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#1407773 - 03/12/17 09:53 AM Origin Story Pt 1?
TwoDog Offline
Glider Lover

Registered: 12/28/15
Posts: 522
Loc: Pacific NW
Wow....tooo much time on my hands...

It was way too late for visitors.

Cautiously, he opened the door, just wide enough to still conceal the pistol pressed against it.

A visitor at the bottom of the RV's stairs. “Mr. Greenwich, I presume?” The visitor was not dressed for the summer Arizona night. Black slacks, black shirt, black tie—all covered over with a heavy black trench coat. The polish on his black dress shoes glinted even in the moonless night. Capping off the ensemble, was a pair of black aviator sunglasses.

“No.” <SLAM>


<knock, knock>

Door opens again. Deep breath. “WHAT….do you want? Am I under arrest? I have a prescription for this, and Sarah Connor doesn’t live here.”

“Sir, my name is Thompson. I represent a former employer of yours.”

Greenwich stared perplexed, his bushy gray eyebrows knitting together. “Why are you wearing sunglasses in the middle of the night? And it’s eighty degrees out here. What’s with the duster?”

The man in black responded mechanically. “Regulations, sir. New regulations.”

“Regulations? My former employer has regulations? Did HP start building the Matrix?"

In response, the man in black produced from the folds of his trench coat, a sweat-drenched brown envelope.

Skeptically, daintily, Greenwich peered inside…

The RV was cramped, and dimly lit.

Greenwich slid the bottled water across the table at his new guest.

“Thank you. This air conditioning is nice.”

Greenwich still watched the man in black warily, the pistol in his lap concealed beneath the table. He spread the bills out before him. “Ok…so let me get this straight. You are with the US Government, and you need my help. To work on some project.”

Thompson finally settled himself in the chair and snapped the cap off the water bottle. “That is correct.”

“And you got my name from where, exactly?”

“From your previous work with DARPA…”

“You’re crazy. I have never worked for DARPA. I’m going to shoot you now, ok? Try not to bleed out while I call the cops.”

Thompson, annoyed, “In 2007 you worked as a veterinary technician for Arborside Animal Hospital in Denver Colorado. That animal hospital was secretly providing test animals for DARPA--for another project called Prometheus.”

“And…how does...feeding the rats...qualify me to do whatever it is you are asking me to do?”

“Budget cuts and ignorance. Prometheus was evaluated as unethical in 2009, and the project was shelved. For security reasons, all names were redacted from the files on Prometheus.
The only name anyone could find still associated with Prometheus was you: The guy that fed the rats at the vendor providing the project with test subjects.
You are the only name on any records from that project. That makes you the expert.”

Greenwich nodded slowly. "So...somehow, my 15 dollar an hour temp job at the vet (that I really only took because I wanted to date the doctor) got my name added to a secret government bio weapons project that was censured because it was unethical?

Thin, Weak, Unlikely plot device, but possible. How did he know about the vet?


"Wow...and I thought I needed to watch my credit score. 'Develops unethical biological weapons'--that's probably gonna mess up my profile.
So, other than the giant pile of cash you just laid on me--which I'm keeping, by the way--and thank you--how do you expect me to accomplish your little comic book miracle?”

Thompson pulled a small steel bauble from his pocket. It was a memory card. “This memory stick will connect your computer to the DARPA network. You will be provided access to all relevant DARPA files on Project Prometheus, as well as access to staff and resources at other DARPA facilities.”

Slowly shaking his head, Greenwich rolled the tiny chip over in his hand. There's no way this is for real...“What was project Prometheus?”

“I’m not required to tell you that, but because you have the files anyway: Prometheus was a bio warfare project. It's objective was to use chemical, radiation and gene therapy to make 'enhanced' rats to use as a biological weapon.”

“That is both sick and crazy. And you are with DARPA?”

“No. I’m an Agent.”


“No. TIA. New branch of the CIA. Answers directly to the President.”


“Yeah. Unlimited budget, no regs, licensed to kill, and free In-N-Out Burger anywhere in the continental US. I like my job. The CIA was ok, but so ineffective. We are REALLY getting things done now, though...”

