Meat Grinders Chapter 1: Ali Baba and Oscar the Grouch

[MikeAnderson]

It's been a minute since I asked for one of these. And due to the material, I was a little hesitant to post it. But, this project's been bumped up to primary W.I.P because I've been loving the concept. This is part of Chapter 1 of Meat Grinders, a novel set in the late 21st century where human organ trafficking and distribution is not only either legal or ignored, it's Amazon level business. It begins with a survey run on a village on the Mexican side of the Sonoran desert caught up in Cartel warfare. I want to give a taste of what Organ Scavengers (Or, Meat Grinders) go to length wise to make a buck.

If you'd like the full, uncut chapter, DM me, I'd be glad to give you a peek. Otherwise, read, evaluate, enjoy or eviscerate at your leisure. Bunch of animals with thesauruses!

Genre: Mature Adult Sci-Fi/Political
Word Count: 1480 words

“If I had a nickel for every O+ corpse we’ve scanned today, it’d increase the value of O+ to five cents! Another ****in' Mexican trash run! ”

Incessant griping aside, Javeon Carson agreed with his unregenerate field medical examiner. All these cadavers they’ve been inspecting, and the majority of the stiffs weren’t bringing anything special to the table. They were swimming in O+ and A+ blood types, and the markets reflected the glut. Prices on the Singapore Medical Exchange were dropping at terminal velocity. Javeon was considering an inventory reduction sale. Hell, some of his competitors were throwing in O+ bone marrow for free with select purchases.

Javeon found it ironic the worst era of Cartel violence in Mexican history was producing some of the slimmest of pickings the veteran Organ Reclamation and Distribution Agent ever harvested. Everything that could go wrong, plus about a dozen or so things that shouldn’t, did. Record sweltering temperatures in the Sonoran desert caused product to bloat and spoil non-stop. The military, the Cartels, and the unidades paramilitares that formed from the ranks of refugees and victims of this constant bedlam were getting savage. All sides were throwing non-stop tire parties for prisoners and targets; all Jay and his crew smelt the entire trip to the site was synthetic rubber and scorched flesh. There were mutilations, artillery and drone strikes, bodies being excessively perforated because amped up troops weren’t practicing trigger discipline and dumping whole magazines into their rivals. As examiner Ty Linnerman was running his wrist scanner across a row of mangled goons in Barabas shirts and snakeskin boots lined up in a ditch, Dr. Sunshine chimed in with another depressing factoid.

“You seen the news about the Yucatan? ****in’ rebels used chlorine gas in the latest push. That’s some primitive s*** there, Jay! It’s 2081, not Verdun in 1916. Horrible way to die for anybody, not to mention, you don’t want to know what that stuff does to potential stock.”

Javeon didn’t respond; he just surveyed the scene and shook his head. 300+ dead, the entirety of Villa Cordova butchered because the sleepy little desert hamlet happened to have residents up the hill who decided to cross the padrinos that ran the dope pipeline to America. Besides live in Luis Mendoza and his estate’s metaphorical and literal shadow, these folks had little to do with that game. All they wanted from life was to raise some crops, go to work, and mind their own businesses.

But Mendoza decided to operate on his own like Julius Caesar, and the cocaine Senate in Juarez broke out the knives in response, along with rocket propelled grenades, .50 caliber machine guns, and judging by the copious amounts of smoldering holes burrowing in walls, they were now deploying energy weapons.

“Great,” Javeon lamented, almost tripping over a burning thorium reactor from a tractor to check on Ty. “Mother******* dope pushers have Star Trek gats now.”

“Boldly going where no coked out homicidal maniac has gone before, huh, boss?” Ty chimed back, his usual gallows style of humor on full display along with his pasty skin turning veal cutlet pink under the oppressive sun. That cone of ethereal green light from his scanner kept reiterating the same bad news for the team; either the blood type was too common for profitable sale, or the cadaver was too damaged to scavenge. Ty crossed the barely paved road to the parallel ditch to examine a dozen more stiffs.

“I dunno, Jay.” Ty lamented to Javeon, his boss. “Maybe it was time for the streak to run its course. I mean, last 2 months have been a bumper crop of primo organs. Hell, Baghdad pretty much made our commission goals for the year in just a week. Manila and Little Rock, Arkansas, too. We’ve been in carnitas country for a fortnight, and we’ve barely covered our expenses.”

