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Open Up, It's The Police!! - Sir John Stevens Returns.


Peacemaker7

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Hell

Where am? I Sir John asked the being that walked towards him.

Can't you guess?

Sir John could . I take it I'm dead. So this will be....

Hell interupted a familiar voice. It was Satan. Welcome back John. Your contract is filled. Your end has come. Enjoy hell.

Sir John started to protest. But the game, the score. I need to know if we won....

Satan smiled. Yes. Yes I suppose you do.

Sir John stood in expectation, then growing impatience.

Well man, tell me!!! Did we win?? Please....

Satan laughed. Welcome to hell.....

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Hell

Where am? I Sir John asked the being that walked towards him.

Can't you guess?

Sir John could . I take it I'm dead. So this will be....

Hell interupted a familiar voice. It was Satan. Welcome back John. Your contract is filled. Your end has come. Enjoy hell.

Sir John started to protest. But the game, the score. I need to know if we won....

Satan smiled. Yes. Yes I suppose you do.

Sir John stood in expectation, then growing impatience.

Well man, tell me!!! Did we win?? Please....

Satan laughed. Welcome to hell.....

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We Gotta Get Outa This Place

Sir John Stevens mopped around, feeling empty and lost. And also very warm, this was hell after all. He felt betrayed, he was sure that Satan owed him at least one favour, and yet the Prince of Darkness refused to see him. He was always at some 'meeting'. Eventually, Sir John gave up trying, found a little place by a roaring furnace and settled down to sleep for a million years.

When he awoke, he felt much better. He decided he would go and see Satan again, he would demand to be sent to back to earth, to be given the chance that he fully believed he had earned. He would live again, he would kill people again. It was, after all, his only real pleasure. That and the wánking.

As he made his way to Satan's Palace, he came across a room that he had never seen before. Which wasnt overly surprising as he had slept for most of his time here. The room was small, and strangely for hell, was white. In the back of his mind, he could vaguely remember being in a room like this. In the room was a small desk, with a computer. Sir John's confusion grew, and his curiosity got the better of him as he sat down and switched the computer on.

Nothing happened.

Of course, this was hell. The computer probably didnt work. Then Sir John noticed that it wasnt plugged in. He rose from his chair, bent down and plugged the computer in......

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Author's Notes

Once Upon a time, I wrote a silly story about the Metropolitan Police team.

http://www.cmstories.net/archives/stories/1597.html

This then, is the sequel.

I'll only be running the English Leagues, and there will be a few 'guest' players and staff, but you'll just have to wait to find out who they are icon_razz.gif

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Mark Frost

Raptor paced up and down in his bedroom, agitation coursing through his veins.

I am Mark Frost, I am Mark Frost He repeated over and over and over, before finally clenching his first and waving it at no-one in particular, shouting for a final time I AM MARK FROST!!

He was Mark Frost. Deep in his heart he knew that the photograph on the desk beside his bed really was Katie and the kids. His kids. Kids he had raised, had nurtured. Where were they now? Oh, Katie had taken them to Ireland for some reason that slipped his mind. To buy ice-cream? He paused to consider that thought. The he realised it was Iceland you bought Ice-cream, and wondered why people would travel so far.

Anyway, Katie would be home soon, and they would make love and everything would be alright. Everything would be fine again, and he could stop pretending to be Raptor on a silly message board that didn't really exist, that was just a figment of his imagination. As if people like that could really exist?

Mark de Vries aka Raptor aka Mark Frost looked up at no-one in particular and shouted again, I am MARK FROST, do not type that I am Raptor or Mark de Vries. I am not Dutch, I am Irish!

Not only was Raptor Irish, he was also increasingly insane. The room he was in wasn't of course his bedroom. The walls were padded, and Raptor was dressed in a white overall. But about one thing he was correct, even though his whole reality was dillusional. The message board he pretended to be a moderator at didnt exist, even if Katie really did. After all, even reality has some laws.