Greenwich laughed, a little more nervously, “Uh let me see if I can sum this up. You have come out here...with a...uh...license to kill...from Langley Virginia, to this tiny RV park in the middle of the desert, dressed as the Men In Black, because the **President of the United friggin' States**, wants ME, a jobless dirt miner--living in an RV in middle of nowhere, to resurrect an abandoned DARPA Black Hat bio weapons project. To make super rats."

Thompson nodded, taking a long swig from the glass bottle in his hand.

"You want to pay me to make Super Rats for the President? I assume this is to counter the imminent threat of the new Russian tactical assault Vole? Am I on camera?” Greenwich brought the muzzle of the pistol up over the top of the table.
“There is WAY too much meth in this desert. Agent Smith, I don’t know where you escaped from, but we are going to call some nice men with sticks and guns to take you back there.”

Thompson was suddenly not amused.

White hot pressure exploded behind Greenwich’s eyes, and the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. Through the ringing in his ears swirled a cacophony of barking and screeching. Lifted bodily out of his chair, the bile erupted into his throat as an iron fist plowed into his stomach.
Greenwich eyes stung with tears and blood--his head pinned to the table….shards of broken glass biting into his face; the stench and sting of his own vomit rioting in his sinuses. The barrel of his own pistol cut into the side of his face. He convulsed, dry heaving against the table.

Thompson grabbed a handful of hair and twisted down harder, “Yes…” he said calmly, “That about sums it up. But not rats. Sugar Gliders. This little Sugar Squadron of yours, specifically. The boss saw them on the INTERNET and he’s all googly about ‘em. Not just anyone. Them.”

Greenwich fell back into his chair. Reeling, he sobbed for breath as his hands groped to cover the vomit and blood on his face. sounds seemed so distant but, through the haze and blood he could still hear Thompson’s voice. “The dogs aren’t necessary to the project. We’ll hold onto them for you—until you’re feeling better. Good to have you on board, Mr. Greenwich, or whatever you want to call yourself. We do find GREAT people! Get some rest. Big day tomorrow!”

Current Research, Studies & Resources
#1407775 - 03/12/17 10:24 AM Re: Origin Story Pt 1? [Re: TwoDog]
Stef333 Offline
Glider Explorer

Registered: 11/09/16
Posts: 274
Loc: Free Like the Wind!
LOL! OK, I'm intrigued. Chapter Two...? wink
:grey: Yoda (Yodins) :grey: Jabberwinky (Winklefritz)

#1407777 - 03/12/17 10:39 AM Re: Origin Story Pt 1? [Re: Stef333]
Terry Online   grin
Serious Glideritis

Registered: 04/29/12
Posts: 5236
Loc: Maryland
Free In-N-Out burgers!!!! I want this job!!! Lol

They don't have those out this way frown

Edited by Terry (03/12/17 10:41 AM)
Lives with:
1 God
1 dog, (Willow)
2 Sugies, (Ollie & Skadoosh)
R.I.P. Lulu (2/28/12-10/13/17)

#1407785 - 03/12/17 01:28 PM Re: Origin Story Pt 1? [Re: TwoDog]
Hutch Online   confused
Glider Guardian

Registered: 11/10/15
Posts: 1056
Loc: Heinsberg, Germany
You do have way too much free time on your hands, lol. Glad WE can benefit from it wink
- Hutch

:plat: Arthur :wfb: Gwynevere :bb: Merlin :grey: Morgana

The epic saga begins here!

#1407790 - 03/12/17 06:25 PM Re: Origin Story Pt 1? [Re: TwoDog]
TwoDog Offline
Glider Lover

Registered: 12/28/15
Posts: 522
Loc: Pacific NW
Episode Eleven…


M A R G A R E T <enter>

O S S__C O M M A N D__I D E N T I T Y__C O N F I R M E D.


Holy crap…


The screen flickered to life and filled with Terry’s grizzled face. He smiled a hairy, gap-toothed grin as he pressed his nose to the lens. "TwoDog Danny Greenwich! Right on time, little brother!"

