she was a former Maetherion employee.  The words, “Career Terminated” were stamped in red over them all.

            The guard apathetically discarded all of the belongings and said, “You will now be scanned for any foreign objects.”

            He pushed a button on his desk, and a large ring-shaped device descended from the ceiling.  It passed over Ryla, and a hazy blue field crackled electrically inside the ring.  As it descended, the blur field passed through her and made her skin tickle; she shifted uncomfortably.

            On the guard’s computer terminal, a complete molecular rendering of Ryla’s body appeared.  It showed everything from her clothes to her bone marrow.  The guard immediately spotted a foreign object on her neck.

            The guard demanded, “You must give us your necklace, too.”

            Ryla stammered, “But I can’t! My father gave it to me.”

            “Sorry lady,” the guard insisted. “But your citizenship with the Maetherion Corporation has been terminated.  You do not have the right to own any personal property here on Corjo.”

            “But I can’t give this up!” Ryla insisted. “It’s the only thing I have to remember him by!”

            The desk guard ordered, “Someone get it for her.”

            Another guard roughly grabbed Ryla’s necklace and ripped it off her neck.  He slapped it on the desk.  It was a crystalline cross inset in a golden star.  Ryla looked upon it with her eyes watering, and she put her hand where it used to lay on her chest.

            “Very good,” the desk guard said. “Next!”

            Ryla was taken to another room, which looked like a large showering room.  The escorting guard ordered, “Now, take off all your clothes so you can be cleansed.”

            “What?” Ryla snapped. “No!”

            “Take off your clothes so we can wash you,” the guard repeated.

            “No, not in front of you,” Ryla insisted. “Can’t I do this in private?”

            “You’re not entitled to privacy here.  Take off your clothes now.  Failure to comply will result in punishment.”

            “Punish me then!” Ryla bellowed. “I don’t deserve this kind of treatment!”

            Taking out his baton, the guard swung it hard against her stomach.  The blow knocked the wind out of her and made her bend over.  Whacking her on the back of the neck, he sent her sprawling to the floor.  He then kicked her in the stomach.  The pain in her neck and abdomen made her cry openly.

            “No more trouble, lady,” the guard warned. “You’re not a Maetherion employee anymore; you’re nothing! Do you get it now? You have no rights here; you have nothing here! So take off your f&cking clothes, unless you want some more!”

            Ryla rose to her feet with tears still dripping down her cheeks.  Obediently, she stripped off all her clothes and stood at the far end of the room.  Her hands covered her exposed skin abashedly.

            From the wall, the guard took a hose and sprayed a cold blast of water on her.  She gasped at the sudden gust of coldness on her skin.  She stood idly for a minute as the guard hosed her down.

            The guard turned off the hose and ordered, “Go to the next room and get an inoculation.”

            Ryla obediently dashed to the next room, still naked and dripping with cold water.  In the next room, a guard plunged a needle into her shoulder.  He explained that the shot would protect her from all known diseases on the planet.

            She then moved onto the next room, and was given a set of gray nondescript clothes.  Bunk ten - bed number five - was assigned to her.  Even though she was still yet from the hose, she donned her new clothes and stepped onto the prisoner’s yard.

            As soon as she exited the building, the crowd of prisoners stood around her and gawked.  She felt horribly uncomfortable, especially after her humiliating processing.  It occurred to her that she may be the only woman in the whole camp; everybody would be eager to take advantage of her.  She silently walked towards her assigned bunk and sat in her bed.  There, she cried all evening.

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For the new draft, I rewrote the whole scene anew and changed a lot of things creatively (guards are now robots, Chen is not as much of a weak old man, and chapter headings will be weird made-up compound words).  I personally feel better about it, but there is still room for improvement (hook is still weak, still to much telling, not enough characterization yet).

New Draft:

1 - Postarbitration

            Over planet Corjo, a freighter flew into orbit.  From one of its hangar bays, a shuttle glided towards the green and blue world, descending into its atmosphere with a new shipment of fresh supplies, and fresh prisoners.

