Max "Manley" Remington: the Covert Action American!

[BanzaiCat]

I-I-I don't know what I was thinking, joining the CIA.

I just wanted some quiet corner of the world to sit in peace and make computer games. I liked making games, and I was really, really good at it too. I was so good that once we started using BBSs in the late 80s I could create frames and structures through which I could give my games to the world. And I loved puzzles, too. I guess that's what got me in trouble in the first place.

See, I got on this one BBS that I could swear was just a gaming site - you know, get in a little Trade Wars 2002 or something - but it was more than that, and it kept kicking me out, so I got mad and hacked it in five minutes. Apparently though, it was a State Department subroutine stuck inside of a brand new DEA system. The DEA didn't know the State Department was spying on their own content, but boy, they sure found out quick. And that put me at the top of the list for a little visit from the government.

I'm pretty average. I don't like the sunlight. Peanut butter and jelly are still my favorite foods of all time. I have simple needs. Showering isn't one of them, nor is sleep. But computer time - ho boy do I need that. I'm addicted to it. And when the government swept in to take it all away from me, they instead saw my skills at electronics, and saw also that I was pretty good with a bo staff, so they invited me to join their gang.

I hate hurting things. I won't even squash a bug, because...well, it's so messy. And gross. But I could take down a man twice my size with just two fingers - the CIA trained me to do that, and apparently I do it better than just about anyone else.

The time was 1972. I went from being a criminal to a CIA operative overnight. Literally. Since it was just me, with no family, no girlfriend or anything, I guess that's why they decided to take me in. I'm average. I blend in. And apparently I can kick someone's ass even though the thought of putting a bruise on someone makes me want to vomit.

My name is now Max Remington. It was Gaylord Greene. I guess that's an improvement.



They give everyone cool nicknames to use in the field. Some that I heard were, Panzer, Hijack, Boss, that kind of thing. Mine was 'Manley.' Why? All the women in the secretarial pool went "OOOhhhhh" when they heard about me. They made me blush a lot.



They don't put me on too important stuff. I can sniff out computer crimes really fast, and too few of these knuckleheads around here can type their own names, let alone figure out passwords and other stuff. So I get the soft cases, usually.

So like I said, the CIA got me into training early, and I was good at kicking butt and taking names (except my own, I hate "Manley"). I'm also good at electronics. I could build my own computers. I can figure electric flow and squeeze all kinds of processing power out of just a handful of spare parts. And what do the other agents want from me? Do they want me to help improve the power of their computers? No. They want me to hack and download the latest Strip Poker game. Once computers went mainstream in the 80s, that's ALL they wanted to see...pixelated boobies. Bunch of cretins.



So it was another December 31st, another New Year's Eve, but not another 1989...soon to be 1990. There's only one of those. It's just another day for me. Just because a number changes on a calendar doesn't make everything suddenly new and different. It was about midnight, and the office was occupied by the usual poor slobs who couldn't get time off to be with their families. The revelry from D.C., you could practically hear all the way out here. I didn't care. I just wanted to go home and tinker with my new computer.

Then, of course, my phone rang.

"Max," said the gruff voice on the other end. The voice of The Chief.

I hate when they call me Max.

"Get in my office." CLICK.

SIGH.

[BanzaiCat]

I entered The Chief's (you had to say "The" with a capital letter, too) office, closed the door. The room smelled like Havana cigars. Highly illegal. Was I going to say anything? Nope.

"Max," the chief growled. "Welcome back."

Uhh...sorry, Chief?

"From your vacation."

I haven't been on vacation in a few years, sir...

The Chief waved a dismissive hand. "Whatever. Look, Max..."

I hate that so, so much. But at least he didn't call me "Gaylord." That

"Looks like the bad guys are preparing for action and the President is worried."

Good Lord. President Bush is worried?!? I kept that to myself.

"He...insists that...you..."

It looked like The Chief was trying to keep a straight face and not laugh. The corners of his wrinkly old mouth were twitching and his chins were trembling.

"He insists that...he insists that..."

He turned away, his shoulders heaving. Was he crying? Poor guy. The President's being upset must really have gotten to him.

Finally, he turned in his $1000 leather executive chair. His eyes were red and he was sniffling, but still he was trying hard to keep whatever it was inside of him.

"The President thinks...you..."

He got that part out with a wheeze. It might have been a snicker, too.

"...you are the agent for this job."

I don't know how that could be possible. Except that maybe all the other agents were off for the night. But if the President was really thinking about ME...gosh. I sat up more fully in my chair.

The Chief cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. I thought I saw a smirk, but it was probably the light reflecting off his highly-polished desk.

"The President's highly-secret ULTRA code book has received some interest from the opposition," he continued to say, his voice becoming firmer with each syllable.

But The Chief, that ULTRA code book is for his bathroom access codes...

"AHEM. Max, just between you and me, I think there's a leak in Internal Security."

Huhuhuhuhuh. He said "leak" in reference to the President's potty codes. Huhuhuhuh!!

Who's behind it, The Chief?

"We think it's the Muslim Jihad. Our sources think the prep work started somewhere in Africa or the Middle East.

Wait, The Chief...I've only been to Florida for that one conference...

The Chief cleared his throat loudly again. "You're a CIA agent, Max. Think and act like it."



The Chief then handed me a book.

"Standard procedure, Max."



But The Chief, I've worked here for 20 years...you surely know me...

He cleared his throat again, this time more impatiently. Somewhat sheepishly, I pointed out the correct answer.



He slid folders and loose papers across his desk to me. Someday I was going to have to share my idea for a portable computer you could carry in your pocket...but apparently, we had bigger fish to fry right now...

[MetalDog]

'Covert Action American,' has a nice ring to it.

[KyzBP]

Banzai- Are you planning on finishing this?  The was one of my favorite games back in the C64 days.  I loved decrypting the messages and sneaking around the safe houses.

[BanzaiCat]

I'd like to. If you're interested I'll give it a try. Only thing is I couldn't get the save game to load, so I messed it up but good. Shouldn't be too hard to get it back on track though. I just ran out of time and creative juice to figure it out.

[BanzaiCat]

I just bought the game off of GOG - I figured it was worth six bucks so I don't have to keep typing "mount mount mount mount" all the frickin' time.

I will start this AAR up again here on this page, but first need to make some headway and see if there's a good story to tell in there.

[KyzBP]

I just bought the game off of GOG - I figured it was worth six bucks so I don't have to keep typing "mount mount mount mount" all the frickin' time.

I will start this AAR up again here on this page, but first need to make some headway and see if there's a good story to tell in there.

Sweet!  Looking forward to it.  I should just pick up the game myself but I want to see if it's still as entertaining as I remember.