“Maybe if you didn’t indulge in ***damn cheap escorts and top shelf margaritas non-stop, we might be deeper in the black.” Javeon teased, poking at the slight paunch his toadie was developing from weeks of indulging in local cuisine and debauchery.

“Hey, boss-man; women are a dime a dozen. The perfect margarita, on the other hand, now THAT is worth…oh, crap, we got something!!”

The tiny display screen on Ty’s wrist scanner went from blue to red. He activated a full holographic imagine of the subject, and when the first two letters of the alphabet were adjoined with a dash above the 3D rendered and transparent cranium, their anticipation was on the same level as two gambling addicts watching their perfecta picks at the horse track about to pay out.

“AB negative, Tyler! We’ve got an Ali Baba!”

Like any occupation, Organ Salvage (or Meat Grinding, as the media like to called it with their usual scorn and hauteur) had its own dictionary of insider terminology. A jargon language human vultures like Ty and Jay spoke fluently. Blood types were given nicknames to signify market value. O+ was referred to in the industry as Oscar the Grouch, because it was common garbage, borderline worthless. At the apex of the cognomen mountain was Ali Baba, or AB-. When a Grinder got their hands on a high quality Ali Baba, they made out like a bandit. The gall bladder alone was worth more than a custom BMW sedan. Hearts, livers, lungs; those all ensured mortgages, student loans, and plastic surgery bills for their mistresses were paid in full.

Nanites that traversed across the green light uploaded up to the second readings to the scanner. Ty and Jay stood with fingers crossed, hoping that P.I.R. (Physiological Integrity Rating) number was above 80%.

“You know half this dude’s skull is splattered across the province, right, Jay?”

“Pfft! Who gives a **** about his head, Ty? Until they actually pull off cerebral transplants, the brain might as well be an appendix lodged into a skull.”

The subject looked viable enough. Mid 20’s, Javeon was guessing 25, 26. The tattoos, and lean, athletic build told this boy’s story of an infantryman turned Cartel soldado. Javeon carefully inspected his cranium. The back of the skull was blown out, most likely by self inflicted gunshot wound. The jaw shook loose when Jay touched it, and he pried the lips open. Several of the stock’s front teeth were chipped or shattered. Those injuries probably occurred when his newly departed cash cow bit down too hard on the barrel before he fired.

“Dislocated jaw. Teeth all ****ed up. Cabron’s got a hole in the back of his head big enough to drive a delivery truck through. I’m guessing…” he picked up the soldier’s Glock off the sand. “He decided to call it a life before his employers or the godfathers up North decided to make his family suffer for his failure. Or treason.”

“I wonder what through his head at that moment, besides a .40 hollow point.” Ty once again quipped with a sense of humor that a serial killer might have found a bit disturbing. He used the final reading on his display as an excuse to avoid Jay’s disgusted facial expression and to celebrate.

“Holy-Jay, either I’m still trippin’ on that molly I bought in Nogales, or…”

“No, Ty, I see that percentage, too!” Jay was bouncing out of his boots and shaking Ty in glee. 93.7789% P.I.R. This cadaver might as well have been a stack of bearer bonds. This find made up for almost every bad break they’ve experienced in this bullet riddled, blood soaked sand-box.

“Mother of ****er, boss! Toxicology, enzyme, and oncology screens clean! No precursors to future disorders. No congenital conditions or viral activity. No booze, nicotine, drugs; I don’t even detect any meat based proteins in his system. Jesus, this guy is WAY too clean to be gun-thuggin’ for the Cartel!”

“Most drug lords prefer, even demand, their personnel stay off the dope!” Javeon educated Ty while polishing sand off the lenses of his Gucci sunglasses. “Bad for business when their staff, especially their assassins, are geeked off their own merchandise.”

“Hey, if the dope boys can pump out more cash cows like this guy, I don’t give a **** if they make them eat nothing but kale and do goat yoga. This salvage is worth at least…”

“14 billion won!” Javeon didn’t even have to look up the market value; he already crunched the numbers in his head. The Unified Republic of Korea’s won had just overtook the Russian ruble or the Chinese yuan as the reserve currency for most nations on Earth. It used to take hundreds, if not, thousands of won to equal an American dollar or British pound sterling. Now, with both former powerhouses’ economies in shambles, the reverse exchange rate was now the norm.