            Penetrating the planet’s atmosphere, the shuttle soared over miles of lush, green canopies and foliage.  It produced sonic booms in its wake, which shook the trees beneath it.  Several minutes later, the shuttle braked, and descended onto a man-made settlement in the middle of the jungle.

            As it landed, prisoners from the Corjo labor camp stood behind the iron fence, watching the ship curiously.  Their dirty faces showed mixed expressions of indifference and misery.               
            Nevertheless, the monthly shipment was the highlight of their day, before they’d be forced to return to hard labor.  Watching the shuttle gave them a welcome respite from their work; they got the chance to watch new supplies being offloaded, and they got to size up the new batch of prisoners.

            The shuttle settled gently on the concrete landing pad.  Its ramp came down; several robot guards pushed the new prisoners out of the hold and onto the tarmac.  The new prisoners were dressed in fresh sets of uniforms:  most wore all-white, representing the minor crimes they committed against the Maetherion Corporation.  A few were dressed in red, identifying them as the most dangerous of felons:  the murderers and defilers, who would spend the rest of their days at the labor camp until their bodies couldn’t take any more.

            Among those dressed in white, there was a woman.  She was skinny, with a smooth, clean face.  Her eyes were turquoise; her eyebrows were short and slanted.  Her golden hair was long, fine, and clean; it glistened in the light of the planet’s two suns.  As she stepped onto the concrete uncertainly, she could feel the eyes of all the prisoners on her.  Their expressions changed to vicious, feral hunger; it had been years since any of them had laid eyes on a woman.

            The robot guards grouped the new prisoners to the edge of the landing pad, and forced them into a straight line.  One of the prisoners in red refused to move in line; a robot guard walked up to the burly man and ordered in a deep, mechanical voice, “You will fall in line.”

            “F&ck you, I never asked for this sh#t,” the prisoner pouted.

            The robot moved against the prisoner.  He shoved against the machine and banged his fist on the metal plating on its head.  Grabbing his arm, the robot twisted it hard, until it cracked loudly.  The prisoner grimaced, and a moan escaped his lips.  Kicking him in the shins, the robot moved the prisoner into line; he stood with the others, feebly holding his broken arm. 

            One of the other prisoners slapped him on the back of the head and cried, “What are you, stupid?”

            “Shut up,” one of the robots retorted, nudging the talking prisoner with its metal arm.

            While the prisoners stood, more robots gathered around the shuttle to offload crates of food, clothes, tools, parts, weapons, and fuel.  Moments later, a gate opened in the fence, and an old man with olive-colored skin, thin gray hair, and a weathered face marched in front of the prisoners.

            Regarding the prisoners with a scowl, the man announced, “I am Warden Chen.  This is planet Corjo – the ugliest, slimiest, sh%ttiest outback world you can imagine.  This is my world, so all your lives belong to me.  When I say anything, you will listen, and obey.  And believe me, you will obey.  If you think working at the excavation is suffering, you haven’t even scratched the surface of suffering.  All of you are here, so you can know the full meaning of the words ‘pain,’ and ‘suffering’.              Those of you in white, you might achieve repentance for your crimes if you work hard and stay clean.  Those of you in red:  you’re here to die little by little each day, until your bodies can’t handle it anymore.  All I can say for you is, tough sh$t.

            “Every day, you’ll be working on uncovering the ancient Corjan ruins.  You will work hard, until you sweat, hurt, and bleed.  I don’t care who you are or what your sob story is; everybody works, and everybody suffers.  Any insolence and any deficiency will be dealt with as I see fit.

            “Our facility has no fence line.  You’re free to leave the compound all you want.  I won’t give a sh*t, because this jungle will eat you alive.  The only thing protecting you from the plants and animals out there is an invisible perimeter line that gives off pheromones and scents to keep the wildlife out.  You can escape if you want to, but believe me, you won’t want to.  Don’t even think about trying to go off-world, because it’s impossible.  This shuttle you came from is the only traffic this world ever gets, and my guards will f@ck you up if you try anything.

            “Meals are served twice a day, no more than thirty minutes at a time.  If you miss out, then that’s just tough sh#t.  Do you all understand me?”

