I lol'd.The_Logician19 said:
This is going to be awesome, and I can't wait to see the end result. After all, you and Ultrajoe have history and by extension, chemistry.
The Ratings War IV: Paradise City
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This is going to be awesome, and I can't wait to see the end result. After all, you and Ultrajoe have history and by extension, chemistry.
I was really going to ignore this loose end, but given the somewhat sad ending of the actual story I found this necessary for my conscience. This is not part of the actual tale and not submitted for judging.
The man sneered and pulled out his two PRPG's, unleashing them on the newest thing to get between him and a clean getaway. When the dust cleared, the Wolf was still there, and it dawned on the man that he might not be holding all the cards this time. He turned and ran away into the barred and locked labyrinth-prison of his nightmare.
They said later that he'd died from a heart attack in his sleep. They also said the horrific bruises on neck were from his improper use of small arms earlier in the day. It all added up and the doctor was able to put the file away happily.
As for the other three members of the gang, nobody knew shit about how they had managed to scream their throats into a fatal hemorrhage.
Nobody found the cash.
Chapter 1.1: Running Men
The man sneered and pulled out his two PRPG's, unleashing them on the newest thing to get between him and a clean getaway. When the dust cleared, the Wolf was still there, and it dawned on the man that he might not be holding all the cards this time. He turned and ran away into the barred and locked labyrinth-prison of his nightmare.
They said later that he'd died from a heart attack in his sleep. They also said the horrific bruises on neck were from his improper use of small arms earlier in the day. It all added up and the doctor was able to put the file away happily.
As for the other three members of the gang, nobody knew shit about how they had managed to scream their throats into a fatal hemorrhage.
Nobody found the cash.
This is an alternate version of the same story I am posting here for comparison and editing purposes. As I have said, that one there is a first draft. After I have finalized the full story, I will post it in the pose above. Unless anyone objects, I will be using all of the 10 days provided.
Ah, Logician, we seem destined by fate to ever clash when we are raw to the fight. Still though, rematches do hold a certain personal weight and I appreciate that it will only enrich both of our tales. Best of luck.
With the lack of actual character info on Gabriel, I am assuming his personality and role are the same as when we last saw him.
Gabriel straightened his back as he walked out from the bar, feeling the setting sun warm the broad plates of metal that covered his frame and feeling the mechanisms of his spinal column stretch pleasantly. He had decided he was in no rush, and not many things other than himself could decide when and where he rushed. The fact that he was apparently facing an entrant nobody in the bar knew about was odd, but he had hardly been expecting to encounter the mundane in this contest. Well not much of the mundane, and certainly not 'stopping' a bank robbery to determine who got to stick around. But, he did have some experience with this kind of thing at least. Gabriel tuned into the police broadcasts, listening to the chatter concerning his objective and the understandably panicked voices as they discussed the criminals.
He turned his eyes skyward and sighed in both anticipation and apprehension. In a perfect world, he would be able to outpace 'Night' to the crime scene and be back at the bar before his opponent was halfway to the bank. However, Gabriel was more than aware of the world's imperfections, and he whispered a quick prayer to nobody in particular that this would go as planned.
Wings like a swarm of swords spread wide, and he charged the sky.
Night sat atop the bank, breaking his stare at Gabriel to cast his curious eyes over everything around him. Below, men shouted and killed each other over scraps of paper, their souls whipping straight from this world into the next. Around, the city tried its best to ignore the madness at its heart. Above, however, the metal enigma soared towards the fighting with the light of righteousness in its eyes. It was not like the machine he had chased towards this place, its movements were as fast and precise to be sure, but they jerked with the cognitive indecision of the living before shifting. And more importantly, within its chest blazed a soul as bright as a sun. It fell into the firestorm fearlessly, for what in this world could harm a man of steel?
It has been said that the Martial Arts died as a form of warfare when the first bullet slammed out from the first gun. And for the most part, time has proven this true. They have become a tool, another niche ammunition in the churning warmachine, no more are they the heart and soul of a fighting force. When lead first screamed through ribs and bone, it killed not only a man but the idea of a man as the weapon. Not even bows had managed to kill that, not with a thousand darkened skies.
There was silence for twenty seconds after Gabriel slammed into the ground, both sides of the shootout trying to adapt to this new threat. Being seven foot of Shock and Awe came with certain restrictions to your social life, but Gabriel found that times like these were almost worth it. It was the criminals that shot first.
When the first bullet ricocheted from his armor, it blew apart not only the foot of the shooter, but over a hundred years of cultural conditioning that said 'Gun beats enemy'. In desperation to defend the fading status quo, the other thieves each unloaded a few bullets into the towering arrival, having no effect past making the hulk shudder with impacts. Gabriel raised his hands into a relaxed guard, he wasn't in the business of killing, but a few broken ribs were probably deserved. One of his wrist-cannons flared, unleashing a stunning wave of light and heat into his assailants that blinded them enough for him to strike. He drove in with straight punches, flicking kicks and hammer-fists, all whipping strikes that shattered fingers and forearms and sent guns flying. Gabriel spotted the bags of cash near what appeared to be their leader, one quick pulse shou- bang
Behind him, the officers had decided that, whatever he was, they were going to shoot everyone and ask questions when there were no more giant metal monsters. Gabriel cried out in pain as one of the bullets hit the back of his knee and breached the vulnerable seals there. Mistaking his cry for a roar, one of the policeman sitting a squad car decided to improvise... and rammed him.
Gabriel's head collided with one of the stone pillars of the bank entrance. His body was wedged there by the bumper of the car, and his vision swam and flickered from the impact. Something was damaged, he could feel steam escaping a crack somewhere in his neck and it was filling his vision with clouds... or was that some other injury? He turned to look groggily at the ongoing gunfight, it appeared the ringleaders were getting away in a car, one of them catching a stray bullet in the ne- a shape of darkness raced along the bullets path, jaws that flashed with stars closed on the wound at the same time as the round struck ho-ck and he fell out of the door he was climbing in... to... what? Gabriel smacked himself in the head, was he damaged? What was that he saw? His questions were silenced as the criminal's car squealed out onto the street.
With a roar he lifted the car up far enough to free his wings from under himself, and with their power pushing him up he tossed the vehicle aside. He had no idea if his opponent had arrived yet, or who they might be, but the key to victory lay within that car as it sped off down the dirty streets. Gabriel fixed it in his sights and tried to take off, but his injured leg protested at his leaping start. Of all the luck, injured by the same people he was trying to help. It wasn't the first time.
"What the hell are you!?" One of the policeman gibbered.
"I wish I knew" Gabriel answered truthfully, before taking off rather more gently than before.
It took only moments for him to catch up to the targets. Below him, the car wound its way between traffic- followed by a shape that was blacker than its monochrome world, its legs a blur in attempt to keep pace with... Gabriel? -narrowly slipping between a semitrailer and a biker. It was the same shape from before, but this time its glowing eyes were fixed on the flying creature rather then the thieves. Gabriel swerved to avoid a light post, and slapped his own forehead in an attempt to see th- it ran through cars, as if they were mist, but it weaved and jumped to avoid the people within them, its eyes never leaving the angel above -e creature once again.
Gabriel smiled grimly. Now this was more to his expectations. His head was ringing like a gong, but somehow the injury was showing him what his eyes normally couldn't. Now, if he could just secure this cash before he blacked out, that would really make his day. He flexed his wings and drew level above the speeding car. "Stop" he commanded loudly "I'd prefer not to have to cut the car in half, but I'm sore and if that speeds things up then I might just get impatient"
"Shut up, asshole!" called one of the thieves, extending his middle finger and the barrel of a weapon through the sunroof. Bursts of such low-caliber gunfire didn't usually bother Gabriel, but the muzzle flash was not helping his increasingly painful headache. He frowned angrily and descended onto the rear of the car, driving the rear axle into the road for a second. Nobody, he mulled internally, ever makes this easy. He leaned forward and spread his glittering wings. Gabriel ducked his head as his wings cut overhead like giant blades, removing the roof of the car, the barrel of the vulgar fellow's gun and his vulgar finger.
"Any last, free words?" Gabriel said, taking off once again to stare down from above.
"Yeah" The leader said, from the back seat "Where the fuck do you think you are, tin man?". He reached down and came up with something in each hand; PRPG's, smaller versions of the infamous anti-vehicle weapon and far, far beyond the arsenal of the average crook. Gabriel's eyes opened wide in shock as the man hefted both weapons onto his soulders. The felon grinned as he lifted the sights to his eyes "Welcome to Paradise city, scrapheap, you aren't the freakiest son of a ***** we've had to blow away"
Gabriel had time to swerve aside from the first rocket, but the second took him in the chest and all went black.
Rough town.
Gabriel awoke, something he had never expected to do again as he stared down the lethal rocket.
The rocket! He whipped a hand up to his chest, and was horrified to find that he had neither. He might have cried out in shock, but there was no mouth to scream with. In fact, he had no ears to hear with, or eyes to see with, or a brain to think with. Gabriel panicked, but before the madness that befalls some souls could claim him, his mind went dark again and his will found an outlet for the confusion.
In the rolling mists of the nothing, a gear coalesced into being. Beside it, a tiny rod slotted into place and was joined by a hinging joint and several tiny pins. More gears rolled into existance, and a spark jumped from the aether to set the tiny contraption to work. It jerked upwards, spooling the rest Gabriel's soul piece by tiny piece into more components that in turn grabbed and linked with one another to form another ethereal link in the chain. In what might have been an eternity or an instant, there was a tiny ball of mechanics resting in the void.
And then, with a grinding hiss, the tiny metal ball grew, shuddered and split into two tiny metal spheres. And then four. And then eight, and so on and so forth until the floating essence of all that Gabriel had been was sucked into the expanding mass. Eyes unfolded, and the blinking cables of a spine uncoiled and spread into the shape of a man. Around them the metal flesh expanded, steel rods extended and pistons swelled out of the mass. Bit by bolt, Gabriel found his shape in the Spirit world. He thought, and so he was.
Night tilted his head and watched. Every soul came to find its shape differently, but none had ever done so in the manner of this metal creature. It was slower than most, but then again no soul had ever achieved such a complexity. Most were simply empty shells, reflecting only what a living thing knew of itself by its senses, but this mechanism blossomed in every detail. It's spiraling blueprints would settle for no less, it seemed.