Suddenly, and without warning the wall opened, and two burly orderlies entered the room. Raptor shrank back, expecting the usual abuse, the usual torture that these people, these devils would inflict. But behind them there was..... there was..... someone.... someone else. As his mind whirled Raptor had an inclination that he knew this person, this vision. And as they walked towards him, face breaking into a huge smile, he suddenly remembered...... and fell to the floor in terror.....

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The Beckhams

David jumped as he heard a scream from the bedroom, making his new Gillette razor slip and cut him on the chin. He felt the tears spring to his eyes, but then he remembered his royalties and the pain subsided. Gillette, the best a man could get, he thought mildly to himself, for no good reason. Forgetting the scream that had sounded like someone being murdered, he went back to his shaving, delicately run the blade over his skin time and again, and practising his lines for the advert. Which was easy enough, because he didnt have any.

Suddenly the bathroom door flew open, and flushed looking Victoria rushed in. David guessed she had been using the complimentary Gillette vibrator again.

David! She screamed, Didnt you hear me scream? Something really bad has happened. Something really bad David. I dont know how to tell you this......

She sat on the toilet seat, sobbing. Oh David what are we going to do?

David gently placed his razor down, wiped the foam from his face, patted on some smoothing Gillette aftershave, then turned to face his sobbing wife.

Does my hair look ok? He asked concernedly.

Victoria looked up, tears falling down her cheeks. Yes David, you hair is fine darling.

Thank **** for that he sighed, I thought for a moment that was the problem, I though I might have had.... a hair out of place.

No David, its worse than that!

David looked confused. What could be worse than his hair not looking right?

Its my voice... David, I can't... I can't.....OH my god David, I can't SING anymore!

The confusion on her husband's face didnt evaporate. He tried hard not to show what everyone else was thinking.

Thats, erm, terrible dear.

I know. I think someone's cast a spell on me. I think it might have been Kylie. Yes, I'm sure it was. Victoria suddenly stopped and looked at her husband with gaping eyes. David, she might..... have put a spell on you too. You might not be able..... to play!

David laughed, but Victoria insisted they go outside and kick a ball about, just to make sure. After three swings at the ball, David finally managed to make contact, and sent it flying high off to his right and smashing into the greenhouse.

Just as I thought He declared, Nothing wrong at all!

It suddenly dawned on him that the garden was rather quieter than usual.

Victoria He askes slowly, trying to make sure that what he was saying made sense. Didnt we used to have kids?

Thats the other thing. They've been kidnapped.....

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Thanks for the edit Raptor icon_smile.gif

Just a quick note, Im gonna be adding some FMSers into the DB, actually I already have done using the details from the FMS site profiles. Obviously though, there are a lot of new people since that has last been updated. Now you have to realise this isnt an 'normal' FMS team story, (if you dont know what I mean, you might not want to know icon_wink.gif) but if you want me to add you into the db, email me at the addy in my profile, stating DOB, nationality and fav/least fav teams. I expect to finish the DB by Thursday so you'd need to be quick. Of course not being in the DB doesnt mean you wont be tortured or killed. Erm I mean, in the story in some way icon_wink.gif

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Ted Locke

Washed up, never has been-would be manager. That was how the press would have described Ted Locke. If they had actually known who he was. As he watched from the touchline as his latest team were trailing 6-0 after just 12 minutes, an injury to the sides central midfielder was the last thing he needed, as his team had no subsitutes. There was only one thing for it, Ted would have to go on himself.

The referee though objected to Ted's wooden leg.

You could do someone a serious injury with that the referee, who had rather sadly shaved his head for that Collina effect, told a dejected Locke. I'm sorry but I cant let you on with it.

Thinking quickly, Ted unhooked his leg and hopped onto the field of play, to the astonished look of the 21 players left on the field.

Pass to me! he screamed at his left back, before falling over face first into the mud. I'm ok! I can do this!

But as he fell over for the 4th time, the referee decided to end the agony and red carded Locke for diving.

After the match, the side having lost by 22-0, their 112th successive defeat under Locke, the club committee chairman approached the manager.

