Our Man in Cameroon

By Konrad Talmont-Kaminski, (c) 2000 The large army helicopter settled with a flurry of leaves and dust in an area cut out of the jungle. All around, the hillside was thickly covered with lush vegetation, verdant branches reaching out blindly into the small clearing. Jumping out of th
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A State of Mind

By Andreas Melhorn, (c) 1999 I’m walking down the corridor. It’s pretty long and has a lot of doors on either side. And it looks like a hospital corridor. They don’t want it to look like that, but it still looks like a hallway in a hospital. I have to admit the look
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Forrest Lawn

By Mark McFadden, (c) 1999 [Exterior. Night] Credits appear during the following sequence. We see an overcast night sky, the moon coyly peeking through ribbons of cloud. The POV pans down to an empty, poorly lit warehouse district. The POV comes to rest on a SECRETIVE MAN in an inexpe
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The Producer

By Mark McFadden, (c) 1999 Tonight we’re going to party like it’s 1999 The party was strictly low rent, hiatus and wannabe. The 70’s were shambling like some rough bell-bottomed beast towards fashion to be reborn. Outside, the surf cheered in waves, like the mob at a
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US Special Operations

By Ken Marien, (c) 1999 “Good morning, agents.” His big, bald head spoke without any emotion whatsoever. “Good morning, sir,” said agent Eric, the funny one. “I have something for you. Something to INVESTIGATE, not TO GET BLOWN INTO PIECES! Got it?”
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The Queen in Red

By David Sokolowski, (c) 1998 Call me Lech. I am a member of a disuniform conspiracy whose goals include the following: – To protect the citizens of the United States from threats originating with paranormal phenomena. – To maintain the security of the United States from p
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Monsters

By  Matt Cowger, (c) 1999 I saw it happening every minute. Each time I made the mistake of leaving the safe room, into the sterile white bathroom, and leaving waste in the self-sealing disposal, the bit of silvered hull looked at me. Time was counting down. I ran the instrument diagno
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Final Report

By John Tynes, (c) 1994 Received: from anonx.ywy.ub by anonx.com with SMTP id AA- (5.65C/IDA-1.4.4 for <distrib@anonx.com>); 25 february 1994 21:59:32 -0700 Message id: <19940225–.AA–@anonx.com> Received: from anonx.ywy.ub by anonx.ywy.ub (IBM VM SMTP V2A2) wit
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Wants

By Michael Beck, (c) 1999 Megan Lathuse looked down at the baby and felt envy stab through her. He’ll know so much more, she thought. He’ll die thirty years after I will, and as he grows up he’ll read about my time in history books. He’ll live in a world I can&
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The Tumla

By Thomas Asbury & Alex Peery, (c) 1999 Dear Jonathon, Since you are reading this, you can be fairly certain that I am dead, or worse than dead. If events have proceeded as I planned (I suspect that they have, since they depend solely upon that most ubiquitous of human qualities:
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