Thread Rating:
  • 0 Vote(s) - 0 Average
  • 1
  • 2
  • 3
  • 4
  • 5
FIC - "Drop The Ball"
FIC - "Drop The Ball"
#1
Realpolitik:
Drop The Ball


* * *

Location: Paragon City
Date: December 31 2010
Time: 23:44:19

* * *

Pain is never a fun way to wake up. Especially when you ache in places you don't even have names for. And that's quite an achievement when you're a qualified medic, fully trained to cut people down and sew them up again. Some people say pain needs to be approached philosophically. It's a sign you're still alive, still breathing, and all that. Just your body's way of keeping you alert and informed.

Maybe that's true. But I still had a huge pain in my ass. And other parts of my anatomy.

I got to my feet. Or at least I tried to. All I managed was to rise on my knees before my legs gave way. It took leaning against the alley wall to get myself upright, and even that was a slow and laborious process.

With unsteady fingers, I fumbled for the autoinjectors in my belt webbing. Finding the right one, I stabbed the spring-loaded syringe into my thigh. Within a few seconds, my head started to clear, the sensation of pain retreating. I still didn't feel right, but it was the best I could hope for without rest and proper attention. The little syringe was about as strong as you could get for a combat drug without turning green and growing horns.

I did have a few doses of actual superadine in my kit. Not off the street, but direct from the Family. According to my contacts, the pure drug didn't have the same side-effects. But I wasn't keen to test the theory. I wasn't quite that desperate. Not yet.

Still, I was worried. I wasn't desperate enough to shoot myself up with dubious supersoldier serums, but I wasn't exactly calm. For good reason.

I recognised the pain shooting through my body. I shouldn't have, but I did. It felt almost exactly like when I'd taken a trip through that old Nazi time machine. Some kind of temporal shock. The trouble was, that should have been impossible. The method of time travel I'd used for this excursion was supposed to be much safer. It was supposed to buffer against this kind of thing.

Not a good sign.

My forearm felt hot. It wasn't hot enough to burn me, but it was distinctly uncomfortable. With proper feeling slowly returning to my extremities, I could separate the sensation of heat from all the other screaming my nerves were doing.

I brought my arm up and stared at it.

A serpent stared back at me. The bracer clasped round my arm consisted of two interlocking diamonds, a snake devouring its own tail. Embedded into the snake's skin like so many scales, a series of brass dials spun and clicked.

I glared at the device accusingly.

One by one, the dials slowed, then halted. Their final position spelt out a precise date and time. It took me a moment to translate the symbols into a calendar and clock I was familiar with.

When I was done with the arithmetic, I cursed.

Loudly.

I wasn't in the right time. Or the right place. I'd aimed for one of my backup bases, not a filthy alley. And I'd allowed myself a healthy amount of leeway when setting the temporal coordinates for this mission.

According to the portal device, I had about twelve minutes. I'd arrived with over sixteen, but I'd spent the first couple getting my brain back in gear.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

My fingers brushed against the bracer again. Then I let my hand drop away from the dials. It had already failed once. I had no idea what would happen if I tried using it again, especially just after this disaster.

Still cursing, I stumbled out of the alley, and looked around. Thankfully, I recognised the location: Kings Row, several blocks south of where I needed to be. Considerably closer than my planned arrival point. I could still make it, but I had to hurry.

Rushing into an unknown situation didn't sit well with me, but I had no choice. My original plan had been to come back sooner so I could gather intelligence. That little idea was obviously down the tubes. All I had was my briefing from Lazarus, and it wasn't a lot to go on. Especially given the man's usual incoherence.

"Shit," I said, out loud.

Then I started to run.

My destination was a nightclub. A converted warehouse. Not exactly unusual in this district, but this was one of the nicer ones. A lot of those were springing up. Parts of Kings Row were starting to shake off the grimy industrial image. After all, it was cheap to operate out of the Row. Property prices were rock bottom. That counted for a lot in a city as expensive as Paragon. And for some, the remaining patina of urban decay was attractive. Artistic and bohemian, even.

