| The lights of San Francisco loomed above its paved streets, and faded into a darkened atmosphere of radiation. Tonight had an eerie feel to it, with the storm passing in from the east. Dark clouds invaded the blood-red sky and a light rain fell onto the sleeping city. Worrisome thunder bellowed in the distance. This was no night to be out. And Mr. Bimstein was late for his meeting. It was not a good idea to be late for a meeting of the Blattaria Order, especially when you're the Chief Chairperson of Research for the Neo-Carboniferous Age. He knew that the Dark Lord would give him that certain look when he came in nearly a half-hour after the meeting was called. Dark Lords aren't interested in such trivial matters as the difficulties of catching a bus at such an hour, especially one that happened to be landing anywhere within the vicinity of the secret meeting place. Mr. Bimstein had to go by foot for most of the way, and was still a good deal away from where he needed to be. The presentation materials he tugged behind him didn't help his speed any either. No. The Dark Lord wouldn't be interested in that at all. Perhaps that's why, mused Mr. Bimstein, he was given a title as menacing as that. You wouldn't exactly go to someone named the "Dark Lord" when you needed a pick-me-up after a rough day. Mr. Bimstein sighed. If only the secret meeting place could have been closer to town. He liked it quite a bit when they held their meetings in an abandoned warehouse next door to a pizza joint. It was incredibly convenient. He didn't enjoy catching a bus in the middle of the night and walking the rest of the way to the abandoned Percival mansion. It was a creepy, large old building anyway. And no pizza joints for miles around. He would have to be sure to remember to lodge a complaint with the Secretary of Secret Meeting Locations after the secret meeting ended. The drizzle pounded against his back, so he picked up his pace to avoid getting himself in a bad situation. He abhorred rain. In fact he had half a mind to turn around and go back home. If only he didn't have to give his all-important presentation tonight. Once a year he was responsible for giving an overview of all the data he had collected during his term as Chief Chairperson of Research for the Neo-Carboniferous Age. It was usually a tedious task, but this year was different. This was the year his research would actually amount to something. He would prove to all those old good-for-nothings that he was worth something. He had uncovered something very important that would trigger a big step forward toward their all-important goal. His junior members had carried out their responsibilities and set-up all the necessary actions for it to take place the following week. The Order will be very pleased indeed, he thought, if only I can make it there in time. At last he reached the doorstep. Cautiously, he looked up, and marveled at the great woodwork in the door while he caught his breath. Though inconvenient, he did happen to like the size and quality of the place. He would have to remember to compliment the Secretary of Secret Meeting Locations when it was over. Mr. Bimstein dried off his antennae and scurried underneath the door. The Dark Lord was finishing his opening address to the Order, but still managed to shoot Mr. Bimstein a dirty look as he joined the council on stage, a rather large wooden plank that was separated from the rest of floor. "...and so we strive toward the ultimate goal, the goal that has driven this organization since its creation nearly 300 million years ago. We, the Order of Blattaria, are closer now to reaching it than we have ever been. Soon, we will eliminate the problem that arose over 5 thousand years ago. We will rid ourselves of the pests who have tried to destroy us as a species and yet has never succeeded. We must get rid of them before the get rid of us. We are entering a new age. The Neo-Carboniferous period is come. The time when cockroaches will once again rule the Earth, and homo-sapiens will cease to exist, is here. Mankind will no longer be a threat!" A loud cheer erupted from the crowd in a series of squeaks and scurries. The Dark Lord shot an evil glare toward the research section of the council and mumbled, "So glad you could join us, Mr. Bimstein. I trust your presentation is ready?" Mr. Bimstein nervously stroked his antennae. "Er, yes, O Dark Lord. May I address the Order?" The Dark Lord gave a single nod, and resumed his seat at the head of the council upon a chunk of brick. "I am happy to report that the Research division has made an extremely important find toward the continuation of our species," he began, "but I'll save that for last. Its importance will outshine anything else I have to say today. "I will begin with my annual historical review. The Research division has played an important role in this council's success, being able to provide important information in world- wide activities that has greatly aided the Order in its journey toward the Ultimate Goal. After the arrival of the humans, our kind was driven to the far-reaches of the East. It has taken generations for us to reclaim the territory that was lost. We moved from Asia to Germany to, at long-last, Florida in the 1980's. In the forty years hence we have spread our seeds and migrated across the globe, populating dark and