Gabriel jerked to unlife, and with the question of 'What am I?' sated, he thought instead 'Where am I?'. Around him the nothing shifted to answer, and by the time Gabriel could open his eyes an electric empire was ready to greet him.
Night had time to yelp in confusion before he was yanked away to his place in the machine.
Gabriel stared up at the towering cliffs, their grey surface dominated both sides of his vision and beyond shone the dull glow of the late evening sky. That, he thought, hurt. It didn't now though, which was more troubling than the thought of being lost in some foreign canyon. Perhaps he had lost, and this was where they dumped the losers of that blasted contest. He had to admit, there weren't many places less congratulatory than this. With any luck he could still get on his feet.
He lifted the leg that had been injured before, testing it for any pain, but he felt the joint moving more smoothly than it ever had. He let it drop, instead reaching for his chest where, huh? Around him a golden ripple was spreading up the canyon walls. He lifted his foot up and down again, and where it touched the ground golden lines radiated outwards almost faster than he could follow. He tapped his hands and feet, watching the pulses spread out around him with curiosity.
His first impressions had been wrong. These ripples weren't made of golden lines, they were just highlighting an intricate pattern carved over the entire canyon. He watched them flood out around him as he clambered to his feet, they looked almost like... no. Gabriel glanced around him and took off down the length of the gorge, scanning the patterns on every surface. As he watched they began to glow of their own accord, and Gabriel soared upwards to view the surface of this place.
What greeted Gabriel as he exited the depression was enough to render him speechless.
Around him, from horizon to horizon, was a world of grey covered in the racing golden lines of a circuit board. Data ran up and down the sides of fractal trees, rivers flickered with shoals of electrons and beneath the setting sun he could see the logic routines of a distant city laid out before him. The world glowed and sang in the dim light of dusk. He looked down at his own hands, but despite their metallic nature they lacked the beautiful golden tracery of the world around him.
But for all the beauty, Gabriel realized that this meant the contest was far from over. He couldn't see the Wolf that had haunted him, but if a head wound had let him see the beast then a rocket to the chest sounded like as good a reason as any for him to be here.
"Why did you bring me here?" He muttered rhetorically, but in return he was struck with feelings of wrongness and misunderstanding. Followed, came the thought, and it slipped into Gabriel's mind as if it had been his all along. He swore under his breath, this unexpected answer had confirmed all of his worst suspicions. "So what now?" He asked as he turned towards the distant city lights "What are you?"
The answer took several seconds to arrive, but Gabriel felt it coming. In front of him, the setting sun was barely a sliver above the horizon, and as it disappeared beneath the world the answer seemed to rush out of the approaching darkness: Night.
Something growled at Gabriel out of the darkness, a bass rumbling so deep it wasn't heard so much as felt. He spun midair, trying to catch sight of Night, but he was too far from both the golden network below or the glittering stars above to see anything in the blackness. He dropped towards the ground as fast as he could, unleashing blasts from his wrist-cannons wildly to fend off the invisible threat. He could feel it, something other than the wolf, it was like the sky itself wanted to crush the life from him for daring to touch it.
He raced towards the gleaming nexus of the city below, and the sanctuary its bright streets offered. Gabriel was focused on speed, but even he could not stop the feelings of wonder from displacing his fear. Every building around him was an expression of circuitry, each street a highway of binary pulses and singing energy. What did it say, that it followed him here? Gabriel had long sought answers about his past, where he had come from. Was this it? Had his death at the hands of some thug sent him to the place of his creation? If so, where were the others like him? It was a mechanical world as much as he was life made machine, and the technology that surrounded him reflected his own. Steam poured from vents as he passed, and through windows he could see the thick cables that even now ran through his body.
But it seemed so... empty. Almost empty. Ahead of him, in the main square of this metropolis, he could make out the dark and swirling shape of Night. That accursed creature, Gabriel was willing to bet it had all the answers inside its stupid little brain but so frustratingly couldn't understand the questions. He dropped from the sky as fast as he could, hoping to scare the blasted thing with his landing. With a roar he slammed into the ground, shattering the surface and causing the yellow light to dim for several meters around him.
Night stared at the new arrival, before pointing his muzzle upwards with a confused expression. He looked back and forth between the sky and Gabriel before tilting his head again. Bird?
"I don't know what I am" Gabriel spat, aiming both of his devastating weapons towards the Dream Wolf "But if you could help me with that, I'll just walk away and let you win". Night growled at the weapons, ignoring everything but the implicit threat. "Don't move" Gabriel said as it prepared to attack "Please, just tell me why I came here, I need to know"
Night ignored him and circled the metal monster, looking for a weak point in its seemingly impenetrable aegis. Droid? he wondered loudly.
"Don't you know? How else did you know where to follow me?" Gabriel asked desperately "Please, tell me I'm more than a robot".
Night saw his hesitation and struck, leaping forward with jaws held wide. With a crash he barreled into the chest of his prey, but his teeth and jaws were unable to crush through the faceplate of this monster. Gabriel roared in pain as the plates of his skull began to buckle. He reached up a massive hand and tore the Wolf off of himself, and before he could stop himself he had crushed the animal in his rage.
The metal man cursed, he hadn't meant to kill the thing, but here were all the answers and all they wanted to do was rip him apart. As he watched, the ethereal body of the animal dissipated and slid into the shattered earth. If this was part of the contest, had he won? Shouldn't he be back at the bar, being offered bittersweet congratulations for having killed his one hope for revelation? With a tortured scream Gabriel blasted at the ground beneath himself, trying to pour his rage into whatever might be left of the creature.
He had to try and find answers before somebody came for him, and he had no doubt that King had some way to track him down. Perhaps there was a record left behind, or a marker meant for anyone who found their way here. Perhaps he could leave his own message so that if another arrived the- huh, what?
From out of the crater he had made, from where he had crushed the enemy, jagged red lines grew outward in mockery of the golden chorus that surrounded them. They shuddered and flickered, dancing in a spiky sound wave that mirrored the throbbing growl that they released. Like bloody thorns they crept out towards Gabriel, and where they touched the elegant golden pattern they snarled and corrupted like some horrific canine virus.
"No!" Gabriel screamed, as the red infection spread "Leave it alone!". He lashed out with vicious blasts from his weaponry, blowing the crimson stain apart wherever he saw it, but fragments of blighted rock were tossed in every direction and where they landed the pestilence spread anew. The red lines blurred and shook as a furious howl rang through the city. "More than a robot" said the virus, playing his words back to him in a mockingly high tone.
"Don't do this to me!" Gabriel roared "Don't destroy this, you spiteful little creature!"
Night crawled out of a distant sewer drain in pieces, the wispy matter of his being stitching together slowly. He had been taken apart before, but never so one-sidedly or painfully. He could hear the... thing... screaming in the distance, something directed at him, him and the strange red squiggles that were crawling towards Night even now. This was new, and even more curious than the monster.
Gabriel spread his wings and took off, but in terror he realized that the virus was creeping across and inside their metal surface. He must have been struck by a stray piece of shrapnel during his rage, and it was slowly encroaching on his body every second. He dived low and scraped the wing against the ground in an attempt to grind it off, but as the surface of his metal feathers was eroded it only revealed the corruption within.
He banked left, firing the steel plumage from his wings in a wild attempt to rid himself of the curse. It clung to him doggedly, ignorant of his defiance, and wherever his projectiles landed they seeded even more of the infection. Screaming in anger and desperation, Gabriel attempted to rid himself of the wing entirely by ramming it into a building. In an instant of agony and salvation, it was ripped clean from his shoulder.
He fell from the sky in a twisted heap, and once again thought nothing.
Gabriel opened his eyes, and above him the city raged. Golden streaks were fighting back against the attack, and orange light flashed overhead as the city blazed for survival. Gabriel looked to his own left hand, where red lines were spidering their way up his arm. His right arm was shattered from the fall, all that remained were the thin steel fingers that made up the frame, and across this oddly human hand marched ranks of golden light. He flexed his right arm, and across the city the golden light blazed brighter for a moment. He flexed his left, the one made of heavy steel and steam, and the red blazed everywhere he looked. When he remained still, the city tore itself apart.
As he lay on the ground, torn apart, realization dawned. "It's me" he said slowly "It's all me. You didn't make this... you followed me... I... made this. Am I dreaming?"
Night padded into view, taking time to sniff at the broken monster before sitting down beside it.
"You, I saw you when I passed out for a second. And then again when I had a concussion. This place, this world, this is a dreaming place yes?" Gabriel said breathlessly "But not while I was awake, I couldn't see you then. I made this, I made this world like this, this is my dream". He propped himself up on his elbows, dragging his unresponsive legs underneath him so he could sit.
Night watched his babbling impassively. He found it hard to understand words at the best of times, delirium and blows to the head of the speaker did not make for improved communications.
"And I broke it." Gabriel continued "Not you, me. I smashed it apart in anger, and now the entire place is fractured. Something... something in me is taking this place apart... and if this place is me, then I guess that explains these jazzy hands, huh". Night was flickering in and out of focus, as was everything else. Blackness was crawling into the edges of his vision like yet another corruption, but Gabriel knew that this one was nothing unnatural.
"I guess" He said painfully, and before he could continue he had to take more than one ragged breath "I guess there's something, something in me that doesn't agree with all circuits and gears. That chaos, that madness that wars... with the machine. It reminds me of the panic in those police, and the anger in that criminal... and the rage you made me... feel..."
Artificial eyelids fluttered closed, just as that last idea came round for a final pass.
Gabriel's eyes shot open and darted back and forth between his two glowing hands, and an idea lanced through his mind like a spear of ice. "There's something very human about rage, Wolf"
He dragged his hands together, and red rage met gold logic in a world-consuming blaze of amber light.
Gabriel stood, staring at the Horizon where dawn approached the edge of everything. Daylight was approaching, after a night of revelation. The angel smiled as the orange lines curved softly across his dreamworld and his body, a sign of peace between the twin sides of his nature, and the confirmation of a Soul. He felt the actuators in his body whir and he raised his hand to stare at it. He had abandoned his broken, heavy armor, and stood in his barest form beneath the open sky. With his wires and pistons laid bare, he looked very much to Night like a human without its skin. An improvement, in his eyes.