There's no easy way to say this Ted. You're fired.

It was a shattering blow to the man who really believed he was destined to manage in the Premiership. That night he went onto the internet to tell his buddies that..... that.... he'd been given a coaching job in the USA. Yes, that sounded good, and the numpties were so in awe of him that they wouldn't fail to be impressed.

The truth was though that there was no job in America, and as Ted unscrewed his wooden leg, and placed it in the corner, put his glass eye in a jar and took out his false teeth, he could feel a tear falling from his real eye. His dreams were surely over, and he would eventually have to accept the reality that he was useless.

Yet stubborn as he was, Ted refused to give up hope, and he wrote to every club in England from the Conference to the juvenile leagues run by priests. Yet everyday a letter came back, and they all followed the same theme.

Dear Mr Locke

Thank you for your letter applying for a position at our club, but we regret to inform you that you have been unsuccessful.

Yada, yada yada.....

Yours

Some bimbo

Such rejection can really get a man down, especially when you realise that even a bimbo can get a job at a football club, whilst you with all your little certificates cant. ON the verge of giving up, Ted decided that if he got anymore rejection letters he would beat himself to death with his leg.

Luckily for him, of the three letter that arrived that day, he happened to open the one that said

Dear Mr Locke

Thank you for your letter applying for a position at our club. Fortunately, we are in the process of looking for a new manager, and we have decided to call you in for an interview. Please find enclosed a map of how to find us, and a complimentary train ticket to London.

Note that we have a short list of two, but as the other applicant is Berti Vogts, I think its safe to say you only have to turn up and the job is yours.

We look forward to meeting you,

Moira Stewart

Club Secretary

Metropolitan Police FC

Ted could hardly contain his excitement. He had finally gotten himself a job. Pretty soon though he would be wishing to god he hadnt.......

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<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><font size="-1">quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Raptor:

Funniest Writer is still missing on your CV isn't it? Maybe not for long icon_biggrin.gif <HR></BLOCKQUOTE>

No I have actually won that for some reason. Shared with Sebs iirc. icon_smile.gif

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Berti Vogts

I vos not to be blamed for Schottland. They vos a werry bad team. They did not seem to understand any of my tactics, and none of the could speak German. Ven I vos sacked, I cried for a long time. But zen I remembered, ve von zee var!

Vogts slowly walked away from the German reporter, waiting for the man to tell him how great he was. He was quite taken aback when the reporter simply got in his car and drove away. It was disgraceful.

What was even more disgraceful, was that the awful Scotland team seemed to have ruined his chances of ever getting another job. Why couldn't these people see it was not his fault. The fact was, he had listened too much to Tommy Burns. And now, he had to go for an interview with a team in the Southern Division of the English Conference. It was so embarrasing, but he figured that he would take this job, that he was guaranteed to get. He would show those crazy Scots who was right!

It was a little but surprising to be interviewed for a football job by a man dressed as a policeman. Berti wondered if it was some sort of fetish, and had to admit to feeling slightly turned on. Perhaps after the interview..... but no, they should keep this relationship on a business level.

Take a seat The man in the Police uniform told him. Would you like a cup of coffee?

Ya. I vould be liking that very much please.

The policeman pressed a button, and a few minutes later, a balding, speccy, ginger bloke brought in a tray. But there was no coffee on the tray.

Vot iz de meaning of this! Berti exclaimed as the bald guy put the tray on the Policemans table and picked up the gun that had been on it, pointing it at Berti's head.

I'm afraid the Policeman was saying, That you have failed the interview. Meet Stuart. He's a Scot.

Those were the last words the German ever heard, as the last sound he heard was 'bang' and then he flopped onto the floor.

John Stevens looked at Stuart Redmond with a glowing pleasure. He was back, he had had his first victim done away with, and it was time for a wánk.

Well done Stuart. You might just be the man we need. He paused for a second to undo his fly. Now get out of here, I have some work to do.

