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Monthly Archives: January 2013

(Taken from an interview from a local station April 2041)

We were fortunate enough to have had the opportunity to interview Sam Jensen. At 84, Jensen is the last inmate of his kind left alive.  He represents the last of the former generation of inmate sentenced to life in prison without parole.  In 1987 at the age of 30, Jensen was found guilty of first degree murder, and his sentence was passed. Since then, he has remained incarcerated at the Graterford Maximum Security Prison in Pennsylvania. What follows is our exclusive uncensored interview with Jensen.

Smith: Good morning, Mr. Jensen.

Jensen: What the hell’s so good about it? Can I get a smoke? Not one of those sissyfied hydros either.

S: I’ll see what I can do. Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing time in here for, Mr. Jensen.

J: You work in the media! What the hell you think I’m in here for?

S: The court record says Murder in the First. What’s your side?

J: My side? (huffs. Guard lights his cigarette) My side? Yeah, I killed the bastard. That’s my side.

S: What happened, though?

J: The son of a bitch raped my daughter. What would you do? (takes a drag) I was a father. I did what I felt I had to do.

S: Twenty-seven times in the face and chest. Seems like overkill to most people.

J: Most people have their heads buried in their own asses. He deserved every bite from that blade.

S: How do you know he was the one responsible? He never had his day in court.

J: My daughter said he was the one, and I believed her! She wouldn’t ever make something like that up. Christ sakes, man.

S: Did you catch any flak once you were on the inside of this place?

J: Of course (lifts shirt) I got this scar from a guy that tried to jab me on the ball courts. Hurt like hell, but I survived. I survived a lot of crap for that matter.

S: Such as?

J: Stabbings, attempted sexual assault, strangulation… you name it.

S: I see. Mr. Jensen, public record shows you as the last of your kind.

J: What do you mean?

S: You’re the last inmate in for murder that hasn’t been executed, or assassinated under the new laws.

J: Oh, that. Yeah, I guess so.

S: What do you make of this assassination sentence?

J: I think it’s a bunch of shit (takes another drag). Computers making a bunch of decisions (exhales) no day in court and no trial…. That’s (explicative) up, man.

S: Then you believe that the Cell exists?

J: Yeah, no… maybe. Hell, I don’t know. Either way, I think they ought to have built more pens, not just started going around killing everybody.

S: Are you referring to Hell’s Forge?

J: That underground pen? Yeah. I mean, we went through a depression, another war… Shit! People got desperate! They should have built the Forge.

S: Do you think that you should be killed by one of these assassins for what you did?

J: I’d take that over the needle any day! At least then, I’d stand a chance of surviving if I kill him instead, right?

S: True. Do you think convicted felons under this new system commit the crime again once they’re sentenced and hunted?

J: Hell, I wouldn’t! I’d be too busy trying to outrun and outsmart them and stay alive. A smart system, if you ask me.

S: Do you regret what you did?

J: Hell, no! (scoffs) I’d do it again if the same thing happened. I only regret being stuck in here and not getting to see my kids grow up, you know?

S: I suppose so.

The rest of our exclusive interview can be seen on tonight’s evening news at six PM right here on this station.

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(Taken from conspiracy magazine, Hidden Switch April 2041)

 

A piece of unusual information has just been unearthed here at the Switch. After doing a little digging and rooting around on the government’s own assassin’s den, we managed to uncover a little-known project.  The project was partially funded by the US Government, and mostly funded by private venture capitalists. It’s name was Hell’s Forge. It was originally proposed in 2029 as an initiative aimed at solving the prison overpopulation problem.

The concept, on paper, was a simple one. Several investors would pull together their resources, and construct a 17-story underground penitentiary. From what we were able to uncover in print and media coverage, the blowback on the project came when the government couldn’t come to terms with where to put it, how to run it and all of the safety issues that would arise out of such an endeavor.