"Human" He said, rolling the idea through his mind and finding it pleasing "A Soul, a source of chaos in a construct of logic. I guess I have you to thank for this, don't I"
Night sat about three meters to the left of the Metal Man, watching the suns glow creep closer. If he heard Gabriel, he didn't show any sign.
"More importantly, did you come here just to show me this? Or was I just lucky enough to hit my head at the right time? Actually, am I dead? I got shot in the chest with a rocket, will that be fixed because of all this?". Gabriel mused on it all, while looking up at the fading stars. "I suppose you found out what I was, at any rate, that's what was bothering you wasn't it? Thank the lord for your curiosity, at any rate."
Night admitted that the nature of the metal man had been giving him trouble ever since he had spotted him in the bar, but a machine with a soul wasn't terribly hard to accept. A fusion of man and metal, with oil for blood and circuits for brains was no less valid than humans with their hearts for engines and muscles for pistons. Still, mystery solved in the end.
"So where do we go from here?" Gabriel asked "Even knowing this, I still have no idea where I came fro-
Night took him at the throat in full-leap, the Machine-Man's exposed nerve column snapping under the impact like a biscuit bridge in a hurricane.
Now that I finally know where to bite you? Night thought Now. now I go home.
Ah, Logician, we seem destined by fate to ever clash when we are raw to the fight. Still though, rematches do hold a certain personal weight and I appreciate that it will only enrich both of our tales. Best of luck.
With the lack of actual character info on Gabriel, I am assuming his personality and role are the same as when we last saw him.
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Chapter One: Man Versus Machine... Versus Wolf-Thing
Part 1: Simple
Chapter One: Man Versus Machine... Versus Wolf-Thing
Part 1: Simple
Gabriel straightened his back as he walked out from the bar, feeling the setting sun warm the broad plates of metal that covered his frame and feeling the mechanisms of his spinal column stretch pleasantly. He had decided he was in no rush, and not many things other than himself could decide when and where he rushed. The fact that he was apparently facing an entrant nobody in the bar knew about was odd, but he had hardly been expecting to encounter the mundane in this contest. Well not much of the mundane, and certainly not 'stopping' a bank robbery to determine who got to stick around. But, he did have some experience with this kind of thing at least. Gabriel tuned into the police broadcasts, listening to the chatter concerning his objective and the understandably panicked voices as they discussed the criminals.
He turned his eyes skyward and sighed in both anticipation and apprehension. In a perfect world, he would be able to outpace 'Night' to the crime scene and be back at the bar before his opponent was halfway to the bank. However, Gabriel was more than aware of the world's imperfections, and he whispered a quick prayer to nobody in particular that this would go as planned.
Wings like a swarm of swords spread wide, and he charged the sky.
---------------------------------
Night sat atop the bank, breaking his stare at Gabriel to cast his curious eyes over everything around him. Below, men shouted and killed each other over scraps of paper, their souls whipping straight from this world into the next. Around, the city tried its best to ignore the madness at its heart. Above, however, the metal enigma soared towards the fighting with the light of righteousness in its eyes. It was not like the machine he had chased towards this place, its movements were as fast and precise to be sure, but they jerked with the cognitive indecision of the living before shifting. And more importantly, within its chest blazed a soul as bright as a sun. It fell into the firestorm fearlessly, for what in this world could harm a man of steel?
---------------------------------
It has been said that the Martial Arts died as a form of warfare when the first bullet slammed out from the first gun. And for the most part, time has proven this true. They have become a tool, another niche ammunition in the churning warmachine, no more are they the heart and soul of a fighting force. When lead first screamed through ribs and bone, it killed not only a man but the idea of a man as the weapon. Not even bows had managed to kill that, not with a thousand darkened skies.
There was silence for twenty seconds after Gabriel slammed into the ground, both sides of the shootout trying to adapt to this new threat. Being seven foot of Shock and Awe came with certain restrictions to your social life, but Gabriel found that times like these were almost worth it. It was the criminals that shot first.
When the first bullet ricocheted from his armor, it blew apart not only the foot of the shooter, but over a hundred years of cultural conditioning that said 'Gun beats enemy'. In desperation to defend the fading status quo, the other thieves each unloaded a few bullets into the towering arrival, having no effect past making the hulk shudder with impacts. Gabriel raised his hands into a relaxed guard, he wasn't in the business of killing, but a few broken ribs were probably deserved. One of his wrist-cannons flared, unleashing a stunning wave of light and heat into his assailants that blinded them enough for him to strike. He drove in with straight punches, flicking kicks and hammer-fists, all whipping strikes that shattered fingers and forearms and sent guns flying. Gabriel spotted the bags of cash near what appeared to be their leader, one quick pulse shou- bang
Behind him, the officers had decided that, whatever he was, they were going to shoot everyone and ask questions when there were no more giant metal monsters. Gabriel cried out in pain as one of the bullets hit the back of his knee and breached the vulnerable seals there. Mistaking his cry for a roar, one of the policeman sitting a squad car decided to improvise... and rammed him.
Gabriel's head collided with one of the stone pillars of the bank entrance. His body was wedged there by the bumper of the car, and his vision swam and flickered from the impact. Something was damaged, he could feel steam escaping a crack somewhere in his neck and it was filling his vision with clouds... or was that some other injury? He turned to look groggily at the ongoing gunfight, it appeared the ringleaders were getting away in a car, one of them catching a stray bullet in the ne- a shape of darkness raced along the bullets path, jaws that flashed with stars closed on the wound at the same time as the round struck ho-ck and he fell out of the door he was climbing in... to... what? Gabriel smacked himself in the head, was he damaged? What was that he saw? His questions were silenced as the criminal's car squealed out onto the street.
With a roar he lifted the car up far enough to free his wings from under himself, and with their power pushing him up he tossed the vehicle aside. He had no idea if his opponent had arrived yet, or who they might be, but the key to victory lay within that car as it sped off down the dirty streets. Gabriel fixed it in his sights and tried to take off, but his injured leg protested at his leaping start. Of all the luck, injured by the same people he was trying to help. It wasn't the first time.
"What the hell are you!?" One of the policeman gibbered.
"I wish I knew" Gabriel answered truthfully, before taking off rather more gently than before.
It took only moments for him to catch up to the targets. Below him, the car wound its way between traffic- followed by a shape that was blacker than its monochrome world, its legs a blur in attempt to keep pace with... Gabriel? -narrowly slipping between a semitrailer and a biker. It was the same shape from before, but this time its glowing eyes were fixed on the flying creature rather then the thieves. Gabriel swerved to avoid a light post, and slapped his own forehead in an attempt to see th- it ran through cars, as if they were mist, but it weaved and jumped to avoid the people within them, its eyes never leaving the angel above -e creature once again.
Gabriel smiled grimly. Now this was more to his expectations. His head was ringing like a gong, but somehow the injury was showing him what his eyes normally couldn't. Now, if he could just secure this cash before he blacked out, that would really make his day. He flexed his wings and drew level above the speeding car. "Stop" he commanded loudly "I'd prefer not to have to cut the car in half, but I'm sore and if that speeds things up then I might just get impatient"
"Shut up, asshole!" called one of the thieves, extending his middle finger and the barrel of a weapon through the sunroof. Bursts of such low-caliber gunfire didn't usually bother Gabriel, but the muzzle flash was not helping his increasingly painful headache. He frowned angrily and descended onto the rear of the car, driving the rear axle into the road for a second. Nobody, he mulled internally, ever makes this easy. He leaned forward and spread his glittering wings. Gabriel ducked his head as his wings cut overhead like giant blades, removing the roof of the car, the barrel of the vulgar fellow's gun and his vulgar finger.
"Any last, free words?" Gabriel said, taking off once again to stare down from above.
"Yeah" The leader said, from the back seat "Where the fuck do you think you are, tin man?". He reached down and came up with something in each hand; PRPG's, smaller versions of the infamous anti-vehicle weapon and far, far beyond the arsenal of the average crook. Gabriel's eyes opened wide in shock as the man hefted both weapons onto his soulders. The felon grinned as he lifted the sights to his eyes "Welcome to Paradise city, scrapheap, you aren't the freakiest son of a ***** we've had to blow away"
Gabriel had time to swerve aside from the first rocket, but the second took him in the chest and all went black.
Rough town.
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Part 2: Not So Simple
Part 2: Not So Simple
Gabriel awoke, something he had never expected to do again as he stared down the lethal rocket.
The rocket! He whipped a hand up to his chest, and was horrified to find that he had neither. He might have cried out in shock, but there was no mouth to scream with. In fact, he had no ears to hear with, or eyes to see with, or a brain to think with. Gabriel panicked, but before the madness that befalls some souls could claim him, his mind went dark again and his will found an outlet for the confusion.
In the rolling mists of the nothing, a gear coalesced into being. Beside it, a tiny rod slotted into place and was joined by a hinging joint and several tiny pins. More gears rolled into existance, and a spark jumped from the aether to set the tiny contraption to work. It jerked upwards, spooling the rest Gabriel's soul piece by tiny piece into more components that in turn grabbed and linked with one another to form another ethereal link in the chain. In what might have been an eternity or an instant, there was a tiny ball of mechanics resting in the void.
And then, with a grinding hiss, the tiny metal ball grew, shuddered and split into two tiny metal spheres. And then four. And then eight, and so on and so forth until the floating essence of all that Gabriel had been was sucked into the expanding mass. Eyes unfolded, and the blinking cables of a spine uncoiled and spread into the shape of a man. Around them the metal flesh expanded, steel rods extended and pistons swelled out of the mass. Bit by bolt, Gabriel found his shape in the Spirit world. He thought, and so he was.
Night tilted his head and watched. Every soul came to find its shape differently, but none had ever done so in the manner of this metal creature. It was slower than most, but then again no soul had ever achieved such a complexity. Most were simply empty shells, reflecting only what a living thing knew of itself by its senses, but this mechanism blossomed in every detail. It's spiraling blueprints would settle for no less, it seemed.