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<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><font size="-1">quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Raptor:

<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><font size="-1">quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Peacemaker7:

And remember, we've _seen_ Ted coaching icon_wink.gif <HR></BLOCKQUOTE>

AND seen Collina ref icon_cool.gificon_biggrin.gif <HR></BLOCKQUOTE>

Yes, thats where I got that line from icon_wink.gif

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The Interview

Ted was in a panick as he tried to get dressed. He dropped his g;ass eye, which rolled under the bed, and he had to use his wooden leg to roll the eye out. He cut himself shaving, spilled his cornflakes , burnt his toast and was halfway down the street to the bus stop when he realized he was naked. It was not a pretty sight.

Eventually though he managed to get himself on the train to London, and settled down for a pleasant train ride. Amazingly, the train didnt crash, and no-one was killed by the time his journey was over. He jumped in a taxi which took him to New Scotland Yard. Ted knew that his potential new boss had the reputation for being a total b-astard, but that hadnt put him off. He was really that desperate.

Sir John Stevens greeted Ted warmly, shaking his had firmly before remembering that he hadnt washed them. Never mind, he was sure Ted wouldnt notice, and if he did, well screw him. Which might well be on the agenda if things went right.

So Mr Locke. Tell me, why should you manage the Metropolitan Police side?

Ted sat down on the chair, trying hard not to notice the sticky black patch which smelled remarkably like blood. Ted knew what day old blood smelled like since.... but he didnt want to go there. Sir John seemed to notice his discomfort and muttered,

Yes, erm Berti failed. Just cant get blood out expensive material. But anyway......

Ted coughed and prepared his speech. Well, Sir John, I feel I have a wealth of experience, I have attended loads of coaching courses and managed quite a few teams. I know I can bring success to your club.

Exactly how many games have you won as a manager?

Well now. Ted sat thinking for a while, trying to count up all his victories. Erm, actually, none.

Sir John shook his head. Its not exactly an impressive record Ted. In fact, you're not exactly a very good coach, are you Ted?

Ted felt his face go bright red, and a tear started to form in his good eye. No Sir He said meekly.

Sir John Sat in silence for a moment as if making up his mind.

Well now, I've made up my mind. The truth is you were the only person to apply for the job. Except Berti of course, but I mean come on, we wanted a manager not a comic.

Sir John paused, as if expecting a laugh, and it took Ted a few seconds to respond.

Very well then Sir John went on, The job is yours. Here is a list of your players and coaching staff. You'll notice that all the coaches also play. We dont have a lot of money, and I have no intention of giving you anything to spend.

Ted accepted the list, looked it over quickly, and shrieked, Oh ffs, this is terrible. I didnt realise it was this bad. I mean.... David Beckham!

Sir John nodded, Yes its a poor squad, but then you're a poor manager so you cant complain. Oh, and one other thing. If you fail, I'll have you shot.

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The Beckhams

Being the superstars they were, the new English Royal Family, the disappearance of the Beckham kids was of course handled by the very top brass in the policeforce, and the couple ended up in Sir John Stevens office. Which was, of course, exactly what he had intended. John Stevens had no morals at all, and had once even cooked a baby to feed to her parents. The meal had gone down very well.

A shellshocked Victoria and David sat down in the plush office, which supported new chairs and new rug, leaving no trace of the German blood that had been here before. Indeed, the office looked like any normal office inhabited by such a high ranking person, and few would believe some of the attrocities that had been committed here.

Now then Sir John began, beaminging the smile that set people at their ease, but which anyone who knew the man would tell you was merely a front. When Sir John Stevens smiled, it was not a good sign. At least, not for his victims. Tell me again, why is it you are in my office?

The Beckhams looked at each other in confusion.

Think now, it isnt hard Sir John said in the gentlest voice he could conjour. Kids?

Oh yeah. Victoria was the slighty brighter of the two. It was a bit like comparing a 5 watt bulb with a 4 watt though. I think our kids might have gone missing.

Excellent! Sir John beamed. [/i] And what is it you want the police to do for you?[/i]

David was thinking so hard his brain was hurting. Carefully he said, Erm, I think we want you to find them?

