Content-Type: text/plain;
	charset="iso-8859-1"
Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable





-- Attached file included as plaintext by Listar --
-- File: Nov9.txt

After spending a whole day reading through all of
Granberry's Cold Dragon in one sitting, 
(We're waiting for part VII)
I was so absorbed im my e-mail I missed class. 
So to make up for it here is chapter 9 a little early.
NOTE: In light of the recent Anthrax scare, 
Please do not open any mail from dubious senders.
ANY of them.









"Soul," said Jack, turning toward it again, 
"You've been listening. Do you have any suggestions?"




 




    9

  A reasonable length of time passed before I ever found out 
where Chris had been heading. After that, I probably wished that I 
had gone sooner. But at the moment I didn't pause to consider it. 
They were all staring. The ride stopped, the front door opened, 
then my door opened, and I was yanked out freely by the front of 
my shirt. 
  
  I yelled "Hey!" but Wesley was around the back and on my 
other side before I could try anything. This must have been pretty 
important to him, because I could see his pant leg wet with blood 
from the wound. Despite the obvious pain, he was grabbing my 
right arm with both of his and giving his best intimidating look. I 
relaxed a bit. Wes could be dealt with a simple kick in the shin if 
he became a problem, that followed by another in Chris' direction. 
They were more concerned with obstructing me than protecting 
themselves. I had no ideas as to what the problem was.

  "The hell is this?" I asked.

  Chris answered. "Who did you just call?"

  "City Information."

  
  "Bullshit. Who?!"

  "I can't tell you that."

  "Why not?"
  
  "I think that's between me and him."

  Teeth. 
  
  Wesley glanced over at Chris, who was grimacing. "It was 
my little friend Zigwell, wasn't it? I heard him tell you not to trust 
me. Which means of course we can't trust him."

  "Since when has Zig been trustworthy?" I asked him.
Chris let me go, and walked a few feet away, rubbing his 
chin. His other hand hovered near his right front pocket. Wes 
watched the man for a second, and then walked over. They started 
whispering but I couldn't hear any of it. Their quick gestures did 
not look entirely hostile.

  Alethea tugged on my sleeve from behind, and asked me 
what was going on. 

  "I hope it's engine trouble," I said. 

  "What did he say about Zig?"
   
  "I hate to say it, but our boy has been arrested. He's in the 
county right now."

  "Ziggy's underground?!"

  "Yeah."

  "Did some narc bust him?"

  "No, it seems to be the Mental Health Research bomb."

  "But he was with me when that happened! I remember 
seeing the news coverage live on his big screen!"

  "I know it's wrong, but you can't argue with them. The 
investigation has been a witch hunt from the start; we both 
expected that. It just as easily could have been me."

  "Well is he alright? Did they beat him up?"

  "He didn't say. He sounded healthy though."

  "Oh, poor Zig! What about bail? I think I can come up with 
the money if you need it."

  I took her hand which was cold. "Alethea, there is no bail. 
He will probably be sentenced tomorrow."

  "How can they do it tomorrow? He won't even have time to 
hire a lawyer!"

  "Lawyer's aren't permitted for crimes against the state."

  "Then what do we do?"

  "I'm sorry. I don't know if there's anything we can do. He 
just said he's going to call me back."

  She stepped out of the car, and leaned on the back hood. 

  Each of us was growing exhausted of all this business, and really 
just wanted to be somewhere else. It was quickly becoming an 
early Wednesday morning, though we probably had hours to go 
before we slept. I blinked, and kissed her. She smiled a little bit 
and brushed my cheek with her palm. Alethea and I were 
developing that common bond between all of those forced to 
endure together. I had shared that with a lot of people earlier in life 
and I found myself wanting to believe more fully in this one.

  I was thinking more about this when Chris walked back 
over to me.

  "It's been decided. We leave tomorrow evening for Lanz 
Island."

  "How do you know about that? Were you eavesdropping 
on my call?"

  "I didn't need too. I have an excellent sense of hearing."

  "Just not an excellent sense of privacy, huh?"

  Chris just grunted. "Zig doesn't want you to trust me 
because he doesn't know the whole story-"

  "I don't know any of the story!" I exclaimed. "What the 
hell is going on with the three of you? You said earlier that you 
were gonna fill me in, so now is the time! Who is Wells, and why 
does he want me? And what does your deal with Zig have to do 
with this? Damn it, man, give me something here!"

