OK, story time... "The 56agon"
Dr. VooDoo stepped into the elevator. He placed his hand on the hand print identifier and
brought his head close to the eye scanner. The elevator slipped silently into it's long descent.
"Morning Voo," came the familiar voice from the speaker.
Voo smiled as he remembered the coining of Voodoo. It was during a late night stock recon survey while on the MB training mission. "Intersections," said Voo out loud, "Damn I'm good!"
The smile quickly left his face as the he thought of the current market conditions. The elevator stopped and he stepped off.
His mind abuzz with Project Meltdown, he nearly pasted intern Wartski to the wall as he turned the corner. "Sorry Wart."
"S'alright Voo." Warthski regained his balance and picked up his tea leaves. "Everything OK?"
"Yep." said Voo, "Say, Wartski. Could you generate some intersection charts we talked about and pipe them from Communications to the Command Center? And maybe... send the stuff to our world wide operatives too."
"Sure boss." Wartksi bolted off like a bat.
Voo paused. "Don't forget to turn on the encryption... twinkie toes," he yelled after him. Wart was fresh out of an internal affairs investigation after being suspected a mole. He had unintentionally sent sensitive 56 code broad band by leaving a twinkie box too close to the encryptor switch.
Voo chuckled to himself as he ate the twinkie he had just pick pocketed from Wartski. He continued on as he always did, making his rounds before buckling down into his chair next to his favorite bottle of rum in the Chart Room.
The 56agon was a huge place with laboratories, clean rooms, tunnels and mass electronics for intelligence collection. It was an underground stock lab that was a cross between the CIA and the CDC. A gathering place of sorts, employing a sophisticated network of elite operatives from around the world. Residents called it "The Thread". One of whom was standing in front of the flight debriefing booth.
"How was Russia Cubal?" asked Voo.
"Long ass flight," replied Cubal as he wiped off his helmet. He was the best recon pilot the 56agon had seen in years. "Played some golf in Brazil too. We should keep a close eye on those 10X margin calls. They're in hot water." Playing golf for Cubal was buzzing a golf course at mach3. It was his specialty. Sometimes the whole green would rip off. "I'm off to the whirlpool, gonna try that new 20% salt float bath."
"Here, don't forget this," said Voo as he handed him another "Ace" decal for his plane.
A high five greeted Voo as he approached the Profit Chamber. There was always a party going on and today was no different. He poked his head inside. "Heavy gloating, I see."
Drool was dripping from Instock's mouth as he passed Voo a drink. "You da man Voo. Say, check this out." Instock handed Voo a list of potentials. "I'll stop by later, K?"
"K," said Voo, "I'll take a look at it. Later we can send it to Communications and they can transmit the best into the lurker's frequency."
Voo stuffed the list in his shirt and walked past the Losers Quarantine. It was his idea to put it next to the Profit Chambers. It was a torture chamber with a brutal poster on the wall that read, "I Let My Losses Run." Every operative having a mishap had to sign it. Voo remembered the few times he had been subjected. It was a nightmare and no fun. He heard a cry from inside, "Now it's really too late to sell..."
Voo headed into the library's main office. Peg, the classified librarian, handed him the red floater phone. "It's Professor Serg from intelligence, says it's urgent. Oh... and when you get off, show me where I should file these irritating letters from that misguided ACRT agency."
Serg was Voo's south of the border connection where corporate 10K's were analyzed. But today Serg began to unleash a flood of TA in Voo's ear while the 3 amigo's theme song played in the background. Voo put him on the intercom and said, "Everybody listen up." As Serg unloaded the rest of his TA, Voo countered with a phenomenal FA report on current world market conditions.
"Thud." It came from the Mag Lab. Voo glanced at Peg.
"Got ya covered Voo," said Peg, "I tied an opener to DJ's his Lab coat yesterday."
There was so much to do, and Voo was soon to leave on another training mission to try and recruit another batch of stockrats. He stared at the calendar. "Geez, the printer was supposed to have sent the data printouts by now..."
"Help!" came the cry from covert operations. "Shit! Oscillator has been contaminated with Black Lotus dust! It was intended for the Russian underground to boost the market."
Just then Oscillator raced in. He screamed. "Get me my broker!" He grabbed the fire ax and yelled "Heeeeres Osci... Jack for all!" Then he ran down the hall and disappeared.
