JohnAR

“Don’t bother trying, kid. I’ve been trapped here a week, I think. – With fucking numbers that don’t make sense!” “Alpha, everything okay?” a young man asked with a tray in his hands. “Fucking Wittgenstein is easier to understand,” he screamed again through the office, childishly throwing a book against the wall. He rubbed his temples in the desperate hope for enlightenment. But those numbers gave him a headache. And why the hell did those Europeans use ‘,’ as ‘.’ and sometimes ‘.’ inste

I think "in the brain" suggests creative license. We all know how those chemicals are delivered ...

I appreciate your enthusiasm. ad 1) No twitter account. ad 2) Dystopian out-of-earth clone soldiers setting. Let hope by the end of this year.

Be sure I will make lots of noise on GA whenever the first chapter gets published ...

@athanos (Un)Fortunately, I'm not working on another Meta book. However, my new project Ten^One is progressing nicely.

The thumping and dumping and 'rumping' made me jerk out of my sleep. Instinctively, I understood a Parisian garbage disposal truck wanted to let everyone in the 2nd arrondissement know that they were not on strike today and would be doing their duty according to the prescribed speed and appropriate noise level – i.e. very slowly and very loudly. As usual in those rare instances – well, once a month at least – I tried to mentally close my ears to the noise barely dampened by the excuse of gla

“Eric, get the fuck moving!” Only a voice that knew how to scare boys who thought they were already men shitless, was trained by constantly barking across wide barrack drill squares, and had the authority of having survived more than one cluster fuck, could sound like this. A young man, barely 18, came running. His hair nearly black as the night, his eyes dark-brown, and healthy stubbles around his broad chin screamed as much wolf as any physiognomy could. “Sir, reporting as ordered!” Ga

I guess I need to hurry up with my next project then: clone space soldiers ...

“I’m going to kill him,” Colt moaned, slowly gliding into the hot tub. “Depending on how you’ll do it, he might enjoy it,” Prime answered with slight amusement. He had massaged Colt’s calves for 15 minutes. Of course, that had resulted in massaging some other muscles for another 15 minutes and even more ‘pain’ for Colt. Poor Meta, so abused. “He drove me up every winding road on that hill as if I was a goat, why can’t we just run along the lake?” Colt continued to complain. “Or he ca

‘Are we almost home?’ Seb wanted to smile when he remembered this very spot, and his words. He felt he had uttered them only yesterday, like every child who wanted to get back to his holo-games as quickly as possible. His father, Forest, had shaken his head with gentle disbelief, but wouldn’t change direction. For hours they hiked through snow-covered forests up the hills of ShadowLands. His smile – if he could have had a smile on his snout – froze in the very same second. He missed his

“When were you going to tell me?” Colt asked nearly benevolently grandfatherly. Prime took a deep breath, put the plate with a sandwich for his hardworking Meta on the nightstand – the desk was utterly cluttered – and sat down on Colt’s unmade bed. “I guess the numbers tell you now.” Colt’s pen pointed at the screen of his laptop. Several printouts, a pocket calculator, his phone and a tablet were placed around it, all screaming: ‘Beware. Dangerous accountant hard at work.’ “If I were

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Colt whispered when he looked into the mirror. Slowly he put the blond wig on his ¼ inch cropped head, pushing the braids behind his ears. Nonetheless, the tips landed where the wearer of such braids should normally have tits. He sighed again. He might have killed Evil itself, two vampire queens, fuck over-sized wolf marines and nowadays having turned 40, impress even Isaac with his marksmanship, but after all, he always was the girl … and today showed it again.

He jerked out of his sleep as if hit by a bullet. No, because he had been hit by a bullet. In his dream. And years ago in Iraq. On his first tour as a marine as green as the uniform he had worn during boot camp. “It’s okay,” a deep voice trying to be comforting told him; not that his friend wasn’t trying hard enough. But it seemed his own anxiety had affected the man next to him. He pushed his head under the warm water to clear his mind. The naturally warm springs made for a fantastic

“Do you think we can do it again?” one of the guys asked eagerly – he sounded like the oversized cop. “I mean hosing him down when we’re all done with him. It was fun.” ‘Fun?’ Rob screamed in his head, but his shock was quickly replaced by the next horror. “Maybe after Colt’s done with him. But now it’s your turn, Bradley, you’re doing this the first time, but don’t screw up the tattoo completely!” Prime ordered sternly. “Sir, yes, Sir!” Tattoo? Rob screamed even harder.

