"The future ain't what it used to be."

A Exerpt From Captain Track ( Temporal Detective )


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An exerpt of…

Captain J.P. Track (Temporal Detective)Written by OvrLrdLegion

The heat was unbearable, sweat glistened in the dim glow of digital illumination. A shadowy figure lurked over some kind of freakish control panel, busy hands making adjustments in rhythm to electronic prompts and shrills.
Captain Track realized his efforts were probably in vain, but he wasn’t the sort to give up so easily.

The many years spent in the Jungles on one of the Prolithius Moon’s had sharpened and honed his survival skills. It was a question of will power and determination, or perhaps just pure dumb luck. Track was never sure, but he was still breathing, and he believed that to be a positive sign. Unless in death one believed himself to be alive, never sensing a transition. As long as there was plenty of Golargian Whiskey for liquid sedation and the chance to release any built up sexual tension with a Veldoriat Whore, Track didn’t give a rat’s ass if he was alive or dead., it was sheer stubbornness and a case of acute cussedness that kept him from transiting
“Focus!” Track mumbled to himself. “ Now isn’t the time to start fantasizing about those Veldoriat Bitches!” Even though they did have really nice….”FOCUS, DAMN IT!”

(Ok....Fellow travelers..perhaps as a team we can make up one hell of a story...who wants to write the next part and continue the adventures of Captain Track? )
Steel grey eyes stared at the flashing digits of the chrono positioning system...a faint murmer finally could be heard from the Teldronic Drive , as the mass of Track's ship began to shift into the time between all time. The thumping of the Graderick Guardians bullets upon the hull of his craft faded away, to be replaced by a vast silence.
Track activated his vision spheres to take in the view outside his vessel. His face seemed to be morphing in the pulsating light thar filled the command centre. He ran a hand through his graying hair, and wiped the sweat across his shirt, making cetain the moisture didnt fall on the holstered weapon belted in for quick draw action. For some reason the metal of the gun always was cold to the touch, no matter how much the flesh roasted in the heat. One day someone would find his ashes drifting upon the wastelands of a remote desert, the only things remaining would be the gold fillings from his teeth, perhaps some coins collected from various times and places, maybe even some of the electronics implanted into his anatomy would be recognizable...but he knew that the damn gun would be just as it was now. Cold, Dark and as deadly as ever.

What the hell, survival depended on many tools, the weapon just was one of the more effective ones
and could also be used for motivational purposes when anyone was dumb enough to assume the Captain couldn't back his play.
A Temporal Detective never knew what situation might crop up. Many clients never disclosed their true intentions as to why they needed a Temporal Detectives services. Track was certain every T.D. had requests to "kill" Hitler when he was a toddler, or to drop a pulsed modified riot gun into Sitting Bulls lap....but that wasnt what a T.D. did...but then everybody had their price.
New York...1930's. Satisfied with the sound of the lock latching securely, Track slipped the key into his pocket. He owned many warehouses and other properties, scattered through-out the time-lines.
Alot of paperwork...but then having Penelope was a God-send. He met her in the late 1800's in England. At first she was just entertainment, but soon a professional relationship developed and the busty brunette was now his secretary. She kept all his documents and other odds and ends in order.
Those blue=green eyes captivated Track everytime he met with Penelope.