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| TotI: Steely-Eyed Missile Man |
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Posted by: Acyl - 08-28-2009, 06:33 AM - Forum: The Legendary
- Replies (7)
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Steely-Eyed Missile Man
1:
Shit always happens when you're trying to sleep. Always. It's like a rule or something. Up there in Heaven, there's probably a God of Slumber Interrupted by Bloody Loud Noise. Or maybe a Goddess.
Yeah, definitely a Goddess.
I cracked open one eyelid, and looked up. Yeah...flashing lights, gunfire, the whole deal. Hell, some idiot out there was using full magazines of tracer.
My blanket went over my head, and I screwed my eyes shut. It didn't help, not really. I'm a man of many talents, but the ability to voluntarily disconnect my ears and optic nerves isn't among them. There was just too much for me to block out. I wasn't getting back to sleep anytime soon, no matter how tired I was.
Back when I was in college, I rented my own place just to get away from crap like this. Nobody likes pulsing techno backbeat at four in the morning. Or worse, listening to the guys upstairs moving furniture and vigorously agreeing with each other.
But I didn't exactly have a choice of accommodations anymore, or my pick of neighbors. Public housing sucks. The government really doesn't give a damn. Thanks for nothing, Uncle Sam.
"Give up, kid," my roommate drawled, "might as well enjoy the show."
I told him exactly what he could do with his show, in as much graphic detail as my fuzzy brain could muster.
He laughed.
The bastard.
He was right, though. Damnit. I sat up, swung my legs off the bunk, and rubbed my eyes. Through blurred vision, I stared at my roomie. He smirked back.
"They're early," I grumbled, raising my voice to be heard over the din, "it ain't October."
"Ehhh, not by much," he replied, "ya know how it is. Big teams all want first pick of the draft."
"Thought you didn't follow that," I accused.
He shrugged. "Not hard to track the season."
My jaw itched. Needed a shave. I scratched absently as I looked out the door. It wasn't hard, since some enterprising soul had removed the entire thing. There were little bits of twisted metal where the hinges used to be, hanging forlornly from the frame.
That bit of postmodern deconstructionist interior design was new. I asked my roomie about it. He nodded.
"Probably what woke yer up," he said, "the new guy, whatsisname, from down the block? Used it to pound a guard."
"Damn," I muttered, "our door? Hope they don't make us pay for that."
"It's insured," my roomie answered, diffidently. He didn't look too concerned, so I took his word for it.
We watched the riot in silence for a while. Well, my cellmate watched it. Seemed to amuse him. I just glared at the chaos. Nothing better to do. What I really wanted was some good old-fashioned nocturnal action, and not the kind you do with company. Obviously I wasn't going to get it.
It wasn't a bad show, though. I mean, I really wanted some sleep, but if I had to watch it...well, there was some entertainment value at least.
You know that whole thing where people make music by banging on random junk - garbage cans, pots, pans, that sorta shit? Used to be kinda original, until everyone and their inbred hick cousin started doing it. But there's a difference between just doing it...and doing it well.
Some of the guys were almost artistes. Not much technical merit, but top marks for enthusiasm. Emotion in the performance and all. To be fair, this wasn't exactly the preferred medium for most of 'em. But the Zigursky Penitentiary had some pretty damn good ways of locking down powers. Inhibitor collars, suppression fields, drugs in the food...the whole tinfoil hat treatment.
So the guys out there, they kinda had to improvise.
I had to give credit to the boys across the hall. From what I could see of their handiwork, if phone lines were open, they'd definitely get my vote. Real talent. Never seen a prison toilet used quite like that before.
Someone came up to our door. Or where the door used to be, anyway.
I tensed, then relaxed. The guy didn't look like a threat. Yeah, he was wearing a uniform, but his rifle was slung by his side. He was carrying something else.
Hard to be terrified of a man with a clipboard.
"Balestrieri, Benjamin," he asked, "no middle initial?""
My cellmate grunted in the affirmative.
The guy at the door squinted at his papers. Looked like he did, anyway. He had one of those creepy black helmets, so I couldn't see his eyes. But his body language was pretty clear - poor working stiff trying to do his job. I could sympathize.
Almost.
"No known powers," the guy continued, looking to Benny for confirmation, "possible esper connection to anomalous artifact weapons - paired forty-five caliber and nine millimeter semi-automatics?"