 

[msstice]

Disclaimer: It's not the style of SF I like to read. I'm trying to help out with critiques even on styles I wouldn't normally read. People should tell me if that is not done. As a result, I'm probably much, much less patient with it than your target audience.

I found it flowed well, but the middle bit was a tad too long. Not much happened and not much new world building was revealed. This reads like third person omniscient. The explanations in between the conversation blocks were ok at the start, but got in the way towards the end. Perhaps more of it can be slipped into the conversation?

Unfortunately, in addition to me not being the target audience, I got very distracted by thinking that a corpse ripening in the sun is no good for organ harvesting. Organ decay starts very quickly. A few minutes of hypoxia is bad for tissues and if left at normal temperatures for a bit longer they are mostly dead. I wonder if the bad hombres could be raiding coroners or hospital morgues? Or could they be tailing fights and grabbing corpses as they fall, freezing them?

I'm too squeamish to see where this goes next, unfortunately.

 

[MikeAnderson]

Disclaimer: It's not the style of SF I like to read. I'm trying to help out with critiques even on styles I wouldn't normally read. People should tell me if that is not done. As a result, I'm probably much, much less patient with it than your target audience.

I found it flowed well, but the middle bit was a tad too long. Not much happened and not much new world building was revealed. This reads like third person omniscient. The explanations in between the conversation blocks were ok at the start, but got in the way towards the end. Perhaps more of it can be slipped into the conversation?

Unfortunately, in addition to me not being the target audience, I got very distracted by thinking that a corpse ripening in the sun is no good for organ harvesting. Organ decay starts very quickly. A few minutes of hypoxia is bad for tissues and if left at normal temperatures for a bit longer they are mostly dead. I wonder if the bad hombres could be raiding coroners or hospital morgues? Or could they be tailing fights and grabbing corpses as they fall, freezing them?

I'm too squeamish to see where this goes next, unfortunately.

Yeah, I see your point about the explanations. This is still beta, so, plenty to clean up. This is only part of the first chapter; the next part deals with how cadavers are prepped and shipped. I couldn't fit the whole thing in; this is the problem with blurb critique submissions. You don't get to see the rest of the progression.

The way Meat Grinders operate is like carrion birds; they swoop in to battle-zones and crime sprees to snag product. raiding hospitals and morgues is illegal unless given by consent.

I'll make a note to incorporate more of the info into dialogue. Yeah, this work is NOT for everybody.

 

[Wayne Mack]

This is certainly an interesting concept and seems to have various areas of potential conflict to explore in a novel. Unfortunately, the opening bored me. On my first pass, I found myself skimming over the text looking for the grabber - the justification for reading the story. I felt I was drowning in backstory and never got a sense of the current situation the characters were in. Give me a sense of them picking through a field of dead bodies and spinning through a litany of current events. It is good to have a solid back story, but give it to me in small doses throughout the novel.

I think the concept of a body part market is a fascinating world to explore. See if the opening chapter can be tightened up. Give the reader some reason to be concerned about the main character(s) in the first paragraph or so. Push a lot of the back story to later chapters - discussions in bars, negotiations with body parts dealers, etc. Give the reader a hook; a reason to be as interested in the world as the writer is.

 

[MikeAnderson]

This is certainly an interesting concept and seems to have various areas of potential conflict to explore in a novel. Unfortunately, the opening bored me. On my first pass, I found myself skimming over the text looking for the grabber - the justification for reading the story. I felt I was drowning in backstory and never got a sense of the current situation the characters were in. Give me a sense of them picking through a field of dead bodies and spinning through a litany of current events. It is good to have a solid back story, but give it to me in small doses throughout the novel.

I think the concept of a body part market is a fascinating world to explore. See if the opening chapter can be tightened up. Give the reader some reason to be concerned about the main character(s) in the first paragraph or so. Push a lot of the back story to later chapters - discussions in bars, negotiations with body parts dealers, etc. Give the reader a hook; a reason to be as interested in the world as the writer is.

Hmm...

Dole out the background instead of infodump, administer more incrementally. Yeah, that's not a bad idea. Again, early phase. This is good input.

The problem with people like me (my education background is political science, not literature) is we tend to get a little too analytical. More field manual than ballad. Glad you brought this up.