Well done! Sir John exclaimed. Now how many children have gone missing.

Victoria was counting on her hands, her face screwed in concentration.

All of them! She beamed brightly at the policeman in front of her, who seemed to have a lot of shiny buttons.

Yes answered Stevens, trying to be as patient as he could. After all, he did have an ulterior motive here, and he didnt want to ruin it by losing his temper and having these two idiots shot. [/i]But how many is 'all'[/i]

FIVE shouted David excitedly, and then added, red-faced, I have to go to the bathroom now

Just sit there for now Sir John was starting to lose the plot, and was taking him a great deal of effort to control his temper which was boiling just beneath the surface. Tell me, what are the names of these five children who have all mysteriously dissapeared?

The Beckhams looked at each other again, I think there was a Rodney David said first[/i]

Yes, and a Del-Boy! Victoria shouted, Cassandra!

Albert![/b] david Chimed in, And we musnt forget Trigger!

No Sir John shook his head, We musnt forget Trigger. So, the names of your kids are, let me just make sure I've got this right... Rodney, Albert, Del-Boy, Cassandra and Trigger?

Yes thats right David smiled broadly.

Are you sure there wasnt a Raquel, and a Boycie?

The Beckhams looked at each other again, as if they were exchanging telepathic thoughts. Which of course, they werent.

There might well have been Victoria said slowly, Yes I'm sure now there definately was a Raquel, and possibly a Boycie.

Ok then Sir John sighed, producing a sheaf of papers. Now David, if you'd just like to sign here, and here, then we can get on the case.

David eagerly signed the papers, and then stood up.

So you will find our kids?

Im sure we will David, and we'll see you at training on Monday, welcome to the Met Police FC......

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<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><font size="-1">quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Peacemaker7:

John Stevens had no morals at all, and had once even cooked a baby to feed to her parents. The meal had gone down very well.

<HR></BLOCKQUOTE>

RIP Hannah icon_frown.gif

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<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><font size="-1">quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Peacemaker7:

And remember, we've _seen_ Ted coaching icon_wink.gif <HR></BLOCKQUOTE>

i thought coaches actually coached though not just stand at the sidelines watching icon_confused.gificon_razz.gif

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Metropolitan Police FC 2004-2005 Squad

Ted strutted around the dressing room, waiting for the players to arrive. It was the first day of training, and he wanted to lay down the law to the squad, and impose his authority. He knew this would be a tough a job, and he wasn’t sure if the Chairman had been joking about being killed or not, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

Slowly the players trickled in, and changed into their kits.

Ok lads listen upTed felt a tad nervous as he cleared his throat. First of, I should introduce myself. I am Ted Locke, and you’ll find that if you play fair with me, I will play fair with you. But if you cross me, you’ll find I am not a good man to cross!

He paused for effect, but the players didn’t seem to take much notice. He continued.

Now, you’ll be expected to bring in your dues everyweek. Anyone who fails wont get a game.

Beckham put his hand up. But erm, I don’t know any Jews boss?

You dues David, D U E S. Five quid a week I believe.

There was a murmur around the dressing room, and eventually one of the players spoke up.

Erm boss, we’re semi pro. We don’t pay dues, the club pays us.

Ted was taken aback. Well, erm, I’m not sure about that to be honest. I’ll have to check it out. Meanwhile, lets get out onto the pitch

The training session went not too badly for a first time, and afterwards Ted sat down to assess the squad he had to play with.

Goalkeepers

Lionel Perez Quietly insane young man, who seems to believe he is a French goalkeeper, and insists on being called Lionel. Will be the number one choice between the sticks, but when you see the competition, thats hardly something to boast about.

Keith Stuart Possibly the ugliest player in English football, he's also extremely useless. If he ever has to play, the team are screwed.

Defence

Brian of Nazareth Fresh from being crucified, Brian has taken up football. Could be useful at this level but wouldnt seem to have a long term future in the game.