            The new prisoners mumbled acknowledgements.

            “What was that? I can’t hear any of you pathetic slugs! When I ask you if you understand me, I want to hear you all say ‘yes Warden Chen,’ loud and proud.  Do you understand me?”

            The prisoners said loudly, “Yes Warden Chen.”

            “What? That’s still not nearly loud enough! Do you sh%theads understand me?”

            “Yes Warden Chen!” the prisoners clamored.

            “That’s more like it,” Chen said. “All of you, report to Building 5 for processing.”

            One prisoner shouted in a mocking tone, “Oh yes sir Mr. Warden Chen! Right away Warden Chen! Anything you say Warden Chen!”

            Walking up to the insolent prisoner, Chen sharply regarded him with his indigo eyes and challenged, “You making fun of me?”

            “No sir, Warden Chen!” the prisoner screamed, his lips curled into a mocking smile.

            Smacking him in the face, Chen yelled, “I don’t take this crap from anyone! Shut the f*ck up and get to Building 5, before I wipe that smile off your face with my gun!”

            “This is bullsh@t!” the prisoner ranted. “You’re just an old man on a power trip! You can’t do anything to me; I’m a Maetherion citizen!”

            Drawing his sidearm, Chen pressed the barrel of his nuclear-powered pistol against the prisoner’s lips, and said, “You are one dumb sh#thead.  The minute you’re sentenced here, your citizenship is revoked.  You’re my citizen now.  And you know what? I think you’re too stupid to stay a citizen of my camp.  What good are you if you keep shooting your mouth off at me? I think I’ll end both our miseries and shoot your mouth off!”

             Before the prisoner could do anything, Chen squeezed the trigger.  A hot yellow beam exploded from the pistol, and made the man’s head explode.  The prisoners recoiled in terror as blood and broken flesh flew out and splattered on the concrete.

            The warden turned around and left the landing platform without a word.  The robot guards hustled the prisoners to Building 5, where they formed a line and passed through an X-Ray arch.  One by one, each prisoner stepped through the arch, and was cleared by the guards.  One prisoner had to be diverted from the line for a body cavity search.

            Next, each prisoner was scrutinized by a robot with a large red eye.  The machine scanned each prisoner’s face and eyes, matching them up to Maetherion’s criminal database.  Once each prisoner was verified, the machine stamped the prisoners’ arms with a barcode and their name in red letters.

            The woman in the group passed through the X-Ray machine without trouble, and stood before the big robot.  She pleaded with the machine, “I don’t think I’m supposed to be here.  There has to be some mistake.”

            Scanning her, the robot replied flatly, “Records match.  There is no mistake.  If your record remains clean, you’re eligible for parole in five years.”

            “Five years?” the woman’s voice choked. “No.  It wasn’t supposed to be this way.  I should be on Mitheria Sigma at the worst.  This is–”

            “This is your assigned prison sentence.  There is no mistake.”

            Before the woman could argue any more, the robot stamped her arm.  The hot ink seeped into her skin with stinging pain.  She looked at the barcode in disbelief, and rubbed it with her fingers.  The ink had already fused with her skin, permanently tethering her to the Corjo labor camp.  Her name – Ryla Corinthia – looked like it was branded in blood.

            The robot extended another arm, which grabbed Ryla’s arm and pressed a circular band of blue ink on the back of her hand.  The new markings provided her bunk assignment:  Building 12, Bunk 35.

            In a daze of fear and shock, Ryla was pushed down the line by the guards.  She passed beneath arches that sprayed vaccines and immunities at her.  The clouds of mist seeped into her pores and flew through her nostrils, smelling acrid.

            When she left the building, Ryla stepped into an empty dirt lot.  Several bunk buildings faced the lot; the administrative and supply buildings were built behind a walled-off section, with robotic turrets scanning the camp constantly.

            As Ryla stepped across the lot, she felt the eyes of the other prisoners on her.  There were over a hundred men in the camp, most of whom coveted her and her flesh.  A shiver ran down her body, and goosebumps formed on her arms, when she thought about the combined impulses of so many male prisoners.  She felt sick to her stomach, knowing that she wouldn’t last long in the camp.