 

[sule]

I think you certainly have an interesting premise. I would have liked the two characters to have been easier to distinguish--their ways of talking were very similar (at least to me) such that I had a hard time telling them apart. I want to highlight a few places where I felt you either over-explained something or restated something that had already been established:

Incessant griping aside, Javeon Carson agreed with his unregenerate field medical examiner.

As examiner Ty Linnerman was running his wrist scanner across a row of mangled goons in Barabas shirts and snakeskin boots lined up in a ditch, Dr. Sunshine chimed in with another depressing factoid.

In the first couple of paragraphs I was unsure how many characters were involved in this scene, and think these two sentences are mainly at fault: you use three separate distinctions to refer to the same character. I found that confusing and hard to follow; I would have preferred you to put Ty's name in the first section so at least I know his name right off the bat.

“Boldly going where no coked out homicidal maniac has gone before, huh, boss?” Ty chimed back, his usual gallows style of humor on full display along with his pasty skin turning veal cutlet pink under the oppressive sun.

“I wonder what through his head at that moment, besides a .40 hollow point.” Ty once again quipped with a sense of humor that a serial killer might have found a bit disturbing

I thought you could have cut the second statement of "Ty has a dark sense of humor" because you've established it earlier in the chapter.

“I dunno, Jay.” Ty lamented to Javeon, his boss.

I am positive you can find a more organic way to get this information across.

Like any occupation, Organ Salvage (or Meat Grinding, as the media like to called it with their usual scorn and hauteur) had its own dictionary of insider terminology. A jargon language human vultures like Ty and Jay spoke fluently. Blood types were given nicknames to signify market value. O+ was referred to in the industry as Oscar the Grouch, because it was common garbage, borderline worthless. At the apex of the cognomen mountain was Ali Baba, or AB-. When a Grinder got their hands on a high quality Ali Baba, they made out like a bandit. The gall bladder alone was worth more than a custom BMW sedan. Hearts, livers, lungs; those all ensured mortgages, student loans, and plastic surgery bills for their mistresses were paid in full.

Nanites that traversed across the green light uploaded up to the second readings to the scanner. Ty and Jay stood with fingers crossed, hoping that P.I.R. (Physiological Integrity Rating) number was above 80%.

I think this paragraph-and-a-half is the biggest offender for me as far as info-dumping is concerned--not because the information itself is uninteresting (I found it fairly interesting) but because it overexplains everything in quick succession. I think you could have introduced the name of "Oscar the Grouch" much earlier when the MC was lamenting how much of it there was. The line "[Organ Salvage] had its own dictionary of insider terminology" is a bit on the nose, especially if we are in one of the character's heads. The restatement that Ali Baba is AB- is unnecessary because you established that when the characters found the AB- corpse. Last, it felt strange for you to use the abbreviation and then immediately provide what it stands for in the same sentence (I would have preferred you call it "Physiological Integrity Rating" the first time, then use the initials afterwards). In my opinion, this scene will flow a lot better if you can excise all the times you repeat yourself or overexplain something.

I think that you have the beginnings of a good story; certainly the premise is interesting and the world you've built for it feels lived in.

 

[Bren G]

@MikeAnderson

Thanks for posting. Critiques are for the brave and I believe the intelligent and as I have learned so much from them, I hope this offers some help to you. The story is a refreshing idea. I can't say I've read anything like it. So that piques my curiosity.

1. . Incessant griping aside, Javeon Carson agreed with his unregenerate field medical examiner.

Style is in the eye of the beholder, so take this as sample size of one. The following line made me pause and would normally be strike one as I decide whether or not to read on. Reason is two fold. The use of the word incessant confused me since in this POV we only see the examiner gripe once. So it feels like the writer is injecting themselves into the story to make me view the character a certain way. Either more dialogue can be used to do this, or to have narrative fill in the gap - ie. Javeon muttered a silent curse as his incessant griping over the past hour was too much.
Also, the use of the word unregenerate is odd. I don't know what it means (ie its not common so likely there is a fair amount of readers who wouldn't either), and it's five syllables make for a clunky sentence. It's reads like your 'running the prose' to sound clever, and that may be exactly, what you intend and what your target market wants though. I found it to be a lot of work.

