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Post by Jetillian Prower on May 14, 2009 16:27:24 GMT -5
The cool earth.
It provided comfort for this one. This was the effect of defeat-stricken face; battered, bruised, and uncomfortable it had to get up and embrace the morning smog of Osaka’s streets. How did this one get there? As it walked through the streets, there would be brief moments of sadness that would immediately attack and disable its movements, only to be hunched down to regurgitate that rat it found sitting in front of its face the prior night. There were brief moments of wonder given to this one: the sun would try to force its way through the thick clouds to greet, the wind would join the sun in glorious succession to calm, and the grass would force itself through the metal-lined streets as if fighting back the shock done to its system in years past.
The cold metal: comfort to pain but the constant stab to the heart of its destructive capacity. This one would stretch out a hand for help as it set next to the pile of stench that had once found its home within this being’s stomach.
“Would you not spare some—“ it coughed and continued, “yenko for this One. I’ve naught a thing!”
Most passersby would carry some kind of deformity, metallic limb, or neither of those only to be caught a cyborg or android. Considering the insidious place that this one had found itself in, violence was not an uncommon thing, and aid was nonexistent to the poor fools that sought shelter in this hell. The elements retracted themselves as the smog would become thicker and burn the lungs of this poor one. It would repeat its plea to all for hours on end until the night would come, signaled by loud and ominous horns that surrounded Osaka so all inhabitants would audibly be aware of its coming.
The darkness was the time you saw Osaka at its most brilliant of times; it was when you could see the blood lining the streets with this one’s blood.
“Total…. Change? Mmmm,” it took a breath as it took shelter in an alleyway and continued its thought, “Beatings… does that make me rich?” A small, dejected chuckle brought up some of the red-gold upon the fatal ground. The tattered hood covered the visage of this one as it let out enough space to look at the weak hands bound in materials it found. It took a deep breath fresh enough to allow relief since the smog began to rise during the night as the coolness of it allowed “ground level” to be the safest time to exist.
A spinely finger rose to caress the surface as a small smile embraced its face to the reality of being alive and the hesitation to end it. It was here during the night, this one could close its eyes and dream—there were no nightmares here within this place. In this place, it became whole. A field of green with a barrier of trees around the perimeter of this world provided a sense of entrapment but comfort. The green caressed this one as it stared out into the blue. The blue was then happily joined by whites brought in by the element of air. There were muffled sounds of reality translated into the dream as beings of flesh and blood happily romping in the distance.
Warmth: The opposite but non-existent faculties available for this one to love or access this feeling except for the days of smog greeting its lungs.
The painful morning came once again, greeting it with the sound of disapproval and acceptance—including a foot to the stomach as an additional wake-up call.
“Don’t they call you ‘Deadbeat’ Jay for a reason?” the boy said, staring down at the withered body. This one noted the makeshift mace made for the obvious reasons.
“Wishmaster Jay, actually,” it said. This one licked its lips covered by cloth, still tasting the digested rat. “I guess it could be due to the fact I’m only so hopeful in this filth that is Osaka.” The kid laughed lightly and offered a hand to get up as he was the only “friend” that this one had—an oddity in this pit of despair. The bound arm rose from the dried pool of red and latched hand-in-hand only to be pulled up with force commonly used by this boy. This one’s body growled, longing sustainable food thus creating attention to its friend.
“Get to my place, and I’ll fetch some crap for us to eat. You owe me for this one, too. The only sympathy that exists in Osaka and I have the disease. Fuck,” he said, walking off.
The one, Jay, stood there watching through the open slit through the hood and cloth, feeling the blood rush to all places of prior beatings past which created a wave of pain now common with the everyday existence here in Osaka. Closing its eyes, Jay turned around and walked to some doors down in the same alleyway which featured the quarter for that boy. Placing the code into the now low-tech door, entrance was granted and the figure of the one walked in. The place was riddled with clothes everywhere including different types of tools its friend would create weapons with. It was definitely a typical Japanese-esque boarding: compact with all the essentials necessary for life—bathroom, bed, workbench, and weapon cubby (of course). It smelled like molding something but it wasn’t as atrocious as the rat and the smog.
It wasn’t too long after Jay sat in a chair that its friend came barging in with a huge mutated chicken he stole from a gang’s mess hall. He had some genuine balls considering Jay had none or, at least, no motivation. It always bothered this one as to why the boy wished to aid in assisting life prolongment of the withered and covered body of Wishmaster Jay.
Slamming the door, the boy placed his weapon down which followed placing the chicken on the workbench. It wasn’t too long after that it was oozing blood due to blunt force trauma from a particular weapon featured at the corner of the room.
“Jay, get the hell out of my seat unless you want to fuckin’ clean the fowl,” the boy said as Jay got up as quickly as it could, transferring to the bed to watch. The boy never disclosed his name to Jay but was always called, “Samaritan” to this one—regardless how wretched he looked. It looked at Sam as the boy grabbed sharp, menacing knives as he went to work on the chicken to decapitate and clean the chicken. It was a 20-minute ordeal, and once it was done, he grabbed a metal sheet to toss it on and place in the old oven miraculously placed in the tiny kitchenette at the other end of the quarter. Jay, now supported by the old concrete of the building’s wall, continued to view the boy cleaning himself of guts and red.