Gabriel jerked to unlife, and with the question of 'What am I?' sated, he thought instead 'Where am I?'. Around him the nothing shifted to answer, and by the time Gabriel could open his eyes an electric empire was ready to greet him.
Night had time to yelp in confusion before he was yanked away to his place in the machine.
---------------------------------
Gabriel stared up at the towering cliffs, their grey surface dominated both sides of his vision and beyond shone the dull glow of the late evening sky. That, he thought, hurt. It didn't now though, which was more troubling than the thought of being lost in some foreign canyon. Perhaps he had lost, and this was where they dumped the losers of that blasted contest. He had to admit, there weren't many places less congratulatory than this. With any luck he could still get on his feet.
He lifted the leg that had been injured before, testing it for any pain, but he felt the joint moving more smoothly than it ever had. He let it drop, instead reaching for his chest where, huh? Around him a golden ripple was spreading up the canyon walls. He lifted his foot up and down again, and where it touched the ground golden lines radiated outwards almost faster than he could follow. He tapped his hands and feet, watching the pulses spread out around him with curiosity.
His first impressions had been wrong. These ripples weren't made of golden lines, they were just highlighting an intricate pattern carved over the entire canyon. He watched them flood out around him as he clambered to his feet, they looked almost like... no. Gabriel glanced around him and took off down the length of the gorge, scanning the patterns on every surface. As he watched they began to glow of their own accord, and Gabriel soared upwards to view the surface of this place.
What greeted Gabriel as he exited the depression was enough to render him speechless.
Around him, from horizon to horizon, was a world of grey covered in the racing golden lines of a circuit board. Data ran up and down the sides of fractal trees, rivers flickered with shoals of electrons and beneath the setting sun he could see the logic routines of a distant city laid out before him. The world glowed and sang in the dim light of dusk. He looked down at his own hands, but despite their metallic nature they lacked the beautiful golden tracery of the world around him.
But for all the beauty, Gabriel realized that this meant the contest was far from over. He couldn't see the Wolf that had haunted him, but if a head wound had let him see the beast then a rocket to the chest sounded like as good a reason as any for him to be here.
"Why did you bring me here?" He muttered rhetorically, but in return he was struck with feelings of wrongness and misunderstanding. Followed, came the thought, and it slipped into Gabriel's mind as if it had been his all along. He swore under his breath, this unexpected answer had confirmed all of his worst suspicions. "So what now?" He asked as he turned towards the distant city lights "What are you?"
The answer took several seconds to arrive, but Gabriel felt it coming. In front of him, the setting sun was barely a sliver above the horizon, and as it disappeared beneath the world the answer seemed to rush out of the approaching darkness: Night.
Something growled at Gabriel out of the darkness, a bass rumbling so deep it wasn't heard so much as felt. He spun midair, trying to catch sight of Night, but he was too far from both the golden network below or the glittering stars above to see anything in the blackness. He dropped towards the ground as fast as he could, unleashing blasts from his wrist-cannons wildly to fend off the invisible threat. He could feel it, something other than the wolf, it was like the sky itself wanted to crush the life from him for daring to touch it.
He raced towards the gleaming nexus of the city below, and the sanctuary its bright streets offered. Gabriel was focused on speed, but even he could not stop the feelings of wonder from displacing his fear. Every building around him was an expression of circuitry, each street a highway of binary pulses and singing energy. What did it say, that it followed him here? Gabriel had long sought answers about his past, where he had come from. Was this it? Had his death at the hands of some thug sent him to the place of his creation? If so, where were the others like him? It was a mechanical world as much as he was life made machine, and the technology that surrounded him reflected his own. Steam poured from vents as he passed, and through windows he could see the thick cables that even now ran through his body.
But it seemed so... empty. Almost empty. Ahead of him, in the main square of this metropolis, he could make out the dark and swirling shape of Night. That accursed creature, Gabriel was willing to bet it had all the answers inside its stupid little brain but so frustratingly couldn't understand the questions. He dropped from the sky as fast as he could, hoping to scare the blasted thing with his landing. With a roar he slammed into the ground, shattering the surface and causing the yellow light to dim for several meters around him.
Night stared at the new arrival, before pointing his muzzle upwards with a confused expression. He looked back and forth between the sky and Gabriel before tilting his head again. Bird?
"I don't know what I am" Gabriel spat, aiming both of his devastating weapons towards the Dream Wolf "But if you could help me with that, I'll just walk away and let you win". Night growled at the weapons, ignoring everything but the implicit threat. "Don't move" Gabriel said as it prepared to attack "Please, just tell me why I came here, I need to know"
Night ignored him and circled the metal monster, looking for a weak point in its seemingly impenetrable aegis. Droid? he wondered loudly.
"Don't you know? How else did you know where to follow me?" Gabriel asked desperately "Please, tell me I'm more than a robot".
Night saw his hesitation and struck, leaping forward with jaws held wide. With a crash he barreled into the chest of his prey, but his teeth and jaws were unable to crush through the faceplate of this monster. Gabriel roared in pain as the plates of his skull began to buckle. He reached up a massive hand and tore the Wolf off of himself, and before he could stop himself he had crushed the animal in his rage.
The metal man cursed, he hadn't meant to kill the thing, but here were all the answers and all they wanted to do was rip him apart. As he watched, the ethereal body of the animal dissipated and slid into the shattered earth. If this was part of the contest, had he won? Shouldn't he be back at the bar, being offered bittersweet congratulations for having killed his one hope for revelation? With a tortured scream Gabriel blasted at the ground beneath himself, trying to pour his rage into whatever might be left of the creature.
He had to try and find answers before somebody came for him, and he had no doubt that King had some way to track him down. Perhaps there was a record left behind, or a marker meant for anyone who found their way here. Perhaps he could leave his own message so that if another arrived the- huh, what?
From out of the crater he had made, from where he had crushed the enemy, jagged red lines grew outward in mockery of the golden chorus that surrounded them. They shuddered and flickered, dancing in a spiky sound wave that mirrored the throbbing growl that they released. Like bloody thorns they crept out towards Gabriel, and where they touched the elegant golden pattern they snarled and corrupted like some horrific canine virus.
"No!" Gabriel screamed, as the red infection spread "Leave it alone!". He lashed out with vicious blasts from his weaponry, blowing the crimson stain apart wherever he saw it, but fragments of blighted rock were tossed in every direction and where they landed the pestilence spread anew. The red lines blurred and shook as a furious howl rang through the city. "More than a robot" said the virus, playing his words back to him in a mockingly high tone.
"Don't do this to me!" Gabriel roared "Don't destroy this, you spiteful little creature!"
Night crawled out of a distant sewer drain in pieces, the wispy matter of his being stitching together slowly. He had been taken apart before, but never so one-sidedly or painfully. He could hear the... thing... screaming in the distance, something directed at him, him and the strange red squiggles that were crawling towards Night even now. This was new, and even more curious than the monster.
Gabriel spread his wings and took off, but in terror he realized that the virus was creeping across and inside their metal surface. He must have been struck by a stray piece of shrapnel during his rage, and it was slowly encroaching on his body every second. He dived low and scraped the wing against the ground in an attempt to grind it off, but as the surface of his metal feathers was eroded it only revealed the corruption within.
He banked left, firing the steel plumage from his wings in a wild attempt to rid himself of the curse. It clung to him doggedly, ignorant of his defiance, and wherever his projectiles landed they seeded even more of the infection. Screaming in anger and desperation, Gabriel attempted to rid himself of the wing entirely by ramming it into a building. In an instant of agony and salvation, it was ripped clean from his shoulder.
He fell from the sky in a twisted heap, and once again thought nothing.
---------------------------------
Gabriel opened his eyes, and above him the city raged. Golden streaks were fighting back against the attack, and orange light flashed overhead as the city blazed for survival. Gabriel looked to his own left hand, where red lines were spidering their way up his arm. His right arm was shattered from the fall, all that remained were the thin steel fingers that made up the frame, and across this oddly human hand marched ranks of golden light. He flexed his right arm, and across the city the golden light blazed brighter for a moment. He flexed his left, the one made of heavy steel and steam, and the red blazed everywhere he looked. When he remained still, the city tore itself apart.
As he lay on the ground, torn apart, realization dawned. "It's me" he said slowly "It's all me. You didn't make this... you followed me... I... made this. Am I dreaming?"
Night padded into view, taking time to sniff at the broken monster before sitting down beside it.
"You, I saw you when I passed out for a second. And then again when I had a concussion. This place, this world, this is a dreaming place yes?" Gabriel said breathlessly "But not while I was awake, I couldn't see you then. I made this, I made this world like this, this is my dream". He propped himself up on his elbows, dragging his unresponsive legs underneath him so he could sit.
Night watched his babbling impassively. He found it hard to understand words at the best of times, delirium and blows to the head of the speaker did not make for improved communications.
"And I broke it." Gabriel continued "Not you, me. I smashed it apart in anger, and now the entire place is fractured. Something... something in me is taking this place apart... and if this place is me, then I guess that explains these jazzy hands, huh". Night was flickering in and out of focus, as was everything else. Blackness was crawling into the edges of his vision like yet another corruption, but Gabriel knew that this one was nothing unnatural.
"I guess" He said painfully, and before he could continue he had to take more than one ragged breath "I guess there's something, something in me that doesn't agree with all circuits and gears. That chaos, that madness that wars... with the machine. It reminds me of the panic in those police, and the anger in that criminal... and the rage you made me... feel..."
Artificial eyelids fluttered closed, just as that last idea came round for a final pass.
Gabriel's eyes shot open and darted back and forth between his two glowing hands, and an idea lanced through his mind like a spear of ice. "There's something very human about rage, Wolf"
He dragged his hands together, and red rage met gold logic in a world-consuming blaze of amber light.
---------------------------------
Part 3: The Bit After That Bit
Gabriel stood, staring at the Horizon where dawn approached the edge of everything. Daylight was approaching, after a night of revelation. The angel smiled as the orange lines curved softly across his dreamworld and his body, a sign of peace between the twin sides of his nature, and the confirmation of a Soul. He felt the actuators in his body whir and he raised his hand to stare at it. He had abandoned his broken, heavy armor, and stood in his barest form beneath the open sky. With his wires and pistons laid bare, he looked very much to Night like a human without its skin. An improvement, in his eyes.