So the Row was changing. Slowly.

Not fast enough.

My boots slammed against the pavement as I ran, gasping breaths of air into my lungs. My breathing was all wrong. Inefficient. I knew that, but my body's performance was still completely off. This was the best I could manage. Still, even like this, I was quick enough to make an Olympic athlete go red with righteous indignation.

It was enough. It had to be enough.

One block, then another. As I tore down the last street, I could make out the Skulls outside. Hell, I heard them before I saw them, gleefully terrorising the crowd around the club.

It was a big crowd. Apparently the place was one of the 'in' nightspots to pass the New Year. Or at least that was what I'd gathered from Lazarus. Listening to the scatterbrained twit trying to describe contemporary holiday traditions had been an...interesting experience.

At the moment, most of these people were probably wishing they'd gone for a more traditional New Year's, like joining the countdown at Atlas Park or watching fireworks at the bay. Or just getting nicely lubricated in the comfort and safety of their own homes.

Anything would probably be an improvement over Skull-related violence.

For me, though...it would be easy to break this up. I knew that. But I didn't have the time. So I went for the mask, securing it over my mouth and eyes. Then I yanked a the cylinders from my webbing, squeezing the lever and pulling the ring in one practised motion.

The grenade exploded in a dense acrid cloud, blanketing the street with noxious fumes. It was hard on the revellers, but I was in a hurry. Gas was indiscriminate. It choked Skulls and innocent people alike. But they'd live.

Good enough.

I dove through the smoke, through the open door of the nightclub. I stumbled as I took the steps leading down to the club floor, but I had the presence of mind to turn my fall into a controlled roll rather than ending up sprawled at the bottom of the staircase. My rifle dug painfully into my back, but I ignored it, instead focusing on bringing the weapon up and ready for use.

The light amplification in my mask turned the interior into a disorientating riot of colour, but I didn't have the leisure to fine-tune the settings.

Looking through the mask's goggles gave me a headache, but I could distinguish shapes, outlines, and the bare minimum of fine detail. I could separate the gang members from the party-goers. That would suffice.

Problem was, the picture wasn't what I'd anticipated. I'd expected to see some kind of grand Satanic ritual, some kind of mass sacrifice by the Skulls to ring in the New Year. A summoning, a binding, whatever. Something that would tear down the fabric of reality and piss all over the remains.

When I'd taken my trip back, things were going all the way to hell in hand luggage, plus maximum allowance of check-in baggage.

I knew this was ground zero. Lazarus had confirmed it. Yet there didn't seem to be anything here that could trigger an apocalypse event. The Skulls were having a good time. The unfortunate legitimate patrons of the club were having a very bad time.

But a group of gang members getting stone drunk and imposing on the women? That didn't qualify as the end of the world.

I'd been to worse parties than this.

Something was wrong.

They hadn't noticed me yet. I had an estimated three to five seconds before they reacted to my presence. My head was still fuzzy, but even with my reflexes impaired I was still worlds swifter than these gothic necromancer rejects. One of those speedster freaks like Synapse or Neuron could possibly get the drop on me, but short of that I was the apex predator here.

My hand closed around the grip of my rifle. A round was already chambered. The safety was off. Yet I held my fire, instead visually surveying the club. There had to be something here.

The dance floor and bar area looked clear. Maybe further back in the building, in the offices or toilets? Was there a private party area?

Wait.

There.

It didn't really stand out among the scenes of debauchery scattered around the club. But somehow....I knew what I was looking at was important.

Clinically, I paid closer attention. It seemed like a textbook rape or molestation in progress, not at all sexy or arousing. Just petty and banal, evil in its most basic form. Across the dance floor, I could make out a Bone Daddy and his buddies surrounding a woman. Maybe a girl. Hard to tell. I gave it a fifty-fifty chance she wasn't even in here legally. But it wasn't my place to judge. One way or another, she was paying for her choice in seasonal entertainment.

