The Illinois-087 vessel was supposed to be a simple scrapping mission for the Blackbourne Team, but nothing about the mysterious ghost ship has been normal so far- so why would it start now?
Along with a video message from a girl they only know as t...
Okay, I've noticed this a lot lately, and it really doesn't bother me, but I just wanted to let you guys know something very important about this story. The name of the story is SS-I087. The 'SS' stands for Sang Sorenson, and the 'I' stands for Illinois. So it would be 'Sang Sorenson of the Illinois vessel number 087'. So, it's not a one in the title. It's an I. Just so you guys know. Sorry for the confusion.
Also, I've been very busy with work and writing an original that I'm hoping will turn out readable enough to publish. (I don't know, would you guys buy something I wrote? Or do you categorize me in that 'okay' slot that's just for fanfic writers that you probably wouldn't continue reading if it wasn't for your fandom?) So, sadly, I've not been working much on my fanfictions. Sorry guys. But I do plan on continuing this until I have no more motivation to do so. Which might be a year, or only a few days. I'm not sure.
I'll try my best to keep posting chapters, but lately, it's been hard to find time to do anything besides pay my rent.
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Age 11
I jogged through the wooded brush, backpack snapping down with the weight of not only my books, but tools and the notebook I kept inside at all times. I never knew when I was going to get a quiet moment to work on one of my little robots or fix something someone at school had broken.
But it was the summer, and I hadn't really the need for my backpack. Except, I hadn't been able to use my work desk at home today. My mother had been awake when Dad, Marie and I had come home from the thrift shop, making herself lunch and muttering something under her breath.
There was still a good two months until school began again, but Marie had told Dad the night before at dinner that she had ripped her last pair of good pants. He had woken up early and took us shopping- it wasn't as if he let us go all the time, but when Marie mentioned the word 'bra' he shook his head and told us to get in the car.
I wandered around the store for two minutes before I found it in a newly donated pile of greasy work clothes and odds and ends of wires- wires I recognised as electrical supplies- that hadn't been sorted yet. I nearly died when I spotted it at the bottom, wrapped up in a white towel and stuffed into a clear topped box.
If it wasn't for the very pushy older woman at the counter, I doubted my father would have let me get it.
I stopped in the clearing, the one I used for reading and doing homework when the weather was good, and sat my bag down gently. I pulled out my fabric roll-up tool kit, jerking at the tie that held the long roll of tools closed, I sat it on a short patch of grass where I knew I wouldn't lose any of my supplies.
Very carefully, I pulled out the white bundle of stained cloth. Inside was my very own I-Mate.
The black and white fur was split right down the edge, where one of the outer panels had been taken off and never bolted back down. Inside was a mess of advanced electrical wires and hardware that I was excited to get my hands on.