In the background, Greenwich could make out several what appeared to be nude female forms. Music thumped rhythmically somewhere in the distance.
“Holy crap it worked! Margaret is real! Terry! Hey wow...uh...looks like you are having a good time. I guess it’s going well down there? Did you get some...assistants?”

“Haha! Yeah man, it's a party! You would not BEE-LEEEEVE the [censored] we got going down here! Every crazy-[censored] project the US government ever buried is down here! Access to…EVERYTHING! Oh…I am so HIGH right now! More [censored] than even in my day! NASA toys, military [censored]—I got keys to projects so black they will suck out your SOUL brother!”
“They don’t even have codenames for it all! OHHHHH kid it’s crazy! This place goes on for miles! Uncle Sam has been a naughty boy! I can’t believe it…they musta been building onto this place since the 50s!"
"Oh dude! I’ll bet this is where they put the Ark from Indiana Jones. I’ll bet they know who shot JFK down here!”


“They got laser guns, man! I took something from one of the labs. I thought it was a joint, but…woooooahhh….And they have a friggin’ disco! Disco is BACK!”

“Terry! I need to you focus!”


“Terry…secret mission. Remember we were doing a secret mission?”

The wild eyed old veteran on the other side of the screen seemed to compose himself. “Ahh! Right.”

“Terry, WHO are the naked women in the room back there!? Where did they come from? Do you know what SECRET means!?”

Terry ran his grubby fingers through his tangled beard and looked sheepish. From the pocket of his dirty fatigue jacket he produced what appeared to be a hand full of small test tubes.
“Oh, they’re cool, man. They’re on our side. AmandaP-12-02-65” he said, “And SharonS-1-18-71 and….uh…well I really liked TinaK-10-10-67, so I made, two of her…”

Greenwich held up his hand. “JUST don’t tell me. Do you have the case?”

“They really like me, man...they aren’t just sex robots…they’re people…”


“Yeah!” Terry snapped back.

“FOCUS! Lab 10B. Metal case—says ‘Prometheus 2’ on it! ACQUIRE and EXFIL! You have twenty-two minutes left!”
Dan Greenwich paused in thought for a moment. “Wait a minute. How are you doing all this? Where are you down there?”

Terry seemed to sober for a moment and rubbed his face, “Yeah man. I was goin’ to tell you. But I didn’t want to harsh your mellow. Gettin’ in was easier than I thought.”

The camera shook as Terry rotated the view, revealing a lounge, or cafeteria. Men and women, mostly clad in various laboratory garb—-as in the course of their routine work day. A day like any other, horribly interrupted. Their bodies were strewn around the room, on floors, over tables or slumped in chairs; each twisted and hunched—frozen in their moment of final terror, loneliness, and agony.

“Looks like some kind of nerve agent. Sarin or VX, man. Bad [censored]. All these people have been dead for a couple months. Bodies are all kinda…dried out. The place was sealed up. Your boy Thompson is playin’ hardball."

Greenwich’s jaw was slack as he scanned over the bodies. “Holy [censored]…”

“C’mon down. I left lab 10B open. If anything tries to jump on your face, just smack it with a crowbar.”

“Uh…right. Thanks for your help, Terry.”

“Peace out, bro! Welcome to Black Mesa.”

Abruptly, a row of tiny white heads popped up over the top of the monitor, their depthless black eyes staring expectantly.
Chelsea growled, dropping the dog leashes on the floor beside him.
Charlie wagged and scooted on his butt over to the door. He barked excitedly, “Dumpster Man good! We go too! We go too!”

“Yeah buddy…Dumpster man good. This is really about you guys now isn’t it? I guess we're all going down.”
A flurry of white forms darted from behind the monitor and vanished up Greenwich’s sleeves.

"Ok, lets finish this. Thompson's never going to see this coming."

As the lights flicked off, and the door closed behind them, the empty RV fell into silence.