I couldn't tell much about her dress. But her tights, presumably flesh-coloured outside the distorting effect of my goggles. were ripped and torn.

My rifle moved, stock digging securely into my shoulder. I held my breath, pulling back the trigger...before I hesitated, allowing my finger to go loose and releasing the pressure. Too close. The girl and her assailants were just too close. I couldn't risk the shot.

Yet I had to do something. This little scene didn't seem all that significant, but I had an inexplicable sense that this was what I was here to prevent. Nothing concrete or logical, just a cold feeling in my gut.

Maybe another gas grenade? A flashbang? Either would be dangerous in this kind of enclosed space. But I didn't have a huge array of non-lethal options. Most of the time that kind of thing wasn't a terribly high priority. Now, I regretted it.

I rose from my crouch, but before I could do anything, the girl took matters into her own hands.

Typically, I'd applaud such initiative.

Right there, right then, it filled me with a sickening sense of dread.

Not because the sight was stomach-turning. It was, of course. But although the next few moments looked like something out of a high-budget horror movie, the sight itself wasn't what concerned me.

No. Rather, it was this: in one leap of intuition, I knew what it meant.

The Bone Daddy rotted. No other way to put it. He stumbled back, the flesh melting off his form, even his clothes starting to decay. He screamed, or at least I assume he screamed. The sound was hard to make out, all sped up into a high-pitched whine. By the time he crashed into the dance floor, his body wasn't even holding together. When it was all over, his own skull was nearly as bare as the one strapped to what had been his head.

It happened so quickly there wasn't a stench, at least not yet. But from the look of things, I was glad my mask filters were firmly in place.

Gruesome? Yes.

I'd seen worse.

The implications, however, were troubling.

The girl wasn't wearing a medical communicator, at least not one that registered on my equipment. If she'd had an emergency teleport beacon, I'd have noticed. The display on my goggles would have tagged it. So she wasn't a registered hero, meaning she probably wasn't a trained superhuman.

Judging by the look of absolute terror on her pretty face, maybe this was the first time she'd used her powers.

Mutant. Had to be. A powerful one, too. And given what she'd done to the Bone Daddy, added to how my Ouroboros device was acting, I had a fair guess as to what her powers involved.

One of the other gang members reacted, shouting incoherently and pulling a knife. He lunged for the girl, but he never made it. His movement ceased halfway, momentum completely vanishing as he went still in mid-stride. Then he too started to die, like some kind of time-elapsed video of starvation and dehydration.

The other people in the club, both party-goers and Skulls alike would probably have reacted to that. Except they couldn't, since they were frozen too. And they too were starting to die. If they weren't already gone.

By now the Ouroboros bracer on my arm was starting to smoulder, a renewed wave of heat from the device eating through my sleeve. The intricate clockwork dials on the snake symbol were clicking and spinning in seemingly random directions. Without an impressive-sounding doctorate or three in exotic physics, I couldn't say what the thing was doing.

But it let me move, apparently shielding me from the effects of the girl's powers. Partially, anyway. It felt like I was in slow motion, or maybe like the girl was sped up. I could see her reacting. I could even hear her scream, the sound coming like some kind of distant Doppler distortion.

"CALM DOWN," I yelled, hoping that she could hear me in turn. It was an absurd thing for me to say, considering how my own heart was pounding like a drum in my chest.

Somehow, my perceptions were still ahead of the speed my body was moving at, an effect I didn't care to examine in more detail. All it meant was that the girl was just a few feet away, but it might as well have been a mile.

If she heard me, she didn't react. That was bad, considering we were the only two people still ambulatory in the club. Maybe in all of Paragon City. Hell, maybe all of creation. I had no idea how far this effect extended. I'd only seen the results after the fact, in the future...present?

I had to do something. It was...

Wait.

By now my vision was starting to blur, but I was pretty sure I wasn't seeing double.

