Information + Prologue piece

Sorry I haven't gotten my second part of that Protoss help guide I was writing up yet. I'm trying to write it all first, and then copy + paste + post it, unlike last time, where I wrote everything on my blog and then just edited the small parts that needed it.

Anyhow, going slightly off topic for a moment, eighteen years old is more boring than I thought. Sure, I can now buy all sorts of trivial stuff over the phone, but that's not fun.

Back on topic: I'm currently on a new project without a name, as of late. I intend to call it something sooner or later, but for now, it's just kinda' sitting in the water like a boat without a paddle. Slow going when one has a writer's block.

This story is going to be something I have never done before in my life: Secret criminal organizations, through the eyes of a new recruit to a weapons dealer black market in a place much like South America, but with a different name (I intend to make it not involved with the world we live in. I don't know why; makes me uncomfortable to write in current times). If it turns out well, I might post a snippet for you guys over on my DeviantART page to look at.

Meanwhile, if you want exclusive access to parts I don't intend to show the public (I'm secretive with my work. I do intend to become published eventually, but not until I'm absolutely sure I want people to see an entire story by me), catch me at my e-mail address, and I'll try and get back to you.

Now then, here I have the first part of the prologue to start with. Enjoy.

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Prologue

Kent looked out across the mountainside through a pair of binoculars, covered in leaves and twigs and painted to look like forest camo. He normally used these when sent out on covert missions requiring him to get the goods on the Organization's enemies, but this time, he didn't have his spare set of binoculars handy, and people got mighty suspicious when they saw a minor with a high-caliber carbine rifle looking off into the distance through the scope. In one case, the police had even been called -- Kent had been lucky enough to have escaped before they caught up to him.

What Kent saw through his now-magnified vision field was what he made out to be the organization's dealers disguised as merchant traveling parties. They were riding in armored cars and trucks that carried their weapons, and the spoils of their trades with other black market organizations.

"The convoy's back, boss," Kent said quietly into his radio.

"Good. Meet them at the gate and have them come to my office."

Kent put his binoculars away, broke the barrel of his shotgun over his arm, and jogged down to the gate.