            She found her bunk in Building 12.  She discovered that the whole building was designated for all female prisoners, and it could only be opened with the marking on her hand.  Knowing that she was segregated from the male prisoners, she no longer worried about being assaulted in the middle of the night.  When she found her assigned bunk, she realized that the place was too clean; she was the only female prisoner in the whole camp.  She wondered if the camp ever had any other female prisoners, and if so, what happened to them.

            Lying on the bunk, Ryla felt overwhelming dread and confusion.  She didn’t understand why she was on Corjo; her crimes were minor, and she expected to be taken to a standard prison.  She didn’t even know where in the galaxy she was, but it was clear to her that she was thousands of light years away from any form of civilization.  When she recalled her sentencing, she realized that her incarceration on Corjo was no accident; somebody purposefully arranged for her to be there.  She was accused of spying on executives; now, they made sure that she’d never reveal the few secrets she learned.

            She didn’t even know or care about those secrets.  She came across the information by accident, and didn’t give any of it a second thought.  When the Maetherion guards came for her, she was shocked and confused during the entire hearing.  Her defense was silenced quickly, and she never even had the chance to arrange for legal counsel.  The judges produced evidence as if from thin air, and in the next few hours, she was sent to the shuttle.

            On Corjo, the weight of her incarceration finally sunk in, and she realized that her life was as good as over.  Even if the other prisoners weren’t a threat, she couldn’t last long working on hard labor.  She spent her whole career as an administrative servant, specializing in accounting, bureaucracy, organizing summits, and arranging presentations.  She feared that hard labor would break her.

            Once she realized that the life she was accustomed to was gone, Ryla couldn’t stop the tears from dripping down her face, and the sobs from escaping her lips.  She cried until the planets’ suns set, and the cabin was all dark.

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Upon recent reflection, I decided to tweak this opening chapter even more, to immediately immerse the reader into Ryla's perspective and reveal information in a different way.  I addressed one or two logical issues (Ryla is branded upon sentencing, not when she gets to Corjo), and there are still a couple of things I should address (I forgot to mention Ryla's parole options).  Still, this is probably the direction I'll be heading for this story from here on out.