  "Keep your voice down. I'll explain when we get to the 
sanctuary."

  "Sanctuary?"

  "My employer's personal safe house." 

  "No. You start talking now. Or I get on my cyc and wave."

  "And what if I don't let you?" Chris and Wes took a half 
step toward me.

  "Then I'll handle you like the last guy who tried to mess 
with me," I said, and pulled out my gun. It had not been reloaded, 
but they didn't know that.

  Chris stopped and looked at the weapon. The barrel was 
more than half an inch wide. Apparently he wasn't feeling crazy. 
But after a second he smiled acerbically, and said "Okay, Screw. 
We will play it your way just for now. Listen to me, because you 
won't get a chance to hear the details again."

  I leaned against the car, and put my arm around Alethea's 
shoulders, who was looking sleepy. Wes climbed back in the front 
passenger seat, and lit a cigarette. He was humming softly. Chris, 
the man in black, stood where he was in the street light, and 
frowned.

  "I was underground until two and a half years ago, a year 
and a half later than you because I was never awarded time off for 
good behavior. When I got out I had no job, no money, and all my 
best business partners were still decaying in prison cells. I did a 
little work to get capital, mostly downtown jobs, but the g-men 
were cracking down even though my P.O. didn't suspect a thing. 
So I looked up an old gang connection a cellmate had let me in on 
to see if anyone could use my services. A few parties answered, 
saying they needed wet-men, but that was not really my area of 
interest. Then I got a call from an old woman saying she needed 
me strictly for my experience and the occasional use of my gun. I 
said I would meet with her, and took the position less than a week 
later. I got to like the scene and the people, and now I'm a full 
associate with the faction. My business with you and Wells is not 
really personal; it's political."

  "What faction are you talking about?" I asked him, starting 
to frown myself.

  "She calls it 'The Cabal.' I don't feel that's it is necessary 
to say any more, yet. Our goals are more important than our name. 
We are fighting the system from the inside and the outside at the 
same time. It's about bringing down the Mandate, and the butchers 
it employs. Wells is such a man."

  "Oh, everybody wants to fight the government. It's 
practically clich�," I said. "Mr. Wells himself had a dead pig in his 
own basement. What makes you think anyone wants to see change 
happen your way?"

  "We happen to know more, enough to get it done with 
minimal sacrifice. The problem is that the Mandate also knows 
about us. Half of those old men would burn this city down just to 
get Wesley and me, and the interests we are thought to 
characterize. 

  "They know that you are part of this too, Screw, which is 
why I'm coming with you to Lanz Island. Zig has been approached 
by the wrong people, and though he believes he is doing the right 
thing for you and his other friends, he is mistaken. It's not 
surprising, he has always had a weakness for the well told story."

  Yes, that might sound like the Zig I knew.

  "The one he heard probably went something like this: 'It is 
a time of great unrest in the population of this city, and the 
Mandate is being pushed to do something drastic about the 
problem by concerned businesses. If things go as they usually do, 
that means the Special Forces will have the city bound and gagged 
for a month until things change. Screw is a troublemaker from all 
sides of the law, and he hasn't been going to his parole sessions. I 
want to take him in and help him do what he needs to gain full 
citizenship before the Auditors catch him and put him back in jail. 
I f you want to make sure he stays alive, you had better help me 
track him down.'"

  "I always go to my parole hearings."

  "Shit, it wouldn't be beyond you to lie just to get people off 
your back. Wells could have easily put things together to leave you 
on the wrong side of justice. Especially since you were just cleared 
for racing and your career may be starting up again." Chris looked 
at me. "I forgot to say congratulations."

  "Thank you, Chris," I said and stared back.

  "So Zig bit, told Wells where you would be last Friday 
morning, and probably even hoped for some kind of reward."

  "For turning me in to the police."

  "That wasn't how he saw it. Don't blame Zig, Screw, he 
didn't know any better. He's still your best friend." This last part 
he said with a smile on his face.

  I nodded sardonically in silent agreement, but my true 
sentiments were far from there. This didn't ring true. Zigwell Cane 
was no idiot. Life on the black market had made sure of that. He 
wouldn't have listened to Wells without a damn good reason; hell, 
he probably would have asked me to put a bullet in the man's head 
just for showing up at his door with a badge. And then the lack of 
any real explanation on the phone. He was trying to tell me 
something by leaving out all the real information, maybe that he 
had realized he was in the dark about things too, but knew what 
had to be done. 