moist areas everywhere. Our biggest contributions have been here, in the United States. Here we have grown as a species, and began our evolutionary steps in the years following WWIII. The blast that mutated the humans evolved ourselves. We have grown and adapted. We are much larger than our ancestors were and stand a better chance than they ever could at defeating the human race. "The war thus far has been brutal. They have introduced insecticides of all sorts among us, which we have survived due to the ongoing efforts of our Medical Research division. Without their efforts, we would not have adapted the necessary immunities. The brave cockroaches who have endured the human scientific research for a chance to conduct their own experiments have provided us with valuable information. However, our own efforts to have spread disease among them have thus far proved unsuccessful. The early War of the Diseases did little damage on both fronts. "However, the radiation has proved to be a tremendous stride for us. Our evolution has given us the capacity to learn the strange ways of mankind. The Research Division has made great strides in deciphering their language and using their devices. We can send messages and use their public transportation systems without their ever knowing it, under our sacred oaths of secrecy. All this would not be possible without our hard work and-" "We all understand how valuable your work is to us, Mr. Bimstein," interrupted Mr. Griest, the Secretary of Necessary Action. "Please, and I'm sure I speak for all of us, move toward the important discovery your team has made." "Well said, Mr. Griest," approved the Dark Lord. "Very well. As you all know, our recent strides have been the most important. Our ability to communicate has proven very successful in the near-elimination of their species. We can plant ideas in the heads of the insane among them so they can destroy their own race and do our dirty work. We have encouraged the work of many organizations, including the NSA, Area 51, and the Crusade for Genetic Purity. We convince them that their efforts will serve their own interests when in fact they are serving ours. "However, there has been one man who has interfered with our efforts and has disrupted our plans on each occasion. A private investigator who resides here, in San Francisco. He goes by the name of Tex Murphy. My research team has uncovered some valuable information on him, and we are here to propose a plan before this Order for his destruction." The Dark Lord, for the first time since Mr. Bimstein's arrival, appeared to be pleased. He shook his wings in delight. "Please, continue. And pay attention, Mr. Griest. Your division of Necessary Action will be responsible for these plans if they are approved." "Yes, O Dark Lord," bowed Mr. Griest. "Next Tuesday our good Mr. Murphy will take his girlfriend Chelsea to dinner with him. We have it on good authority from the Division of Espionage that he intends to propose to her that evening. The furthest thing from his mind will be an ambush. We happen to have good contacts among his enemies, including one professional assassin by the name of Mr. Dalton. Our team is ready to contact him upon the approval of this plan via e-mail, an outdated but successful method for our means. We, for the first time, have the funds available to make this possible from our boys who were present at the Crimelord Massacre early last year. Due to their hard work of salvaging the heavy currency and transporting it to this very location, we have the ability to hire a man who won't need heavy psychological convincing to carry out his duty. I doubt our new Treasurer for Newly-Acquired Funds will find a better way to spend it than this, particularly with the Plans for the Ultimate Goal scheduled to begin later this month. We need to eliminate any possible threats beforehand." "I move the Council carry out this plan," shouted Mr. Pilsque, the Treasurer for Newly- Acquired Funds, "although it may put me out of a job!" "I second the motion," uttered Mr. Thurn, the Secretary of Secret Meeting Locations. "The Council moves the motion to a vote," bellowed the Dark Lord. "All in favor, say 'Aye!" "Aye!" came the chorus of squeaks and scurries. "All opposed, 'Nay!" The room was silent. "The motion is passed. Mr. Griest, you are appointed to carry out this plan. I, however, as Dark Lord, have an amendment to add to the motion before I give it final approval. Mr. Dalton will bring Mr. Murphy and his girlfriend here. He may possess some information that could prove valuable to us in the carrying out of our plans. Mr. Dalton will get the information we require by any means he sees fit before we give him permission to kill him. He may occupy the bottom floor and the basement here, and we will occupy the upper floors. He will enter only through the front door, and we will exit through the back. We will provide him with the necessary equipment for torture, unless he likes to work by his own means. Make all of this very clear to him in the e-mail, Mr. Bimstein. Any objections?" The room remained silent. Few had the cerci to object to the Dark Lord. "Approved. Nice work, Mr. Bimstein. Now, back to the Ultimate Plans. Our Fabrege Eggs are being planted as we speak, filled with our soon-to-be hatched tiny armies of oothecae..." |
| A NEW ORDER |
| by Cyndi V |