Cracking his head, he turned around at Jay and said, “You always been some freak with a tail?” It was apparent that Jay was, in fact, not human but had always concealed it to the best of its ability to wrap every appendage possible to avoid much attention. Jay shrugged with minimal energy; Sam wasn’t much different as he was a half-breed with more human features, born of human and Tasmanian Devil. Claws, sharp teeth, more hair than the average human, and the small ears associated with the breed was pretty much all that was apparent to most but even he too had a small tail but nothing in comparison to Jay’s.
This one ignored Sam who then grumbled due to the lack of arousal from Jay. The boy shoved the giblets, feathers, and blood to the floor to get to work on additions for his arsenal.
“Aren’t you ever gonna talk?” Sam said, “It’s damned boring with you sitting there lifeless. Gotta put a chicken in your belly to get you goin’. You better eat the lot of it or I’ll be pissed. Don’t you dare chuck it either.” Jay lightly smirked and groaned to agree with Sam. “It’s not been in there for even five minutes now and it smells great. My stomach approves,” Jay responded, “Why do you even consider helping me? Osaka isn’t exactly place have the word ‘help’ in the vocabulary of the masses.”
He shrugged as Jay could only see his back. His small tail twitched as a clawed hand reached out to scratch his lightly haired back, “I have no reason to be here except to give you help. I had a freakin’ nightmare of this chick condemning me if I didn’t do it. Could be schizo but who the hell knows. You don’t know shit about who you are and I need you to get better so you can grant me some wishes of freedom from this hell pit. You’re my ticket, and I’m gonna do what I can with no compassion except for the things I need. It isn’t about you but about me,” he ranted, chucking up a ball of mucous to then spit on the chicken innards on the ground. Although Jay could not see Sam’s face, this one knew was deeply disturbed and sad deep down for reasons unknown. At this point, it could not care except to get whatever food into the beastial belly of itself.
After 2 hours of vocal silence, the chicken was cooked with the sound of a ‘ding’ signaling its completion. The chair that Sam sat in scratched along the surface as he got up and opened up the oven. The heat had no apparent effect to Sam’s skin as he moved a hand in there to stick claws into the cooked chicken’s body to place it on a cracked plate. It was then he ripped apart the meat into chunks to just grab and eat for the both of them. He took the plate and placed it on the bed next to Jay where he then moved his chair to sit in front.
Sam grabbed a chunk and shoved it in his sharp-toothed mouth—a place still less fowl than that rat. “Fuckin’ eat, ‘Deadbeat,’” he scolded, placing a leg in front of Jay’s face. Jay grabbed it and pulled the wrapping across its face to take a bite and masticate the meat within. Once again, silence except for the mutual chewing of delicious meat. Sam had a little bit more emphasis with the enjoyment of his food: groaning and moaning after every bite and scratching his chest in approval of the outcome of his cooking. Jay’s eyes peered through the draping hood that it wore to look around the quarters, only to see something shine in a semi-opened closet. This one’s heart beat fast, starting to breath heavily but quickly tried to get under control with minimal suspicion from the other in front.
What’s come over me? What’s in there… Jay thought, closing its eyes and hoping the feeling would subside. Swallowing the meat and taking another bite, it took a few moments to compose and remove the thought in its mind to concentrate on the energy received from the fowl. It took only 15 minutes to complete the meal, creating a happy stomach, gracious for the stolen food.
Sam burped loudly, tossing the bare carcass at the innards near his bench, “DAMN good. It’s your fault I went to get that bird and am I ever grateful!” He took one of his hands across his face to clean off any particles, placing a grin across his lips to then stand up and stretch. Jay felt the energy back its legs which allowed it to sit up. Doing the same to clean this one’s face, it recovered the majority of the face only to look over at the shining object covered in darkness again.
“Hey, Jay why don’t you get the heck—… what are you looking at?” he said, demeanor changing and turning his head to look at the object in question. His ears perked and turned red, a change common in the Tasmanian Devil breed. Angry but flustered, he yelled, “I asked, ‘what are you looking at?’ Jay?” Grabbing Jay’s shoulders with extended claws that dug into emaciated shoulders, he pulled the frail body up off the bed and threw this one at the door. “I-I don’t have shit out for display to be viewed.” It was a weak response and considerably suspicious but continued talking, “Get the hell out, Jay, till you freakin’ remember that.” With that, it didn’t take much to get up due to the energy given to his Samaritan, and open the door to be greeted with smog.
“It burns,” Jay said nay audible to Sam as this one walked out the door.
Sam began to feel the blood course through his body as he forced himself to calm down. He quickly looked from the door to the closet opening which he rushed to and closed the door. Breathing heavily, he said out loud to his invisible audience, “I would’ve been fucked if Jay saw that. I have the Wishmaster for myself, and I’ll make this wretched city mine.”
