On the one hand, it tell's a lot - but it's trying to show something else underneath it. Foreshadow something else. Set up the tragedy at the end. (We had that gun in the very first section of the story, a long time ago)

I'm curious about what comes across, but not even sure how to describe what it is.

---

It hurt to walk. Stabs and jabs ran through my legs, bolting up my back. My panting breath accompanied each step, forcing myself to keep moving. I’d done it before.

I could do it again. No big deal.

One foot in front of the other. Step by step.

Tapping that memory tapped everything that came with it. The hunger the dread, the desperation.

The image of that man, tired grey eyes fixed on the brown bags I carried. The sensation of his hands grasping at my jacket, reaching for the rations, begging, attacking, pleading. A pang bites deep and I’m just so hungry and so is everyone else and I can’t stand the idea of being so hungry and I want him to just fuck off and leave me alone so it just happens. A panic flash.

My arms swing. I hear the crack of a man’s temple and feel the shock run up my arm. The body drops dead to the ground with a meaty thump, pink blood trickling from his nose. One last breath rattles through the lips and then…

Nothing.

I killed him. Dead as disco in one shot. Either the concrete or the hurley, it didn’t matter. One of them did it for him. One moment there and starving, pleading, the next, dead and nothing. Stilled. Face down on the concrete. Glass eyes stared at their own reflection as my soul chilled, the realisation settling in like winter frost.

Cold and slow, clinging on in the shadow. A sensation bigger than my mind, but concentrated in my body, rippling through every muscle and leaving me sick. Not quite regret. I don’t regret surviving. Not quite joy. I amn’t glad I killed him.

Just ambivilant.

I killed him.

I did that.

In the dark, that’s who I am. That wouldn’t go away. He wouldn’t get up. I could beg. I could plead. Nothing would happen. The body stayed dead. I couldn’t rewind, take it back, take a second to think better of it. We wouldn’t have a moment to scuffle, grasp, punch, posture a little, to think better of it like sensible human beings, to try and talk it out and figure out an answer like human beings are fucking supposed to. He had his reason too.

Think about it. Desperation isn’t choosy about who it makes friends with.

His children might’ve been hungry. He might’ve been robbed. The hunger bit him too. It bit deep and he saw me wounded and thought it’d be easy prey, someone young, some prick who might’ve just robbed four rations, and neither of us really wanted it to end up the way it did.

But it did.

He died. The body lay there until someone who cared cleaned up. His kids went hungry. I went fucking home and didn’t sleep for a week, dreading the sight of those dead eyes staring back at me.

Watching.

The eyes of the world on my, glassed and dead. As if everyone could know, could mock me silently for breaking the ultimate taboo, dead ears never hearing me say sorry, I really didn’t meant for that to happen.

He died.

And I lived with that.

Maybe you guessed already, but, I just didn’t want you to think of me like that, not at the start when you were just getting to know me. So I lied a little and let the story sit unfinished.

Something changed. Something warped. Some wire got crossed. Not by my Power, but before that, right in that moment with that hurley in my hand and hunger in my belly.

Something dangerous.

Something terrifying

It happened again with the ring of a steel fire extinguisher hitting bone, or going in to that fight in the street with a knife in my hand, ready to use it.

On some level, Sophia had the ugly measure of me. She could see me in the dark and she liked what she saw.

How fucked up is that?

Looking forward, I could see my final destination. It’d happen in a flash – a moment’s panic with my back against the wall.

Trapped by time.

Trapped by circumstance.

Another bloody case of Skitter syndrome.

Alright. I can deal with that. Can I?

I think you’re laughing.

You’re right too. Really, being sober, one option remain.

Salvation sat in the bay, lit up with shining searchlights reaching for the heavens screaming join the Protectorate you fucking gobshite rather than take the retarded edgelord route.

Get your shit together and go.

But when you look out over the black water of the bay and see that rig sitting there, light up as paragon of a steel Christmas tree, glimmering with manicured hope and feel nothing but sick?

You think of being hollowed out.

Being stuffed with a marketer’s branding.

Being ground against the media schedule; look good, keep up the image, be the shining paragon of hero for all the little kiddies, now, go stop Lung. Of having to work with Sophia and treat her like human being. Being close to people who might figure out my dirty little secret.

What would you do? With all that churning in your head, turning the anxious screws.