  "Wells wants you, and I want Wells, which is why I cannot 
let you out of my sight." Chris had not taken his eyes off me. It 
was like he was saying something well rehearsed, as his normal 
tone consisted of short one syllable profanities. 

  "I'm sure Wells thinks the same about both of us."

  "Undoubtedly. I know all about his attempts at kidnapping 
you, the beeper, the fact that Zig would soon be calling. He does 
need help, because the Mandate throws away its tools when it's 
done with them. You saw your parole officer back there, the man is 
not fooling around. We still may be able to save Zig from 
execution and get some information about the adversary's plan, but 
you are the greater priority. Wells seems to want Zig only to get at 
you."

  This just wasn't working for me. I looked at Alethea, who 
was frowning.

  Chris turned around, looking back at the road behind us. 

  "Zigwell will be convicted of the crime he did not commit and then 
used as bait. Wells will also be in Lanz Island waiting for you. 
When we meet him, you will have to get Zig out while I take care 
of Wells. So you see, your position is unfortunately uncertain. I 
need you to flush out Wells but I cannot let you be captured, if 
they do intend to use you for something. Why they want an ill-
fated ex car jock from the south side is beyond any member of the 
group I represent."

  "I don't believe that at all," I said.

  Chris shrugged without replying.

  "Zig had nothing to do with the bombing?"

  "Nothing. Believe me."

  I was silent for a minute. Like I said earlier, my conception 
of the world around would always be flawed as long as I kept 
trying to conceive of all of it. "So Wells is itching to grab me for 
some unknown evil purpose while stepping on everyone close to 
me who wouldn't cooperate. That means even my paperboy's got 
it coming."

  He grinned. "It may. But again, if we handle everything 
within the next few days, you may not have to worry about Wells 
ever again."

  "May not?"
 
  "Hey, guarantees are never part of the deal."
  
  "What's to stop the Mandate from just sending some other 
freak after me later who kills everyone I know with out asking a 
single question?"

  "We have also considered this possibility, but my boss 
seems to think this is unlikely. Wells, as you may know is not a 
normal man. All the flying around, lighting things on fire, is not 
through the use of any new government technology. We can't say 
what it is caused by, but machines have been ruled out for the most 
part. Over the past year we have had to deal with him extensively 
and he knows me by sight."

  "Maybe he is really after you, and not me?"

  "No, he has tried to kill me too often and always without 
purpose. Don't worry, I have a score to settle with him too. He and 
I will meet at the courthouse and even I don't know what will 
happen. But my orders are to keep you from him at any rate. Even 
if it means sacrifice."

  "Damn, Chris. Since when do you anything for free? A 
martyr is a lot less fun than a patriot."

  "What's wrong with that?"

  I shrugged. "Nothing. It's just that it's such a change from 
the greedy bastard I knew when we were cellmates. Suddenly I 
land back into racing and I learn everyone else has flipped out. 
You and I used to move anything for a buck. Told me once that 
ideologies are only for the people who can afford them; that people 
like us had to grasp for scraps whenever we could. And now 
you're out here telling me to risk my neck so that you can be the 
hero."

  "If you think I'm the only one benefiting from tomorrow, 
you're wrong. As I see it Screw, you don't have a choice. Your 
only chance at even surviving till New Years is to handle your 
problem at the source. Either you let him come after you in your 
sleep, or we take him out on our terms. And yes, you'll probably 
have to do some work yourself, but I've never known you to back 
down from a fight. Of course you will be informed of the full plans 
when I take you to the Cabal tonight."

  I stood up straight, and held up my hands in front of me. 
"Woah! I'm not going anywhere. You can't think I'm gonna let my 
friends sit around like bulls-eyes!"

  "Impossible. Wells will track them down no matter what 
precautions you take. Like I said, he is not above torturing and 
killing any number of innocents to get you. You will just cause 
them to panic uselessly, that they spend their last days in anguish. 
This cannot be handled in any other way."

  "But I can't just stand around here ignoring it! I have to 
move my next door neighbor to her mother's and talk to my crew 
chief. Then there's my old racing buddies, even the girls from 
Korre's. I have to do something! My life is not worth the sum of 
theirs!"

  Chris folded his arms across his chest and smiled 
sarcastically. "I suppose it's very admirable of you to see things 
that way. Maybe they'll drop a medal in your casket. Look, you 
trusted me with your life years ago, it can't be that difficult for you 
to do it again. No one stands up to Wells alone! This is one time 
you are going to need my help, my expertise in these matters. 
There is a reason I was put in the position of looking after you, 
Screw. I'm a soldier from birth." Chris looked somber and I was 
sure he at least thought he meant what he said.

