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The Triple-U Squad (youngsters:mystery, 1465 words)
Author: K ArenAdded: Sep 27 2003Views/Reads: 5107/2722Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
After a scientist and his lab partner manage to escape from prison, they gather up a team of six teenagers to help them plot revenge on the person who sent them to prison. In return, they're given mysterious powers to aid them. But soon things get complic

Chapter One: Some Anonymous Dude is telling the story: 

Chief Alwin McCole sat in a chair in the stands staring blankly at the
bloodstained platform where many prisoners had been whipped, beaten and 
tortured in every way possible, before they were finally hanged in the 
gallows nearby. He wasn't alone in the Torture Square, as it was 
called. His bodyguards stood right next to him, still as statues for 
now, but then trouble came, they were ferocious bulked monsters. 

Chief McCole didn't need bodyguards. He could take care of himself,
thank you very much. But apparently his assistant (the annoying wretch 
with the huge glasses who was sitting beside him), thought that he 
could do with extra protection. 

“Autumn Falls Jailhouse isn't a very safe place to be in, sir,” his
secretary had said. “Those prisoners are very dangerous criminals. Why 
I heard one of them manage to exterminate this man with a toothpick!” 

His assistant, Brett ‘Lazy' Layer, was a skinny guy in his early
twenties who had just graduated from university and was being trained 
by Chief McCole to be a cop. Why he even bothered? McCole didn't know, 
and he never bothered to ask. All he knew was that the boy was never 
going to become a cop. Skinniness, wretchedness, annoyingness ... and 
not to mention those oversized nerdy glasses ... they just didn't seem 
to fit and McCole couldn't imagine someone as geeky as Lazy Layer being 
a cop. And why the hell was he called ‘Lazy' anyway? He sure wasn't 
lazy. He was a hyper little, skinny nerd who thought he knew it all and 
was always trying to prove that he could do anything. 

A prison guard marched towards McCole and saluted. “The prisoners are
ready to be brought in, sir,” he said. 

“Yeah, yeah, so bring them in already,” McCole muttered. “And what's
with the salute? You're not a soldier.” 

The prison guard said nothing. 

“Just go bring the bloody prisoners,” McCole said impatiently, waving
the guard away. 

Somebody cleared his throat. It was an unusual way to clear one's thoat.
It sounded more like a goat that a clearing-of-throat. McCole ignored 
it. He knew very well to whom that sound belonged to. 

The person cleared his throat again. 

McCole sighed exasperatedly. “What do you want, Brett?” 

“That man was a soldier, sir,” Brett said matter-of-a-factly. “I
recognize him as John Macintosh. He was a really brave -” 

“I don't care, Brett,” McCole snapped. He looked at the prison guard, or
soldier, or whatever he was. “You,” he called to him. “Bring them in.” 

The guard nodded and disappeared into a room. A minute later, six men
crawled out, wearing cuffs and chains and guarded by prison guards 
larger than McCole's own bodyguards. They were all dirty, scrawny and 
even from where McCole sat, he could smell the stench of death on them. 
McCole wrinkled his nose in disgust. 

John Macintosh (or whatever his name was) waved a stick in front of them
and had them all lined up in front of McCole. McCole descended the 
steps towards them, flanked by his bodyguards (and that annoying Lazy 

John Macintosh began to speak. Not to McCole, but to the prisoners, most
of whom had on angry expressions and glared at John Macintosh as he 

“This is Chief Alwin McCole, as all of you should know,” Macintosh
announced, “head of the police department in Belle Valley Brook.” He 
eyed the prisoners carefully. They weren't looking at him anymore, but 
at McCole. “That's where all six of you are from.” 

The third prisoner snorted. Macintosh ignored him and so did McCole, but

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