2. Javeon was considering an inventory reduction sale.

Nothing really wrong with this line, it's just that, if prices are dropping at terminal velocity, then Javeon 'considering' seems to be inconsistent. Would it not be more appropriate for him to be 'compelled' by the crashing market to have an inventory reduction sale? Perhaps something like -> he'd lose his shirt if he didn't start a fire sale soon.

3. As examiner Ty Linnerman was running his wrist scanner across a row of mangled goons in Barabas shirts and snakeskin boots lined up in a ditch, Dr. Sunshine chimed in with another depressing factoid.

I think the introduction of Ty Linnerman here was clunky and could be done earlier and perhaps using dialogue. It had to think twice to connect that you were talking about the Medical Examiner. The Dr. Sunshine also seems like a new character introduction at first but I got it. However, I had to read it twice to do so.

4. Besides live in Luis Mendoza and his estate’s metaphorical and literal shadow, these folks had little to do with that game.

This is another sentence I had to work at a bit a few times to understand what was meant. I think it could be more direct. Maybe something like -> These folks had little to do with that dirty game - just unlucky enough to live in Luis Mendoza's shadow.

5. “Boldly going where no coked out homicidal maniac has gone before, huh, boss?” Ty chimed back, his usual gallows style of humor on full display along with his pasty skin turning veal cutlet pink under the oppressive sun. That cone of ethereal green light from his scanner kept reiterating the same bad news for the team; either the blood type was too common for profitable sale, or the cadaver was too damaged to scavenge. Ty crossed the barely paved road to the parallel ditch to examine a dozen more stiffs.

I thought this was a great paragraph. Gives some information to build the scene and more info on the characters. Well done!

6. “I wonder what (went) through his head at that moment, besides a .40 hollow point.” Ty once again quipped with a sense of humor that a serial killer might have found a bit disturbing. He used the final reading on his display as an excuse to avoid Jay’s disgusted facial expression and to celebrate.

The 'With a sense of humor that..' sentence looks like another author injection into the story to me. Consider letting the reader decide how disturbing it is to them vs telling them. If the desire was to communicate that Javeon finds it disgusting (so that we start to see him as moral or prudish), then perhaps write it as a personal reaction to the statement so it's clear he feels that way, and not an injection from the narrator.

7. There's a lot of words written about the market value of corpses throughout. I wonder if you need to have so much of that discussion in the narrative vs driving it through dialogue. When they found the high value corpse, it clearly showed how variable pricing is. Perhaps expand on it there? Either way, I think it could've been trimmed.

You've got something original there. I like it!

Good luck!

BG

 

[TheEndIsNigh]

Hi,
I'm a picky s*d so forgive.
What follows are just opinions.

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Genre: Mature Adult Sci-Fi/Political
Word Count: 1480 words

“If I had a nickel for every O+ corpse we’ve scanned today, it’d increase the value of O+ to five cents! Another ****in' Mexican trash run! ”

(When I read this I was surprised at the anti O+ tone. O+ is the most common type of blood so surely there would be more demand for )+ organs especially as if you have O+ you can onlt recieve O+ or O-blood. Unless you have reseach that says only poor people have O- blood in which case...)

Incessant griping aside, Javeon Carson agreed with his unregenerate(?) field medical examiner. All these cadavers they’ve been inspecting, and the majority of the stiffs (as oposed to cadavers?) weren’t bringing anything special to the table (like the use of the table - made me smile). They were swimming in O+ and A+ blood types, and the markets reflected the glut. Prices on the Singapore Medical Exchange were dropping at terminal velocity. Javeon was considering an inventory reduction sale. Hell, some of his competitors were throwing in O+ bone marrow for free with select purchases.

Javeon found it ironic (that) the worst era of Cartel violence in Mexican history was producing some of the slimmest of pickings the Veteran Organ Reclamation and Distribution Agent ever harvested. Everything that could go wrong, plus about a dozen or so things that shouldn’t, did. Record sweltering temperatures in the Sonoran desert caused product to bloat and spoil non-stop (spoilt it spoilt). The military, the Cartels, and the unidades paramilitares that formed from the ranks of refugees and victims of this constant bedlam were getting savage. All sides were throwing non-stop tire parties for prisoners and targets; all Jay and his crew smelt the entire trip to the site was synthetic rubber and scorched flesh. There were mutilations, artillery and drone strikes (normal stuff in a war), bodies being excessively perforated because amped up troops weren’t practicing trigger discipline and dumping whole magazines into their rivals. As examiner Ty Linnerman was running his wrist scanner across a row of mangled goons in Barabas shirts and snakeskin boots lined up in a ditch, Dr. Sunshine chimed in with another depressing factoid.

