@Joshie Preach it. I'm still not sure how and why, but overall, this is fun. Also, I have so many ideas for Network's development prepared already.
Tengri
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Most Recent Posts
@Raijinslayer "Don't tell anyone I said this, but... courtship is hard."
@Raijinslayer "Understood. It's like a recon mission or even an infiltration. I should gather as much information as possible about the target before making my move. I'll have to know her body measurements, her daily habits, her favorite things and activities, her allergies, her preferences, her personal history and systematically add this to my database. Is that all?"
@Raijinslayer
The latter, yet.
If Network ever falls for somebody, that will be the birth of the ultimate dork. For example:
"I've read that women generally appreciate signs of affection through valuable items. Here, have some flowers."
"I believe I'm romantically attracted to you. I apologize in advance. It's rather rude of me not to ask your opinion first."
The latter, yet.
If Network ever falls for somebody, that will be the birth of the ultimate dork. For example:
"I've read that women generally appreciate signs of affection through valuable items. Here, have some flowers."
"I believe I'm romantically attracted to you. I apologize in advance. It's rather rude of me not to ask your opinion first."
I look at the dead woman on the ground, her eyes frozen, peering somewhere in the distance, calm and serene. I don’t move, not even a muscle, waiting. In a moment, dangerous thoughts spin in my mind. “It’s her just punishment for these people. I did what I had to do. It was only a bad call, not my fault. I didn’t mean to apply so much pressure.” It all mixes together - fear, hatred, duty, training, experience - and above this all, a single thing floats above - regret.
“I… what have I done?” I hear a frail voice; it takes me a while to recognize it as my own. It sounds weak and helpless - I hate being weak and helpless. It was like… that time I messed up long time ago, on my first outing as a cape. I nearly took a bullet to the head, if not for my sister. “I’m so sorry.” I remember saying the same thing that day, while pulling a bullet out of my sister’s shoulder.
“It’s fine. Just make sure to be prepared for the next time.” It seems that after all these years, I still managed to royally screw up. I silently closed my victim’s eyes, giving her body some semblance of peace, and quietly fell on my knees, feeling my legs give up.
And then, something wet touched my costume from beneath. It’s not blood, I noted, no way for any to leak, not with a neck broken like this. I sometimes hate how calm and logical my training has made me. I smell the distinct scent of salt, which equals to sea water. In any other situation, this would be absurd.
I consider simply letting myself drown as some twisted sort of atonement, to let this all end here, but this is an easy way out. I carefully pick up a small breathing device from my utility belt and inhale. It should be enough for an hour or so. I always say, always be prepared - and so do boy scouts.
It’s not enough, I note. If I was my sister, what would I do? I would naturally think about the innocents first. It’s a shame how for all her inner kindness and self-sacrifice, no kid ever considers dressing as me or my “mentor.” In fact, as far as my knowledge goes, we are more popular among older crowds for various reasons: we are strong, independent females - in one case - and look gorgeous in form-fitting costumes - in another.
I note a pair of other heroes, better heroes, and see the guy convulse in panic. I note, he can’t swim, and move right to them, while the girl seemed to attempt something vaguely magical. If anything, I could share some of my emergency gear with them. And so, I swim to them, unaware of anything across me, which in hindsight - and hindsight is always a bitch - wasn’t such a nice idea, after all.
I’m going to save them, stop non-lethally whoever criminals left here and then… then I’ll let the society decided what to do next. If I go to prison, I’m going to do something good in the very end.
Roll Superior
“I… what have I done?” I hear a frail voice; it takes me a while to recognize it as my own. It sounds weak and helpless - I hate being weak and helpless. It was like… that time I messed up long time ago, on my first outing as a cape. I nearly took a bullet to the head, if not for my sister. “I’m so sorry.” I remember saying the same thing that day, while pulling a bullet out of my sister’s shoulder.
“It’s fine. Just make sure to be prepared for the next time.” It seems that after all these years, I still managed to royally screw up. I silently closed my victim’s eyes, giving her body some semblance of peace, and quietly fell on my knees, feeling my legs give up.
And then, something wet touched my costume from beneath. It’s not blood, I noted, no way for any to leak, not with a neck broken like this. I sometimes hate how calm and logical my training has made me. I smell the distinct scent of salt, which equals to sea water. In any other situation, this would be absurd.
I consider simply letting myself drown as some twisted sort of atonement, to let this all end here, but this is an easy way out. I carefully pick up a small breathing device from my utility belt and inhale. It should be enough for an hour or so. I always say, always be prepared - and so do boy scouts.
It’s not enough, I note. If I was my sister, what would I do? I would naturally think about the innocents first. It’s a shame how for all her inner kindness and self-sacrifice, no kid ever considers dressing as me or my “mentor.” In fact, as far as my knowledge goes, we are more popular among older crowds for various reasons: we are strong, independent females - in one case - and look gorgeous in form-fitting costumes - in another.
I note a pair of other heroes, better heroes, and see the guy convulse in panic. I note, he can’t swim, and move right to them, while the girl seemed to attempt something vaguely magical. If anything, I could share some of my emergency gear with them. And so, I swim to them, unaware of anything across me, which in hindsight - and hindsight is always a bitch - wasn’t such a nice idea, after all.
