001 – Uploading for Dollars

iterative update 1.6

Read this Chapter on a KindleBrad Rubenz clicked the upload button and watched as forty-three thousand five hundred eighty-two seconds of content were uploaded to his 43rd movie site. He speculated that he would earn at least thirty-three cents per second of movie on average for the life of the content. Each second was part of a movie generated in his MCMS, which stood for Movie Content Management System.
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So over the course of the next year . . .

Then he would earn . . .

He quickly pulled up a spreadsheet and ran the calculation again, entering forty-three thousand five hundred eighty-two in a cell, thirty-three cents in another and multiplying them together in the amount of time it takes most people to scratch their nose.

It would earn him fourteen thousand three hundred eighty-two dollars and six cents over the life of the movie, which he could cash in through a video copyright backed security at a return of about 74%, based on the performance of his past results. If this batch continued to improve in performance, next month his per second rate would increase to thirty-nine cents, which was a nice extra. However, he would finally boosted his video copyright security rating to CCC+ up from his current DD-. That would translate into a security payout in cash up front of 81%. On a $15k batch of video that extra 7% meant just over $1k more per month in income, which would finally give him enough to invest in retrofitting his past videos with real voice over artist performances.

Well at least his best videos, and then only in the highest paying languages of Cantonese, English with a Scottish accent and urban Pashto street Jive. Good voice over artists were expensive. The marginal increase in cash would not cover the full cost, but would finance the down payment to accelerate his profits and keep his leveraged operation growing.

Brad smiled with hope and thought, “Not too bad for a week’s worth of work. And that would sure as hell be better than the type of work he was doing lately. Even though the amount was only about half that of his normal monthly salary, but if he could produce enough of these movies…”

"Jesus Stole My Skate Board," started playing on his cell phone. The hyper rap death metal ring tone was a negative signal emphasizing his point. Brad used friendlier ring tones for friends and family, but he preferred really nasty shit to set him on edge and get him in the proper frame of mind for some of the more troublesome people he worked with.

Brad pulled his phone from his pocket seeing the incoming call from department dispatch. Yep, that was about as negative as it got.

"Shit," Brad muttered, before swiping up on his phone. He answered the call stating, "Detective Rubenz."

"Detective, please proceed to 104301 Warehouse Way. Just off Industrial Boulevard. This is a mega warehouse complex. Your destination address is the mixed space warehouse, office of . . . Let me spell this for you. Tree, X-ray Tango Roger Alpha Charlie Zero X-ray Four Uniform Incorporated." Said Wolverson, the overly gung-ho dispatcher, just out of the military.

As far as dispatchers were concerned, Brad liked Wolverson, but he could do without the gung-ho lingo. "Just tell me the name of the company Wolverson."

"Detective, its uh .. ."

"I don't have all night." Brad snarled.

Wovlerson mumbled something that sounded like "Its Extra Cocks for You, Detective."

"Wolverson, What the fuck are you talking about?"

"That's the name. That's the way it’s pronounced or listed anyway."

"Ok," pissed now, "Spell the damned thing again."

Hearing the embarrassment in his voice and maybe a little anger, Wolverson punched the words out in a rapid fire staccato stating, "Tree X-ray Tango Roger Alpha Charlie Zero X-ray Four Uniform Incorporated... Detective."

The military delivery gave Rubenz a vision of Wolverson calling in fire on his condo. The precise emphasis that Wolverson used on the word ‘Detective’ let Rubenz know that in Wolverson’s mind Brad was somewhere between a mine field and asshole territory.

Brad was writing the letters down on a pad of paper deciphering the lingo that appeared to be some type of hacker’s idea of a company name.

3xtra C0x 4 U, Inc.

"What's the situation Wolverson?" Brad asked.

"Probable multiple homicide, Detective. It’s not on the air waves yet, but I received a picture message from a buddy of mine, and I've never seen anything so sick, even when I was fighting in Afghanistan during the seventh Deck."

Brad knew that Wolverson had fought in Afghanistan. He had never heard that Wolverson had fought during the seventh 'Deck' or decade of that war that never ended.

The seventh Deck was a period of cleansing. There had been two previous periods of 'cleansing' where one side or the other decided that the only way to end the war would be to kill everyone possible on the other side and start fresh. Unfortunately, this also always led to a power void and after each period, new factions of warlords, gang leaders, recently retired colonels that would never see general, and religious zealots would migrate in with a new merry band of rebels armed to the teeth and pick up right where the last murderous group had left off.

The seventh Deck was worse. Both sides had initiated a cleansing period at the same time. Few people survived, let alone made it back to the continent to restart a normal life if they had been present to endure the seventh Deck.

Talking slower and with a new type of respect Brad started to say, "What do you mean by that . . ." He was cut off as another call came in. Caller ID let him know that it was Captain Bruhaus.

"Never mind. Call coming in. Out." Rubenz cleared one call and accepted the other simultaneously.

Rubenz figured Wolverson would like the 'Out' Sign off a bit anyway. If you gave a soldier a bit of shit, they could generally deal with it in short order as long as you didn’t dig your own grave with a lot of stroking and horse shit apologies.

He swiped his phone again, and said, "Detective Rubenz here Sir."

"Brad, I'm getting hit with a media shit storm. What are you seeing at the scene?"

"Sir, I'm at home."

"What the fuck are you doing at home Detective?"

There was that asshole intonation in the word 'Detective' again.

"Why aren't you at the scene of the murders?"

"Sir I just received the call from dispa..."

"God Damn it! Brad, Shit! I'm not yelling at you. Somebody has fucked this up good. Get your ass over to that scene yesterday and watch out, this one is nasty even by your standards." and he clicked off.

Brad let out a deep sigh, then said "Fuckin A" for good measure and stood up gazing longingly at his computer monitor, wishing he had uploaded those files last year and had a different life right about now or at least a different option on life.

Next Chapter 002 – Piece Meal

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  1. Beckytoad says:

    Just some things to start with:
    1-Brad Rubenz or Rubens (z or s?)
    2-Use words instead of numerals (always)
    3-Dialouge should be written in “” not ”
    4-3xtra Cox 4 U – o should be 0
    5-said the gungho dispatcher, who was just out of the military named . . . Wolverson. – Try said, Wolverson, the gungho dispatcher, just out of the military.
    6-the address for the warehouse seems excessively large. I know you’re trying to illustrate how large the complex is, but the street address wouldn’t be huge, it would be the suite number or letter more likely. An industrial blvd can only be so long, and large numbers usually indicated several small buildings packed close together, but I think it is more likely these are huge warehouses taking up large spaces, maybe with seperate loading docks or suite numbers. For example, 5796 Industrial Blvd, loading dock 696.

    • thank for the feedback

      1 Rubenz (z)
      2 will do
      3 might have been partly me and partly copy paste from my novel writing application but will fix
      4 🙂 was thinking the same thing, but didn’t want to over load the diaglog with coder/hacker/cyber lingo
      5 like it
      6 I was thinking of something like Peachtree Industrial in Atlanta which is very long, more like a highway or interstate even, and was thinking what if that extended for another 50 miles south 70 years from now.

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