System's Edge (Patreon)

A buddy of mine is working on a furry novel he calls System's Edge. Like most furry authors, his book totally starts in the wrong place. Specifically, a slow start with lots of introduction and giving the reader lots of chances to put the book down. No big deal and easy to fix, but I wanted to give him a couple counter-examples of things he could do that would be more exciting, things that would keep the reader engaged enough that they'd take a gamble on the story.

This first alternative is basically a rehashing of what he had, but stripping out the introductions, picking up the pace, and adding a sense of urgency. I'm still experimenting with the second, but it will involve going back a little earlier in time to introduce one of the villains doing something villainous.

———

Four months! Over the past four months, Zav planned every last detail of this damned caper—planting worms and backdoors, preparing for every contingency—and tonight was the only window of opportunity. With the three-day holiday weekend in full swing and only a skeleton crew of employees left on the main campus at Equisol Dynamics, tonight would be his one and only chance to grab the data.

Zav balled his paws into fists, blunt claws digging into his palms, and his eyes squeezed tightly shut. He wanted to scream in frustration, but he knew that wouldn’t help. He checked his phone for messages. He looked at his watch. His shift started in two minutes, and he still didn’t have the secure passcard that his client had promised him three days ago!

With a long, slow sigh, the thin, brown-furred rat-kin nodded. “I guess that’s it. We’re scrubbing it.”

Then, he scampered around the squalid apartment, gathering his possessions into three piles. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he grumbled quietly. “Four months invested, and what do I have to show for them? Nada.” He paused, whiskers twitching and oversized ears opened wide. What if his cover was blown and that was why his contact never delivered the passcard? Certainly possible! He’d need to make this exit quick.

The first pile was for his backpack—laptop, jamming device, a couple memory sticks, everything he’d need to take with him. He kicked the base of a wall, knocking open a hole he’d sawed into the drywall on the first day he’d rented the place. A thin sheet of cardboard, a little drywall mud, and a fresh coat of paint had made it look as good as new. On his knees, he tore at the hole, pulling out a ziplock bag and dumping most of the contents into pile one: a fresh passport and a thick stack of untraceable cashcards.

The second pile was for his gym bag—everything he’d need for just a little while longer. He’d toss the bag in the trash at the airport before going through security. Zav unzipped the small sack and threw in his current passport, driver’s license, one semi-automatic pistol and two full clips of ammo.

He slid open the blinds and balcony door, then grabbed the metal waste basket for his third pile—everything that needed to disappear right now—a hat with company logo, a tactical vest with his name embroidered above the badge, company ID and passcard. He grabbed the last two items from the ziplock bag: a bottle of alcohol and a lighter.

“So much for the perfect caper,” sighed Zav as he unscrewed the bottle’s lid. But just as he was about to dump the contents into the can, about to soak the vest, he heard a knock at the door.

Zav froze, then his heart began to race. Grabbing the pistol from his gym bag, he slinked quietly to the door and rested his shoulders against the wall. On his phone, he pulled up the live feeds from the tiny cameras he’d planted in the corridor: one human, alone, skinny, nervous, in his late twenties, and dressed well—too well for the neighborhood, frankly. Zav breathed a sigh of relief. Not a cleaner, certainly, not an agent, not a cop.

He cocked the pistol and pressed the barrel flat against the door, doing his best to aim it at the center of the visitor’s chest. Then, he pulled the door open a few centimeters and peeked one golden eye out. “Yeah?” asked Zav.

“Y-you order a cab?” stuttered the nervous young man.

At hearing the passcode, Zav’s face split into a grin. “For tomorrow night, not tonight,” he confirmed. Then, opening the door wider, Zav grabbed the guy by the shirt and yanked him roughly inside.

The human took one look at the pistol in Zav’s paw and freaked. He raised both of his hands, begging, “Please don’t kill me! Please don’t kill me!”

With practiced care, Zav de-cocked the weapon and let it hang loosely at his side. Gesturing with his free paw, he demanded, “Where the fuck have you been? I was two seconds away from scrubbing the mission!”

“Sorry!” whimpered the human, sounding slightly effeminate, almost prissy. “I got here as fast as I could. Tonight was my first opportunity.”

He reached into his jacket, and Zav reacted without thinking, pulling the weapon once more and aiming it at the man’s forehead. “Oh jeez! Oh jeez!” he whispered. “I’m just getting the memory stick. I don’t have a weapon.” With one hand he pulled his lapel wide and with two fingers on the other hand, he slowly fished a small device from his pocket.

Zav relaxed once more and let him drop it into his palm. “What’s this?”

“I-it’s a secure memory stick,” he stammered. “The client was very specific. He wanted the data on his own flash drive.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Zav, dropping the device in his pocket.

With a sigh of relief, the man offered his hand. “Ozcar.”

Zav thought that was odd. He didn’t really need to know the guy’s name. In fact, it might be better if he didn’t. With a shrug, he gave Ozcar’s hand a quick squeeze and shake. “Zav,” he said, “but where’s the passcard? This mission isn’t going anywhere without that, and as it stands, I’m already late for my shift.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got it,” said Ozcar, fishing in a side pocket for a moment.

When he handed it to Zav, the rat’s eyes lit up. Light gleamed from the gold bar printed onto the bottom of the card—eyes-only security level clearance. “Perfect!” he nearly shouted. He was so excited that he grabbed Ozcar’s cheeks—sandwiching them between the pistol and the badge—and planted a huge kiss right on the guy’s lips. Then, he turned and scampered off to rescue his work clothes from the to-be-burned pile.

Ozcar stumbled back along the wall for a moment, fingers over his lips, regaining his composure after a series of events that he was clearly unaccustomed to. He stared at the musei quickly preparing for work with a bemused expression, as if unsure whether he should just leave or if Zav needed anything else from him.

Zav pulled on his vest, put the ammo back in the compartments, and dug out his ID and passcard.

“Uh, so where you goin’ after you finish the mission?” asked Ozcar.

“Home,” said Zav, pausing his preparations for only a moment and smiling at the thought of home. Get your mind in the game! he quickly reprimanded himself. Today, you’re on a job.

“Oh, well, uh, I just…” said Ozcar more quietly this time. “I mean, if you wanted to celebrate, I’m going to Club One-Eleven tomorrow night with some friends…”

Zav pulled on his cap, then spent a moment moving the round he had chambered earlier back to the ammo clip. “I’ll be gone by then,” he assured the human with a smile, but he paused before leaving to add, “but thanks for the invite.”

———

Reviewer's link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1HQKCK1Zc-hqQuM0agm2Wmd5JCozRVr9iIJvw_SewJkY/edit?usp=sharing

Thoughts?