“You seen the news about the Yucatan? ****in’ rebels used chlorine gas in the latest push. That’s some primitive s*** there, Jay! It’s 2081, not Verdun in 1916. Horrible way to die for anybody, not to mention, and you don’t want to know what that stuff does to potential stock.” (Yes he would want to know, but he should know anyway)

Javeon didn’t respond; he just surveyed the scene and shook his head. 300+ dead, the entirety everone of Villa Cordova butchered because the sleepy little desert hamlet happened to have residents up the hill who decided to cross the padrinos that ran the dope pipeline to America. Besides live in Luis Mendoza and his estate’s metaphorical and literal shadow, these folks had little to do with that game (< difficult sentense to read). All they wanted from life was to raise some crops, go to work, and mind their own businesses.

But Mendoza decided to operate on his own like Julius Caesar, and the cocaine Senate in Juarez broke out the knives in response, along with rocket propelled grenades, .50 caliber machine guns, and judging by the copious amounts of smoldering holes burrowing in walls, they were now deploying energy weapons.

“Great,” Javeon lamented, almost tripping over a burning thorium reactor from a tractor to check on Ty. “Mother******* dope pushers have Star Trek (would Star Trek be remembered and wouldn't they have a more 2080s name, or is this fan fiction?) gats now.”

“Boldly going where no coked out homicidal maniac has gone before, huh, boss?” (Again, ST - nice set up if you keep it but can you name a 1914 theatre production) Ty chimed back, his usual gallows style of humor on full display along with his pasty skin turning veal cutlet pink under the oppressive sun. (mixing two info dumps at once makes for a difficult read IMO) That cone of ethereal green light (green for bad news?) from his scanner kept reiterating the same bad news for the team; either the blood type was too common for profitable sale, or the cadaver was too damaged to scavenge. Ty (I still have in in the first ditch. scrambling from the ditch might help) crossed the barely paved road to the a parallel ditch to examine a dozen more stiffs. (would the baddies bother digging two ditches - would they dig any ditch if they weren't going to cover them up)

“I dunno, Jay.” Ty lamented to Javeon, his boss (already implied). “Maybe it was time for the streak to run its course. I mean, last 2 months have been a bumper crop of primo organs. Hell, Baghdad pretty much made our commission goals for the year in just a week (he wouldn't tell his boss he'd made enough already IMO - he might ask). Manila and Little Rock, Arkansas, too. We’ve been in carnitas country for a fortnight, and we’ve barely covered our expenses.”

“Maybe if you didn’t indulge in ***damn (no idea what ***damn is supposed to be) cheap escorts and top shelf margaritas non-stop, we might be deeper in the black.” (so now they are partners?) Javeon teased, poking at the slight paunch his toadie was developing from weeks of indulging in local cuisine and debauchery.

“Hey, boss-man; women are a dime a dozen. The perfect margarita, on the other hand, now that is worth…oh, crap, we got something!!”

The tiny display screen on Ty’s wrist scanner went from blue to red. He activated a full holographic imagine of the subject, and when the first two letters of the alphabet were adjoined with a dash above the 3D rendered and transparent cranium, their anticipation was on the same level as two gambling addicts watching their perfecta picks at the horse track about to pay out.

“AB negative, Tyler! We’ve got an Ali Baba!” (better the other way round IMO - Maybe have Tyler explain what it meant)

Like any occupation, Organ Salvage (or Meat Grinding, as the media like to called it with their usual scorn and hauteur) had its own dictionary of insider terminology. A jargon language human vultures like Ty and Jay spoke fluently. Blood types were given nicknames to signify market value. O+ was referred to in the industry as Oscar the Grouch, because it was common garbage, borderline worthless. At the apex of the cognomen mountain was Ali Baba, or AB-. When a Grinder got their hands on a high quality Ali Baba, they made out like a bandit. The gall bladder alone was worth more than a custom BMW sedan. Hearts, livers, lungs; those all ensured mortgages, student loans, and plastic surgery bills for their mistresses were paid in full. (I found this on the web -

Recipients with blood type AB… can receive a kidney from blood types A, B, AB and O (AB is the universal recipient: recipients with AB blood are compatible with any other blood type

which would make this value seem wrong)

Nanites that traversed across the green light uploaded up to the second readings to the scanner. Ty and Jay stood with fingers crossed, hoping that P.I.R. (Physiological Integrity Rating) number was above 80%.

