Oreo and HK: Do you mind if I write this experimental first chapter? Not necessarily official, but just for fun? I guess I'll try; if you don't like it, just say so.
I really don't mind.
TEST Chapter 1
James Baron turned his key, starting up his old Toyota. James was a freelance photographer and Ufologist. Outer Space and stories of aliens had intrigued him since childhood, when he had first watched Close Encounters of the Third Kind. It was his private hobby, but, like most ufologists, a private one only. His real job was, as said before, a photographer. He had come from a well-off family and went around the US, Mexico, and Canada taking photos for newspapers and magazines. He didn't get a lot of money out of it, but he had inherited enough to live a comfortable life. Now, he was on vacation in Nevada. His old pickup truck rattled to life and he drove out of his hotel's parking lot. He had not randomly chosen Rachel, Nevada to vacation in; it was only miles from Area 51, UFO capital of the world.
Area 51 was a highly-secretive US military base and sat about 80 miles from Las Vegas. There were tons of conspiracy theories about the place, but no one really knew for sure what went on there, though many insisted it was filled with aliens or nuclear weapons or both. There were many stories about whatever had crashed at Roswell, New Mexico, extraterrestrial or otherwise, had been immediately taken there by armed soldiers. There were also many fraudulent photos of aliens and monsters that supposedly were kept at the base, but most of them were proven to be total rubbish. Still, James was not sure about it. The government barely even recognized the fact that Area 51 was even operational. When it came up, they would always say it was nothing. President Bill Clinton had been asked about it in an interview weeks before James arrived in Rachel. "There is absolutely nothing bad going on there," said Clinton. "Anyone who says otherwise is either lying or conspiratorial.
So said the president. "Never trust politicians. Politics corrupts even the most well-meaning person," James paraphrased Victorian Era German chancellor Otto von Bismarck to himself. He wished someone had gone with him on his "vacation" of Area 51 investigation. Jack Ticks, a very investigative, nosy reporter and his best friend, had wanted to go, but his job kept him from taking a break at the same time. So, James had to search alone. As he got out in the desert, cars and houses got scarce. Finally, they disappeared entirely. He parked the truck in some desert shrubs. If he just rattled along in his noisy old Toyota, the security would follow every move he made. He walked about a mile until he saw a great big sign on a large barbwire fence: Warning: Secured Area. No Trespassing. Use of Deadly Force Authorized.
Even in the middleof the night, he could easily read it. He pulled out his binoculars, "Heh, I don't see anyone, but they're there. Suddenly, a massive helicopter shot overhead. It could not have seen him, and yet it was going at break-neck speed. Then, he noticed: It was on fire.
The helicopter swayed in the air, its crew running madly from place to place, trying to do what they could. It exploded.
Debris went everywhere as the copter hit the desert floor. James muttered under his breath, "Holy crap... What happened?" He sprinted over to the crash site. Pushing through the rubble, he discovered the charred bodies of the crew. They had been killed instantly. Already, he heard alarms ringing from the direction of Area 51. Within seconds, he noticed a convoy of military jeeps heading his way. Quickly, he found a closed, fire-proof steel container. It was too dark to see what was in it, but it felt like a big metal lump. There was plenty of room to fit himself, though, so he did not complain and closed the lid.
The sound of lots of soldiers rushing through the copter's remains could still be made out, along with a few voices.
"Captain, are they all dead?" asked one soldier.
"Yep. Poor devils were incinerated. Is the 'package' all right?" came another voice.
The first voice responded, "Yessir. The 'package' was made to survive this sort of thing."
"All right, help me load it onto one of the jeeps. Gah! It's heavy! We gotta get this mess cleared up before nosy quacks come buzzing around it like a bunch of media vultures. Corporal Jones!"
A new voice piped up, "Yeah, sir?"
"Radio for a clean-up crew. Nothing's left except the 'package.' Make it snappy, if you can."
Then, James suddenly felt his box being lifted. "Uh-oh..." he muttered to himself. "This ain't good at all. What's in here, anyway? Ah! My pocket flashlight!" He quietly took it out and turned it on. There was a heavy cloth over the metal lump, and he pulled it back.
There, under the cloth, was something that gave him the shivers.
"Oh... boy," he repeated. "I'm in trouble now.
Just something to spark our imaginations.