Benny's eyes narrowed. I could see him tense up. "Whadda ya want with my girls?"
"I'll take that as a yes," our visitor murmured, making a little note on his clipboard. Then he flicked the pen tip at me. "Abramowicz, Ezekiel J."
"That's me," I agreed, warily.
"Third-generation enhanced anatomy, physiology. Super-soldier serum. Super-speed, super-strength, invulnerability?"
"Generic super, I know," I answered, rubbing my scalp, "but I'm good with balloon animals, if you wanna put that down."
Benny chuckled.
Clipboard guy just gave me a stare.
"Zeke Abramowicz, aka. 'Missile Man', alias 'The Scud for Hire', alias 'Patriot Knockoff', also known as..."
"Yeah, yeah," I cut him off before he could get to the really embarrassing ones. Like the name with 'Minuteman' in it. Sounded okay to most folks, fit the theme and everything. But if I remembered right, that particular one was from my psycho ex. Baaad memories.
Hell, my body parts could punch through steel, but was that good enough for her? Nooooo, invulnerable guys are a dime a dozen, she said. Doesn't count if your godmode crashes after a couple minutes, she said...
Bitch.
Thankfully, the guy stopped. But then he just stood there, looking vaguely impatient.
I frowned at him. "What?"
He pointed. "You, Abramowicz? You're on the list."
Okay. Now that was new.
I'd like to say I gave some incredibly witty retort there and then, the stuff of movie trailers and multi-million Youtube hits. But in the interests of accurate reporting, I must admit I just stared at him.
Suave, I know. A regular rock star, that's me.
Benny came over, and smacked me hard on the shoulder. I barely felt it - though Benny winced, and flexed his hand. But he managed to get out what he wanted to say, which was: "Congrats, kid."
I just sat there. "The fuck?"
Momma taught me that a well-brought-up gentleman does not use profanity in everyday conversation. Shouldn't be a habit or anything. But occasional indulgence is acceptable, in moderation. Like socially, or on special occasions.
This felt like an appropriate time. Hell, it probably demanded more than just cheap grocery-store swearing, but I was fresh out of good vintage profanity. A simple 'fuck' was all I had, really.
"I said," the clipboard guy repeated, as if talking to a slow child, "you're on the list."
"I got that," I stated, getting to my feet. The concrete flooring felt distantly chill through my skin. "I mean, the fuck l am I doing on your list? Don't remember sending you boys a resume."
"Arachnos has a very efficient HR department," the spider responded, blandly.
That earned him a fresh glare. "Really," I snarled.
The spider shrugged. "They're psychic."
I folded my arms across my chest. "Funny, real funny."
"Nah," Benny interrupted, "he ain't snowin' ya. They have these chicks who see the future..."
"Oh," I mumbled, "now I feel stupid."
Benny coughed. "Only now?"
"Don't start, man," I warned, "don't start. I'm having a very trying day. Which might become a psychotic episode at any moment."
"I hate to break up this touching interlude," the Arachnos goon said, in the sort of voice that meant nothing of the sort, "but we're on a schedule."
"Better go, kid," Benny gave me a shove, "send me a postcard."
It wasn't enough to actually budge me - even under inhibitors, I was a damn sight heavier than a stock showroom model. But I stumbled out of the cell anyway.
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, "thanks."
I actually meant it. He was a decent sort to share a cell with. A little gun-crazy, but hey, we all have our hobbies. More importantly, Benny didn't snore much, didn't clog the toilet, didn't insist we should share bunks for experiments in land-based synchronized swimming...unlike some guys I could name.
"No prob," Benny said, "knock 'em dead."
I got a few steps down the hall before I stopped, and turned round. "Hey, you really want the the postcard?"
"Nah," Benny replied, "I'll be out soon anyway. Good behavior."
"You sure?"
He thought about it. "Mail some decent coffee?"
"Will do."
He gave me a thumbs up.
The Arachnos guy was waiting for me at the end of the corridor. "Helicopter's parked outside. Can you find the North courtyard, or do you need a map?"
"I'll be fine," I assured him, "just follow the bodies, right?"
He nodded, then snapped something off his clipboard and handed it to me. I looked down - it was a strip of cheap card, perforated two-thirds down the way.