“You know half this dude’s skull is splattered across the province, right, Jay?”

“Pfft! Who gives a **** about his head, Ty? Until they actually pull off cerebral transplants, the brain might as well be an appendix lodged into a skull.” (Plus they wouldn't carry all the body just the "tasty" bits)

The subject looked viable enough (He had a device that tells him before). Mid 20’s, Javeon was guessing 25, 26. The tattoos, and lean, athletic build told this boy’s story of an infantryman turned Cartel soldado. Javeon carefully inspected his cranium. The back of the skull was blown out, most likely by self inflicted gunshot wound (Why would he?). The jaw shook loose when Jay touched it, and he pried the lips open. Several of the stock’s front teeth were chipped or shattered. Those injuries probably occurred when his newly departed cash cow bit down too hard on the barrel before he fired. (Ignorance on my part here, but is this what happens or would it be more likely to have been gun recoil)

“Dislocated jaw. Teeth all ****ed up. Cabron’s got a hole in the back of his head big enough to drive a delivery truck through. I’m guessing…” he picked up the soldier’s Glock off the sand. “He decided to call it a life before his employers or the godfathers up North decided to make his family suffer for his failure. Or treason.”(In the midst of all this slaughter this doesn't ring credable - Plus given all the death it isn't true)

“I wonder what through his head at that moment, besides a .40 hollow point.” (according to Wiki, Glocks are 0.45 currently) Ty once again quipped with a sense of humor that a serial killer might have found a bit disturbing. He used the final reading on his display as an excuse to avoid Jay’s disgusted facial expression and to celebrate.

“Holy-Jay, either I’m still trippin’ on that molly I bought in Nogales, or…”

“No, Ty, I see that percentage, too!” Jay was bouncing out of his boots and shaking Ty in glee. 93.7789% P.I.R. This cadaver might as well have been a stack of bearer bonds. This find made up for almost every bad break they’ve experienced in this bullet riddled, blood soaked sand-box.

“Mother of ****er, boss! Toxicology, enzyme, and oncology screens clean! No precursors to future disorders. No congenital conditions or viral activity. No booze, nicotine, drugs; I don’t even detect any meat based proteins in his system. Jesus, this guy is WAY too clean to be gun-thuggin’ for the Cartel!”

“Most drug lords prefer, even demand, their personnel stay off the dope!” Javeon educated Ty while polishing sand off the lenses of his Gucci sunglasses. “Bad for business when their staff, especially their assassins, are geeked off their own merchandise.”

“Hey, if the dope boys can pump out more cash cows like this guy, I don’t give a **** if they make them eat nothing but kale and do goat yoga. This salvage is worth at least…”

“14 billion won!” Javeon didn’t even have to look up the market value; he already crunched the numbers in his head. The Unified Republic of Korea’s won had just overtook the Russian ruble or the Chinese yuan as the reserve currency for most nations on Earth. It used to take hundreds, if not, thousands of won to equal an American dollar or British pound sterling. Now, with both former powerhouses’ economies in shambles, the reverse exchange rate was now the norm.

Some issues:-

There's no apparent concern for there delicate position in a war zone. No checking for any roaming lunatic bands that would add their bodies to the count.

No mention of their own defensive arrangements or what weapons they have to disuade an attack. Maybe a mention of the 90mm auto movement targeting Laser cannon on their transport would help or the 400 men team they have backing them up)

There is a callousness which is OK, but maybe some of the other details would help show them human - You don't metion the women or children for instance. Maybe they were taken away. The children for recruits and the women for other activities. Either way they deserve a mention.

Plus would they really go into the local town for entertainment - I could imagine their trade not being to popular with the locals. Not many folk would admire this kind of trader. As in:-

"Hey senor, why have you got the body of my wife in you're trunk?"

No mention of rival groups of harvesters which they would also be wary off given the prizes available. Or do they "steak" their claim with some authority that polices this trade. Even so there would be claim jumpers. Or even people that would like two "fresh" bodies with known provinance to take away.

