The One Battle To End

Well, again, i have changed the title to this story, and i have been rarely writing, but i will post it anyway, here you go Psycho, i know ya love this. But we gotta start at the beginning!


The Battle of Ends

1: Lyon

Mr. John Lyon was a small man, he wore glasses and a trench coat around himself. His thick black hair was beginning to thin. He was only forty-seven years young. His house was in Wisconsin. He lived in a small, out-of-the-way town.
He lived in an obnoxiously big house. It did not go well with the town. Everything was big to him. Except for his size. When it came to the size of him, he was not very happy about it. 785 Leach Street was his address.
The small man had answers. A lot of them. He worked at Rickwood Academy. He was the history teacher. He was the next target.
They needed answers from the guy. How they were going to get Mr. Lyon was the tricky part. This man was a scheduled, organized guy. He was a robot:
Every day he would wake up at 6:30 AM. He would gather up the papers he had corrected the night before, and put them in a three-ring folder. He then would send the papers that were needed that day from his computer, to the printer at Rickwood. He then would get ready for the day.
He then would put the clothes he was going to wear that day on his bed. It was normally a colored dress shirt with a matching tie and pants. He then would toss the clothes he wore to bed into the washer.
He would take his shower and dry himself off. He would put on the clothes he laid out. He would brush his teeth, gargle Listerine, and do his hair with a comb.
At 7:15 he would put the clothes from the washer, into the dryer. He would leave to the Academy by 7:25. He’d reached the school at 7: 40 AM.
He would go to the teachers lounge and receive the papers he made from his cubby. He would go to his classroom. He walked in the classroom fifteen seconds before the bell rang. He would stand at the door of the classroom, checking off who was tardy while the kids that were on time would read. After fifteen minutes, he would mark the kids that never came, truancy.
He then would teach. Teach until 12:50 PM and then would go have lunch. He then would go check his cubby for mail. There was always mail. No one knew exactly why. He would return to his classroom and read the mail or a book until the bell rang. He would repeat the process of his ways until the day was over. The rest was history. He would go home. Correct the papers that were handed in and do whatever until he went to bed.
There was only one way to get this Mr. Lyon: get him distracted.
He did not get distracted easily. Now They needed to find out his weakness. It could range from ice cream cones, to a failing student, to a one hundred dollar bill. Something had to distract this guy.

They climbed through the window that a kid opened when the last class emptied out. They bribed him with a fifty dollar bill. They were carrying a small suitcase. It was black metal. They opened it: It contained a small camera the size of a palm, wires, electrical tape, a microphone, and a screwdriver. They opened a vent that was in the back of the classroom. It would be able to see everything, and hear everything. They wired it up until it reached the roof of the building. They connected it up to a satellite dish. They looked at the serial number on the dish. 392045481093. They wrote it down and left the building.
They had a perfect view of him. Then it happened. He talked above the commotion. “Roger Strow, you are failing, why?!” Mr. Lyon asked, eyes now drained of any light.
“Um, I don’t understand the words.” A boy said. Mr. Lyon beckoned him forth with a finger. Lyon then walked over to his desk. The boy followed him. Lyon was now off schedule. The people that were watching through the camera rejoiced. Now They needed something to catch Lyon’s eye.
“I already have one of his papers. I will just write a name down, and plant the paper near his car, when he picks it up, we get him!” one of the people said smiling.

Three people left the building they were in and headed into a white, unmarked van without a license plate. They planted a paper with a name on it. It had an “F” on it.
Thirty minutes later, Mr. Lyon walked out to his car. He stepped on a piece of paper. He picked it up. Now was the time to act.
They grabbed him and put a handkerchief over his mouth. They dragged him into the van. Once the door closed, They removed the kerchief. “What in the heck are you doing?” Lyon asked.
“You, Mr. Lyon, are in no position to ask questions. We ask the questions. You answer them. Simple, am I correct?” said a person wearing a ski mask. Lyon could not determine whether the person was male or female because of a voice changer. the voice was highly pitched and sore.
Mr. Lyon nodded to the question.
“You will never be seen alive by someone you know ever again. No matter what, unless,” The person who his left started. “You answer truthfully.” Mr. Lyon went limp. The person to his right had knocked him out.

Lyon woke up in a highly lit chamber. The chamber was painted a clean shade of white. He moved around. He stumbled as he ran into something. He looked down. Nothing was there. Then he placed his hand where he had bumped. It was a table. On the table was a pitcher of water and a glass. A door opened.
A man that was wearing a black suit. It had orange pinstripes on it.
The man had blond hair. His skin was tan. He was wearing silver sunglasses, so Lyon could not tell what color his eyes were.
“Good afternoon Mr. Lyon, how are you feeling?” The man asked. He had a low voice. Mr. Lyon had finally noticed that his neck was throbbing.
“I am fine.” Lyon lied.
“I have a few questions regarding something named the “Amulet.”