Especially since the girl, even slumped on the floor, couldn't be mistaken for the much larger shape now standing over her. The second figure was bending down, extending a hand, and he was saying something. I was sure it was a he. A man. I couldn't make out details or colour through the haze, but I could tell the interloper was about my height, carrying an assault weapon...

...and was that the glint of Ouroboros brass on his arm?

Yes.

The heat radiating from my own arm was becoming unbearable. But if I was seeing things right, maybe I still had a chance.

I released my grip on the rifle, trusting the sling to keep it on me...

...and slapped my palm against the snake emblem.

-- Acyl
Reply
 
#2
 
* * *

Location: Paragon City
Date: December 31 2010
Time: 23:56:08

* * *

Once again, the temporal shock hit my system like a sledgehammer wielded by a demented Norse deity. But the combat drug I'd taken earlier, if that frame of reference still applied, took the edge off the pain.

Barely.

But it was enough.

I managed to stay on my feet as the wave of agony washed over my body. Around me, people were starting to react, both party-goers and Skulls. I couldn't tell if I'd gone forward or backward, but the latter was more likely.

This time, it seemed I'd been displaced in time but not apparent spatial location. That was worrying in and of itself, since simple rotation of the Earth would have posed a problem if that was all that had gone on.

Still, all I could observe was the result. I was standing more or less where I'd been a subjective second ago, in the middle of the club's dance floor. In front of me, a girl in a tight dress and ripped leggings was just starting to struggle against a Bone Daddy and his Skull compatriots.

I lifted my rifle, fingers curling around the familiar grip. In a matter of moments, my past self would come crashing through the club doors, and then there'd be two of me. Between both of us, we could...

Wait.

No. That wasn't right. The way the Ouroboros device was configured, I would have displaced my previous time-travelling self when stepping back a second time. It took finer settings than I had the patience for to permit multiple time-travelling incarnations of the same individual without causing some kind of paradox. I used simple displacement most of the time, because it was damn well safer.

So if the device was working correctly, it would be me in the club...and just me.

Sure, I had a counterpart native to this time. But if I remembered correctly, I'd been cleaning out a Council cell in the Rogue Isles. That version of me was nowhere near Paragon.

Yet I'd seen myself standing over the girl. How was that possible? Unless her own mutant powers had interfered...

But I didn't have time to consider the problem. The Skulls were already reacting to my presence. From their point of view, it probably looked like I'd teleported into their midst...right out in the open and without any cover. I was exposed. Never a good place to be.

Fatigue slowed my movements, but I managed to dodge the first blast of dark energy unleashed by the Bone Daddy, the cloud of necromantic magic raging past to no effect. His second shot clipped me on the shoulder, but it was the same arm that had the red-hot Ouroboros bracer on it. That limb was already halfway useless, so the fresh stab of pain was no great loss.

Firing an assault rifle one-handed isn't the most advisable trick in the book. Particularly if you're shooting from the hip. Especially if the weapon is set to burst rather than single shot. Most individuals, even professional soldiers, can't hit anything that way. I managed all the same, sketching a jagged line of six rounds across the Bone Daddy's centre of mass.

I was certain at least some of the rounds over-penetrated. Sloppy work, well below my usual standards. At this point, though, I was willing to accept certain compromises to quality control.

The man was still standing, albeit unsteadily, so I closed the distance and kicked him hard, knowing that some trained necromancers could shrug off normally fatal wounds to their body. Then I gave him a quick treatment with the bayonet, before turning to his friends.

If it's inadvisable to fire from the hip, it's even more stupid to try bayonet work when you don't have the weapon properly braced. But a rifle isn't a terribly good close-quarters tool. The angles are just all wrong.

I knew my wrist and elbow would hurt terribly in the morning. But I had other concerns at the time.

The second Skull dropped, his head a mess. I turned quickly and fired at a third. Again, I wasn't where the bullet had gone, possibly ricocheting off the ceiling, possibly lodging in the man's torso. That was the sort of thing I usually tried to keep track of, but I was tired and in a great deal of pain.