Newest Draft

1 - Postarbitration

            In the cell, Ryla Corinthia knew she was safe.  Even though the cot was hard and the small toilet offered no privacy, she found comfort in the gentle vibrations reverberating through the shuttle’s hull, and the faint hum of the engines.  She forced herself to lay on the cot and enjoy what few comforts she could, because once the shuttle lands, she would be on planet Corjo, to work the next five years of her life in the labor camp.  Chances are that she'll be there for longer.
            Ryla spent hours turning on the cot, trying to find a comfortable position.  While she was on her side, her turquoise eyes settled on her forearm.  Her name was branded there in red ink, with numbers associating her with her criminal record and sentence.  It looked like a tattoo made of blood.  She still felt a residual stinging on the flesh, from the sentencing process.  When the robot sounded out her file, she gawked at the machine and trembled.  In a broken voice, she told it, “There has to be some mistake.  I should be on Mitheria Sigma at the worst.  But…Corjo?”
            “There is no mistake,” the robot declared, before guards carried her to the cell.  The unfeeling voice continued to haunt Ryla.  Her crimes were minor, and she expected to be taken to a standard prison.  When she recalled her sentencing, she realized that her incarceration on Corjo was no accident.  Somebody purposefully arranged for her to be there.  She was accused of spying on executives.  Now, they made sure that she’d never reveal the few secrets she learned.
            She didn’t even know or care about those secrets.  She came across the information by accident, and didn’t give any of it a second thought.  When the Maetherion guards came for her, she was shocked and confused during the entire hearing.  Her defense was silenced quickly, and she never even had the chance to arrange for legal counsel.  The judges produced evidence as if from thin air, and in the next few hours, she was sent to the shuttle.
            While en route, the weight of her sentence finally sunk in, and she realized that her life was as good as over.  She couldn’t last long working on hard labor, and the other prisoners would show her no mercy.  Even if Corjo wouldn’t kill her, it would break her.
            After countless hours alone in the steel cell, Ryla felt the ship lurch.  She jerked awake, when she realized that they were passing through Corjo’s atmosphere and landing.  Through the bars, she saw robots rolling out of their niches and unfolding into man-sized forms.  They stood guard along the walls, as all of the cell doors in the ship opened.
            Prisoners walked out of their cells and down the main corridor.  Ryla stood at the threshold of her cell, but stopped short when she saw the others staring at her.  Their expressions betrayed their primal urges, as if their sullen eyes could speak and tell her that they all wanted to violate her.
As Ryla stood and trembled, the robot guards took notice.  One of them nudged her into the group of prisoners.  She kept her head down, focusing on her shuffling feet to avoid everybody’s wicked stares.
            Ahead, the shuttle’s ramp led down to a concrete landing pad.  As she continued towards it, she felt somebody’s hand on her shoulder.  A shiver crawled down her spine, and the rest of her body became taut.  She felt somebody’s hot breath against her cheek, and a voice whispered into her ear, “Tonight…your a$$ is mine, b*tch.”
            Ryla wanted to break away and start running, but her legs refused to move.  Before anything else could happen, a guard walked up to the man behind her.  It said, “No talking.  Keep moving.”
            When the machine nudged the prisoner, he shoved back and shouted, “Hey, f#ck you!”
            In the next instant, the robot slammed its fist into the man’s face.  His head snapped to the side with a loud crack.  Blood and spit flew from his lips, before he tumbled to the ground, moaning.  The other prisoners kept walking, keeping their attention focused away from the trouble.
            When Ryla stepped down the ramp, a blast of hot, humid air washed over her.  The light from Corjo’s twin yellow suns was nearly blinding, compared to the dim shuttle.  When Ryla’s eyes adjusted, she saw an iron fence surrounding the landing pad.  The dirty faces of dozens of prisoners gawked at the new prisoners, showing mixed expressions of misery and indifference.  Many of their gazes settled on Ryla, who stood out with her glistening blonde hair.  Their expressions showed vicious, feral hunger – it had been years since any of them had laid eyes on a woman.
            Regarding the prisoners, Ryla realized that most of them wore red uniforms.  They were sentenced to Corjo for any number of heinous crimes.  In her clean white uniform, which signified minor crimes, Ryla felt even more out of place.
            The robot guards grouped the new prisoners to the edge of the landing pad, and forced them into a straight line.  More guards offloaded crates of food, clothes, tools, parts, weapons, and fuel from the ship’s hold.  Moments later, a gate opened in the fence, and an old man with olive-colored skin, thin gray hair, and a weathered face marched in front of the prisoners.
            Regarding the prisoners with a scowl, the man announced, “I am Warden Chen.  This is planet Corjo – the ugliest, slimiest, sh*ttiest outback world you can imagine.  This is my world, so all your lives belong to me.  When I say anything, you will listen, and obey.  And believe me, you will obey.  If you think working at the excavation is suffering, you haven’t even scratched the surface of suffering.  All of you are here, so you can know the full meaning of the words ‘pain,’ and ‘suffering’.  Those of you in white, you might achieve repentance for your crimes if you work hard and stay clean.  Those of you in red:  you’re here to die little by little each day, until your bodies can’t handle it anymore.  All I can say for you is, tough sh%t.