…Until a small red spark flashed in the blackness…and the computer screen glowed back to life…
Login: TwoDog
Password: *********
Images begin to flash across the screen….faster and faster…


Edited by ComradeFluffy (03/12/17 07:37 PM)

#1407793 - 03/12/17 08:03 PM Re: Origin Story Pt 1? [Re: TwoDog]
Feather Online   sleep

Registered: 01/19/08
Posts: 12418
Loc: Wisconsin
Feathers-Sweetie, Sklyar Blue, Mister Peanut, Big Mack & Ibo
Fur-Guinan, Mr. Spock, T'Mir, Micheal, Stevie, Cho & Maharet :bb: T'Pol, Elizabeth & Curzon :wfb: TY, TJ, Khayman & T'Pring :rtmo: O'Ryan :leu:
Forever in my heart, Gizmo, Tucker and the rest of my babies over the :rbridge:

#1407797 - 03/13/17 02:55 AM Re: Origin Story Pt 1? [Re: TwoDog]
Ladymagyver Offline

Registered: 10/07/14
Posts: 2550
Loc: SW Missouri
OK Comrade, I just woke up . I started coffee, and am reading this thread for the first time... It's 3:46 am, Mark... (that means now- as I'm typing). I had a most unusual dream that woke me up... And I think you are partly responsible... And then I read this story, still trying to wake up... My brain still foggy with sleep. After I start my thread on my dream, I will be back to read yours again... It sounds intense...

sleep read :pop:

Inhale the future...
Exhale the past...

Fiona :grey:
Dot :grey:

#1407802 - 03/13/17 07:17 AM Re: Origin Story Pt 1? [Re: TwoDog]
Hutch Online   confused
Glider Guardian

Registered: 11/10/15
Posts: 1056
Loc: Heinsberg, Germany
:pop: :rock:

Though, I would say they need a facepalm emote as well.
- Hutch

:plat: Arthur :wfb: Gwynevere :bb: Merlin :grey: Morgana

The epic saga begins here!

#1407811 - 03/13/17 09:33 AM Re: Origin Story Pt 1? [Re: TwoDog]
TwoDog Offline
Glider Lover

Registered: 12/28/15
Posts: 522
Loc: Pacific NW
Episode 14.2

Thompson looked perplexed—partially amused, as the door to the surgical theatre slammed shut behind him. The lights went out with a loud snap. Blackness, then, a single spotlight glared down on him from above.

“Hah! What is this? Wilson, in this outfit, you do NOT [censored] with your superiors. Thought you would know that by now.”

Another spotlight came up. Across the room, Greenwich was dressed in his usual dusty motorcycle outfit. In the blackness, with only the spotlights, the two appeared to be suspended in space, facing each other across the void. Daniel’s hand rested on the pistol strapped to his thigh. His face was cold. “Agent Smith.”

Thompson burst out laughing. “Oh my god, you’re alive! And you actually got back in here! Not just a fat IT guy dirt miner after all, I guess.”

Daniel smiled. “No. Just that same dirt miner. I got some badass friends though. They help me out.”

“And what? You think you are going to kill me here? Is that it?”

“You killed plenty of people to try and wipe this place off the map. Seems justified to me. Was that all it was about? ‘Stealing’ a research facility from the US Government?”

Thompson chuckled and idly cleaned his aviators against his sleeve. “Not just any research facility, dirt miner. This is BLACK MESA. The secrets buried here are without value. And the facility...well there's nothing else like it on Earth."
"From the last twenty years in the CIA I have a sizable book of business clients—wealthy visionaries, who need a place to pursue their work, without interruption. After the agency was dissolved, there were no more dogs at the gate. The new Administration gave me the last thing I needed. Full access, and the 411 on every living soul who had ever heard of Black Mesa. One executive order and the impossible was suddenly possible—the ability to make Black Mesa disappear.”

“And license to kill anyone you needed, to pull it off.”

“I know, isn’t that just the icing on the cake? I mean—you could actually question in a court of law, whether or not this was all actually illegal."
"And it was relatively easy. I only had to eliminate the data files, hard copies, and a few dozen civvies. Pump a little gas into the air system here, shred some files there. So…two-hundred and ten people total, and suddenly the best kept secret in America REALLY IS the best kept secret in America--again. And now it’s mine.”