With my immediate vicinity clear, the remaining Skulls were considerably easier to deal with. I even managed to coax some life into my injured arm, so I could assume a grotesque parody of a proper shoulder position for a couple of good shots.

It made aiming much simpler.

Given I'd just fired off several rounds indoors at close proximity, I wasn't really expecting the girl or any of the other civilians to actually hear me when I spoke. My own ears were protected, but the bystanders didn't have that luxury. Still, I had to make the attempt.

The Ouroboros bracer on my left forearm was burning hot, the metal scorching. It probably would have literally burned me if it'd been strapped directly to bare skin. As it was, even with the padding, it came close.

I ignored the sensation with an effort of will, forcing the arm into motion. Clumsily, I ripped the mask off my face and let it hang loosely around my neck. Even if she couldn't hear me, perhaps she could at least read my lips.

There were other civilians milling around, just starting to respond in shock to my brutal solution of the Skull problem. I also knew there were more Skulls outside the club. This wasn't quite over. But the immediate problem was the mutant girl. I had to deal with that first.

Priorities, always priorities.

As my eyes adjusted from the artificially coloured view provided by the mask lenses to the dim interior light of the club, I could tell the girl was staring blankly, her face stretched into a picture of sheer terror. I couldn't tell what was on her dress, since it was dark, perhaps black. But there were distinct blotches of fluid on her face, bare arms, and her legs. Blood, most likely someone else's.

I knew there was some of the same on my own outfit, but I was used to that sort of thing. The girl probably wasn't. Her reaction gave that away.

She collapsed to her hands and knees, breathing heavily.

"Are you okay," I asked, trying my best to sound gentle. I didn't do a very good job of it. It was a silly question anyway, since the answer was obvious.

She screamed.

Once more, the world froze. The bracer on my arm spiked another few degrees, to the point where I could feel my own flesh searing. My perceptions slowed, but as far as I could determine the other shocked patrons of the club were completely motionless in comparison.

"Shit," I mouthed, though no sound escaped my lips.

Her powers had activated anyway. Apparently, mental trauma had done the job...one way or another.

This clearly wasn't my finest hour.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see people starting to visibly wither. I wasn't sure whether that was starvation, dehydration, or simple old age catching up with each of the frozen forms, but either way it wasn't good.

My options were limited. I knew that. Maybe I could risk another trip through time, but with the way the Ouroboros device was acting? My chances of surviving were...low. I didn't have the knowledge or training to calculate exactly how low, but I didn't need to be a genius to figure the general way things were heading.

I lifted my weapon, finger closing on the trigger. I had no idea how a gunshot would work inside the temporal distortion field. I had no idea if killing the girl would end the effect, or if this would continue after she died. Maybe shooting her would simply make it worse.

I had to try.

No choice, now.

"Sorry," I said.

As it turned out, gunfire did work within the temporal field. I discovered this first-hand. But I didn't reach that conclusion on my own. I never pulled the trigger. I was just about to draw it back when someone else shot me.

I weathered the impact a lot better than the girl probably would have. The bullet didn't penetrate my ballistic armour, but it hit hard enough to send me to the ground in slow motion. The feeling of hitting concrete when stretched out over a few subjective moments was...interesting, albeit not an experience I was eager to repeat.

Gasping, I pried myself off the floor, lifting my head, scanning for this new threat. It didn't take long to spot the shooter. After all, he was the only other moving figure in the club besides me and the girl.

He was about my height, dressed in very similar combat gear. Full body fatigues with protective plating, skeletal battle order webbing crossed over his waist and torso, and an assault rifle. The brass Ouroboros bracer on his arm gleamed dully in the club's erratic lightning as he crossed the dance floor.

He wasn't me.