            “Every day, you’ll be working on uncovering the ancient Corjan ruins.  You will work hard, until you sweat, hurt, and bleed.  I don’t care who you are or what your sob story is; everybody works, and everybody suffers.  Any insolence and any deficiency will be dealt with as I see fit.
            “Our facility has no fence line.  You’re free to leave the compound all you want.  I won’t give a sh#t, because the jungle will eat you alive.  The only thing protecting you from the plants and animals out there is an invisible perimeter line that gives off pheromones and scents to keep the wildlife out.  You can escape if you want to, but believe me, you won’t want to.  Don’t even think about trying to go off-world, because it’s impossible.  This shuttle you came from is the only traffic this world ever gets, and my guards will f&ck you up if you try anything.
            “Meals are served twice a day, no more than thirty minutes at a time.  If you miss out, then that’s just tough sh#t.  Do you all understand me?”
            The new prisoners mumbled acknowledgements.
            “What was that? I can’t hear any of you pathetic slugs! When I ask you if you understand me, I want to hear you all say ‘yes Warden Chen,’ loud and proud.  Do you understand me?”
            The prisoners said loudly, “Yes Warden Chen.”
            “What? That’s still not nearly loud enough! Do you shitheads understand me?”
            “Yes Warden Chen!” the prisoners clamored.
            “That’s more like it,” Chen said. “All of you, report to Building 5 for processing.”
            One prisoner shouted in a mocking tone, “Oh yes sir Mr. Warden Chen! Right away Warden Chen! Anything you say Warden Chen!”
            Walking up to the insolent prisoner, Chen sharply regarded him with his indigo eyes and challenged, “You making fun of me?”
            “No sir, Warden Chen!” the prisoner screamed, his lips curled into a mocking smile.
            Smacking him in the face, Chen yelled, “I don’t take this crap from anyone! Shut the f*ck up and get to Building 5, before I wipe that smile off your face with my gun!”
            “This is bullsh&t!” the prisoner ranted. “You’re just an old man on a power trip! You can’t do anything to me; I’m a Maetherion citizen!”
            Drawing his sidearm, Chen pressed the barrel of his nuclear-powered pistol against the prisoner’s lips, and said, “You are one dumb sh*thead.  The minute you’re sentenced here, your citizenship is revoked.  You’re my citizen now.  And you know what? I think you’re too stupid to stay a citizen of my camp.  What good are you if you keep shooting your mouth off at me? I think I’ll end both our miseries and shoot your mouth off!”
             Before the prisoner could do anything, Chen squeezed the trigger.  A hot yellow beam exploded from the pistol, and made the man’s head explode.  The prisoners recoiled in terror as blood and broken flesh flew out and splattered on the concrete.  With wide, teary eyes, Ryla watched the scene and couldn't stop trembling.
            The warden turned around and left the landing platform without a word.  The robot guards hustled the prisoners to Building 5, where they formed a line and passed through an X-Ray arch.  One by one, each prisoner stepped through the arch, and was cleared by the guards.
            Afterwards, each prisoner’s arms were scanned.  When Ryla’s brand was processed, a mechanical arm extended down.  It grabbed her arm and pressed a circular band of blue ink on the back of her hand.  The new markings provided her bunk assignment:  Building 12, Bunk 35.
            Ryla was pushed down the line by the guards.  She passed beneath arches that sprayed vaccines and immunities at her.  The clouds of mist seeped into her pores and flew through her nostrils, smelling acrid.
            When she left the building, Ryla stepped into an empty dirt lot.  Several bunk buildings faced the lot; the administrative and supply buildings were built behind a walled-off section, with robotic turrets scanning the camp constantly.
            As Ryla stepped across the lot, she felt the eyes of the other prisoners on her.  There were over a hundred men in the camp, most of whom coveted her and her flesh.  She felt sick to her stomach, knowing that she wouldn’t last long in the camp.
            She found her bunk in Building 12.  She discovered that the whole building was designated for all female prisoners, and it could only be opened with the marking on her hand.  Knowing that she was segregated from the male prisoners, she no longer worried about being assaulted in the middle of the night.  When she found her assigned bunk, she realized that the place was too clean; she was the only female prisoner in the whole camp.  She wondered if the camp ever had any other female prisoners.  If so, what happened to them?
            Ryla couldn’t stop the tears from dripping down her face, and the sobs from escaping her lips.  She finally comprehended the full weight of her sentence, and it seemed inevitable that it would crush her.   She cried until the planets’ suns set, and the cabin was all dark.
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Hopefully, you'll see how much has changed, and find the latest draft the most engrossing.  As far as this story goes, I rewrote about 25,000 words, and decided to go back and change some more stuff, so it's practically a new third draft.

The work shall continue until Warden Chen is satisfied...