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Commander's Hideout


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Greetings everyone!


In order to reduce clutter around the Druid's Garden, I have taken the liberty of establishing a collective location where you will find all of my legacy and long abandoned literature. As cringeworthy and unoriginal as it sounds, at the time, Commander's Hideout sounded like a respectable name, but now ironically embodies exactly what it is: a collection of literature that is definitely cringeworthy.


Format legend:

  • Literary works have been placed in spoilers and timestamped to keep everything nice and orderly.
  • Strikethroughs indicate that the literary work is deprecated.
  • All of my literary works have been categorized in the following top-down order: novel-length stories (and ongoing stories), short stories, poetry, and spontaneous writings.


Capital Punishment (a Max Payne fanfiction)




Betrayal and trust are not so different from each other, they go hand in hand especially if one is desperate enough to accomplish any feat. I first learned of this three years ago.

I awakened in the desert, vision blurred in light of the burning sunlight of a hot summer day. A blood stain on the right side of my chest and a tear on my fatigues, the cut was deep enough to where you could probably count a million microfibers. As I began to sit up, three armed men approached me, yelling something in a foreign language as a jeep stopped short behind them. The leader knelt down next to my weak body, “are you alright, what the hell happened to you?” he asked. I said nothing, when he noticed the severity of my wounds, “nevermind, those wounds look nasty, you can explain later.” he said. The other two soldiers wearing green army uniforms, armed with AK47s stood beside me and helped me up into the jeep behind them. As I sat down, I became drowsy and my eyes closed; I became unconscious.

The next thing I know, I awaken in this spanish-colombian style room, mosaics border the top edges of the walls, and stone bricks in a consistent pattern, it was like looking at a 100 mile long walk that went in a never ending cycle just like the last few times I’ve woken up to the world. The pain from when I was conscious in the desert was suddenly absent and the bandages covered the nasty wound that lies below, keeping the beast inside of me at bay. At the other end of the room, I noticed a glass of orange juice and cereal sitting on the table. When I walked over to the table, I saw a note lying next to the bowl; opening the raggedy, torn paper: “When you're done with breakfast, meet me in the courtyard.” The note was signed, Ericson, as I read the name my head started pounding with incredible pain as I tried to remember the somehow familiar name. After a few moments when my headache was gone, I ate breakfast; when I finished, I opened the door to go find the “courtyard” in question.

As I exited the room, shutting the door behind me, I entered an open air balcony with arches running along the gaps between the edge of the railing and roof of the balcony. Then suddenly one of the maids, who I assumed works for this “Ericson” walked up to me. “Ah, Mr. Coen, you're awake, how are you feeling?” she asked.

“Alright, I suppose, I'm a tad bit confused as to what's going on, but aside from that fine.” I responded with uncertainty.

“Well, from what I've heard you've been through, it's good to know you can even stand on you're own two feet. Anyway, Ericson is expecting you in the main courtyard, just go down the hall, down the the stairs and make a right through the archway.” she directed.

“Right, um, thank you. By the way, who are you?” I asked.

“Who me? I am Rebecca, it was nice meeting you Mr. Coen, you take care now.” she replied smiling as she walked off.

Rebecca... why does that sound so familiar, he thought to himself.


Chapter 1: Ericson

I proceeded down the hallway and went down the stairs to the courtyard, as I walked around the corner, I saw a beautiful sight. Luscious green grass, healthy trees and flowers covered the edges of the courtyard columns. My headache suddenly became calmer; then I noticed a man sitting at a wooden table playing chess, he motioned me to come sit down.

“Mr. Coen, good to see you're awake, how are you feeling?” he asked in a calm, soft voice.

“Fine, I think.” I replied in an uncertain voice.

“Good, care to play a game of chess?” he asked.

“Sure, I'll play a game or two.” I answered.

“You're probably wondering who are you and what the hell am I doing here?” he said as I made my first move. I nodded.

“I am Ericson, leader of this humble sanctuary – Drasma” he replied.

“Please to meet you, Ericson -” I said, shaking his hand.

Before I could introduce myself, Ericson told me he already knew my name based on my insignia stitched onto my uniform that I was wearing while out in the desert. Other than that he didn't know anything else about me without asking me directly, as he asked me questions about my past, he said I didn't have to respond to them, it wasn't like he had a choice anyway. His “interview” was much like the entire world was searching for clues into my past, but every investigation had turned up empty, a gaping hole.
I asked him similar questions about his past, most them ended being answered with how he got involved with his place in the para-military group he is working for now. “The Black Correspondents” is the para-military group in question, collaborating with Nova-Scotian authorities to better protect people against the recent Russian mafia illicit activities. The way he described how they handle much of the mafia's activities made it sound like the world was full of Edgar Allen Poes and Mark Twains waiting to destroy, to strike down whoever defies them. We continued playing as we reminisced about what the hell happened out in the desert early in the morning.