  "I got him twice already, you know. I think I can do it 
again."

  "He will not take any chances this time. You will most 
likely be ambushed, drugged, and dragged off unconscious."

  "Then I'll continue sleeping with one eye open."

  "Don't be foolish, Screw, we both know it has to be done 
this way. Don't you remember how it was underground? For six 
years?"

  "Things change."

  "These ones don't."

  I looked at Alethea again. Her eyes were damp and 
glistened in the light of street lamps. She was patiently waiting, her 
hand on my shoulder. 

  Oh, god, I thought. I asked for this and just like always you 
take it too far. There was no 'moderation in all things' anymore. 
I couldn't believe I was actually saying that. But Chris was 
right. He was always right when it came down to life.

  "We'll go to Lanz Island tomorrow, and I'll take care of 
Zig while you go after Wells. At least there won't be any civilians 
around to get in the way this time. If that's the end of it, great. But 
tonight Alethea and I are going home." I opened the Cobra's trunk 
and pulled out my cyc. The compact electric pistons hissed, and 
the three foot metal box expanded into riding position. Alethea slid 
off the hood of the car and climbed on in back of me.

  "Screw!" Chris shouted. "You have to see the old woman 
before we go! There are other things you need to be aware of!"

  "Forget it. Have her send me a fax."

  Chris brought his fist down on the Ford's roof and dented it 
visibly. Mouthing obscenities at the sky, he then reached into his 
pocket and out a black object. I caught the throw, and saw that it 
was a bundle of light ammunition magazines taped together.

  "Happy fucking birthday. You can't fight evil with an 
empty gun."

  So he had known. Heh.

  I firmly saluted him after rocking my head back in mild 
recognition, then revved my engine. So there was an 
understanding, even if we disagreed about the conclusions. But so 
goes the struggle. A minute later Alethea and I were speeding off 
down the south leg of the parkway at a hundred and thirty, 
weaving around cars and ignoring yellow lines.



-----------


  I had forgotten that my apartment was such a wreck. Those 
three cops in the hall had busted down my door the night before 
and no one had thought to put up a new one, or at least close it off 
with plywood. When I stepped through the splintered beams into 
my foyer, I saw the lack of major appliances you would expect. 

  Some kid had taken my screens, my microwave, and even the 
fridge. I had no idea how they even got it out of the room. They 
had even poked a hole in my waterbed. Bastards. Alethea and I 
slept on the couch together and in the morning we got fast food.

  I talked to the nice woman who lived next door. She had 
been the one who had called the cops when she heard the fighting 
and gunshots going on in my place the night before. I told her as 
much as I could; robbers, thievery, and a police investigation 
nightmare. The hard thing was that I had to tell her that it might be 
better to stay uptown for the next week or so. I had to explain that 
it was my fault, and that I did not want anyone coming after her to 
get at me. I think she appreciated my warning, but neither one of 
us was happy about it. I helped her pack and got her into a cab. It 
was true that I had betrayed her trust in me. What the hell else 
could I do. She did not say anything as the middle eastern driver 
pulled off.

  The next thing was to give Diago a call on the only 
appliance left in the house, the phone. I told him about the trouble I 
was having and about the fact that I would have to miss practice 
for at least two more days. He hung up, also without a word. What 
worried me is the fact that the track was most likely the place 
Wells would look first. But he also might think ahead and realize 
that I also knew this, which might persuade him to steer clear. 

  Diago held the most credibility for taking care of himself. Derring 
was not at his apartment, and I left a message. My phone auto 
dialed all the numbers stored in its memory and gave them a 
similar message. Zig was in jail, Alethea was with me. These 
finished up the list of the only close friends I had kept in the past 
few years. Welfare and food stamps are not a ticket to stardom. 

  I ran by Zig's place and lifted the floor panel in his closet. I 
took all the guns I could find, left the drugs. There was about $500 
in cash and I took that too. Rescues could get expensive. Alethea 
and I each showered in Zig's bathroom, and she put some clothes 
in a backpack. I did the same, along with an unused voting stub for 
good luck. A private joke between the two of us. We rode back to 
my place again to wait for a call from Chris. 