Please reply, and be a critic!

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Is this all your story?
If it's not then I will give it an 8 out of 10. Gut if this is it I can only give it an 8 out of 10.

I Mr. Lyons though, he sounds kinda like that dude in 20,000 Leauges Under the Sea.

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It is all my Story!!

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Ok, ok. Calm down. Well sorry, but I'll have to give it a 6 out 0f 10.6/10. Sorry.

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For those who really like my work on this thread, i have bad news, my computer crashed that had the One Battle To End story on it, so, you will have to wait!

So sorry!

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Good job on the story, really enjoyed it!!

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Announcement!! I need all of you peoples undivided attention!!! Hi..

2: Barsher

Mr. Calder Barsher was retired. He had managed HOA’s for ten years. He started when he was twenty-nine years old when he started his career. He ended it when he was thirty-nine years old. He had over three million dollars in his bank account. He had just recently moved into a small house. He lived in Astoria, Oregon. He had the perfect view of the Columbia River. The green bridge stretched for five mile over the river. The Pig N’ Pancake right across the street from the Holiday Inn. His house was on top of a hill.
Astoria was the greatest place on earth. He had loved it. He had grown up in Chicago. He never really like it there. It was to much commotion:
Cars were always honking their horns. He had never really saw the stars before. There was to much light pollution. Every other day, there was a murder in an alley, not even ten blocks from his house.
The only real reason he did not care for Chicago was because of that one day.
He was walking back home from the school bus stop. He had chosen to take a shortcut. A gang had met him in the alley he cut through.
“Boy, what you doin’?” asked a black man. He was wearing a kerchief around his head.
“I am just trying to get home, mister.” Barsher explained. He was scared of these men.
“Stay out of the way boy, or else you could be in serious trouble.” Another man said, revealing a revolver from behind his jacket.
Barsher ran out the way he came…

Mr. Barsher woke up. His eyes were fuzzed with sleep. He could not help but feel to go back to sleep. But, he got up. He took his morning shower. He put on his clothes. Today was special.
Today was a golf tournament. It was to be held at Glendoveer Golf Course in Portland. It was an hour drive. He could make it a forty minute drive.
His polo shirt and Dockers were perfect for today. He looked over at his window. There was a soft tapping on the window. It was coming from a drizzle of rain. He smiled. He loved these days. It was a good day for Astoria.
He stood up after a breakfast of toast and fried eggs. He picked up a key ring. It had ten keys on it.
He walked to a closet and reached for his golf clubs. He put them into the trunk of his Dodge Caliber. He opened the drivers door and put the keys into the ignition. He twisted the keys and pulled his seatbelt on. He shoved the gas pedal downward. He back out of his driveway going over fifty miles and hour. He drifted for a moment, then stopped. He headed down the hills of Astoria.
He took a turn left. He kept to this road for forty minutes.

Mr. Barsher lifted his driver out of view and took a soft whack at the small Callaway golf ball. It sailed three-hundred yards. It landed in the sand trap. He was not scoring very good today. The score was three over par.
By the end of the day, he had left with a score of five over. Not very good.

Barsher washed his face and went to bed.

Barsher did not like the idea of having his doors locked at night. In addition, he had a security system. The only real reason why he was rich, was because he had invented a security system. You did not have to lock the doors, there were no codes.( except for one) Just a scanner. It was a retinal scanner. In order to allow people in the house with out having to knock or anything, It just had to scan there eyes. If the eyes matched any of the eye “fingerprints”, then the person would be able to get in. If not. The computer would send a very small, but effective, alkali metal tube down a chute just large enough to allow the metal to fall down into a doggy bowl.. a grenade that did not look like a grenade, but water. Yes, he had a doggy bowl outside.
The water would quietly stream into the bowl from the bottom, and then, have a small tube of an alkali metal added to it from the chute. It would blow up, either sending the people off the porch, or scare them. Then the computer would contact the police.
If he needed to add another persons eye fingerprint, he would simply enter a code in from his computer, and bring out a scanner that was able to be used in a USB drive. They would scan their eyes and it would be fed to the hard drive. The rest was simple.
He felt safe in the house. The only eye fingerprints he had on them were his landlord’s, and some of his family. He felt perfectly safe.

The landlord put his eye to the scanner. He turned the knob, and then he felt a sharp pain. “Bring him too.” said a person, as the landlord fell to the ground. They picked him up. Then They pulled a ring out of a small cylinder, and rolled it into Barsher’s house. The house was soon filled with knockout gas. They put on the gas masks and pulled him out of his room. They were gone within fifteen minutes.

I found a way to continue the story!

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