"Myron," cried Voo, "give him something. He's our best candidate for the double agent program. We're gonna lose him."
Dr. Myron grabbed his bag. He pulled out his BOP injector and raced after him. When he finally caught up with him Oscillator was slumped against the corner coke machine clutching a US flag and moaning. "I want... my change..." His eyes were bouncing from side to side but he was out. Myron put a blanket over him. "I'll let him sleep it off, he'll be OK."
"More Jack..." Oscillator faded off.
"That was close," said Voo as he entered the Command Center. There was a bit of tension in the air as the latest meltdown had agents on the edge of their seats. It seemed a bit empty as Voo scanned the room. He did a quick head count. Recent conditions had pulled quite a few operatives on assignment.
"Let's see. Where in the heck is Dave H?" thought Voo. Dr. H had left on a fibonacci experiment but got the formulas mixed up. He recently applied for mathematical sabbatical.
Dr. Ocote was missing. It was suspected he was on a secret mission collecting pathogens for a DOW turnaround.
Agent 9 had been spotted out of deep cover in the BB sector, then disappeared from sight.
Sasquach was working under cover at some pizza joint listening in on hot stock tips from the bugs he planted in pizza pies.
Intern RocDoc was in space collecting moon rocks.
Blackjack hadn't returned from his trip to TA the underground blackjack machines at Disney World. Voo had quenched a rumor he had defected to the other side, arguing anybody with Blackjack's electronic poker skills would self-destruct in a buy and hold arena.
"Yikes, whose left?" cried Voo as he began roll call. "Anybody seen Milesov?"
Rumor had it Dr.Milesov was busy building a new division. The nuclear proton powertool beam accelerator. It supposingly had four thousand indicators. It ran on nuclear fission, fusion and some linear regression. He was applying for funding and was doing massive R&D.
Milesov had locked himself in his power tool lab. He was in the midst of a standard deviation report when he smelled that smell again. He couldn't get that dirty diaper smell out of his nose. He stuck a hockey puck on the Bunsen burner and took a deep breath. "There, now that's better." He stepped out for a smoke and then walked to the Command Center.
Voo cleared his throat and addressed the group. "Any of you that are having trouble lately... there will be a mini therapy program after operations. It's a stop loss pathogen refresher. Meets in the contamination scrub down room. You know the routine... Hi, my name is Joe. I am a trader. I used to have a 100 thousand dollars. Now I have ten..." From the corner came a loud barking noise. Voo turned, "Geez, could somebody please take the dog out?"
Voo looked at his SOES monitoring watch. His eyes lit up. "Gemme realtime on the board!" The Command Center jumped into action. Eric and Matt from the LAXER division started feeding Voo notes.
Agent Tim handed Voo his latest report on insider buying. He was an insider specialist retrieving hot info at night dumpster diving the back alleys of major world cities.
Voo wiped the rat tracks off the report. "Nice job Tim! Hey, there's a spec o' wilted lettuce on your collar." Agent Tim whisked it away as he finished his Margarita. He went back to his post at the Command Center's watering hole next to Radar who was downing a beer.
Special agent Carolyn slipped Voo the "T" whitepapers. Carolyn was like clockwork. She never screwed up. She never lost a report. She never said anything.
"Thanks Carolyn. Now all we need is another 25 operatives like you and we'd have this thing whipped!" praised Voo.
Carolyn smiled and sat down.
The scanning generators began rumbling. Realtime filled the front screen and all eyes were glued. Voo was working the IM collator all the while on the green broker phone. Everything was on track till the report flashed from the news room. "Ticker AINN Removed From NAZ For Failing To Satisfy Share Holders," read the headlines. The room went silent. The dog whimpered.
"I hate it when that happens," said Voo throwing his laser pointer. "OK, lets regroup." He pulled up Warkski's charts. He contemplated for a long moment.
"See the enemy here?" Voo pointed to a miserable downtrend. "Now... watch this." To everyone amazement he flipped the chart upside-down. Then he grabbed a magic marker from KenBen's pocket protector. KenBen was a ace FA liaison and wasn't used to severe TA exposure. He woke abruptly from a dead sleep, jarring his brain the exact same way after nodding off the previous night when his car's tires hit the warning ribs on the highway shoulder. He squinted his eyes pretending nothing had happened and took a quick sip of his lukewarm coffee. Then watched intently as Voo drew some of his favorite lines.