The resemblance was close, but the colours and camo pattern were wrong. My own low-light gear was a midnight blue, this interloper was dressed in dark green. The equipment was similar, but there were obvious deviations. A newer model of gas mask and goggles covered his face. Plus the rifle he was using was Vanguard issue, an entirely different make from my own Arachnos-built weapon.

"What the hell," I hissed. Intellectually, I knew my half-hearted whisper wouldn't be audible, given the time-controlling girl was busy screaming her lungs out just a few feet away.

The guy ignored me, instead crouching beside the mutant girl. He pulled something from his belt. It looked a lot like a police taser of some kind until he switched it on...and it crackled with an angry blue nimbus that hurt my eyes to look at. The colour was familiar, though I couldn't quite place where I'd seen it before.

He pressed it to the back of the girl's neck. The girl spasmed, her body twitching like a seizure victim as the wave of energy overwhelmed her body. Then she went completely limp, lying face down on the dance floor.

Slowly, methodically, the guy in green checked her pulse and other vitals. Then he stood up, and finally turned to me.

Around our little space on the club floor, people were once again starting to move. They didn't look altogether healthy, many dropping much like the girl had done. But they looked alive, or at least a reasonably intact and non-decayed level of dead.

The only people completely still were the Skulls, and I knew for a fact they were dead. My brain was fuzzy, but my sanity wasn't that far gone. Not just yet.

"The hell," I repeated, as I glared at the stranger.

The man shook his head. "Don't try your portal again," he said, conversationally, "you've lost connection with the Pillar of Ice and Flame. It's a small miracle you made it back here."

"Thank you, I try," I said sarcastically, not bothering to hide the edge in my voice. Choking for breath, I got back to my feet. While I knew this new guy could still be a threat, the adrenaline and artificial substances I had flowing through my body was starting to fade. I knew I was crashing, hard, and in danger of passing out.

I couldn't see the other guy's face, but I had the impression he was grinning. "You're a hard man to follow, you know that? Come on, let's go."

I pointed the muzzle of my own weapon at the prone mutant. "What about the girl," I spat, challengingly.

"Oh, don't worry. She's neutralised," the green-clad soldier said, "I'm guessing you've realised that...killing her would have been a mistake. You already made it once. Not that you remember."

"This time travel shit is giving me a headache," I grumbled. But I lowered my rifle, flicking the safety lever back on. There was no sense in antagonising this stranger. After all, he was holding all the proverbial cards.

As if expecting this reaction from me, he nodded, then tapped his forearm. Before us, an Ouroboros portal sprang into being with a flood of golden power, the interlocking serpent emblem tracing its way across the floor.

Ignoring the bewildered crowd and the unconscious girl lying on the floor, we stepped through and vanished.

-- Acyl
Reply
 
#3
* * *

Location: Ouroboros
Date: Unknown
Time: Unknown

* * *

"Alright," I said, as the world resolved into warm sunlight. I whirled round, glaring at the other combat-geared man. In retrospect, the swift movement was probably a mistake, almost causing me to lose my balance. Without making it too obvious, I walked over to one of the trees ringing the circular plaza, leaned heavily on it, and tried desperately not to fall over.

The other guy ignored me at first, in favour of checking the portal device attached to his arm. The brass surface of the device was covered in condensation and frost, a stark contrast to the red-hot piece of metal I still had clapsed round my own abused limb.

Distantly, I spared a thought for what that could mean...before dismissing it. There were more urgent answers to acquire.

"If you're done being cute," I snapped.

Finally, the guy looked up at me. He released the buckles on his mask, shrugging off the goggles and breathing apparatus to reveal his face. It took me a second to place the features, but when I did, I growled louder.

"Edward," I hissed.

He gave a little smirk. "Please," he said, "it's Sell-Sword, you know that. Show some professional courtesy, okay? You wouldn't want me calling you Silas in the field, would you?"

"It's Realpolitik," I muttered.

"And it's Sell-Sword," my ex-colleague responded, spreading his hands in a gesture of feigned innocence.

"Fine," I grumbled, "what the hell was that all about? I thought you're working...private security...these days. Don't tell me someone hired you to save the girl."