"Human" He said, rolling the idea through his mind and finding it pleasing "A Soul, a source of chaos in a construct of logic. I guess I have you to thank for this, don't I"
Night sat about three meters to the left of the Metal Man, watching the suns glow creep closer. If he heard Gabriel, he didn't show any sign.
"More importantly, did you come here just to show me this? Or was I just lucky enough to hit my head at the right time? Actually, am I dead? I got shot in the chest with a rocket, will that be fixed because of all this?". Gabriel mused on it all, while looking up at the fading stars. "I suppose you found out what I was, at any rate, that's what was bothering you wasn't it? Thank the lord for your curiosity, at any rate."
Night admitted that the nature of the metal man had been giving him trouble ever since he had spotted him in the bar, but a machine with a soul wasn't terribly hard to accept. A fusion of man and metal, with oil for blood and circuits for brains was no less valid than humans with their hearts for engines and muscles for pistons. Still, mystery solved in the end.
"So where do we go from here?" Gabriel asked "Even knowing this, I still have no idea where I came fro-
Night took him at the throat in full-leap, the Machine-Man's exposed nerve column snapping under the impact like a biscuit bridge in a hurricane.
Now that I finally know where to bite you? Night thought Now. now I go home.
End
Likewise, I'm somewhere between two-thirds and three-fourths of the way done.
Question for The Sorrow; do we have to have our story in by midnight tonight or midnight tomorrow? It might not make any difference, but I'd like to know.
Apologies for the confusion.
Question for The Sorrow; do we have to have our story in by midnight tonight or midnight tomorrow? It might not make any difference, but I'd like to know.
Apologies for the confusion.
I'm going by what I know of Aus/American time conversions, but according to those that time is in six hours from now, at 7am Monday morning according to my clocks. Which isn't to say anything, just to point out that you people are in the past and therefore witches.The Sorrow said:
This Mister King isn't fooling anyone. I really hope he knows that, because otherwise it's just pathetic. Speaking only through these little drones, sitting behind a blanked-out screen...doesn't he know it's all been done before? Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain, ladies and gentlemen!
But now, for the first act, we have a murder. That I like. Murder I can relate to, eh? Keeps things close to home, as it were. I'll play your game, Mister King, just as long as you realize that I'm playing.
Corkscrew Nick grinned at Jacob Kaynard as they left the bar. "He's a funny man, is this King," he said. "He's turned justice into a race. Quite a joke, wouldn't you say?"
Jacob looked less than enthused, for some reason. "I don't know," he said. "I didn't come here to kill people. I was supposed to be on vacation."
"Really?" said Corkscrew Nick. "And how'd that work out for you?"
"Someone tried to shoot me."
"Is that all?" Nick threw an arm over Jacob's shoulder. "I get that all the time, and I assure you it's nothing to worry about."
Jacob looked at him for a moment, unsure if he was crazy or just stupid. "What?"
"It's not getting shot at that's the problem," Nick said cheerfully. "It's getting shot."
Intersection of Fourth and Main. Big wide street, big square intersection with cars and painted lines dancing through it. I already know where the body will be: right in the middle, where the chaos was greatest during the morning rush hour, and where the scene can slowly pull back to reveal the entire bloody mess.
There's a car parked right in the middle of the street, with a crowd gathered around. Professional gawkers and the morbidly curious, harried businessmen and cubicle gangsters taking a break from throwing fingers at the commute. Traffic is stopped, with a wall of empty cars forming a barrier against the world, motors running. The driver's only stepped out for a moment, after all.
It's its own tiny little world, in this ragged circle of cars. The blaring horns of those who can't get through seem far away--even the shivering murmurs of the staring crowd seem to be louder. There's a policeman trying to keep the scene under his control, but he's not having too much luck.
And in the middle of it all, the masterpiece of this little center-stage drama, a car. Expensive, tasteful, glossy black with leather seats, and in the driver's seat a man leaning back against the headrest, mouth open slightly as if he's about to say something, brow slightly furrowed, eyes blank, neat bullet-hole right in the middle of his forehead.
Sometimes--just sometimes--whoever's in charge of things like this has a proper sense of the dramatic.
"So," said Corkscrew Nick, making conversation on the way to the intersection, "Why'd you pick Paradise City for your vacation? Seems like an odd choice. You know. City-in-a-bottle full of killers and sinister symbolism. Not exactly prime real estate if you want to wind down, know what I mean?"
"I didn't really mean to come here," said Jacob distractedly. "My friend Ross picked it."
"Reeeeally?" Nick glanced over at Jacob, who was frowning at the air. "Some friend, eh?"
"Yes," said Jacob, not really listening.
The two of them were walking easily down the sidewalk, an uncomfortable distance apart. There were few people on the street, and those that were moved quickly, furtively, without looking back. Nick and Jacob moved through them like self-confidant wolves through skittish sheep.
Corkscrew Nick watched them pass. "What's in this city," he wondered aloud, "that has its people so afraid?" When there was no response from Jacob he continued, "What cancer lurks in the heart of the metropolis? There is something there, to be sure...what was it that Mister King said? If we were to leave the bar, we'd be shot on sight?" He waited for a moment, but there was no reply. "Shot by who, I would ask?"
"When he was telling us what to do," Jacob finally spoke, "back in the bar...right before that, when he was talking to that...metal angel guy, and the shadow wolf thing...he said that the loser would be set out into the city with a kill on sight order." His voice was distracted, not really worried yet, the voice of a man who is calmly and rationally coming to the conclusion that hysteria might be the appropriate response.
"I wouldn't know," Nick said easily. "I wasn't listening."
"And I think I heard him say something else," Jacob continued, frowning. "Something like if you kill the other guy, you win. He said they didn't really need to achieve their objective."
"He was talking to them, Jake," said Nick. "Not us. We just have a murder to solve." When Jacob didn't reply he added, "You've got to keep your eye on what's important, my friend."
"Right," said Jacob, giving Nick an opaque look. Nick grinned lazily in reply.
The crowd is muttering, restless. They're here for a show, but all they're getting is late. The policeman isn't helping matters, yelling and trying to get the scene cleared and maybe keep the traffic flowing. Fourth and Main is an important intersection, and now this little murder is clogging it up, blocking the arteries of the city. The traffic jam is slowly spreading like some automotive plague--you're in the outskirts of it a quarter mile out, now. Horns are blaring, people are swearing, and one enterprising fellow is selling snacks to those stuck in traffic. I can't help but notice that the people in the cars aren't as furtive as the pedestrians. These are big, important people driving big, heavy cars, cars that could serve as impromptu armored vehicles in a pinch. I only see one imported car on the way to the intersection, a sleek Italian sports thing with two suits in it, wearing wraparound sunglasses. They're having a bitter argument about whether it would have been a better idea to have turned left back on Eighth and thus avoided this whole sorry mess. I give 'em a grin on the way past, almost skipping for a few steps, able to move where they cannot. One of them flips me the bird, and I laugh.
We reach the intersection, Jacob and I, and we see what there is to see. A perfect tableau. The policeman is looking around, either for a way out of this mess or for something to stand on to shout at people more efficiently. He looks disturbed, this policeman. His shirt isn't tucked in quite right, his cap is askew, his badge off-center. He looks like he's had a rough day.
I can assure you, it's only going to get worse.
Corkscrew Nick pushed his way through the crowd, absently throwing elbows into ribs and jolting people just enough to get them out of his way. Jacob Kaynard hung back, taking in the scene from a distance. He didn't really want to be here, you could tell, but if he was going to be here he might as well do what had to be done professionally. Examine the scene from a distance first, that's the ticket.
Corkscrew Nick wasn't having any of that analytical bullshit. Solving murders wasn't really his thing; he had more experience with the other side of the equation, as it were. No, if there was going to be a drama here, it wasn't going to be a damn mystery. He wouldn't have it. He needed to shift the scene to something a little more appropriate, and for that he needed a stage.
And here it was. A circle of open space surrounding the car, in which only the policeman stood. All the gawkers, for all their curiosity, were afraid to get too close. Death is a fascinating subject, but you don't want it up in your face. Corkscrew Nick smiled at the thought. Time to make things a little more personal, then.
Jacob watched from the edge of the crowd, slowly working his way around to the other side of the stage. He wanted something sturdy between him and Nick for a little while, and the murdered man's car was the only thing available that wasn't made of horribly vulnerable flesh and bone. The thought was still running through his head, like a track on infinite loop: to win, you have to kill. Kill the murderer, kill your opponent, kill everyone at the scene. Nick hadn't even blinked, just smiled that weird reaper-head smile of his. Jacob, now, he wasn't entirely used to the idea of killing people. In a game, sure. In distant climes and dire circumstances, all right. But the idea of planning it and then carrying it out, without any real investment in the matter, that was new to him.
On the other side of the murder scene, the policeman glared at Corkscrew Nick. "Crime scene," he said shortly. "Don't contaminate it."
"Murder scene," said Corkscrew Nick, looking at the corpse in the car, mostly ignoring the cop. "How unfortunate, eh?"
"Step away," said the cop. "This is a crime scene." His words seemed far away, his eyes flicking between Nick and the surrounding crowd, tracing escape routes and noting suspicious characters.
"A crime scene," said Nick. "Step away? No, I think this is just the first act." He leapt to center stage, in the middle of the crowd, and the people backed away to give him room. He spoke to the crowd, framing his words with his hands, and they listened to his solemn voice.
"Friends," he began, "ya got trouble. Right here in Paradise City." He put an ironic twist on the words that few noticed, so grave was his expression as he gestures at the body. The policeman frowned and took a step forward, opening his mouth to insert some commanding statement, but Nick continued smoothly, overriding the cop, waving his hands through the air to emphasize what he is saying.
"Ya got trouble," he said again. "But with a wave of my hand--this very hand--I can make it all...disappear."
The policeman gurgled out a shocked statement around the blade in his throat and collapsed, clutching at the wound. Corkscrew Nick looked at the bloody knife in his hand, dripping fresh red, and chuckled.
"Fancy that," he said.
It was about then that all hell broke loose.
Chaos, panic, and disorder. My work here is done.