"Boarding pass," the spider explained, "keep the stub. It'll get you discounts at the Arachnos quartermaster, or special offers at participating shops and restaurants."
I blinked. "Seriously?"
"No," he stated, flatly. Then after a beat, he added, "I lied about the quartermaster. Your best bet is the sushi place in Mercy. Twenty percent off the lunch buffet."
"Huh," I mused, "I thought you guys were supposed to be humorless stormtroopers. Witty banter is a costumed thing. You're taking our jobs, man."
The spider shrugged. "I do night classes at Aeon University. Professional skills upgrading. Tough market, you know?"
"I hear ya," I replied, waving the ticket, "North courtyard, right?"
"Mm-hm."
"Cool," I said, "seeya."
"Have a nice day."
I made my way down the cell block, heading for the nearest hole in the walls. Was a pity Zig jumpsuits don't come with pockets. I felt the sudden urge to stick my hands in them. A casual saunter just isn't the same without that detail.
When I got into better light, I glanced at my helicopter ticket. The illumination from the perimeter watchtowers was a little harsh, but I could make out the seat number. Good enough.
Someone took a shot at me. Police sniper, probably. Standing in the open under a searchlight, I must have been a tempting target. It stung a little, but it was just a normal round, not Impervium-tipped or anything. Must be budget cuts.
Just as well, really. With the collar still on, I wasn't exactly swift enough to dodge. But even without active power effects, I still had the benefits of good clean living and a healthy diet. I was a good boy; always ate my vegetables.
The Arachnos transport was easy to find. It wasn't exactly a crowded parking lot. I got on board, found my place, and sat through the inevitable departure delays and boring safety video.
The girl in the next seat tried to make small talk, but I did the polite disinterest thing until she got the hint and shut up. She was nice enough, but she was a dog.
Literally.
I don't have anything against furry girls...tails and tongue are kinda hot. But this lady had some seriously bad breath. I think she stopped to nom a prison warden before catching the heli.
Can't say I blame her. See, they fed us when we got under way - except the in-flight meal was terrible. I swear, Arachnos must let Captain Mako design their rations.
As I settled in for a nap, I genuinely hoped that spider guy had been telling the truth about restaurant discounts.
The flight was pretty good, though. Damn smooth for a military VTOL. And with the Rogue Isles a few hours out, I had time to catch some sleep.
Good enough for me.
Now for something different. You know I'm terrible with finishing fiction I start. So in an attempt to force myself to write SOMETHING regularly, and perhaps actually conclude the various bits of crap I have pending, I am beginning another project.
Wait, what? No, no, listen, see - 'Steely-Eyed Missile Man' can never be unfinished, because it has no plot or ending. It's simply a running episodic chronicle of the life and times of Ezekiel 'Zeke' Abramowicz, aka. 'Missile Man'. Possibly with flashbacks to his past. Possibly not. But either way, each bit I post will be self-contained.
I do kinda intend to roughly follow him as he levels up, though. Missile Man is a lowbie SS/SR Brute.
Benny appears courtesy of Sofaspud - he is Sofa's future dual pistols character, who last appeared in his own little bit over in the snippets thread. I really liked that piece, and thought Benny was an awesome character. Sofa was kind enough to let me borrow him. The unnamed Wolf Spider is actually Operative Parker, my TacOps VEAT.
-- Acyl
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| In celebration of completion of a pet project of mine |
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Posted by: ordnance11 - 08-27-2009, 05:30 AM - Forum: General Chatter
- Replies (6)
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It works best on Firefox:
1. Clink on to this link:
Slideshow of my French
Napoleonic figures
2. Go to the lower left corner and hit the pause button. Set the speed to slow
3. Click this link:
Les Misarable 10th Anniversary Concert-17 Val Jeans "Do You Hear The People
Sing?"
Once it start's playing go back to the slideshow tab, go to the lower left corner and hit the play button and enjoy the show.
After 70 man-hours of photographing,editing and downloading my 15mm Napoleonic collection (2451 infantry, cavalry and artillery figures), I figure I deserve a
little fun. Not quite a music video, but I thought I'd share! *grin*
__________________
Into terror!, Into valour!
Charge ahead! No! Never turn
Yes, it's into the fire we fly
And the devil will burn!