“How did you end up there anyway, what the hell happened, did you get lost or something?” he asked.

“I'm not sure, everything up to that point is a blur, a bullet shaped hole where the answer should be.” I replied.

“The only thing I remember was that I was conducting an operation for the PMC I worked for in the Atacama Desert (where you guys found me), and somebody ambushed us. I was on point, with my fellow squad members, a couple of explosions went off, next thing I know, I am waking up from the depths of my brain.” I continued.

“Well, whatever you did or did not do, I am sure it was with good reason. You're quite lucky, I am rarely stationed at our base in the Atacama Desert, if it was any other commanding officer, you would be interrogated rather than waking up here.” he said.

I made my final move in our game of chess, “check mate.” I said bragging.

“Well, played Mr. Coen.” he said clapping, taking no offense to my bragging.


Chapter 2: A Bloody Day In Paradise

After our game of chess, Ericson wanted to show me around, most of the place consisted of bedrooms with a kitchen located in a central place, and bathrooms in all 4 wings of the building. When the tour came to close it was near nightfall, darkness was beginning to consume everything around it. After Saying bye to Ericson, I went to my room and crawled into bed pulling the covers over me, I hadn't actually slept passively in a long time, this created fear that all my past evils were coming to haunt me in my dreams, no different from when it usually does.
A knock came from my bedroom door.

“Mr. Coen, Ericson is expecting you in the main courtyard.” said Rebecca.

“Sorry, Rebecca, I won't be meeting him today.” I replied. I shot my MP5 at Rebecca, eventually killing her.
Someone outside the room must have heard the gunfire coming from my room.

“Did you hear that, sounded like gunfire coming from over there.” a voice said.

I heard footsteps getting louder by the second, until a dark figure came to the door of my room.

“He's in here, it's Coen, get him before he has a chance to get away.” yelled the dark figure.

The dark figure, rushed in, light revealing, he was a heavily armed thug; guns blazing with an AK-47. I fell back against the wall to the ground, bleeding heavily, the entire right-hand side of my face, covered in blood.

“Coen is down, burn his body, hurry get in here with the Molotovs.” yelled the thug over the radio.

I opened my eyes, I was sitting against the wall, bleeding, in the same spot as my nightmare. Then I heard someone at the door, the knob slowly began to turn. As the door opened, I yelled - “Stop. Stop, wait.”

“Oh, hey Rebecca.” I said with relief.

Rebecca rushed over to me, asking if I was alright. I didn't answer; no one who has waken up from a bloody dream is ever likely to give a straight answer.

“What happened to you.” she asked hastily.

“I'm not sure, I was having a terrible nightmare – I died.” I replied.

Suddenly, someone else appeared outside the door. The guards mus have heard Rebecca shouting when she found me.

“Is everything alright in there?!” asked the guard, barging in a moment later.

When the two guards saw my condition, they rushed over to me, next to Rebecca.

“Holy s***, what happened to you, Coen?!” asked one of the guards, worrying.

“Come on, we've got to get him to the hospital” said the other guard.

The two guards lifted me on my feet, carrying me. I couldn't see where they were headed, the pain made my vision blurry. Last thing I heard was an elevator headed to who knows where.


Chapter 3: Old Friends

When I emerged from sleep, Ericson was just walking into the room. He noticed that I had just awoken. His facial expression showed a sign of intense relief.

“Mickey, glad to see you're alive; what the hell happened to you?” he asked with a neutral tone.

“who did you just call me...” I asked, trying to sit up slightly.

“Mickey... that's your real name isn't it?” he questioned.

“How did you find that out.” I asked, struggling with pain.

“A man came to see you, says he is your partner from back in the day. He showed up a little while ago, he's been trying to track you down for awhile now.” said Ericson.

Ericson was questioning me in a fashion that seemed like he was talking to an old friend who he hasn't seen in years, only to find that person nearly dead. How Ericson found out my name was Mickey is puzzling enough, but the fact that he had found my partner from years ago was something even the CIA couldn't answer. Moments later, he walked through the door.

“Hey Mickey.” he said with intense sorrow.

“Alex, it's good to see you again. How have you been?” I asked.

“I've been good, a better question would be how have you been, you look like you've been through hell.” he said in a serious tone.

“Yeah, I've been there a few times now, I wouldn't recommend visiting there for yourself, Alex.” replied.