In the end, the government had to do something about its growing criminal population issue. So, they turned to the formation of the Hunter Cell — or so we believe. The trouble has been that we can find no public record of their existence. No Executive Order, no letters of incorporation… nothing. More troubling is that this prison project wasn’t really brought into the public eye back then either. Some of the local media outlets caught wind of what was going on when they started roping off the work site. Beyond that, no one really ever knew that this was even being considered as an option.

The big questions still remain: Who were the private investors involved in Project Hell’s Forge? Why weren’t we as a public told about it? Do any of these investors have knowledge of the Cell’s existence?

(Taken from Cloud Modulation band radio program ‘American Insider’. Originally aired April 7, 2041)

Welcome back folks. Well — wow! Do we have a program for you today. As you loyal listeners know, we here at the Insider work tirelessly around the clock to bring you the information and news that the rest of the country, and world for that matter, won’t tell you.

Today, my dear friends, we have more than just speculations to the existence of a rogue government agency. We have some bona fide proof. This is the third such case that has popped up in the last eighteen months. An eyewitness to the events sent in a written statement attesting to what they had seen. The message describes a woman in a black leather jacket that was seen in or around the writer’s residence for several weeks prior to her son’s murder. The writer wouldn’t or couldn’t divulge just what her son did, or where he worked. She did, however, go on to describe how this mysterious woman in black followed her son to work, to school at a local college and even to personal outings.

We here at American Insider have seen reports over the past several years that also described a similar female at or leaving the scene of assassin-style murders. Could she be a mark for death? Is this woman in black an omen? Be on a guarded watch, friends. If this agency does exist she could be its Grim Reaper.

Judge took one last drag off of his hydro, and then flicked the Chesterfield onto the damp bricks.

She tried to lose him on the other side of the fountain, but the murderer was smarter than that. Sorry, Doll Face. He smelled blood. Nothing was going to stop this madman — or so he thought.

The assassin jogged after the mysterious figure in the fog over the paved bay trail, and into the Fisherman’s Wharf. The crosshatched strings of white bulbs still burned overhead in the fog. All of the shops and restaurants had been long since closed up. Judge peered around frantically.

“Now, where did that numbskull get off to?”

Just then a dark formed passed under the halo of a lamppost at the end of the main wharf.

Not tonight, clown. I jogged down to the corner of Isabella’s restaurant, and set my case down in front of me. Yeah, I had something really special planned for just such a jackass.

His long coat draped over either side of his instrument case as Judge made quick work of putting together his newest toy.

I had spent the last eight months doing all of the research and rounding up all of the replica parts for it.

He pulled out a small black metal ammo drum, and snapped it in place at the front of the barrel. He then slid the front pistol grip into place just behind the drum.

judgepicthc

Artwork by and courtesy of Christopher Stroud.

Judge tugged the action slide back toward him, and let it go with a click. Muffled cries pierced the dense cloud from the shadows of the docks. The assassin stood up, and let his M1921 Thompson Annihilator hang at his right side.

“No! No, stop it!” the young girl shrieked through the struggle. “Someone!”

The towering man felt her frail hands trying to pry his off of her mouth and throat. There was something primal deep within the recesses of his being that got a cheap thrill out of watching people die. He loved the power. He yearned for the control over who got to live, and who was taken.

He clenched his massive hands around her fragile throat choking her screams at his knees. The young beauty’s eyes bulged, and her body went tight. It wouldn’t be much longer…

“Hey, jackass,” a mellow voice said from behind him. “Why don’t you try picking on someone at least your own age.”

The massive brute turned to see a man of average stature standing at the other end of the pier. His black fedora hid his face. A thin line of white smoke trailed up from the corner of his mouth. The murderer tightened his grasp on the teenager’s larynx. She gasped in desperation.

“I said,” the stranger proclaimed with force, “let the girl go. Now!”