- Scarlett Pimpernell
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| Latest Fun With Hardware |
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Posted by: Bob Schroeck - 08-26-2009, 11:59 PM - Forum: General Chatter
- Replies (16)
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I'm sure folks remember when I lost digital signal to my desktop machine's monitor a few weeks back.
I think that I'm about to lose analog.
When I turned on my machine this morning, it suddenly lost the ability to display in the resolution that I've been using since I switched to analog. It
just doesn't appear in the properties dialog any more. I'm on a close approximation now, but while graphics are crisp, many fonts are fuzzy or
splotchy. I really think my graphics card is starting to die, but alternate diagnoses are always welcome.
As for what I've got, it's an XFX brand GeForce 8500 GT card with 512 MB onboard.
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.
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| Battletech's 25th year anniversity! |
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Posted by: trboturtle - 08-26-2009, 09:03 PM - Forum: General Chatter
- Replies (7)
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Since I didn't see this anywhere else on here. . . .
The Battletech Universe is celebrating it's 25th year! The new RPG for the game is being written and should be out soon! Why am I bothering to do this?
Well, I am a published Battletech Author (via the Battlecorps subscription website), and I am pimping this universe...B-)
Right now, the Word of Blake, fanical techo-worshipers are running roughshod over four of the five major Sucessor state's capital and have wreaking havoc
with nearly everyone else. The Clans are having their own problems, the Free Worlds League is showing signs of fracturing, and the dreaded Manei Domini part of
the WOB are stalking all, killing those who would interfer with their Master's plans.
In other words, business as usual in the Inner Sphere.....B-)
Craig
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| International Rescue |
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Posted by: Star Ranger4 - 08-26-2009, 08:19 AM - Forum: Fenspace
- Replies (1)
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Quote: Ebony wrote:
Quote: Quote:
"Thunderbird 4 is go!"
Yes, well, I won't say I had that planned, but now that you've stuck the bug in my ear, there's a possibility that International Rescue, Ltd.
could be a legal entity in which the Banzai Institute has invested some capital.
(Moved out of the stories to a beter spot for discussion fermentiation)
Ever think more about this, since the DTS says it was from over a year ago?
Definatly there'd be a need for it, and Handwavium would explain a WHOLE lot... including why a lot of Brain's stuff ONLY worked right when IR hands;
as well as some of the more absurd power requirements that just dont feel like they'd fit in the expressed hullform. In fact, the more I think about it,
90% of their backstory COULD be covered with few or no changes... Though one of the points that DOES need deep thought is just how all this affects the design
and concept of Thunderbird 5...
Hear that thunder rolling till it seems to split the sky?
That's every ship in Grayson's Navy taking up the cry-
NO QUARTER!!!
-- "No Quarter", by Echo's Children
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| IT LlVES AGAIN! |
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Posted by: classicdrogn - 08-26-2009, 05:36 AM - Forum: General Chatter
- Replies (1)
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Thanks to the superb illustrated guide at http://www.llamma.com I was able to open up my long-past-warranty mk1 PSP and
diddle the remains of the Wifi switch that broke in the OFF position a couple years back, meaning I now have two fully functional units. They have all the
other modern consoles too, if you're having a hardware problem or just want to see what's inside w/o risking a butterfingers moment. - CD is doing
a happy dance
--
"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
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| Disappearing Fic? |
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Posted by: Bob Schroeck - 08-25-2009, 01:35 PM - Forum: Other People's Fanfiction
- Replies (27)
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Okay, this is a little weirdness that happened to me on Sunday; I've been meaning to write about it for two days but I kept forgetting...
Sunday morning I was on Twisting the Hellmouth; on the New Updates page I came across a Ranma/Stargate SG-1 crossover in which Ranma apparently fell into the pool of drowned Replicator Queen, and by the time he gets to the Tendos he has drones all over Europe and Asia that are fighting crime and rescuing people from fires and all kinds of disturbingly non-replicatorish behavior.
I was a few chapters in when we had some kind of power glitch that locked my system. I had to reboot, but when I got back to TTH to continue reading, the fic had apparently disappeared. I could not find it on the Updates page any more (and no, it wasn't at the very bottom where it would scroll off), and attempts to search for it failed. I know I wasn't imaginging this, so I must be screwing up somewhere. So I'm hoping someone here knows the fic I'm describing and has a bookmark. Help, please?
-- Bob
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Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.
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