Tyrone the Mag Decent young player, might have potential, but as a Mag thats going to be a serious drawback to his chances of making the grade at a decent level.

Binny Even though he has Isreali nationality, is unlikely to be capped. Should be decent enough for this season though.

Bjorn Biggest problem with Bjorn will be that, being a Brugge supporter, if someone offers him a bung he's likely to take it.

Bob Beveridge At 47, Bob has arrived late onto the pro footballing scene. His playing career is unlikely to last more than a season, and some of the players are bit upset that he has a free bus pass. Is also part of the coaching staff.

Gonch19 No-one has a clue who this guy is, he just turned up at the club and said he was playing.

WLKRAS The Dutcman claims to be a utility player. He isn't.

Midfield

Simon Furnival Hes a big lad, and he plays rugby a lot, so the opposition will find him hard to push off the ball. Thats assuming he can actually get the ball in the first place. And remembers not to pick it up.

David Beckham Believes that by playing for the Met side, Sir John will find his missing kids. That probably tells you all you need to know.

Bruno I think Sir John thought this was Frank, but it certainly isnt. Very little skill, you have to wonder why he's here.

displaced_seagul When a guy thinks hes a bird, you have to be worried about his sanity. If he ever makes a nest on the roof of the stand, he's out of here.

Euan Greenoak When you're from Dunfermline, there isnt really a lot to be happy about.

Flipsix3 One of the coaching staff, hes also a bit on the old side, but not quite qualifying for a bus pass. Yet.

Gino Wears a Burnley top under his Met GC top, and thinks that one day he will sign for his favourite club. It seems very unlikely. His addiction to daytime tv is very worrying.

Colin Gricehead Really, we just have to hope his coaching skills are better than his playing skills, but then that cant be hard!

Jambo4eva Cried like a baby everytime someone took the ball from him. But then, he is a baby so thats hardly surprising. If the rumours about Sir John are true, young Jambo had best not be found by him alone in the showers.

Forwards

Peacemaker7 Arrogant, argumentative and sometimes completely condescending. And those are his good points. A loyal servant of Sir John Stevens, the joint assistant manager in charge of the reserve side claims to have played 995 matches for the Met Police.

Raptor His obsession with all things Irish saw the joint assistant manager in charge of the youth team change his name by deed poll to Mark Frost. Has obtained an Irish and British passport, and tries to talk with an Irish accent, but it still sounds Dutch. Hates the Chairman with a passion.

Brian Winchester Cant for the life of him think he he has gotten himself into this team, and moans about the fact his finishing is only 5. That has to be a bug?

Spav Came all the way from Australia to play for the Met. He'll soon be wishing he hadn't.

Physio

Spurzgrrl The guys were delighted find out they had a female physio.

Scout

Iain Bartholomew The clubs lawyer, and Sir Johns right hand man, you dont want to cross this guy if you want to stay at the club. Or alive.

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<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><font size="-1">quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by SoS:

Jeez I wish i was in this...oh well good luck PM. <HR></BLOCKQUOTE>

Well I did ask people, you should have been reading icon_razz.gif Sadly there isnt a save game editor atm so the squad is as it is. I dont think mcm lets you do very much atm at all.

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Oh yeah, a side note.

I forgot to mention. All players have a current ability rating between 40 and 60, and a potential ability rating of between -4 and -6 so no-one gonna be a star icon_wink.gif

Except Beckham, but I lowered his CA to 122 and his PA to 125, because otherwise someone would steal him too soon and I need to keep him. Hes the only decent player!

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Mark Frost

The light emanating from the person who had just walk into the room was blinding, and as Mark grovelled on the floor, he found it difficult to look up, to see who it was who had come to rescue him, to confirm what he already knew. That he was in the presence of a god, a great one, a legend, that he already knew, but his mind needed confirmation.

As if reading his mind, the voice said brightly. Oh sorry about the torch, I thought it would add a nice effect.

Reaching out, his rescuer pulled him to his feet.

Its nice to see you again Mark. How the hell you ended up here is...... well I guess its natural you always were a bit a daft. But never mind that now, come on lets go.

