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Story of One [reboot]

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It's been a serious while since I visited the forums and realized it's been a good while since I posted anything on here of worth, and I stumbled across one of my old pieces 'Story of One'. Many veterans and older users of this forum may remember it, but may not of known I was about 15 at the time of writing it tounge.gif.


Looking over it I was quite embarrassed of how crap it ended up and I never bothered to finish it. I did veer off into random events and rather pointless chapters of it - I had 15 'targets' on there and now realize that I had bitten off more than I could chew. However, now I have a lot more experience and free time on my hands, I am back with a reboot of the piece, hopefully I can do it right this time.


Anyway, without further ado, get your laughing gear around my first (rebooted!) chapter of the Story of One.


I hope you all enjoy!



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A dark time is dawning amongst the dark factors of our world, for those who operate above the law, who participate in anything but law-abiding practices or events and for anyone who believes that doing bad is how to make a living in this life. They will soon learn that for every action there is a reaction. The man known as Deshkov will call upon them for doing him wrong – he is owed a debt of blood. He will collect in full.


Europe will be left to clean up a path of destruction and corpses. This may be the biggest weight the shadowy forces of Europe have ever faced: one man against an entire network of unknown. He is a vigilante of unorthodox methods with the desire to bring those who owe him to his justice.


They won’t know what is coming for them.


The List


Taras Deshkov has a long and dark past, not much of it pretty. There aren’t any happy memories in Taras’ past; it is difficult for him to remember a time where he smiled. His past is something he can let go of, as it is mainly failed attempts to do honest things in an already screwed up existence. Once a highly decorated Royal Marine and Special Boat Service operative, he was betrayed, left for dead and then dishonourably discharged from the SBS, sent into a world where only his skills were best suited. 5 men are responsible for defining moments in his life – and they will die.


For the last 5 years, Taras has been a “fixer” in the gloomier organizations of Europe. An “independent trouble-shooter” for various shady and criminal organizations, any job that needed to be done right first time, Taras was a one-stop shop for problem resolution. This line of work had its benefits, but the main attraction was connections with certain characters that held the information Taras needed for his very own personal problem resolution.


Kiev, Ukraine


The harsh and unforgiving rain brings Taras back to reality as he stares into his reflection, again finding it hard to recognize himself. The figure with the shaved hair, black t-shirt and jacket, dark jeans and black boots staring back at him is an unfamiliar sight too Taras. He wishes he saw the man in the Green Beret and dark blue presentation suit that apparelled him all those years ago, but it is nowhere to be found.


He smooths his hand across his stubbly facial exterior, across the scars and dents he received over years or “work”. Searching in himself one shred of humanity to hold on to after his justice has been served.




Taras’ attention is immediately drawn to the laptop on the table, next to the mirror. Checking the source of the beep, an email opens – what Taras has been waiting for.


To:[email protected]

From:[email protected]

Date: Friday, November 18th 2011

Subject: Green light


[secure Transmission – encryption protocol 39487789-29323]




You seem to have ‘friends’ in very high places. It’s taken me some time and I’ve lost a few rainy day cards that I wanted to hold on to, but you saved my arse back in Afghanistan and I made you a promise. These people were hard to find but thanks to many hours of my time (and much of your money) I was able to bring you this result:


I found the people you are looking for. Names, addresses, phone numbers, patterns – the bloody lock stock, mate. I only ask that you do not contact me again until you have finished.


Don’t leave me too much of a mess.


Good luck, and hopefully see you for a beer at one point.


See attached.


Johnny Baxter

Head of European Intelligence | Secret Intelligence Service


85 Albert Embankments, Vauxhall Cross, Vauxhall, London, England


John Baxter was an old associate of Taras, as they had collaborated together on operations in the Middle East and southern Europe, Baxter then an Intelligence Community liaison to Taras’ SBS unit. For the past 5 years, Taras had been giving the information he had retrieved from employers to Baxter to help shed light on the botched operation Taras had been working on 8 years ago. Baxter had an inexhaustible amount of “friends in high places” from the Intelligence Community to telecom, allowing him to be privy to information Taras would not be. After their first ever meeting, Taras single-handedly rescued Baxter from a double agent informant Baxter had been running in al-Qaeda.