"Not exactly," Sell-Sword answered, "someone hired me to save the girl...and the world. And, well, save you from your own screw-ups, though that one will cost extra."

"Really," I said, scepticism dripping from my tone, "who's the client?"

Sell-Sword smiled. I suppressed the urge to wipe the smile off his face. Assuming he hadn't let his skills slide since the last time we worked together...with the condition I was in, the young punk could dismantle me in under three seconds. We both knew it, and it infuriated me.

"You are," Sell-Sword replied. He said it pleasantly enough, but I could detect a hint of smugness in his voice.

"Bullshit," I spat, "I don't...remember..."

Weakly, I stopped.

"Right," Sell-Sword stated, "you probably don't. And probably won't. But trust me, someone's going to pay my bill. I'll send you the standard invoice. No hurry, though. It's the holidays, take some time off."

I growled, wordlessly.

Sell-Sword started to walk off, heading back towards the main portal. He was halfway there when he paused, looking back over his shoulder.

"Hey Realpolitik," he said.

Slowly, painfully, I met his gaze. "Huh?"

"Happy New Year, comrade."

"Sell-Sword?"

"Yes?"

"Fuck you."



FIN


-- Acyl
Reply
 
#4
Notes: If this seems rushed, that's really supposed to be the intent. I wrote it straight in one sitting and I genuinely am in a great deal of discomfort...from catching what I suspect is the flu off a friend rather than time travel, but same difference. Method writing, as it were.
Realpolitik is my vigilante Huntsman-build spider, a VEAT that uses the Wolf Spider gun who isn't actually a spider ICly. Sell-Sword is OpMegs' cuddly friendly assault rifle blaster whom everyone probably knows and loves. Sell-Sword's dialogue approved by the OpMegs embassy, for price plan please contact Riot Force.
Happy New Year, folks.
-- Acyl
Reply
 
#5
I'm always hesitant to be the first about these things, and I'm not sure why.  So, ahem, sorry about the delay.  I read it straight away, y'know. Smile
I liked this quite a bit, though Realpolitik is a complete unknown to me prior to this bit.  I feel like I know him a bit better now, except I don't think I've ever actually met him, so to speak.  That said...
... well, hell, Acyl.  As usual, at the technical side of things I can only gape in envy.
So, yeah.  Very well crafted, loved the perspective -- you really rock the internal monologue thing, you know? -- and for what it is it's very, very well done.
It's just too damn short. Big Grin
No, seriously.  If there's a fault here, I think it's that we have the setup, the climax, and the finale -- all in one gulp, with no real transition between them.  It feels like a one-shot -- it IS a one-shot, if I'm reading the notes right -- and in that sense all that is fine.  I mean, it's a short story, emphasis on short, and it's self-contained.  No harm there.
But the characterization is deep enough, and the repercussions of whatever-it-is the girl is doing (and who IS she, by the way?) are dire enough, that it feels ... I'm not sure.  It feels too big for a one-shot short story.
And by god, man, now you've got me wanting to know what the history between Realpolitik and Sell-Sword actually is. Big Grin
So all in all, kudos on a job well done!  It IS well done.  I just wish there was more meat to chew on, and hope that you've got more in the pipeline somewhere... 'cause it doesn't feel quite done yet, to me.  This steak is done to a fine rareness; now we need the side dish and a fine wine to complete the meal. *grin*

--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs
Reply
 
#6
Getting around to comment on the stories I've missed in the past week or two.

As Spud said, the technical proficiency is well done. But it does feel a bit rushed, and confused.

This may be what you are going for, given that Sell-Sword is confused as well. And you manage to pull of a sense of history between the characters, given the short format.

But that sense of history does leave me wanting for more (as if that is a surprise) Smile
-Terry
-----
"so listen up boy, or pornography starring your mother will be the second worst thing to happen to you today"
TF2: Spy
Reply


Forum Jump:


Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)