Of course, it's not really that simple. The cop was only a part of it, a minor part at that. The Law says that you're not supposed to kill a murderer right away (as I happen to know very well), and so we couldn't have the servants of the Law getting tangled up in this mess. Wouldn't do. Had to get rid of him fast.
Unfortunately, that makes the rest of it kind of tricky. Can't plan now, which would have made things easier. Maybe rigged up some kind of explosive, take 'em all out at one go. But that's not possible anymore.
Doesn't really matter, though. The murderer is an important character in this little story--he has to be easy to spot.
Maybe he's the bald guy with the mirrored sunglasses, the one who looks angry rather than panicked. The ease with which he falls to the knife tells me no, it's not him, though. The woman striding determinedly towards me with a can of pepper spray? Probably not. A gun isn't really a woman's weapon. It's a phallic symbol, very male-central, a rather inelegant metaphor if you ask me but there you go. I cut her fingers just enough to make her drop the pepper spray, leer into her face when she has that moment of epiphany where she realizes that she isn't the heroine of the story and that yes, she can die. Right here, right now, alongside sunglasses man, the cop, and the poor bastard with the hole in his head. She runs, heroism forgotten, clutching her bleeding fingers.
At least she doesn't scream. Give her that much, at least. Girl knows how to keep her head.
It was exactly the thing to snap Jacob out of his dilemma. There were no ethical concerns now: Nick had just killed a cop, then stabbed an unarmed civilian and cut up another. He was moving after the rest of them now, bloody knife in his hand, not even running, just walking slowly through the crowd as the people panicked. He reached out casually and slammed the knife through someone's chest as they tried to get away, hemmed in by the rest of the crowd. Corkscrew Nick was in complete control of the situation: the crowd wasn't thinking hey, this is one guy with a knife, we can take him. Instead they were thinking, this guy is going to kill me. Nick was working the crowd like a showman, keeping them as individuals rather than a mob. A mob is strong, for it has many lives. An individual is weak, for it has only one, one that can be easily stolen by Nick's swift hands.
In the end, though, Corkscrew Nick is one man with a knife. Jacob, being somewhat more clear-headed than the panicked crowd, could see that clearer than they could. And when the enemy is one man armed with a blade the length of his palm, certain things can be done about it.
"Stop," said Jacob, loud enough to be heard over the screams.
Nick turned around, grinning, holding a knife to the throat of a sweating man in a collared shirt and tie. "I'm just doing what Mister King told us to do, Jake," he said. "If you don't want to play the game, you shouldn't be here."
"Stop," said Jacob again. "Just stop. This is wrong. You shouldn't be doing this, especially not just because some mysterious dude behind a screen said so."
"You think that's the only reason?" Nick laughed. "This is what I do, Jake. Thought you knew that."
Jacob wasn't sure he understood--or, rather, he thought he understood, but didn't like that he might be right. "What?" he said.
"I kill people," Nick said, slowly and clearly, twitching his knife and making his hostage flinch. "Mister King kills people too, you know. He'll kill you if you don't play his game. You said it yourself--whoever loses, dies." He studied Jacob's face for a moment. "Maybe you didn't want to admit it to yourself, but that's what it is. To the death, Jake. And that death is not going to be mine, I can assure you of that." At each repetition of the word "death" the hostage shrank back a little.
"You're not killing anyone else," said Jacob, with grim finality.
"Really?" said Nick. "How would you propose to stop me, pray tell?"
Jacob has a gun in his hand suddenly, drawn from the holster of the dead policeman. It's aimed at Nick's head, as sure and steady as a rock. His hands do not shake in the slightest.
"Pistol beats knife, Nick," said Jacob.
Corkscrew Nick stares at the gun for a moment, as though he cannot believe what he is seeing. "Come on, man," he says. "Did you really have to bring phallic symbols into this?"
"What?" said Jacob.
"Never mind," said Nick, and with one smooth motion he slit the hostage's throat. Jacob shouted, in rage and surprise, and fired. The gun leapt in his hand, the raw stink of gunpowder smote the air, and Corkscrew Nick tumbled away from the dying man, laughing. Jacob cursed in shock and rage and aimed again. Nick reached out and swung a fleeing man in front of him, putting a solid, fat body between him and the gun, just as Jacob fired a second time. The bullet slammed into the human shield with a sound like a spirit breaking, and Jacob dropped the pistol.
There was silence. Or rather, there was the impression of silence: the distant horns still blared, the motors of the surrounding cars still rumbled, the million sounds of the city still filtered through the air, but on the stage there was silence. You could have heard a pin drop.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
"Way to go, Jake," said Corkscrew Nick. "You let them all get away."
"I..." said Jacob, not yet able to voice his thoughts after the pure intensity of the previous moments. Nick helpfully filled the space with commentary.
"Now we'll never find the murderer," he complained. "Or perhaps I should say I will never find the murderer. You didn't seem to be too interested in that."
"Is he dead?" asked Jacob.
"What, this guy?" Nick used his foot to turn over the body of his former human shield. "I should hope so."
"I'm usually a better shot than that," said Jacob, distantly, defensively, as though explaining himself before an unseen judge.
"Sure you are," Nick agreed. "On the shooting range, maybe. Without screams, and people running, and blood everywhere." He grinned. "That how it goes?"
Jacob's eyes refocused. "You made me kill him." It is not an accusation, not yet, merely a statement of fact, a shifting of blame.
Corkscrew Nick waits for the follow up. It is not long in coming.
"You made me kill him!" Now it is an accusation, a declaration of foreign guilt. "You fucking sick monster--"
"O villain, villain, smiling, damn'd villain!" Nick sneered. "The man with the gun doth proclaim his innocence! Tell me, sir bullet, did thou go where I command'd? No, surely not I, for I held not the gun! Tell me, sir trigger, did thou move at my word? No, surely not, for my thoughts cannot bend thy steel!"
There is silence again. It is only the two of them now, Corkscrew Nick and Jacob Kaynard, just them and the bodies. Everyone else, being perhaps sounder in mind than these two, has fled. Distant sirens scream, unable to come any closer because the traffic cannot move aside to let them pass.
Jacob Kaynard turns suddenly and begins to walk away. Corkscrew Nick cannot believe his eyes.
"What, you're just leaving?" he said. "Just like that? But we were just getting started! The story isn't over, Jake! Don't you want to see the ending?" But Jacob does not reply. He vaults neatly over the hood of a parked car and continues his walk on the other side, absorbed in himself, not knowing or not caring about what he is leaving behind.
I can't believe he just dropped me like that. Leaving halfway through, it's a disgrace. You know? A fucking disgrace.
It took a bit of effort to get the knife clean--the first guy I tried to wipe it off on turned out to be wearing some kind of waterproof windbreaker, so I had to find something else--and by the time I was done Jake was halfway down the next block. No sense in chasing after him, not now.
I picked up the cop's gun from where Jake had dropped it. It was heavier than it looked, as guns usually are. I think it's the metaphorical weight behind them. Guns are one of the few items in the world that are wholly dedicated to the idea of ending a life, you see.
I picked up the gun and aimed down the sight. The fall from Jake's hand had knocked things askew a bit, though, and I could tell it was no use. Cheap, shoddy thing, was this gun. Can't believe a cop was carrying it.
And ya know, sometimes the truth of the matter sneaks up and hits you like a mugger with a club. I looked from the gun to the cop to the body in the car, with its neat bullet hole in the forehead. I slid the magazine out of the gun and counted the rounds, and tried to remember how many times Jake had shot at me, and when I realize I'm right I cannot believe it, simply cannot fucking believe it. I count the bullets again, just to be sure, with the same result. Twelve round clip, nine rounds remaining.
It was short by three.
But now, for the first act, we have a murder. That I like. Murder I can relate to, eh? Keeps things close to home, as it were. I'll play your game, Mister King, just as long as you realize that I'm playing.
=-=-=-
Corkscrew Nick grinned at Jacob Kaynard as they left the bar. "He's a funny man, is this King," he said. "He's turned justice into a race. Quite a joke, wouldn't you say?"
Jacob looked less than enthused, for some reason. "I don't know," he said. "I didn't come here to kill people. I was supposed to be on vacation."
"Really?" said Corkscrew Nick. "And how'd that work out for you?"
"Someone tried to shoot me."
"Is that all?" Nick threw an arm over Jacob's shoulder. "I get that all the time, and I assure you it's nothing to worry about."
Jacob looked at him for a moment, unsure if he was crazy or just stupid. "What?"
"It's not getting shot at that's the problem," Nick said cheerfully. "It's getting shot."
=-=-=-
Intersection of Fourth and Main. Big wide street, big square intersection with cars and painted lines dancing through it. I already know where the body will be: right in the middle, where the chaos was greatest during the morning rush hour, and where the scene can slowly pull back to reveal the entire bloody mess.
There's a car parked right in the middle of the street, with a crowd gathered around. Professional gawkers and the morbidly curious, harried businessmen and cubicle gangsters taking a break from throwing fingers at the commute. Traffic is stopped, with a wall of empty cars forming a barrier against the world, motors running. The driver's only stepped out for a moment, after all.
It's its own tiny little world, in this ragged circle of cars. The blaring horns of those who can't get through seem far away--even the shivering murmurs of the staring crowd seem to be louder. There's a policeman trying to keep the scene under his control, but he's not having too much luck.
And in the middle of it all, the masterpiece of this little center-stage drama, a car. Expensive, tasteful, glossy black with leather seats, and in the driver's seat a man leaning back against the headrest, mouth open slightly as if he's about to say something, brow slightly furrowed, eyes blank, neat bullet-hole right in the middle of his forehead.
Sometimes--just sometimes--whoever's in charge of things like this has a proper sense of the dramatic.
=-=-=-
"So," said Corkscrew Nick, making conversation on the way to the intersection, "Why'd you pick Paradise City for your vacation? Seems like an odd choice. You know. City-in-a-bottle full of killers and sinister symbolism. Not exactly prime real estate if you want to wind down, know what I mean?"
"I didn't really mean to come here," said Jacob distractedly. "My friend Ross picked it."
"Reeeeally?" Nick glanced over at Jacob, who was frowning at the air. "Some friend, eh?"
"Yes," said Jacob, not really listening.