Mark followed in awestruck silence, not knowing where he was going or why, but sure now that he was in safe hands, and with an almost reverant faith he tagged along behind the great one. Even though he new his saviour was all powerful, he still couldnt help be amazed at how easily the process was to leave this place, and having been in the cell for longer than he could remember, he felt more than a bit nervous about being out in the real wide world.

In the limo, they sat in silence for a while, as Mark took in the landscape around him, and slowly tried to gather this thoughts. Finally he realised he needed to know some things.

Katie?

Katie is.... she's fine Mark. She's a bit, well, tied up right now, but she's fine. For now.

Mark didnt like the sound of that 'for now' but he let it pass. And the message board? Is CMS still there?

No Mark. You know there never was a CMS thats what got you into this situation in the first place. You have to stop this fantasy. Ah we're here/

The building looked familiar, and Mark knew he'd been here before. He was led by the Great One through empty corridors, which in itself seemed a little bit strange, and eventually was brought into an office where someone in a Police uniform was waiting for him. Suddenly it all came back to him.

Stevens you b-astard, you dirty murdering...

Its nice to see you too Mark. Please, take a seat. I'll be with you in a moment.

He turned to Frost's saviour, You can go now. Good work Stuart....

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<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><font size="-1">quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Peacemaker7:

__http://www.stuartredmond.co.uk/themet/g19.jpg_ No-one has a clue who this guy is, he just turned up at the club and said he was playing.

<HR></BLOCKQUOTE>

haha only just noticed im in the story icon_biggrin.gif. im not a bad tackler and a bit of acceleration to boot icon_biggrin.gif good luck, ill be keeping an eye on this and will be livid if im not named player of the season icon_wink.gif

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I don't mind getting sadistically tortured and beaten, but you could at least get the right DoB on my tombstone icon_rolleyes.gif

I'm sensitive about my age and you go and add insult to undoubtedly forthcoming injury by telling the world I'm six, count them six days older than I really am icon_razz.gif

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Sir John Stevens

He sat behind his desk thinking. It wasnt with great happiness that he did this. In fact, Sir John Stevens was feeling angry, and a little miffed. This was his story, and how often had he been in it? Once? Twice? It simply wasn't good enough. It had been bad enough that these morons had overlooked him for chatacter of the year in the last story, now they werent even getting the chance to read about him. He would soon see about that. He sat thinking what he could to do to raise his profile, and make the readers know he was back for sure.

Three Days Later.

The press conference had gone rather well he thought. Telling people to kick the crap out of burglars was a great idea, and he was glad he had come up with it. There were slight murmers of dismay when he went on to say that people should blow their heads of with a shotgun, if they had one, or an axe. And there seemed to be expressions of disbelief when he suggested that people should take preemptive strikes and shoot anyone they thought looked like a burglar. Better safe than sorry, eh? But those in the media who had expressed any negativity to his ideas were easily dealt with.

Sir John made his way down to the basement of his luxury home, which was worth far more than he even could afford on his massive salary. But then, no-one was going to dare to ask how he could afford this. Not in todays suspicion riddled world, where a dropped photograph, a bag of coke could land you 'inside'. Being a Policeman was huge fun, you could do over anyone you liked. And he quite often had.

He unlocked the padlock on the basement, and the smell hit him straight away. Turning on the light, he saw the three tied up bodies, and on closer inspection he realised the two kiddies were dead. That was a shame, cos he had hoped to have a bit of fun with them. The woman was alive though, and he dragged her into a sitting postion and untapped her mouth.

Well, well Victoria. He smiled. How are you today? Up for a bit of fun? Excellent....