That’s not for me.

That’s fucking terrifying.

What sane person wants to be a celebrity? A celebrity with a chance of death and dismemberment every Thursday night. Bugs. Bombs. Behemoth. The Protectorate regrets to inform you parent/guardian/parole officer that your son/daughter/ward has been burned/crushed/eaten by a.....

Standing in the drizzle, I saw my reflection in a pool of water on the footpath. This is who I want to be. Who, or what that is I don’t know but it feels right, right down through my bones. Fast, swift, striking, moving. Riding my Power like a motorcycle. Given time and practice, that’s what I’d be.

Almost soaring. Free. Happy.

That’s the heart of it, I think. Maybe you can understand?

Maybe that’s it.

I had the advantage nobody else did. A little extra perspective to sober me up. The Protectorate isn’t really about just stopping villains, is it? That’s just the justification the world sees to hide the truth.

What was that WoG about Damsel of Distress? How the local office kept the power and television subscription going in her little lair, in the hope it’d keep her calm, and maybe give her the space to turn around. To keep her safe until she sorted herself out, no matter how fucked up she was.

Parahumans are all wounded in some way. By the things that gave us our powers, or the things that happened before that.

Yeah, I said ‘us’. I’m one of the tomatoes too. With the Power in my head and every broken Faustian pact thing that comes with it.

I think that’s the answer.

So long as I kept myself out of situations that triggered that little Serengheti mode, I’d be fine in the short term. It’d carry me through for the next few weeks until I cleared my head and got my legs working and tried to train and practice.

Until I could check in to the asylum with the nerve to say ‘This is who I want to be,” and the skill to match.

Or Leviathan.

And whatever happened after that.

Heal up. Practice up. It’s not my freedom being lost, just the emotion of pride. Work up the nerve to sign my life away on that dotted line. Because that might just save my neck from something worse.

Because I can go in on my terms, rather than theirs. I had control of when I joined.

That’s my plan.

Thanks Sophia. You kept me from going to a really retarded place.

--
________________________________
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?

CBC: http://www.cbc.ca/news/technology/space ... -1.3744151]Explosion destroys SpaceX rocket during test

EDIT: CBC video analysis has been incorporated into the main article.

TL;DR: A Falcon 9 rocket exploded on the test pad, taking the AMOS-6 communications satellite with it. (The launch was scheduled for this weekend.) No reports of injuries.
--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012

Good afternoon, folks.  I've working up a page for the Teraverse for the All The Tropes wiki  (separate from that for The Secret Return of Alex Mack), and I thought I might throw what I've dashed down so far up here on the forums for suggestions and additions as I write it.  I've only barely begun to search through the stories for information on sources, and I haven't even given serious thought to the trope list yet, and I'm hoping there will be stuff that's obvious to other people that I can include.  Also, what with the Teraverse writers and readers here in the forum, I'm sure someone has a favorite quote which will work for the top of the article.

Oh, and Batzulger, can I snag that image you created for the Teraverse Wikia to use on ATT?

Anyway, here's the (very fragmentary) start to the page I've got:

So I've been debating putting my meager 3d design skills to use and getting myself a printer.
Looking for recommendations on models and any experience anyone may have had with them.
I'm especially looking for one to make small detailed objects like miniatures with.
--
Sucrose Octanitrate.
Proof positive that with sufficient motivation, you can make anything explode.

Here is the situation: A short chain is anchored securely to the ceiling and a weight. You shoot a Disintegrate spell at it. What happens next?

a.) One link vanishes, the weight and the rest of the chain fall.
b.) The entire chain vanishes, the weight falls.
c.) The chain and weight vanish.
d.) The chain and weight vanish, along with a chunk of the ceiling ten feet square by whatever depth makes up the difference of the length of the chain plus the weight.
e.) ???
f.) PROFIT!

Extra credit: replace the weight with a container. What happens to the contents in case C?
--
"Anko, what you do in your free time is your own choice. Use it wisely. And if you do not use it wisely, make sure you thoroughly enjoy whatever unwise thing you are doing." - HymnOfRagnorok as Orochimaru at SpaceBattles
woot Med. Eng., verb, 1st & 3rd pers. prsnt. sg. know, knows

So, late this afternoon, Peggy and I took a run down to Seaside Heights for dinner and to walk the boardwalk.  We'd barely gotten a couple miles away from the house when we spotted something odd on Route 18...
What's that, up ahead?