"Now," stated Voo proudly pointing to his lines, "we make the enemy work for us!" Jaws went slack in disbelief. Slowly a great sigh of relief fell over the group. Then the usual high five's.
"He's done it again," came a voice from the back.
"Whoa..."
Conversation was rampant as agents filed out to start their new assignments.
"Chillin."
"You the new kids?"
"Ya", said Monty, " I haven't slept for days."
"Welcome to the club."
"Hi, I'm Bruce. But you can call me Diver. I'm studying the upside-down trick."
"Cool ."
"Too much...," one recruit stammered as he almost bumped into the door."
"Waaaaaarrn." The SI viral alarm sounded. Another break out. Dr. Voo bit his lip. These were vicious "dumb" bugs, mostly only able to paralyze lab efficiency and distract. A form of parasitic bacterial infection that disguised itself as an intelligent life form. "Let's get a handle on this. Call Captain Strauss."
The outer perimeter seals began to close. This was Defunkcon 1. If Defunkcon 2 was ever reached major damage could occur. Last time Voo had to go under deep covert cover. All team members donned their suits and were encouraged to engage "Ignore Status."
Instock was in a panic. He came running from the Profit Chamber holding his camera tightly and yelled, "Where is IT?"
"Keep your pants on," calmed Voo "Infections has identified it as the Moris-Hanson virus, a two week strain. It will self-destruct."
"No! I think it's the Monski virus. We need to kill it or evacuate." Instock knew the Monski strain well. He himself had nicknamed it after it was discovered in his Polish pet monkey.
"I'm calling the Thread Police."
"Hi," said intern Omer politely as he walked by totally unaware of the calamity. He was still high on being chosen lead man on the cleanup brigade after the BOST assassination. It was his first as a Canadian operative and his hands were a bit clammy, having to slip through customs and all.
Captain Strauss was Division13. He was also the resident viral cartoonist. Seemed as each virus was detected the picture was the same. And this time was no different. He handed his rendition to Instock. Instock compared it to his Polaroid. "We'll I'll be...! Looks like an ebola monkey."
"Up a bug's ass," laughed the Captain.
Wild Dr.Ivan, the mad cat scientist came through with his head high and forehead wrinkled. He had cat tails pinned on his lab coat much like a fighter pilot would decorate his plane with kills. "OK Voo, get this over with, there is a pile of cat butts in the basement and they are starting to stink. You're wasting my time with this nonsense. And furthermore, you spend way too much time on these containment issues."
"Settle down Ivan, we're just having a little fun," said Voo. "By the way, how's that cat litter annex coming? The basement bunkers are overflowing, ya know."
"Hmph," said Dr. Ivan looking over his glasses nervously. "Have your slime then, it's the cats I hate." He went off puffing his cigar, the cat tails swaying side to side.
"Hey DJ," yelled Instock, "can you whip up some of that Anti-Maggot cream?"
"That's magnets, Instock," replied DJ with a smile.
"Ah, hell. My spelling's never been that good anyway. Gimme what ya got."
DJ handed him his magnetic bowie knife with the inscription, "Pink Sucks."
Instock scooted past the Spam Patrol and quickly stuck the knife into the Monski slime. It oozed profusely as Instock's face cringed. Then he emptied his 9MM into it. "I got it!" He radioed the containment crew. The Spam Patrol shook their heads.
"Geez Instock," said Voo, "the 2 week SI genetic clause would have taken care of it."
Instock reloaded and popped off another round. A wicked grin began to emerge from his beaming face. "Send me to Cleveland, please."
Voo walked to the Magnet Lab. There was a sign next to the door which read, "Danger - Intense Magnetic Repulsion!" He never had quite figured out what it exactly meant. Ignoring the sign he stepped inside. The lab was whirring. His hair stood on end. "David, you are out of control."
DJ got up off the floor, took off his virtual magnetic headset and wiped his mouth with his beer stained lab coat. He rubbed his head where a large lump protruded from is ball cap. "Hey Voo."