“Well, it's good to know you're alright, I'm going to go, give you time to rest.” said Alex.

I didn't say anything, I couldn't stomach the guilt; Alex walked out of the room, with Ericson following close behind him. Something, didn't feel right about this whole situation, how would Ericson find out so much about me, my past, my associates. It was a game of questions with little to no answers. I proceeded to go to sleep, hoping to wash away the guilt.
I woke up the next day to the sounds of a television, the news was currently on with quite a surprising shock, “In other news, the hunt for a former soldier of the Krypton Zeta PMC group has been put on full alert. Krypton Zeta has been attempting to find Mickey Coen, who is being charged with treason, assault with a deadly weapon and has been labeled “Armed and Dangerous” by the group's leader Michael Drennon. Live from the New York LNN newsroom, I'm Diana Ashton.”
It just goes to show you that no matter how far you stray from your past, the shadows have a way of catching up to you. How or why Michael Drennon figures I'm the traitor, I don't know, but I aim to find out. Either way, he had just signed his death wish with the neighbor of the beast.
A note was lying on the snack tray table next to my hospital bed, the note read: “Coen, when you are able enough, there is something important I need to speak to you about, just go see the guard outside the room and ask him to contact me. - Ericson.”






The Blood Veins of the World - October 30, 2013 0316




Organized crime...

Petty thieves...



Disease, famine, age...

What are we to make of it...?

Do we stand and fight...?

And hope it doesn't outpace us...?

Or do we run...?

And hope we outpace it...?


If we fight it...

We'll have reached the point of no return....

If we run...

We can never stop...

Hiding is certain death...

A delay to the inevitable...


Life and Death...

A binary choice...

Take it or leave it...

Makes you wonder about free will...

Have our choices been made for us because of who we are...?

Are there no choices...?

Nothing, but a linear sequence...?

The illusion coming afterwards...?

Is fate set in stone...?

Or is your perception stoned in fate...?

The million dollar question most of us don't have the answer to...

Your only choice is to turn around and face it...

Your approach when you do face it is up to you...




Untitled - February 1, 2012 1948



As walked through the wintry forest,
I had come to a tall mountain that towered about 12,000ft,
I knew climbing it wouldn't be easy, but I didn't care,
It was my intent to climb all the way to the top.

As I walked up the natural pathways,
Rocks barraged the area,
I knew I had only limited time to ascend the rest of the mountain,
When I got to the halfway point,
Rocks continued to barrage the area around me.

As I was approaching the top,
A taste of victory came to order,
Suddenly a powerful avalanche erupted,
The wind howled at the sound of the neighboring beast,
The sounds only foreshadowed the nightmare of things to come.

The story of the grass is greener on the other side,
Beyond the mountains is paradise,
It is nothing more than a misnomer,
Climbing the mountain to reach the other side only brought you to one destination,
Another volcanic obstacle,
A beast at bay waiting to commence vengeance,
I am the beast at bay.

Looking back at our past,
We don't always make the best choices,
We choose to forget,
Or wish we could change it.

We ask ourselves the questions "why me" and "what if",
If you had done something differently,
It wouldn't be you,
It would be someone else,
Asking a different set of questions.

Life often presents us with a linear sequence of choices,
Take it or leave it is the only choice given,
It often makes me wonder,
Is the concept of free will real,
Have our choices been made for us because of who we are?






November 8, 2013 21:45



When I emerged from my sleep

The world was a blur

Every morning I feared it would be

Another dream I'd forget

Dreams that held all the wrong answers

What was clear in those dreams

Suddenly made no sense




November 8, 2013 21:30



I couldn't get her out of my head

Everywhere I went I saw glimpses of her

Out of the corner of my eye

There are things in life you cannot choose

How you feel

There are no choices

Nothing, but a straight line

My love was no different

It was cemented in me forever




Love Hurts - October 30, 2013 0430



When I first met her, I was curious
Unsure of my perception of her
Time was on my side
I observed, talked, and worked with her
She was young, beautiful, and amiable
I grew fond of her
I fell for her
Her very presence warms me
She understands me
I understand her
But love hurts
I hated her for making me feel this way
To not be able to tell her
But flirtatiously interacts with me
Does she feel the way I do?
Does she know the way I feel?







All works contained herein are protected under U.S. Copyright law and international treaties... blah blah blah legal stuff. Look just don't steal it, ok?



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  • 1 month later...

Very interesting so far; just started to read your novel length work but will keep reading your writings. More feedback to come in future.

:thumbsup: :thumbsup: :thumbsup:

Edited by Maharg67
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