“Wow man. That was great. You monologue like a pro. So you were setting this place up to be, what? Your evil lair? Mad scientist Rent-a-Lair? Are you channeling Mike Myers? You killed a lot of good people. You missed one though. Homeless security guard, from 1958. Had the keys to the castle. And did you know….that they made a Prometheus TWO?”
Greenwich flipped the catch off his drop holster.

Thompson stiffened, and glared, “You remember what happened the last time you pulled a gun on me, right? I’ll shove that weapon up your [censored], Dirt Miner Dan. In fact—since we’re getting to that. I'm going to kill you with my bare hands this time—make sure it sticks.”

“It’s not for’s for you.”

The pistol clattered across the floor, sliding to rest at Thompson’s feet. Inwardly, something turned in Thompson’s gut, and he felt himself starting to sweat. This didn’t add up.
The spotlight on Greenwich snapped off. Within in the giant operating theatre, sound echoed grimly, hollowly off the walls invisible in the darkness.

“Tell me.” Echoed Greenwich’s disembodied voice. “How does the President like his Enhanced Sugar Gliders?”

“OH YEAH. I forgot to tell you, I dropped them in the Potomac on the way back here. The President couldn’t remember ordering them. Funny. So yeah…very disease resistant—capable of complex tasks—beautiful sales pitch. But dead. Drowned horribly. In agony. So sorry.”

A scuttling sound from the darkness caught Thompson’s attention. He snapped to target instantly and lit off four rounds. The trickle of brass sounded off the concrete floor into the nothingness. He scanned the inky blackness intensely…

No movement…

Greenwich’s voice was coming over the speakers. “It’s Greek you know, the legend of Prometheus. Prometheus stole fire from the Gods and gave it to Man. The story doesn’t end well for Prometheus. I like literature, but not as much as I like Irony. Or Nachos…for that ma-”


“Dude…I listened to *your* monologue. I give a [censored], Thompson. I VERY MUCH give a [censored]. And so do my animals—who you made me put through this hell. But Prometheus actually worked. And did you know they had a Prometheus TWO? That worked even better.”

Thompson was no longer listening to the monologue, “Wilson…get your [censored] down here. Floor 23, medical operating theatre.”

“Mister Wilson is dead, Thompson. Just us in here.”
Thompson snapped to target again and three more rounds thundered into the darkness…

“Ohhh…closer. Nice try. HAHA! Kidding. I’m not even in the room anymore.”

The lights came up. Greenwich gazed down from the observation gallery above. In an instant, the glass in front of Daniel’s face was peppered with impact marks. “Oh, nice grouping. Damn, that would have been me. Haha!”

Thompson’s teeth ground together in rage, “Get your [censored] down here dirt-miner. I’ll gut you alive.”

“No. No-no, Mister Badass. This fat IT guy-dirt miner is tired. And you interrupted my Nachos and Irony speech. So screw you. No more drama. I’m just going to sit up here and eat my nachos (the kitchen here is great!)…and watch my irony.”

Thompson’s gaze was drawn to a sound at his feet. From beneath the operating table, darted a flurry of blizzard-white bodies. In the blink of an eye, six little white sugar gliders formed a line before Thompson on the table. In unison, they all stood erect, each extending their tiny paws toward him. Six tiny claws reached out in unison, and gave Thompson…the Finger.

Daniel smiled as he bit down and let the savor of hot cheese and salsa wash across his mouth. From below, the short burst of gunfire gave way to the sounds of screams, rending flesh and snapping bone. Then, silence.

Chelsea propped her paws up on the console next to him and looked down into the operating theatre. Her tail wagged and she nodded slowly. She reached over with her paw and flipped off the lights.

“Good girl! Let’s go try some more of those treats, baby! Prometheus Three flavor this time! I think we’re going to like it here.”

Above them, the intercom crackled to life, ”Hey…man…is this thing workin’? TwoDog, bro can you hear me? There’s a…phone call for you…on this…old red phone. Weird right? Your wife or somethin’. Says her name is Margaret.”

Edited by ComradeFluffy (03/13/17 10:15 AM)


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