@soren ...Hm. Interesting idea. I mean, as you’ve probably seen, you don’t need to always stick to Spider Powers. But it’s not a bad idea by any stretch.
EnterTheHero Member
Heir to the Throne of the Roaming Rhullo
STATUS: I’M ONE OF THE TOMATOES! 3 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 3 mos ago
- Old Guild Username: EnterTheHero
- Joined: 10 yrs ago
- Posts: 1433 (0.38 / day)
- VMs: 3
-
Username history
- EnterTheHero 10 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
GubGar
Status
Recent Statuses
3 yrs ago
Current
I’M ONE OF THE TOMATOES!
5
likes
4 yrs ago
*does an awoo*
1
like
5 yrs ago
hecc
5 yrs ago
“And before you ask, YES! THIS IS A JOJO REFERENCE!!”
6 yrs ago
And then John was a zombie.
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
@soren Well, if you come up with any ideas, let me know. We are technically closed for applications, but at the same time, my OCD would like an even 12 instead of 11. But yeah, whether you have an idea or not, you’re welcome to hang around and watch the chaos.
@soren Hey, come in and take a load off, watch the fireworks.
@Zoey White Not a problem.
Hey, guys, I think I might have to sit this one out. I’m a little busier than I anticipated. Sorry if I got anyone’s hopes up. Good luck, ya’ll, and have fun!
@Silverwind Blade All right, good to know. Thank you!
@Silverwind Blade Okay, sweet~ Could I tech it up later on, perhaps? I kinda had an image of something a little like Raiden’s high-frequency blade.
So, say I wanted the Marksman/Recon slot. I’m more interested in the recon part, personally. Would something like a Gear-sized machete or other blade be viable at all?
In
GEARs: Silent Line [sci-fi, anthro, mecha RPG with a strong background and lore]
→
5 yrs ago
Forum: General Interest Checks
Interest? Yes.
You've met with a terrible fate, haven't you?
Marcus Trent Tanner tried and failed to open his eyes.
It wasn't his fault, really. Between the blinding fluorescent lights, his headache, and the burning sensation that crawled across seemingly every inch of his skin, he'd be hard-pressed to twitch a toe, much less do anything more. He groaned, barely noticing a steady beep... beep... beep... in the background, getting slightly faster as he started to stir.
He didn't know what it was yet. He didn't know much of anything in the moment. Just pain, and exhaustion, and his name. He shifted slightly, and winced. Bad move. His skin screamed like he'd had a close encounter with a belt sander. Very close, and very thorough.
Beep. Beep. Beep. It was getting faster. And louder? Or was he just listening to it more?
There were other sounds, other sensations, too. Something dripping steadily, slower than the beep. Some kind of deeper, penetrating pain in his right hand. Something cold flowing from that pain. He felt it all. He felt too much. Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sheets felt like sandpaper, the room smelled like a morgue. Too clean, too sterile. He writhed.
BeepBeepBeep.
He felt someone else enter before he heard them. He felt them move toward him. He felt something else enter his skin, his blood, his veins--
Beepbeepbeep beep beep beep... beep... beep...
...He felt nothing.
Marcus resisted the urge to rub at his nose. He'd just had the tube extracted- an NG tube, they called it- a couple of hours ago, and he still felt raw, in his throat in particular. He tried to ignore the sensation as he let the doctor do his business.
He felt sorry for the staff. Marcus was only one of many people they were trying to keep alive.
They were referring to it as simply, "The Incident." Real original, though he couldn't come up with anything better. He remembered enough of it that he didn't want to remember more. A normal Monday, a normal school day, and then a rumble. Then some creepy red gas that made him feel like he'd been pepper sprayed.
Within hours he was puking blood.
And now he was here.
The doctor sighed, shaking his head slightly. Marcus felt it, more than saw it. His senses were doing backflips ever since he woke up. He decided he was just gonna roll with it. He was better off than most. Hundreds had gotten sick. Most of those had died. The rest were spending their days like he was now, wishing they were dead. Doctors came and went, running like they were on fire, for every little thing that might turn into an emergency. Not just doctors, either. Men with masks, or even hazmat suits, if they were paranoid. Cops, suits, men-in-black, who knows, asking questions, expecting answers.
I wish I had more answers to give.