The two of them were walking easily down the sidewalk, an uncomfortable distance apart. There were few people on the street, and those that were moved quickly, furtively, without looking back. Nick and Jacob moved through them like self-confidant wolves through skittish sheep.
Corkscrew Nick watched them pass. "What's in this city," he wondered aloud, "that has its people so afraid?" When there was no response from Jacob he continued, "What cancer lurks in the heart of the metropolis? There is something there, to be sure...what was it that Mister King said? If we were to leave the bar, we'd be shot on sight?" He waited for a moment, but there was no reply. "Shot by who, I would ask?"
"When he was telling us what to do," Jacob finally spoke, "back in the bar...right before that, when he was talking to that...metal angel guy, and the shadow wolf thing...he said that the loser would be set out into the city with a kill on sight order." His voice was distracted, not really worried yet, the voice of a man who is calmly and rationally coming to the conclusion that hysteria might be the appropriate response.
"I wouldn't know," Nick said easily. "I wasn't listening."
"And I think I heard him say something else," Jacob continued, frowning. "Something like if you kill the other guy, you win. He said they didn't really need to achieve their objective."
"He was talking to them, Jake," said Nick. "Not us. We just have a murder to solve." When Jacob didn't reply he added, "You've got to keep your eye on what's important, my friend."
"Right," said Jacob, giving Nick an opaque look. Nick grinned lazily in reply.
=-=-=-
The crowd is muttering, restless. They're here for a show, but all they're getting is late. The policeman isn't helping matters, yelling and trying to get the scene cleared and maybe keep the traffic flowing. Fourth and Main is an important intersection, and now this little murder is clogging it up, blocking the arteries of the city. The traffic jam is slowly spreading like some automotive plague--you're in the outskirts of it a quarter mile out, now. Horns are blaring, people are swearing, and one enterprising fellow is selling snacks to those stuck in traffic. I can't help but notice that the people in the cars aren't as furtive as the pedestrians. These are big, important people driving big, heavy cars, cars that could serve as impromptu armored vehicles in a pinch. I only see one imported car on the way to the intersection, a sleek Italian sports thing with two suits in it, wearing wraparound sunglasses. They're having a bitter argument about whether it would have been a better idea to have turned left back on Eighth and thus avoided this whole sorry mess. I give 'em a grin on the way past, almost skipping for a few steps, able to move where they cannot. One of them flips me the bird, and I laugh.
We reach the intersection, Jacob and I, and we see what there is to see. A perfect tableau. The policeman is looking around, either for a way out of this mess or for something to stand on to shout at people more efficiently. He looks disturbed, this policeman. His shirt isn't tucked in quite right, his cap is askew, his badge off-center. He looks like he's had a rough day.
I can assure you, it's only going to get worse.
=-=-=-
Corkscrew Nick pushed his way through the crowd, absently throwing elbows into ribs and jolting people just enough to get them out of his way. Jacob Kaynard hung back, taking in the scene from a distance. He didn't really want to be here, you could tell, but if he was going to be here he might as well do what had to be done professionally. Examine the scene from a distance first, that's the ticket.
Corkscrew Nick wasn't having any of that analytical bullshit. Solving murders wasn't really his thing; he had more experience with the other side of the equation, as it were. No, if there was going to be a drama here, it wasn't going to be a damn mystery. He wouldn't have it. He needed to shift the scene to something a little more appropriate, and for that he needed a stage.
And here it was. A circle of open space surrounding the car, in which only the policeman stood. All the gawkers, for all their curiosity, were afraid to get too close. Death is a fascinating subject, but you don't want it up in your face. Corkscrew Nick smiled at the thought. Time to make things a little more personal, then.
Jacob watched from the edge of the crowd, slowly working his way around to the other side of the stage. He wanted something sturdy between him and Nick for a little while, and the murdered man's car was the only thing available that wasn't made of horribly vulnerable flesh and bone. The thought was still running through his head, like a track on infinite loop: to win, you have to kill. Kill the murderer, kill your opponent, kill everyone at the scene. Nick hadn't even blinked, just smiled that weird reaper-head smile of his. Jacob, now, he wasn't entirely used to the idea of killing people. In a game, sure. In distant climes and dire circumstances, all right. But the idea of planning it and then carrying it out, without any real investment in the matter, that was new to him.
On the other side of the murder scene, the policeman glared at Corkscrew Nick. "Crime scene," he said shortly. "Don't contaminate it."
"Murder scene," said Corkscrew Nick, looking at the corpse in the car, mostly ignoring the cop. "How unfortunate, eh?"
"Step away," said the cop. "This is a crime scene." His words seemed far away, his eyes flicking between Nick and the surrounding crowd, tracing escape routes and noting suspicious characters.
"A crime scene," said Nick. "Step away? No, I think this is just the first act." He leapt to center stage, in the middle of the crowd, and the people backed away to give him room. He spoke to the crowd, framing his words with his hands, and they listened to his solemn voice.
"Friends," he began, "ya got trouble. Right here in Paradise City." He put an ironic twist on the words that few noticed, so grave was his expression as he gestures at the body. The policeman frowned and took a step forward, opening his mouth to insert some commanding statement, but Nick continued smoothly, overriding the cop, waving his hands through the air to emphasize what he is saying.
"Ya got trouble," he said again. "But with a wave of my hand--this very hand--I can make it all...disappear."
The policeman gurgled out a shocked statement around the blade in his throat and collapsed, clutching at the wound. Corkscrew Nick looked at the bloody knife in his hand, dripping fresh red, and chuckled.
"Fancy that," he said.
It was about then that all hell broke loose.
=-=-=-
Chaos, panic, and disorder. My work here is done.
Of course, it's not really that simple. The cop was only a part of it, a minor part at that. The Law says that you're not supposed to kill a murderer right away (as I happen to know very well), and so we couldn't have the servants of the Law getting tangled up in this mess. Wouldn't do. Had to get rid of him fast.
Unfortunately, that makes the rest of it kind of tricky. Can't plan now, which would have made things easier. Maybe rigged up some kind of explosive, take 'em all out at one go. But that's not possible anymore.
Doesn't really matter, though. The murderer is an important character in this little story--he has to be easy to spot.
Maybe he's the bald guy with the mirrored sunglasses, the one who looks angry rather than panicked. The ease with which he falls to the knife tells me no, it's not him, though. The woman striding determinedly towards me with a can of pepper spray? Probably not. A gun isn't really a woman's weapon. It's a phallic symbol, very male-central, a rather inelegant metaphor if you ask me but there you go. I cut her fingers just enough to make her drop the pepper spray, leer into her face when she has that moment of epiphany where she realizes that she isn't the heroine of the story and that yes, she can die. Right here, right now, alongside sunglasses man, the cop, and the poor bastard with the hole in his head. She runs, heroism forgotten, clutching her bleeding fingers.
At least she doesn't scream. Give her that much, at least. Girl knows how to keep her head.
=-=-=-
It was exactly the thing to snap Jacob out of his dilemma. There were no ethical concerns now: Nick had just killed a cop, then stabbed an unarmed civilian and cut up another. He was moving after the rest of them now, bloody knife in his hand, not even running, just walking slowly through the crowd as the people panicked. He reached out casually and slammed the knife through someone's chest as they tried to get away, hemmed in by the rest of the crowd. Corkscrew Nick was in complete control of the situation: the crowd wasn't thinking hey, this is one guy with a knife, we can take him. Instead they were thinking, this guy is going to kill me. Nick was working the crowd like a showman, keeping them as individuals rather than a mob. A mob is strong, for it has many lives. An individual is weak, for it has only one, one that can be easily stolen by Nick's swift hands.
In the end, though, Corkscrew Nick is one man with a knife. Jacob, being somewhat more clear-headed than the panicked crowd, could see that clearer than they could. And when the enemy is one man armed with a blade the length of his palm, certain things can be done about it.
"Stop," said Jacob, loud enough to be heard over the screams.
Nick turned around, grinning, holding a knife to the throat of a sweating man in a collared shirt and tie. "I'm just doing what Mister King told us to do, Jake," he said. "If you don't want to play the game, you shouldn't be here."
"Stop," said Jacob again. "Just stop. This is wrong. You shouldn't be doing this, especially not just because some mysterious dude behind a screen said so."
"You think that's the only reason?" Nick laughed. "This is what I do, Jake. Thought you knew that."
Jacob wasn't sure he understood--or, rather, he thought he understood, but didn't like that he might be right. "What?" he said.
"I kill people," Nick said, slowly and clearly, twitching his knife and making his hostage flinch. "Mister King kills people too, you know. He'll kill you if you don't play his game. You said it yourself--whoever loses, dies." He studied Jacob's face for a moment. "Maybe you didn't want to admit it to yourself, but that's what it is. To the death, Jake. And that death is not going to be mine, I can assure you of that." At each repetition of the word "death" the hostage shrank back a little.
"You're not killing anyone else," said Jacob, with grim finality.
"Really?" said Nick. "How would you propose to stop me, pray tell?"
Jacob has a gun in his hand suddenly, drawn from the holster of the dead policeman. It's aimed at Nick's head, as sure and steady as a rock. His hands do not shake in the slightest.
"Pistol beats knife, Nick," said Jacob.
Corkscrew Nick stares at the gun for a moment, as though he cannot believe what he is seeing. "Come on, man," he says. "Did you really have to bring phallic symbols into this?"
"What?" said Jacob.
"Never mind," said Nick, and with one smooth motion he slit the hostage's throat. Jacob shouted, in rage and surprise, and fired. The gun leapt in his hand, the raw stink of gunpowder smote the air, and Corkscrew Nick tumbled away from the dying man, laughing. Jacob cursed in shock and rage and aimed again. Nick reached out and swung a fleeing man in front of him, putting a solid, fat body between him and the gun, just as Jacob fired a second time. The bullet slammed into the human shield with a sound like a spirit breaking, and Jacob dropped the pistol.
There was silence. Or rather, there was the impression of silence: the distant horns still blared, the motors of the surrounding cars still rumbled, the million sounds of the city still filtered through the air, but on the stage there was silence. You could have heard a pin drop.
=-=-=-
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
=-=-=-
"Way to go, Jake," said Corkscrew Nick. "You let them all get away."