When the TV turned on and the logo of ‘WolfNet Communications’ filled the screen, Colt instinctively looked at his watch. Who would video call at midnight? Quickly, Andreas’ picture appeared and Colt pushed his notebook aside to accept the unexpected call, instinctively calculating time zones. It was 0900 in Frankfurt. “I hope I didn’t wake you,” the man in the archetypical lab coat of a scientist apologized. Colt shook his head. “You know, I’m a vampire, active at night …” Andrea

“How much longer do we have?” “They should be finished any …,” Terrence answered when a deadly shower of chilly cold descended on the canteen. As if controlled by some puppet player nearly everyone looked at the gates that swooshed open letting several men in uniform in; lead by the source of the petrifying freeze: Major Varq. The Major seemed to ignore the sudden change of atmosphere and temperature in the hall and proceeded to the counter as if nothing had happened, making him appear

Of course. Well, actually there were several reasons I got to nine IC members (eight wolves and Colt): 1) The 2+7 (Meta/Alpha + IC) is a common pattern in nature for strength optimization (like fibers). 2) The 8 is double the male archetypes (king, lover, magician, warrior) - ie each of them with intuitive or sensing preferring wolf (Jung) - see the overview of the main characters on the E/I and A/F grid. 3) I love the number of eight: 2^3 (i. e. the perfect cube: You will be assimilated). 4) In total, I needed to get to 12 as the number of perfection for the nanoverse (Colt/Parker + eight wolves + 2 dead wolves + 1 AWOL). 5) I realized that any more made the story confusing. Any less unconvincing. 6) After 7 (excl. Al) + 2 + Colt, I ran out of exciting landscape scents. 7) I had planned to add Hunter originally, but it didn't work - so I got stuck with 8. 8) Of course, it's a reference to the USMC structure ;-). JAR PS. I am working on a Varg prompt as suggested - brace for impact. It's mean.

“Colt!” A baritone voice used to being obeyed without question shook the whole floor. Colt put down the checklist he used to ensure he hadn’t forgotten to pack anything for his travels to France. He still had to snicker that this very pack list nowadays included two individually vacuum-wrapped T-shirts (a rather conventional gray-USMC one and a black one saying: ‘Is sex dirty? Only when it's being done right.’ Strangely, it showed a pickle as well, leaving room for many dirty interpretation

‘Just tell which room is his, now!’ Zef wanted to shout, but he controlled himself. He realized, he himself didn’t know who he was referring to with ‘his,’ so much jealousy was creeping into his heart. Something he thought he had long digested, worked out of his system, was rearing its ugly head again after so many years. He had heard the car Prime and his pack left with stop down the road – it seemed he wanted to say goodbye to his mother, that scheming old bitch, Tina had been dragged int

“You fucking moron of a coppermob. Your idiot of dad was too stupid to wear a rubber.” The deep voice made the earth quake. He was awake instantly. A wolf with the scent of an über-enforcer approached quickly. Instinctively, he jumped up. But regretted it. His head exploded, the room started to dance like in a tornado. A rat seemed to have shat in his mouth. He lost his balance and fell back onto his bed. Except it wasn’t his bed. It was a bunk with the nothing of a mattress, the

This sounds like a lot of fun! I'm so looking forward to how this is going to evolve - and how Mr. Fire Extingisher can redeem himself. Will we meet Dean's brothers? ;-)

“How does he always know what to say?” He jerked out of his sleep. Who had said that? About whom? And why? In his after-sleep caused grogginess he realized it was two political commentators raving about the unusual eloquence of the new president on TV. “Graceful, insightful, witty, intelligent, but highly relatable,” they called his latest speech to the nation. Colt shook his head to get a clear mind. He didn’t know where he was, yet he felt his surroundings were familiar. As if he had

“Double shots for all of us, he pays!” Carlos, in his slightly disarranged dress blues, ordered. A certain intoxication contributed to his very loud but not very clear voice. With a wallet in his hand, he clumsily pointed at the newly minted First Lieutenant Gavin Nawat, whose dress blues also wouldn’t pass inspection anymore and who laughed as only a drunk wolf could, having each of his arms around the shoulders of his fellow marine officers. The bald bartender with Navy tattoos under his

“What did you promise this time?” she asked, fearing she knew the answer. “Him? – Nothing,” MaryAnn asked and answered at the same time. Both knew it was a lie. They watched the two ‘men’ leaving in the truck. “You really want to destroy this pack.” She shook her head like a librarian in indignation about the decreasing quality of English literature. “No. I don’t care about this rabies-infested bunch of mutts.” Her nose was insulted by the stink around her. “But you made

When he woke up, he felt dirty. He threw the blanket across the room as if it was covered in squirrel shit, and got up. He spread his arms to allow the fresh wind from the sea caress his body, letting go of a calming sigh. “What’s up, Precious? It’s in the middle of the night,” she asked him full of concern, kissing his neck gently. “The boy,” he answered, trying to collect himself. “He’s safe, the Messenger and the Smart One are making sure of that … “I know,” Precious answe