Iron
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- Iron
[I do not own any characters from the Carmen Sandiego franchise. This is a fan fiction written for entertainment only.]
Walking into the nearly empty gym, Jason Iron took a position at his favorite weight bench. It wasn't the type of place that was well equipped, but old Charles took pride in maintaining it and Iron had been coming here since he was pipsqueak. By now he knew every water stain on the ceiling, and he counted them as he lifted. Something was missing though, the usual banter of a French Creole disc jockey, which usually sounded like he was yelling at himself and everyone else in the world. He had heard the language everywhere as a child, but it never stuck into his head. Later in life he could understand many of the words, but speaking would still be difficult task. Hell, he had enough problems with English.
"Radio broken, Charlie?" Iron yelled.
“Stolen, boy.” Charles Cheval replied while scuffing out a particularly bad stain on the floor, “Dem punk kids broke da lock to da office. Couldn’t lift any of mah machines.”
Iron frowned at this. It must be new kids. No one would steal from old man Cheval. The common rule was to pickpocket tourists and those who could afford it. At least, that was the way Iron was taught.
He finished his reps but the stolen radio still played in his mind, and Iron found himself wandering the streets of his neighborhood. It’s always quiet in the afternoon, but his pet chameleon, Argo needed some fresh air. Argo liked to sunbathe, and the sun calmed Iron.
One of the local shops was repairing a broken window with some masking tape and newspaper. No doubt the work of teenage punks. Iron didn’t care for newspapers, but this one had an interesting picture. There was a woman in a trench coat taking away the Statue of Liberty’s torch. He knew exactly who she was. Carmen Sandiego.
He immediately thought of his old partner, Fox.
Fox had talked a lot about Carmen.
She said Carmen was the best thief ever, real world class. Before the hurricane, Fox wanted him to meet a V.I.L.E. recruiter. That was the big time as far as thieving went. He heard they paid well, ate well and had a bunch of fancy lawyers so no one stayed in jail for too long. They never had that meeting, lots of things went down the sink hole since the storm. He was hungry for a long time and made do with what he could, a stolen television here and there or going through tourist luggage. He never met up with Fox again, or his old crew. For all he knew, they were gone down he sink hole too.
But V.I.L.E. seemed to be doing okay for themselves. A crew that could afford helicopters and all that? He wanted in. He needed in.
Argo squeaked.
“Good idea.” Jason replied. If they were ever going to get out of this dump they would need to get Carmen’s attention. And the first thing he’d do with his cut of the profit would be to buy Charles Cheval a new radio.
Lady Liberty
Part I
Part I
Walking into the nearly empty gym, Jason Iron took a position at his favorite weight bench. It wasn't the type of place that was well equipped, but old Charles took pride in maintaining it and Iron had been coming here since he was pipsqueak. By now he knew every water stain on the ceiling, and he counted them as he lifted. Something was missing though, the usual banter of a French Creole disc jockey, which usually sounded like he was yelling at himself and everyone else in the world. He had heard the language everywhere as a child, but it never stuck into his head. Later in life he could understand many of the words, but speaking would still be difficult task. Hell, he had enough problems with English.
"Radio broken, Charlie?" Iron yelled.
“Stolen, boy.” Charles Cheval replied while scuffing out a particularly bad stain on the floor, “Dem punk kids broke da lock to da office. Couldn’t lift any of mah machines.”
Iron frowned at this. It must be new kids. No one would steal from old man Cheval. The common rule was to pickpocket tourists and those who could afford it. At least, that was the way Iron was taught.
He finished his reps but the stolen radio still played in his mind, and Iron found himself wandering the streets of his neighborhood. It’s always quiet in the afternoon, but his pet chameleon, Argo needed some fresh air. Argo liked to sunbathe, and the sun calmed Iron.
One of the local shops was repairing a broken window with some masking tape and newspaper. No doubt the work of teenage punks. Iron didn’t care for newspapers, but this one had an interesting picture. There was a woman in a trench coat taking away the Statue of Liberty’s torch. He knew exactly who she was. Carmen Sandiego.
He immediately thought of his old partner, Fox.
Fox had talked a lot about Carmen.
She said Carmen was the best thief ever, real world class. Before the hurricane, Fox wanted him to meet a V.I.L.E. recruiter. That was the big time as far as thieving went. He heard they paid well, ate well and had a bunch of fancy lawyers so no one stayed in jail for too long. They never had that meeting, lots of things went down the sink hole since the storm. He was hungry for a long time and made do with what he could, a stolen television here and there or going through tourist luggage. He never met up with Fox again, or his old crew. For all he knew, they were gone down he sink hole too.
But V.I.L.E. seemed to be doing okay for themselves. A crew that could afford helicopters and all that? He wanted in. He needed in.
Argo squeaked.
“Good idea.” Jason replied. If they were ever going to get out of this dump they would need to get Carmen’s attention. And the first thing he’d do with his cut of the profit would be to buy Charles Cheval a new radio.