I’m going to save them, stop non-lethally whoever criminals left here and then… then I’ll let the society decided what to do next. If I go to prison, I’m going to do something good in the very end.
Roll Superior
I know how horrible this sounds, but given time, you can get used to everything in this world, even seeing corpses on a daily basis. And sometime, you catch yourself on being relieved after seeing a dead body. It’s merely a gunshot wound - you think, glad that tonight you’ll be able to sleep normally, your dreams not invaded by twisted images of eviscerated humans.
Because of the darkness. Because you work from shadows more than any other heroes. You allow them to have such commodities like being able to look at a hamburger without feeling sick. You allow them to deal with regular crooks in colorful costumes or tyrannical masterminds or any other stuff, “regular” stuff. And when they save the world from an alien invasion, they don’t know that a family of three was killed in a dark alley that day. Most of all, you allow them to feel good about themselves.
It grows on you. Like a shell. Monstrosities don’t affect you as much. And when you see a kid with a sword, you don’t hesitate to put him down. And when you see a scene of pure massacre, you only see small details. Small, but important. For this reason, other heroes think of you as a weirdo.
I hide this behind laughs and smiles, but my sister doesn’t. No point, she says, no point in trying to pretend to be something you’re not. I understand her better than ever. I still crack a joke or two on the reflex. Because of the darkness. Because you’re still a little girl afraid of the darkness.
“Heads up!” As the floor suddenly decides that it likes being the wall better, I grab a tiny pistol-like object from my utility belt. Grappling gun. Every street vigilante’s best friend. It takes me milliseconds to aim, even less to pull the trigger. I flash a brief thumbs-up to the dynamic duo nearby and go for the prize.
I let the rope pull me closer to the evil-doer - like how corny this term sounds - and prepare to give her a good taste of my ceramic-plated boot. In a moment, this very moment, time seemingly slows. I see her blink and surprise.
One second. I fly closer, but still not quite close. She shouts at me. It doesn’t matter.
Two seconds. I am closer, prepared to finish this in one swoop. She does something, and in instant… Everything matters.
Three seconds. I see them, multiple possibilities, all shown to me. I see every outcome possible, every reality that fractures from this point. In a kaleidoscope of colors, every actions unfolds in a different matter. I’m everywhere and nowhere in particular.
Four seconds. I have to choose one. And so I do. I pick up one of them, where my kick connects with her face, and stop the ripples. It has to be ended now. I pull the grappling gun at full speed and my accelerated leg meets a very movable object.
And then, her neck twists, accompanied by a very unpleasant sound. I look into a lifeless body on the floor in silent horror. I do not shout, nor wail. I say nothing, my eyes glued to a fresh corpse I made just now. I’m not sure what exactly should I feel, but now I can only feel empty.
“God…”
Because of the darkness. Because you work from shadows more than any other heroes. You allow them to have such commodities like being able to look at a hamburger without feeling sick. You allow them to deal with regular crooks in colorful costumes or tyrannical masterminds or any other stuff, “regular” stuff. And when they save the world from an alien invasion, they don’t know that a family of three was killed in a dark alley that day. Most of all, you allow them to feel good about themselves.
It grows on you. Like a shell. Monstrosities don’t affect you as much. And when you see a kid with a sword, you don’t hesitate to put him down. And when you see a scene of pure massacre, you only see small details. Small, but important. For this reason, other heroes think of you as a weirdo.
I hide this behind laughs and smiles, but my sister doesn’t. No point, she says, no point in trying to pretend to be something you’re not. I understand her better than ever. I still crack a joke or two on the reflex. Because of the darkness. Because you’re still a little girl afraid of the darkness.
“Heads up!” As the floor suddenly decides that it likes being the wall better, I grab a tiny pistol-like object from my utility belt. Grappling gun. Every street vigilante’s best friend. It takes me milliseconds to aim, even less to pull the trigger. I flash a brief thumbs-up to the dynamic duo nearby and go for the prize.
I let the rope pull me closer to the evil-doer - like how corny this term sounds - and prepare to give her a good taste of my ceramic-plated boot. In a moment, this very moment, time seemingly slows. I see her blink and surprise.
One second. I fly closer, but still not quite close. She shouts at me. It doesn’t matter.
Two seconds. I am closer, prepared to finish this in one swoop. She does something, and in instant… Everything matters.
Three seconds. I see them, multiple possibilities, all shown to me. I see every outcome possible, every reality that fractures from this point. In a kaleidoscope of colors, every actions unfolds in a different matter. I’m everywhere and nowhere in particular.
Four seconds. I have to choose one. And so I do. I pick up one of them, where my kick connects with her face, and stop the ripples. It has to be ended now. I pull the grappling gun at full speed and my accelerated leg meets a very movable object.
And then, her neck twists, accompanied by a very unpleasant sound. I look into a lifeless body on the floor in silent horror. I do not shout, nor wail. I say nothing, my eyes glued to a fresh corpse I made just now. I’m not sure what exactly should I feel, but now I can only feel empty.
“God…”
@Liliya
So, the bitch is out cold and I got me some sweet reality-altering powers. Does this also mean that the gravity is back to normal, too?
So, the bitch is out cold and I got me some sweet reality-altering powers. Does this also mean that the gravity is back to normal, too?
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