Nose filters.

On the whole I liked this. I liked the dialogue interchange that was realistic and with just enough gallows so it wasn't OTT. I would read on.

I did say I was picky.

Hope I helped

Tein

 

[Wayne Mack]

The problem with people like me (my education background is political science, not literature) is we tend to get a little too analytical.

I suffer the same issue myself. I come from an engineering background and I love to 'splain stuff. I like to have all of the pieces fit together well. I am trying to learn to say less and give the reader a sense of accomplishment when he or she connects the dots.

 

[tinkerdan]

This is an interesting concept.
Aside from some grammatical problems that seem to be mostly from lack of editing, it reads well enough.

Just as a suggestion, you have some undefined toward infinite time before you post to correct those; however, more importantly, you have, I believe, one hour after posting to read through the whole thing and correct those errors. This has the benefit of less distraction to those coming to critique. On the flip side there are a number of grammar specialist who might be able to help--just remember they won't be there throughout your entire process of writing: unless you can hire them.

Now some thoughts:

You have here a grave robber scene; or to be more exact people looting off of war victims, only it reads more like a group of people out doing garage sales. Is this the way you envisioned the piece to sound? Were you going for comedy?

Sure, there is that element that sounds like the banter in the latest CSI program on TV. However, in this business,(their business)it seems there would be several things to worry about 1)the people who did this 2)associates of the victims 3)other people like this looting group[competition].

Sure we get some grit and detail and lots of world building; however there seems to be a lack or disregard for any threat assessment--hence the feeling that they are doing yard sales.

Maybe these guys got here with a full platoon to guard them....

Crass language usually has its origins steeped in how these people really feel about what they do and what effects it has on them and what is missing from this piece is a closer look at what they really feel and in part that might involve the threat assessment that is lacking here. They should, especially when such a great find is there, be more cautious so as not to attract more vultures to the feast.

Of course this is your world; so, maybe these people have no competition or danger in the field.

Just some thoughts.

 

[Toby Frost]

The main problem I've got is telling and infodumping. It's as if you've decided that to read this story, the reader must be primed with full background knowledge in the first couple of pages.

Ty once again quipped with a sense of humor that a serial killer might have found a bit disturbing.

Meat Grinding, as the media like to called it with their usual scorn and hauteur

Ty chimed back, his usual gallows style of humor on full display

In all of these examples, you really don't need the second half of the sentence; it's telling the audience what the first half implies, and it's stronger without. It's to be taken that the characters are pretty much their usual selves unless clearly otherwise, and so there's no need to tell the reader about them when it can be figured out from how they talk and act.

Then there's a lot of description of the setting, etc. Once you get past the novelty of the gore, not much is really going on: it's two technicians going about their work, whilst talking about the setting in a slightly infodumpy way. It's only in the last few paragraphs that something interrupts their usual business, and the possibility of conflict arises and the story might start. I wonder if it would be punchier if it began later.

(I did wonder how long the organs would be viable, after a shootout and being in the hot sun for hours, for what it's worth.)

It might be worth having a look at some of the cyberpunk writers and seeing how they do it, which isn't that different from what you're doing. Maybe Count Zero by William Gibson or Black Man by Richard Morgan would be worth a look. I think it's a confidence thing as much as anything, and may well sort itself out as you write more. Good luck with it!

 

[MikeAnderson]

Okay, so far, the main problem I've been reading from you folks is, more flair and focus on the characters, and less focus on the technical aspects. Other writers might be discouraged by some of these critiques, but not me. In fact, I kind of expected some of these issues to be brought forth. LOL, think I already new what the problems were. In all, I'm thinking you people love the concept, but I admit, I need to implement more character building and less technical aptitude.

These are easy fixes. I have an alternate chapter cooking up, and these ideas you all are posting are very helpful.

Besides, this project is still early beta. Most of the issues are not difficult to rectify.

Appreciate the input, folks.

 

[tinkerdan]

I don't see a problem with the tech stuff--it just needs to be balanced with more from the characters about the immediacy of the situation.
Take for instance Charles Stross's Accelerando novel.
That narrative is chock full of technical stuff that is so dense that 90% of it is impenetrable; however the way it's presented and what is between the lines that a reader can understand is all enough to carry the reader into the story with the hope that the author's inner geek will eventually take a nap and give the reader a break.