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The Filth Trophy - Semi Final

Friday 23rd July 2004

Metropolitan Police v Crystal Palace Reserves

Met. Police Sports Ground, East Molesey. (Attendance: 506)

Metropolitan Police: (4-1-3-2) Lionel Perez; WLKRAS, Binny, Bob Beveridge, Flipsix3; Simon Furnival; David Beckham, displaced_seagul, Faramir; Peacemaker7, Raptor SUBS: Keith Stuart (GK), Spav, Brian Winchester, Tyrone the Mag, Bruno, Gino, Brian of Nazareth, Euan Greenoak, Colin Gricehead

The idea for the tournament came from Sir John Stevens himself. He had donated a trophy, and although the official name was the Sir John Stevens Challenge Shield, the name that stuck was the Filth Trophy. Sir John felt that the tournament, and the fact of his presenting the trophy and medals, would raise his profile, and show people he wasnt just a murdering b-astard. He was an attention seeking murdering b-astard.

Ted was very nervous as he paced about the dressing room. If LP got injured, then Keith would have to play, and that would be a disaster.

I want you to go out and do your best lads. And for feck sake, dont lose or we'll all be in for it. ted told his players.

Well, all except me. Peacemaker7 said smugly, but I'll try and see to it that he goes easy on you. Cept you Rap. He hates you. [/i]

With such uplifing words for the joint assistant manager, they players took to the field in front of 506 hardy souls, most of whom were pigs. Erm, were police officers. There were more than a few nervous looks as the players warmed up, especially when Sir John waltzed in and took his seat in the directors box, making a cut-throat sign towards the still half bewildered Raptor.

The match got underway, with no-one really knowing what to expect. Iain had been too busy chatting up the burds to do any real scouting so far, and so it was impossible to say how good or bad the Palace reserve side were. Then again, the payment of £50k should be enough to keep them sweet. And if it didnt, well the police cells were always waiting for new inhabitants.

The Met made a near perfect start, when PM7 was clean through, but the Palace keeper, Wilkinson had the audicity to save, and displaced couldnt quite get to the follow up. Furnival saw a shot go over the bar, and it was a bright enough start from the Met side. Raptor was through afetr fiftee minutes, but his effort was as terrible as his writing, as it skewed passed the post. Nevertheless, there were signs that this match was there for the winning, and the Palace players looked very, very nervous.

Palace did finally get a shot at goal on 20 minutes, but the effort from Spencer literally bounced off LP, and was booted away to safety. As the game wore on, the Met were still have the better of the play, and PM7, Raptor and displaced all had chances, before displaced sent Raptor free just after half an hour, and this time he finally managed to find the target.

Four minutes later, Palace had a free kick near their own corner flag, which was booted up the park, only to fall at the feet of Furnival, who sent the ball out wide to Faramir, and his deft first time pass found PM7 in the clear, and the Met were two ahead. Things were going well, and Sir John Stevens was beaming in the directors box. At half time, PM7 went off to be replaced by Aussie Spav, and five minutes into the second half, a beautiful dying swan impersonation from Raptor earned the Met a penalty. David Beckham stepped up, brushed his hair back with his hand, then blasted the ball into the back of the net.

Just after the hour, LP, binny, Beckham, Faramir, displaced, and Raptor were all replaced by Keith, Spav, BW, Tyrone, Bruno Gino and Euan. As you would expect, the team lost a bit of its fluency, and Palace managed to pull back two goals, which was hardly surpsing considering who was in goal. Nevertheless, the side hung, and they were into the Final, where they would play Bolton Reserves, who had overcome Bradford City Reserves by 2-1.

It was a promising start, and Stevens left the ground in such a good mood, he forgot to have anyone tortured. But there was more than enough time for that icon_wink.gif

How They Played:

Lionel Perez 7; WLKRAS 8, Binny 7, Bob Beveridge 8 Flipsix3 7; Simon Furnival 7; David Beckham 7 (1), displaced_seagul (MoM) 9, Faramir 9; Peacemaker7 7(1), Raptor 8(1) SUBS: Keith Stuart (GK) (64) 6, Spav (45) 7, Brian Winchester (64) 7, Tyrone the Mag (64) 6, Bruno (64) 7, Gino (64) 6, Brian of Nazareth (unused), Euan Greenoak (64) 7, Colin Gricehead (unused)

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