  The phone rang after five while Alethea was out collecting 
the mail. Chris instructed me to meet him at the Aqueduct Central 
Train Station in an hour. I told him I would be bringing guns, and 
needed a way to get them past security checks. He told me not to 
worry. The situation was being handled.



--------




  The light blue sea water from the Aqueduct was the only 
thing in this city that we did not make ourselves. Food was grown 
by hydroponics in plants on the eastern side of the city. 
Vegetables, meats, everything. Dairy products where made 
synthetically by chemical processes. It was commonly known that 
milk was very similar to that which mothers fed their infants, only 
that it had once come from large animals. The largest land animal I 
had ever seen was a dog who regularly scrounged through the 
dumpsters outside my apartment. 
  
  As it had turned out many years ago, water was the only 
natural resource the city lacked. Our founding fathers had built the 
Aqueduct by constructing huge water pipes that went under the 
basalt walls of the Turbine. The pipes spit water into a huge canal 
that ran from the outer edge of the city, past Capital Plaza, and into 
the industrial sector on the west side. I did not know where the 
water came from, and neither did any other person in the public. 

  The only trains that left the city all went primarily to Lanz 
Island, where the government's main offices and court rooms sat. 
They had built it here in order to make some sort of statement 
about the separation of citizen and state. I think they did it so it 
would be less vulnerable to terrorist attack. Train tickets were two 
hundred apiece, and no weapons of any kind were allowed. I did 
not know how Chris planned on getting ours through; he had 
sounded confident like always. This did not comfort me.

  After stopping by a gas station to charge up the cyc, 
Alethea and I made it to the train depot with a little time to spare. 
We parked in a large designated lot before working our way 
around the long, squat building's marble exterior. Eight circular 
tunnels interspersed with real palm trees left the main entrance hall 
and carried commuters down a multistory escalator in single file.

  The soundproofed tubes deposited Alethea and I onto a swarming 
platform which was filled with painted floor signs directing lines 
of people to complete specific tasks; mainly fill out paperwork and 
present picture identification. 

  The Filtration Level left us joining fast moving lines going 
through the first entrance audits. Security personnel checked every 
i.d. card and drivers license that came through. Passing the 
watchful stares of under-stimulated policemen without incident, we 
rejoined the throng and proceeded down another larger causeway 
to the main boarding platform. The entire process had taken three 
minutes and lead us through the stares of countless hidden 
cameras. Just to make you feel more at home, I thought. 

  Several trains had already docked and were unloading 
passengers.

  We waited out in front of the ticket counter, and scanned 
the endless faces for Chris. Government employees who worked at 
the Island were getting in from trains, slightly behind the six 
o'clock rush hour. It was a tightly controlled stampede heading by 
us, pretending not to notice. Nothing but ordinary. Thousands of 
black suits, little strait jackets, turning regular citizens and good 
clean workers into parasitic worms. I'm not impartial. 

  The Mandate's image relies on the Island, a fortress far 
away from the possibility of assault. But those of us who have had 
direct dealings with them know the majority of them live right here 
in the Capital Plaza. Many of the buildings there, which profess to 
be offices of nameless big business, were really fronts for the 
Mandate's citizen management programs. An average man would 
be shocked to learn the degree to which the Mandate strove to 
control the population's opinions. And the Mandate would be 
shocked to learn the degree to which their money was wasted.
 
  On the surface, through mass psychology an administration 
can make its populace believe it is on their side, and that together 
they are fighting some greater evil, like disease or poverty or 
whatever. But deep down people know some things very clearly. 
One of these is knowing when someone is living better than you 
are; more free than you are. This especially comes out when it is 
time to hit the ballot boxes. Every three years ninety five percent 
of Mandate officials are re-elected to their positions, and I have 
never spoken to a single person who actually voted for them. It's a 
sham, and in that place deep down where propaganda and 
headlines cannot reach, we know this. The Mandate tries their best 
though. They have their hands in the movie business, music, 
fashion, everything that we base our lives on, trying to make hating 
the government seem tired. It stops a lot of mass protesting and 
group aims, but the feeling itself can't be quenched. It is an 
ongoing conflict.

  A man walked up to me and asked for the time. 