The man in the charcoal suit swept his long brown coat aside, and tilted a Tommy gun up beside his black hat. His left hand took the hydro out of his mouth.

“You will pay with your life for interfering with other’s affairs,” the strangler said tossing the child to the wet dock.

The lean stranger placed the cig back in his mouth, and dropped the machine gun to his right hip.

“This is for all of those kids,” the man said through his smoke. “Do unto others, you smug son of a bitch!”

The massive monster tried to whip out his Sig Sauer pistol, but he knew it wouldn’t matter. The Bogart look-alike unloaded his 100-round drum of .45 caliber bullets. Revenge tore red holes in the murderer’s torso at 1200 bullets per minute.

“One round for every school kid you murdered!” Judge shouted as he advanced on the staggering mass of blood and gore.

The young girl cried and raced behind her strange savior as he marched on her killer. The towering nightmare tumbled backward with every strike. The rounds’ momentum pushed the beast back into the sea. Rounds thwipped off of the planks and wooden posts on the pier. Empty casings rained down leaving a trail to their relentless source.

“How does it feel now, tough guy?” the assassin exclaimed as the killer stumbled over the end of the pier.

Judge walked up to its edge and peered over at the floating corpse in the bay.

“Tell it to the judge, pal,” he said coolly. “Court’s adjourned.”

He strode back over to where the young girl lay whimpering.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded without making eye contact.

“You wanna ride to the local police station?”

Again, she only nodded.

Judge held out his left hand, and the girl’s quivering grip tightened around his. “It’s gonna be alright, sweetheart.” he said as he led her back to his midnight blue ‘38 Chevy Hornet Coupe.

Hunter Cell is coming soon.

I’ve held out on making my presence known here for my own reasons. Since you’ve been here a little while, I suppose that I can trust you somewhat. I tend to place information on this site that reflects who the media and law enforcement agencies think we are. It’s entertaining to me. They only get little morsels of what it is that we do for you the American Public. They say that we are an enigma. We are an abomination to our Constitution. We are cold, ruthless and maniacal. Who are they calling maniacal? At times, I have to step in and give you my two cents’ worth of editorial commentary to set the record straight.

We are not here to infringe on your rights. We are not wild-eyed murderers. We do not kill the wrong people. We did not come here from another planet (my personal favorite). We do not make ourselves publicly known for a great many reasons. The most important one being the protection of my agents and their families.  We do a job just like your local fire company does a job. Ours just happens to be one that requires more skill sets than most. Since you seem to be trustworthy and have an interest in who we are, I’ll make brief introduction to our little crew:

Rider — white male. Specializes in close quarters combat, tracking and is an expert marksman. His love of handguns and bikes has given him the impression that he’s a modern-day gunslinger. He’s got the track record. Who am I to question that?

Ivy — Asian-American female. Specializes in poisons and deception. Martial arts expert and a driving pro. A fast woman who loves even faster cars.

Judge — White male. A former sniper. He’s caught up in this new NetRo pop culture thing. Kind of a Sam Spade on steroids.

Sledge — African-American male. Demolitions expert. Special Warfare Ops. You don’t want this guy coming for you. Trust me.

Steam Punk — white male. Our in-house gadget man. A cyborg? I hardly doubt it. A little bit of a wild streak in his young soul, but he’s a pro all the way.

Kitana — White female. Ninjitsu master. Don’t let her looks deceive you — if you can even see her coming.

Max — African/White – American female. Sorry to use such boxy terms. It’s the society that we live in, though. She is an expert marksman. Loves her classic muscle cars. If you’ve left an imprint somewhere in this world, Max will find you. She’s as beautiful as she is lethal.

I’m Q. I supervise this outfit. They never see me, and neither will you. I will only show up as a voice in your head, or a figment of your imagination.  More on our exploits can be found on a separate page of this site. Until our next briefing.

 Q — Out.

http://www.amazon.com/Hunter-Cell-ebook/dp/B00BRWG1XK

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