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The wind howled, as they traveled at around 50 MPH, rain beat down onto the windscreen of the vehicle. The wipers struggled to deal with the heavy onslaught of large raindrops, impairing Blake's father's vision. They had been in a heated argument since they left the restaurant. Blake's mother was always the one to start an argument, over such menial matters. It only took a second for his mother to distract his father. He swerved to avoid a felled tree in the road, the wet road surface caused the vehicle to spin into a barrier, tossing the car into a ravine 30 feet below. Glass tumbled around inside the vehicle, seemingly in a slow motion effect as it barrel rolled down the hill, Blake's mother was tossed through the passenger seat window, her safety belt unfastened, her limp body wrapped around a tree. Blake's father although strapped in, bled to death as a tree branch pierced through the windscreen, punching a hole through his chest. Blake cried in the car seat behind, showered in glass but unharmed.
"Blake!!... Blake!!." The manager of 'THE FLIPPIN BEEF' shouted over at Blake, he heard the distant voice as he came back to reality from one of his flashback episodes.
"Stop day dreaming, we need another tray of coleslaw." Shouted Gus, Blake's manager.
"Ok, I'm, on it," replied Blake as he headed into the back of the kitchen. Gathering the ingredients for the slaw, he placed them onto the prep table. Looking at the clock above him, it read 11 AM. Blake finished his morning shift in 30 minutes, his prompt was at 12:30 PM.
One month ago
Inside the technologically advanced headquarters of C.F.L., Dr. Billy Henson, Head of Tech Logistics and creator of the C.F.L. software, made the final check to the weaponry inside the lab.
"Great work, I see you have made the adjustments to the plasma pistol," inquired Dr. Henson.
"Yes Sir, we have increased the distance on the pulse, to 50 extra feet," he replied assertively.
"Excellent, excellent," said Blake, acknowledging the assistants work with a firm handshake, as he walked on by through the brightly illuminated lab. To the far right, tests to the pulse sword were being carried out, a lab assistant swiped the sword at a 45 degree angle slicing through a pigs torso like butter.
"ATTENTION DR. HENSON COULD YOU PLEASE REPORT TO BRIEFING... DR. HENSON COULD YOU PLEASE REPORT TO BRIEFING, THANK YOU," the computer voiced it's demand over the speaker system.
Dr. Henson made his way over to the 'Electro lift' to take him to the fourth floor briefing room.
On arrival, he was met by the president and vice president of the C.F.L. community.
"We have a problem, Bill," said the vice president with concern.
"These kind of things, should not be happening," said the VP, in an awkward tone.
"Last night, we had info, on a receiver who is not playing by the rules. He has made an attempt to remove his tracker, and now he is on the loose somewhere in Stanford mega city, his tracker is still working, but with slight glitches."
"Ok, I will deal with this one myself, I can assure you that i will have this situation under control before the end of the day," said Dr. Henson with sincerity.
The vice president handed him the transparent info pad, with all the details to Receiver 27. The tracking beacon displayed his position as 16 miles away.
The president and vice left the office, Dr. Henson left momentarily after.