  Black single breasted suit (perfectly fit), leather briefcase, 
red and white striped tie. A lifer if there ever was one, he probably 
made less than Zig did as a dealer. And probably did less good to 
the public in general. I did not say anything, but raised my arms in 
front of him to show that I wore no watch. He sneered and stalked 
away. I did not begrudge him anything. This is what the nine-to-
five did to people. You become so tired of dealing with procedural 
problems, that anything of the kind met with outside the office 
infuriates you. 'Social security number goes here,' 'precisely three 
pages long,' 'on the boss's desk by Wednesday.' These things 
made life one big errand, which is not what it should be. Sure, they 
were necessary for organization, but all too often they were used 
merely to pressure workers into inert obedience. The man in the tie 
was only an ego better than a robot, and meanwhile his colleagues 
in the IMHR conceived of ways to take even that away. Yes, we 
prisoners were not the only ones who were re-educated.

  Alethea tapped me on the shoulder, and pointed toward 
Chris who I could see was now making his way through the crowd 
toward us. He had a large bag with him which looked mostly 
empty.

  "Chris. Where's Wes?"

  "Had to leave him behind, thanks to the badly injured leg."

  "Hey, he was trying to kill me, boss."

  "I didn't say I was mad at you about it." Chris lit a 
cigarette, while glancing over at Alethea. "You didn't give her the 
speech?" he asked me.

  "No."

  "What speech?" she asked.

  "Yeah, I could have told you it would be pointless 
anyway."

  "I know," I said. Regardless of what I thought about the 
risks the three of us were about to assume, nothing I could have 
said would deter the unprepared. No speech was necessary. 
 
  "Put your stuff in this bag. It's x-ray proof, so we can take 
our guns with us."

  Alethea frowned. "Won't they wonder why such a heavy 
bag shows up empty on their little screen?"

  "It has a metal film over the x-ray proofing, which will give 
them a artificial image of what's inside. All they will see is a pile 
of clothes and some music discs. Hurry up."

  "Cool."

  I dumped my backpack in the bag and so did she. The three 
of us turned and went though the x-ray booth, coming out clean. 

  We each put down 'sightseeing' as our reason for travel.

  Chris already had tickets with him, so I did not have to 
spend any of my own money. I had expected some sort of talk 
about how we could not bring any women with us, that we were 
not messing around, but Chris said nothing. I guess he had more 
important things to think about. Or maybe he thought that if I had 
her with me, I wouldn't try to do anything over the line.

  WELCOME PASSENGERS. 

  "Here we go," I said, glancing up at the hanging public-use 
screen.

  PLEASE BEGIN BOARDING M-TRAIN 34, EN ROUTE 
TO LANZ ISLE. RETURNING PASSENGERS MUST PASS 
GATES ONE THROUGH SIX OR PROCEED DIRECTLY TO 
THE CENTRAL CONTROL OFFICE. ALL CITIZENS ARE 
REMINDED THAT SMOKING ON THE MAIN PLATFORM IS 
STRICTLY PROHIBITED.

  We took our seats on the mag-lev train, and after a fifteen 
minute wait while the conductor  performed the secondary i.d. 
audit, we left the platform. The fifteen or sixteen cars quickly 
accelerated to about 400mph, pushing us back into our supple 
backrests. I was well used to the feeling. The track dipped into a 
tunnel alongside the Aqueduct to carry us beneath the Inner and 
Outer Turbine walls. The underside of the Aqueduct canal was 
always visible to the right, and we followed it through the pipes to 
the forest of boulders outside. 

  The horizon framed rows of bare faced mountains in every 
direction the eye could see. And though it had been almost twenty 
years since I had left the city, it all looked familiar. So damn, 
uncontrollably familiar.

  I decided to keep this thought to myself.





-----------
-----------
-----------




In gratious responce to S.P.M.'s c+c last week:

In the privacy of his own cellar, who knows what would have 
happened.

    This chapter ending felt a little awkward to me. You may want to end it with either >something being done by Screw or something happening to him
as a transition to the next chapter.

Yes, I've been told this and it's definitely possible. I usually try to end the chapters not after the end of a scene, but in the middle, after the ante is  raised. For the cliffhanger effect. That way the start of each chapter throws you right back into the action and there is less time spent introducing the scene. (And Screw usually likes to fill his reader in as he goes, anyway.) It may make it harder to read when 1-2 weeks go by between updates. Check out the websites to get it all at once. 

Peace.

Aescension
 


	     .---Anime/Manga Fanfiction Mailing List----.
             | Administrators - ffml-admins@anifics.com |
             | Unsubscribing - ffml-request@anifics.com |
             |     Put 'unsubscribe' in the subject     |
             `---- http://ffml.anifics.com/faq.txt -----'