Voo took a sip of his rum and looked around. "Thro that red lever to the right."
DJ flipped the lever. The lights dimmed slightly.
" Now tweak both trim limiters till the lines touch. Ya see that intersection?"
"Voodoo" exclaimed DJ, half stunned, his eyes brightening. "Huh."
" How does he do it," he thought to himself, "must be the rum."
"Damn I'm good," said Voo. "Love those 'sections."
Voo picked up the ringing 56code phone. It was Matt and Diver from the Encryption Lab.
"We have an algorithm problem with the latest StochRSI data array," came the distress call.
"OK send it to the Maglab." Voo motioned to Milesov. "Call the dog."
Milesov whistled. "Crum Voo, why do we feed that ol mutt anyway? I mean, look at him. he's depressing."
The dog straggled in. He was a bloody mess. His fur was ripped and his head was clean shaven where he sported 21 stitches from the GTNR incident.
"Maybe we should keep him inside, it'd be safer for 'em," said DJ.
The dog sniffed the code and barked twice.
"It's either a binary problem or it's in the second nested if function," said Voo and he hung up the phone. He looked at the dog's wounds. "Cat fight, eh?" asked Voo. "We should have Dr. Ivan look at you."
The dog shuddered.
I think it's a bear swipe" said KenBen, "I've seen that kinda thing at my possum farm."
"Poor dog," said DJ, "I think he's bit hit by a train. Probably chasing rabbits."
The dog limped, nosing a package towards DJ.
"Well, you're halfway there ya ol mutt, said DJ, ripping open the box. He inserted the floppy and turned on the mag generator. "Nice doggie," he said and tossed him a magnetic milk bone.
The dog retreated as the humming noise hurt his ears. He grabbed a couple of Milesov's tools and bolted.
"What'sa possum?" asked Milesov as he pulled a charred hockey puck from his shirt pocket. He cocked his arm ready to fire it at the dog.
"Ice brain." murmured DJ.
Milesov spun around and winged it at DJ.
"Come on you two," said Voo, "we have work to do."
They headed to Voo's office where the dog had buried the tools in some Styrofoam pellets.
"He's gone mad," said Milesov, "maybe he's lactose intolerant."
"His nose is good, he just hasn't learned to use it yet," said DJ in defense of the dog.
"Well," said Voo, "he's never been paper trained. I'd say a few more obedience classes and he'll be able to fetch comkeys with his snout taped shut."
"Ya right!" quipped Milesov, "like that dog's got a brain."
Voo looked sternly at the dog. "Check out the summed aggregate of the rolling denominators divided by the float of the linear regression erosion lines. That variant will coincide with it's sister overlap diversion or the sum of it's opposite. That should give you a value sub positioned to itself subsequent to a repetitive indignation. Keep the correlation of the historical credence to it's bilingual intersection coefficiently separate. That then is quantified by subtracting all extraneous noise on a well tuned logarithmic instrument. Using your basic deltoid
factor as market breath, simplify the quotient of its inverse and square it with the first occurrence of it'stipient error. From there the basil ganglia gathers momentum towards a bilateral parsing or "splattering", as it's called in the technical analysis vonacular. Extract that and the reaction to it's implied target. Lastly, take your left leg out and put your right foot in. There you will find the comkey. It's that simple."
The dog tilted his head to one side, his eyes inquisitive.
"You'll also notice," continued Voo after swallowing a mouthful of rum, " that an accelerated confluence of the bisecting lines above the triangulation top is in perfect symmetry. Especially from an equatorial basis. Now in allegoric terms, speaking metaphorically of course, this is the fuel from a predetermined point in time at which most investors behave irrationally and will systematically render a pattern that concludes a price increase." Voo picked up his brokerage statement and glanced at his SOES watch. "Hmmmm, I 'll need that scan by morning."
The dog tilted his head to the other side. He stood quivering as if ready to run and fetch the comkey. But his expression faded, confused. He looked at all the charts strewn around Voo's office searching for direction. He glanced at Milesov and DJ who rolled their eyes. Looking back at Voo he lied down.
"Ahhh never mind," said Voo quietly, "here, have another magnet treat."
The dog took the treat cautiously. Relaxed, he closed one eye and breathed out a long sigh, "Woof."
bdo>g< |
