3005 and Fun Fail (UNFINISHED NOVELS)

"3005"

By CJ (Cream Jones) Nixon

PROLOGUE

We were warned. Daron Malakian, a time traveler, warned us of the year 3005. In 2008, he wrote and produced the song "3005." The lyrics were as follows: "You'll never survive 3005." If only we had known how right he was...

Men are destined to revolt. Men kill to kill. Kill to succeed. Kill to reap the rewards. Kill for power. Nick Albright was only thirteen when it first started. In the year 3000, The Federation of United Planets was in turmoil. Mars, the youngest planet within the federation, 123 years to be precise, had gained a new president. President Ben Agknew. He was forced to cut off the FUP from a very vital resource, that was only found on Mars, due to the Universal Economy's downfall. When this happened, the FUP were pressurized to threaten war. After several years of heated back and forth conflict between Mars and the FUP, war was declared on April 10th, 3005. Earth, being the only FUP member that was close to Mars, was the first to start the invasion, with the remaining FUP armies on their way. Before officially declaring war upon Mars, the FUP released a statement to the president and the residents of Mars: "We are stronger. We need that resource to survive. We do not want you to die. But if you do not surrender and you will die. We will win. If necessary, we will not hesitate to use advanaced nuclear technology. We have warned you all." Mars was given a week to surrender due to the pressing need for it's vital resource. We were warned.

3rd Draft of Chapter One

All over Earth you could hear the screams. Women were having their beloved husbands and young children stripped from them. Men were being flown out of their homes.

Nick was drafted three days after his eighteenth birthday. He had just finished his dinner - a savory turkey glazed in honey with a side of buttery rolls and a refreshing SuperCola to wash it down with. As he walked upstairs, he felt a certain eerie feeling. Though, he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. It felt kind of like déjà vu, but not necessarily. He stared at his hands and then the ground. After shaking his head, he walked slowly up the stairs.

“Are you okay, Nicky?” said his mother Meryl. Nick thought to himself for a second.

“Yes, Mom. I’m fine,” said Nick in a distressed voice.

“I certainly hope so.”

Nick showed no acknowledgement to what his mother had said. As he walked up to his room, the eerie feeling from before grew stronger. He sat on his bed and put his hands upon his head. He began to sweat profusely. Nick shook his head vehemently and started to pace back and forth like a tiger in a cage, plotting it’s escape.

He eventually got tired of walking and decided to lie down. As he began to fall into a deep sleep, sirens shrieked outside of his room. Before he could even get out of his bed, two towering men in jet black gear burst through his door.

“Are you Nick Albright?” asked one man in a vicious tone.

“Y-y-yes,” stammered Nick. They immediately seized him by the arms. As he was pushed and pulled through the house, he saw his whole family spread out throughout it. His sister was sprawled out on her bed, lying there as if she were a life size fetish doll with a dart piercing her neck. Nick immediately started tearing up. As he was being dragged through the kitchen, Nick sarcastically said to the two mysterious men, “You couldn’t be more gentle even if you tried.”

Suddenly, one of the men struck Nick in the face with their pistol, a bruise already starting to form where it connected with his face. Nick learned to shut his mouth right then and there. There was one last room to go through before exiting the house. In this room was where he saw his parents. There had obviously been a struggle. His mother was laid out on her chair, a plaid chair made of the itchiest fabric. She always sat in this chair to read her digital books. Nick’s tears became thicker. Then, he saw his dad. Nick became silent. Pressed against the frigid ground, two bullet wounds punctured his father’s back, with one fatal wound lodged in the back of his head.

Nick’s tears began to flow in full force. “Why? Why are you taking me? Why did you kill my family?!” Nick screamed in distress. With no answer or even acknowledgement, he shouted again. “WHY?!”

He was then shot with a quick bolt of electricity from a small silver object in the smaller man’s hand. Nick’s vision began to blur as he lost consciousness, finally slumping to the floor. The two men then hurled him into the back of their car. The car’s sirens began to hum like a bumble bee as it darted into the sky.


Chapter Two

Nick awoke to flashing lights. Disoriented, he screamed.

"Help!"

He instantly yelped in pain as a man ensconced in the shadows punched him.

"Shut up," said the mysterious figure.

The blood dripped from Nick's mouth like a faucet dripping water late at night. Slowly, it pitter-pattered down to the floor. Drop by drop. After catching his breath, Nick spoke again.

"Why am I here? Why did you murder my father?"

"Sir, do you not understand the pinnacle of life in which you stand? The very fabric of humanity is resting on the tip of a pen. If that pin flips, we all die," replied the man harshly.

Flabbergasted, Nick replied "What? How? What can I do?"




"Fun Fail" by CJ (Cream Jones) Nixon

Prologue


Have you ever been told what to do? By someone…or rather, something? And you somehow knew it was wrong, but couldn’t stop yourself from going through with it? The voices would not stop and you had to obey? Well, you aren’t alone. During climatic points in history, men have been told what to do by malicious objects. Lamps, to be precise.

Chapter One

“You must complete this mission. He must die. Our race and your future depends on it.”

“Yes sir. I shall not fail,” said Tito.

“Good luck,” said a mysterious voice.

Suddenly there was a lustrous burst of light, then a super sonic boom and POOF!
Tito was gone in an instant.

“Ben, are you in here?” asked the maid curiously.

All of a sudden she heard voices coming from the door adjacent to her.

“No. Never. I won’t,” said Ben in an inhumane whisper, so unlike him.

Cautiously, the maid walked into the room.“Mr. Franklin? Are you okay? Who were you talking to?”

Ben stared at a lone cupping lamp. Silently, with no acknowledgement toward the maid, he walked towards the lamp. His shoes squeaked as he walked across the floor, his boots being wet from the spring rain.

“Mr. Franklin, what is wrong?” asked the maid impatiently.Ben turned to her.

“Shhhhh.”

The room fell into a profound silence. Then abruptly, Ben grabbed the lamp and threw it forcefully at his 18th century wall. The lamp instantly shattered, resounding in a loud bang. The lamp was ravaged. It was broken into several meager shards laid out upon the floor. The maid was distraught and thoroughly confused.

“Ben, what was that for?!”

“It was telling me things. Things I must do. But I, I just can’t,” stated Ben franticly.

“Well, what did it say Mr. Franklin?”

“You don’t need to know! Now take me to the session,” said Ben quickly.