Taras opened the attachment and felt as if all of his Christmases and birthdays had come at once. The men who ruined Taras’ life now had names, addresses, phone numbers, bank account, car registrations, national insurance numbers, common patterns, operational histories, health records – but more importantly, faces. Each and every one of these targets had their faces imprinted onto Taras’ memory. He will never forget them.


Ivan Bretsovich

Konrad Krieg

Sheik Ali Samir Mohammed-Abdullah Wassim

Charles Wynn-Jones

Benedict Arnold Quartermain


Taras scowls at the photos of the men whilst reaching into his pocket for a cell phone. Attaching the data cable to the phone, he syncs the profiles of each man. A navigation application opens on the cell phone, 5 dots now glowing on a digital map of the world – each dot a target. First on the list: former KGB agent turned Russian Mafia hot shot Ivan Bretsovich, his location being displayed on Taras’ phone:


Moscow, Russia


Taras places the phone down on the table, and replaces it with a chromed-slide Walther semi-automatic pistol. He chambers the Walther and attaches a suppressor to it. Placing the Walther in his waistband, he looks back to the mirror and begins to recognize himself slightly. On the other side of the room, Taras checks his go-bag load: 750,000 in various currencies, 6 fake passports and ‘get out of any situation’ equipment. Taras also kept a photo of his SBS squad in the bag with the caption “By Strength and Guile – A Squadron, Sept. ’02”. Taras half smiles as he sets eyes on the photograph and remembers the mission, but comes back to reality and zips up the bag. Disengaging the safety as he holsters the Walther, Taras takes one last look around the room, and exits, knowing he may never see this apartment again.


Taras presses the scratched and frayed elevator button, labelled “G2”. The elevator doors close and the elevator begins its decent into the garage, this action being called the first step by Taras’ mind. Years of being sold out and f*cked over cause an influx of paranoia and fear of the unknown in his mind, causing him to half-fantasize about being greeted by muzzle flashes and bullet wounds when the doors open.


“Sure as f*ck wouldn’t be the first time” Taras mutters quietly under his breath.


The elevator stops as it reaches G2. Taras closes his eyes and takes deep breaths as the doors open, bracing himself for an unlikely reality of his paranoid expectation. Taras takes baby steps into the garage, his right hand resting on the body of the Walther, tucked in-between his belt and jeans, scanning the garage for anything out of the ordinary whilst advancing sharply to his car. Reaching the car door, he breathes a sigh of relief as he climbs into the interior of his BMW. Starting the car, he reaches for his cell phone and opens the navigation application, displaying the location of his first target: Ivan Bretsovich. After a deep sigh, Taras pulls out of the garage and onto the main street. A convoy of Mercedes SUV's follow in suit.

Edited by Cashy

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I like this!


My only criticism is that the characterisations you make through spoken/written dialogue aren't always consistent, revisit some of the speech and listen to the characters read it out - if you're happy then that's good, for me I think it could do a little work. Who am I to say? biggrin.gif


For example;


The sentence;



I found the people you are looking for. Names, addresses, phone numbers, patterns – the bloody lock stock, mate. I only ask that you do not contact me again until you have finished.


The "bloody lock stock, mate" is a nice bit of regional dialect that really places the character. The problem (only in my opinion) is that the following sentence is much more formal and structured; it immediately conjures up images of public-school (for US readers that's a private school) Major-types.

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TenEightyOne, cheers for the feedback mate! biggrin.gif


I gotta admit, that was one of the lines which I was a bit iffy about, but the context in which it is in is sort of an email. I planned to go into the characters a bit deeper (as I have with the second chapter), and I wanted to convey Baxter as the sort of working-class that mixes with the upper classes, hence the change in dialects.


Stay tuned for the second chapter!

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