Nah, that can't be...

Well, whaddaya know, it is.

As it turns out, there was a "Monsters and Robots" convention this weekend over at the Garden State Exhibition Center a couple miles from us in the other direction, and if I had to guess, Ecto-1 was coming from an appearance there.
Still, a bit of a surprise to run into it with no warning on your local highway...
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

Hey guys.  My brother, who rejoices in the handle Bloodfox564, has a BIIIIIG project that's been literally keeping him up at nights.
Yeah.

He really needs some help working out the details in the world building, so would some of y'all be awesome and lend him a hand?  I can only do so much by myself.  :p

(He'll be posting his pitch on this thread as soon as Bob approves his membership... which is apparently a thing now?)

Joe Ledington, the nephew of Colonel Harland Sanders, accidentally revealed what appears to be the original recipe for the coating of what became Kentucky Fried Chicken during an interview with the Chicago Tribune.  http://www.esquire.com/food-drink/resta ... cialflowFB]Story here.
If you don't want to bother reading the story, the recipe found handwritten on the back of a document in a scrapbook, photographed by the Tribune, and reposted by Esquire magazine is as follows:

Quote:11 spices — Mix with 2 cups white flour1) 2/3 Ts salt2) 1/2 Ts thyme3) 1/2 Ts basil4) 1/3 Ts oregano5) 1 Ts celery salt6) 1 Ts black pepper7) 1 Ts dried mustard8) 4 Ts paprika9) 2 Ts garlic salt10) 1 Ts ground ginger11) 3 Ts white pepper

Quote:Fried chicken with 11 herbs and spicesPrep: 30 minutes
Soak: 20-30 minutes
Cook: 15-18 minutes
Makes: 4 servings
2 cups all-purpose flour2/3 tablespoon salt1/2 tablespoon dried thyme leaves1/2 tablespoon dried basil leaves1/3 tablespoon dried oregano leaves1 tablespoon celery salt1 tablespoon ground black pepper1 tablespoon dried mustard4 tablespoons paprika2 tablespoons garlic salt1 tablespoon ground ginger3 tablespoons ground white pepper
1 cup buttermilk1 egg, beaten1 chicken, cut up, the breast pieces cut in half for more even frying
Expeller-pressed canola oil

1 Mix the flour in a bowl with all the herbs and spices; set aside.
2
Mix the buttermilk and egg together in a separate bowl until combined.
Soak the chicken in the buttermilk mixture at room temperature, 20-30
minutes.
3 Remove chicken from the buttermilk, allowing excess to
drip off. Dip the chicken pieces in the herb-spice-flour mixture to coat
all sides, shaking off excess. Allow to sit on a rack over a baking
sheet, 20 minutes.
4 Meanwhile, heat about 3 inches of the oil in a
large Dutch oven (or similar heavy pot with high sides) over
medium-high heat to 350 degrees. (Use a deep-frying thermometer to check
the temperature.) When temperature is reached, lower the heat to medium
to maintain it at 350. Fry 3 or 4 pieces at a time, being careful not
to crowd the pot. Fry until medium golden brown, turning once, 15-18
minutes. Transfer chicken pieces to a baking sheet covered with paper
towels. Allow the oil to return to temperature before adding more
chicken. Repeat with remaining chicken.
A note on MSG:
A number of readers have asked how much MSG to use in the recipe above.
Although KFC has confirmed that its present-day recipe uses MSG, that
ingredient was not part of the list of herbs and spices we received from
the Colonel's nephew, so we didn't include MSG in the published recipe.
But we did taste the fried chicken with a sprinkle of MSG. If you want
to try the chicken with MSG, we suggest doing as we did: Sprinkle a
little on the finished chicken pieces right before eating.

I saw http://www.cbc.ca/news/arts/bound-video ... -1.3736213]this article about the PS4 game Bound and thought it looked intriguing. (I also thought somebody might have watched Princess Tutu while designing the game, until about halfway through the article.)

Has anybody played the game yet? If yes, how good is it?
--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012

According to http://www.cbc.ca/news/technology/misen ... -1.3732328]a CBC news report, a paper published in the journal Computers in Human Behaviour says that everybody lies on the Internet.

Yes, it does say that. Trust me.
--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012