"I..." said Jacob, not yet able to voice his thoughts after the pure intensity of the previous moments. Nick helpfully filled the space with commentary.
"Now we'll never find the murderer," he complained. "Or perhaps I should say I will never find the murderer. You didn't seem to be too interested in that."
"Is he dead?" asked Jacob.
"What, this guy?" Nick used his foot to turn over the body of his former human shield. "I should hope so."
"I'm usually a better shot than that," said Jacob, distantly, defensively, as though explaining himself before an unseen judge.
"Sure you are," Nick agreed. "On the shooting range, maybe. Without screams, and people running, and blood everywhere." He grinned. "That how it goes?"
Jacob's eyes refocused. "You made me kill him." It is not an accusation, not yet, merely a statement of fact, a shifting of blame.
Corkscrew Nick waits for the follow up. It is not long in coming.
"You made me kill him!" Now it is an accusation, a declaration of foreign guilt. "You fucking sick monster--"
"O villain, villain, smiling, damn'd villain!" Nick sneered. "The man with the gun doth proclaim his innocence! Tell me, sir bullet, did thou go where I command'd? No, surely not I, for I held not the gun! Tell me, sir trigger, did thou move at my word? No, surely not, for my thoughts cannot bend thy steel!"
There is silence again. It is only the two of them now, Corkscrew Nick and Jacob Kaynard, just them and the bodies. Everyone else, being perhaps sounder in mind than these two, has fled. Distant sirens scream, unable to come any closer because the traffic cannot move aside to let them pass.
Jacob Kaynard turns suddenly and begins to walk away. Corkscrew Nick cannot believe his eyes.
"What, you're just leaving?" he said. "Just like that? But we were just getting started! The story isn't over, Jake! Don't you want to see the ending?" But Jacob does not reply. He vaults neatly over the hood of a parked car and continues his walk on the other side, absorbed in himself, not knowing or not caring about what he is leaving behind.
=-=-=-
I can't believe he just dropped me like that. Leaving halfway through, it's a disgrace. You know? A fucking disgrace.
It took a bit of effort to get the knife clean--the first guy I tried to wipe it off on turned out to be wearing some kind of waterproof windbreaker, so I had to find something else--and by the time I was done Jake was halfway down the next block. No sense in chasing after him, not now.
I picked up the cop's gun from where Jake had dropped it. It was heavier than it looked, as guns usually are. I think it's the metaphorical weight behind them. Guns are one of the few items in the world that are wholly dedicated to the idea of ending a life, you see.
I picked up the gun and aimed down the sight. The fall from Jake's hand had knocked things askew a bit, though, and I could tell it was no use. Cheap, shoddy thing, was this gun. Can't believe a cop was carrying it.
And ya know, sometimes the truth of the matter sneaks up and hits you like a mugger with a club. I looked from the gun to the cop to the body in the car, with its neat bullet hole in the forehead. I slid the magazine out of the gun and counted the rounds, and tried to remember how many times Jake had shot at me, and when I realize I'm right I cannot believe it, simply cannot fucking believe it. I count the bullets again, just to be sure, with the same result. Twelve round clip, nine rounds remaining.
It was short by three.
I enjoyed it immensely, and I laughed when I realized that we had traded places since our first match in RW1; Here, you were writing (successfully) for action and pace and I in a manner more subdued and thematic. The world turns, eh? I look forward to reading more of Gabriel should the opportunity arise.The_Logician19 said:
I also enjoyed your more, shall we say, 'eldritch' interpretation of Night.
Heh, I feel what you mean. The mood fit, especially during Largo.Ultrajoe said:
On a different topic, my laptop broke down some two weeks ago. I now managed to get on a different one, and will be able to keep up my role as judge without fail. Ultra and Loggy; nice pieces of work (or should I say art). It was extremely difficult to choose between them. The only glaring common note for both are a couple words missing in some sentences and some typos. Loggy, a persisting error on your part is the confusion of "it's" with "its". You could both force a friend to be your editor of course, preferably through coercion and cookies.
Now.. to read Zem's piece for my own pleasure.
To confess, I am avoiding editing on the basis that when I 'Edit' I usually collapse into a blubbering heap and re-write everything until it's ten pages of synonyms for the word 'large'. The character and style are there because they're fun and cheap to play with, mostly so I can enjoy RW rather than go mad in the downwards spiral of protective insanity that lead to my leaving RW3.Higurashi said:
My writing style is all flaw, propped up occasionally into something worthwhile, if I try to touch it too much it falls over.
Couldn't agree more. So it's probably better you leave it be. An editor would only look at structure, pacing, spelling and syntax, not so much the content. And you're not half bad. What I usually like is the theme, symbolism and when it has a sense of purpose to it. Not just a pointless brawl. So yes, things have indeed changed since RW1, way back then.Ultrajoe said:
Well, quick update from Crow McJudgersson on my opinion of the two star contestants.
Both excellent, however...
In conclusion, you guys had your ups... and your downs.
The vote will come soon.
Nice work. I agree with you when you say [i\]"subdued"[/i], it seems almost as though the subject of the work was Gabriel, as Night seems content to occupy the same story in a more subtle, less notable role, like any faithful fuzzy-wuzzy supernatural wolf would. He manages to make his mark nonetheless. It's a great story, and you should be proud of it.
Although The Logician's interpretation of Night as a terrible beast from Lovecraftian horror is a nice presentation, it's no where near as cute as yours is Joe.
I almost wish this wasn't the case, but my favorite line is definitely:
[i\]" Night stared at the new arrival, before pointing his muzzle upwards with a confused expression. He looked back and forth between the sky and Gabriel before tilting his head again. [b\]'Bird?'[/b] "[/i]
My immediate response may or may not have been: [i\][b\]"D'awww!"[/b][/i] *Indistinct burbling*
Of all the pointed articulations and bewildering metaphor-flurries you've made, this is your masterpiece. They are always the simple ones, aren't they?
Although The Logician's interpretation of Night as a terrible beast from Lovecraftian horror is a nice presentation, it's no where near as cute as yours is Joe.
I almost wish this wasn't the case, but my favorite line is definitely:
[i\]" Night stared at the new arrival, before pointing his muzzle upwards with a confused expression. He looked back and forth between the sky and Gabriel before tilting his head again. [b\]'Bird?'[/b] "[/i]
My immediate response may or may not have been: [i\][b\]"D'awww!"[/b][/i] *Indistinct burbling*
Of all the pointed articulations and bewildering metaphor-flurries you've made, this is your masterpiece. They are always the simple ones, aren't they?
Kudos Logician. You've kept your record once again. We expect much from writer's of your and Joe's caliber, but this one was honestly unexpected.
Of all the things for me to focus my hazy mind on for long enough to espouse praise, it isn't the main character, it's the side characters. God I loved Tom's appearance. He shows up, completely ignorant of my expectations, and I swear he steals the show. I wasn't even sure who he was for a moment, and then your story tells me he's the "bank robber" and I nearly bought life insurance!
It's the little people we all forget about. The bit role this guy has is personally the highlight of the work. This in no way takes away from the main characters. Rather, it builds them up. For who here can admit that any man has risen to any position without someone else's influence?
It wasn't just Tom though, it was King. I don't know about anyone else, but his ability to know everything really grew on me. His ubiquitous presence, the manner in which he communicates to people with his non-chalant and strangely conversational (despite the circumstances) attitude is great.
My favorite line of the piece, is probably:
[i\]" I just thought I'd tell you, Thomas; you're being hunted. Hunted by two beings, actually; a gigantic man of metal, and an ethereal being made of nightmares. "[/i]
I think i'm the only person here who read that as though it were the list of deadly side-effects at the end of a medication advertisement.
Of all the things for me to focus my hazy mind on for long enough to espouse praise, it isn't the main character, it's the side characters. God I loved Tom's appearance. He shows up, completely ignorant of my expectations, and I swear he steals the show. I wasn't even sure who he was for a moment, and then your story tells me he's the "bank robber" and I nearly bought life insurance!
It's the little people we all forget about. The bit role this guy has is personally the highlight of the work. This in no way takes away from the main characters. Rather, it builds them up. For who here can admit that any man has risen to any position without someone else's influence?
It wasn't just Tom though, it was King. I don't know about anyone else, but his ability to know everything really grew on me. His ubiquitous presence, the manner in which he communicates to people with his non-chalant and strangely conversational (despite the circumstances) attitude is great.
My favorite line of the piece, is probably:
[i\]" I just thought I'd tell you, Thomas; you're being hunted. Hunted by two beings, actually; a gigantic man of metal, and an ethereal being made of nightmares. "[/i]
I think i'm the only person here who read that as though it were the list of deadly side-effects at the end of a medication advertisement.
Both excellent, however...
It would seem you both suffered in the climax departments.
Ultrajoe's was a bit... short. I have almost nothing to say about it. Very mildly disappointing, the kind of "disappointing" that makes you [i\]sigh[/i] for a while.
The Logician's was overdone. It came across, to me, as a forced sort of Hollywood heroic climax. Instead of sighing, I believe I [i\]groaned[/i].
Ultrajoe's was a bit... short. I have almost nothing to say about it. Very mildly disappointing, the kind of "disappointing" that makes you [i\]sigh[/i] for a while.
The Logician's was overdone. It came across, to me, as a forced sort of Hollywood heroic climax. Instead of sighing, I believe I [i\]groaned[/i].
In conclusion, you guys had your ups... and your downs.
The vote will come soon.
Zemalac said:
To have it be an actual murder mystery was something I was not expecting; it turned it into quite a joy to read. Both characters were very well defined, their interactions believable. The plot was intriguing. The ending, while slightly predictable, was done with uncanny precision.
All in all, I've become useless; I can think of no legitimate criticisms for your story, which is certainly more than I could say for mine (Ask Rex about that later). I think in this case, what you think is more important.
All in all, I've become useless; I can think of no legitimate criticisms for your story, which is certainly more than I could say for mine (Ask Rex about that later). I think in this case, what you think is more important.
Although, to be fair, Zem, you did beat me. You shouldn't need someone to tell you've done good.
To say I'm flattered is something of an understatement. I am positively brimming with pride. Thank you for both your criticism and your kind words.
Apologies for...what? Nothing. Absolutely nothing, I can't think of a thing.