The doctor turned to address him. He seemed confused. Said something about how much better he was doing. Like he was surprised. Marcus was surprised, too. He didn't feel better. But then, he wasn't a doctor.
Said doctor said a few more things. Marcus gave a few more token responses, and the doctor left. Marcus didn't really notice. Or care. He was staring. Staring at his hands, like he could see through his skin. See down to the veins and bones and arteries, and see the squirming and writhing that he could feel just underneath the surface.
He didn't feel fine. He felt different. He felt strange.
But most of all, he felt worried. Worried that the ones he loved were feeling the exact same thing, or worse, that they weren't feeling anything at all anymore.
How far did this thing spread? ...Hector. Scott. Even... even Dad... I hope you guys are all right...
He fell back against his pillows, resisted the urge to claw at his sensitivities again, and tried and failed to get his mind off of everything and sleep.
He was far from the only one in the hospital who did so.
Wednesday, September 3, 20XX
Greenwich Hospital, New York City, NY
Marcus Trent Tanner tried and failed to open his eyes.
It wasn't his fault, really. Between the blinding fluorescent lights, his headache, and the burning sensation that crawled across seemingly every inch of his skin, he'd be hard-pressed to twitch a toe, much less do anything more. He groaned, barely noticing a steady beep... beep... beep... in the background, getting slightly faster as he started to stir.
He didn't know what it was yet. He didn't know much of anything in the moment. Just pain, and exhaustion, and his name. He shifted slightly, and winced. Bad move. His skin screamed like he'd had a close encounter with a belt sander. Very close, and very thorough.
Beep. Beep. Beep. It was getting faster. And louder? Or was he just listening to it more?
There were other sounds, other sensations, too. Something dripping steadily, slower than the beep. Some kind of deeper, penetrating pain in his right hand. Something cold flowing from that pain. He felt it all. He felt too much. Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sheets felt like sandpaper, the room smelled like a morgue. Too clean, too sterile. He writhed.
BeepBeepBeep.
He felt someone else enter before he heard them. He felt them move toward him. He felt something else enter his skin, his blood, his veins--
Beepbeepbeep beep beep beep... beep... beep...
...He felt nothing.
September 5th
Marcus resisted the urge to rub at his nose. He'd just had the tube extracted- an NG tube, they called it- a couple of hours ago, and he still felt raw, in his throat in particular. He tried to ignore the sensation as he let the doctor do his business.
He felt sorry for the staff. Marcus was only one of many people they were trying to keep alive.
They were referring to it as simply, "The Incident." Real original, though he couldn't come up with anything better. He remembered enough of it that he didn't want to remember more. A normal Monday, a normal school day, and then a rumble. Then some creepy red gas that made him feel like he'd been pepper sprayed.
Within hours he was puking blood.
And now he was here.
The doctor sighed, shaking his head slightly. Marcus felt it, more than saw it. His senses were doing backflips ever since he woke up. He decided he was just gonna roll with it. He was better off than most. Hundreds had gotten sick. Most of those had died. The rest were spending their days like he was now, wishing they were dead. Doctors came and went, running like they were on fire, for every little thing that might turn into an emergency. Not just doctors, either. Men with masks, or even hazmat suits, if they were paranoid. Cops, suits, men-in-black, who knows, asking questions, expecting answers.
I wish I had more answers to give.
The doctor turned to address him. He seemed confused. Said something about how much better he was doing. Like he was surprised. Marcus was surprised, too. He didn't feel better. But then, he wasn't a doctor.
Said doctor said a few more things. Marcus gave a few more token responses, and the doctor left. Marcus didn't really notice. Or care. He was staring. Staring at his hands, like he could see through his skin. See down to the veins and bones and arteries, and see the squirming and writhing that he could feel just underneath the surface.
He didn't feel fine. He felt different. He felt strange.
But most of all, he felt worried. Worried that the ones he loved were feeling the exact same thing, or worse, that they weren't feeling anything at all anymore.
How far did this thing spread? ...Hector. Scott. Even... even Dad... I hope you guys are all right...
He fell back against his pillows, resisted the urge to claw at his sensitivities again, and tried and failed to get his mind off of everything and sleep.
He was far from the only one in the hospital who did so.
© 2007-2024