This one outside once again dragged its feet to the end of the alleyway, looking at the activity of Osaka’s denizens to the old boots it wore. Why must I still be alive? Jay thought, a first in its mind of depressing thoughts—perhaps a product of the arousal in Sam’s quarters? With a small head-shake, the thoughts of returning there without an invitation were dismissed, and it walked on its way to the same vigilant spot to beg as it did for the past years.
Meanwhile…
Sam was working on his current rifle, passively raging in his seat. Retrofitting a piece onto the weapon, he got frustrated and tossed it to the door, yelling, “SHIT!” at the top of his lungs. Standing there breathing rapidly, he went to a box underneath his bed and opened it. Squatting, he took an article of clothing—a jacket—and placed his face in it, breathing in. He turned it around, revealing the “GTC” logo on it. Getting angry once again, he tossed it back in the box with disdain and kicked the contents back underneath the bed.
“Osaka screws the brain up bad. I’m out of that organization now, and I’m here for my own. They can’t fuckin’ touch me here, and I will succeed in my own ‘mission.’” He laughed maniaclly as he got up and picked up the rifle he tossed, only to the return to his bench once more. “I got it, and once I figure out how to use it, I will kill them all.”
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Post by The Krazer Mighty on May 16, 2009 16:43:01 GMT -5
"A person, nothing more than an insignificant ant scrapping their bellies against the earth looking to bring meaning to their lives. The machine's face remained impassive, not even the inconsistent tic which haunted his every moment, dared to break his visage. "To me, a man or woman poses no more threat than an solitary ant to a bear. However." The vices tightened around the door frame. Cracks ran in all directions, fearing the monster and marring the black limousine's otherwise perfect interior.
"Like an ant they have the unique power to swarm, devour, consume whatever displeases them. Like an ant they perform tasks otherwise impossible." The perfect equation for humanity as a whole, alluded the monster. Krazer could twist and turn any individual perfectly. Make them dance at the ends of strings, force them to poke and prod one other, break them into teeny tiny pieces just for the sake of rebuilding the wretched thing.
People, a mass of flesh withering on the ground, tended to make a mess of things. Ignorant creatures, blinded by the most logical of choices. He disapproved of keeping too many of the creatures in one place for any length of time. They could swarm over him at any given moment. Could strap bombs to their disease ridden bodies and get rid of the tyrant.
Dying in such a manner seemed did not seem feasible for a machine of his caliber.
There were subtle ways he could influence them. General estimations on how they would react during certain situations. Nothing escaped Krazer Mighty's mental prowess for too long. It was still an inexact science. The machine disapproved of using any method not proven to work. Uncertainties made him second guess, forcing him to divert more of his mental resources then needed into such a simple task.
Soon that aspect of his existence would be over.
Twitch.
It had already been sent into motion.
Humanities downfall.
His eyes scoured the streets belonging to him. These pitiful things had already died in some way. Most mornings it was all they could do to stand. No matter how many stood up, to him they could do nothing. Victims of abuse their entire lives. They wouldn't know how to survive without it. He could grant each in every one of them their inner most desire. Allow them a taste of paradise. In the end they would feel that familiar gnawing at their heart.
'I don't belong here'.
Twitch.
Eventually they very happiness would grow bitter and twisted. It would push them away. Casting them back into the streets in which they belong.
Twitch.
That was how his people worked. Broken beyond all repair.
"Stop." The limousine eased to a stop. Beggar's Corner, where nothing but the lowest of the low gathered; begging, pleading, scratching at the feet of those with little themselves. It didn't matter if all they had was a single yen.
It was here Krazer Mighty decided to thin the numbers.
They're eyes looked to him, their king, their God. Awe inspired. They trembled in fear. All of them knew, their god could do whatever pleased him and the poor peons dared not rise his ire with their objections.
To be so insignificant must be a painful existence.
Every single one of them flinched as he reached into his pocket, fearing the worst. Fools. Not one of these filths were worth the amount of lead he would waste. Instead he withdrew nothing short of a large roll of money. "Twenty thousand Yenko." Greed almost overpowered their fear, they pawed at the air hoping beyond all hope that he would give it to them. "Twenty thousand Yenko to the last of you standing."
Seconds ticked by, without any one moving, he threw the fairly large stack of cash towards the most feeble looking of the crowd, the one covering itself with those disease ridden rags. It would surly die. Already they circled the cretin, hungry eyes already tearing into the fleshy body.
Humans.
Twitch.
The only productive way, no the only efficient way to eradicate them from the face of the earth, was through the promotion of chaos. Anarchy. Let them burn each other at the stake, let them stab, murder, kill one another.
Twitch.
Until all that was left on this world was himself.
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Post by Jetillian Prower on May 16, 2009 21:40:38 GMT -5
The black that came towards Jay within this one’s peripheral vision was a moving machine it once knew about long ago. This thing created even more deathly smog that filled the lungs of every organic piece of worthlessness felt even more so to the point of collapse. With the halt of some kind of breaking system, it stopped near the Wishmaster as a being of utmost importance came outside its confines. He looked like a powerful yet dapper man. Somewhere within the lost stars of Jay’s brain could barely recollect who this person might be but nonetheless useless. This one drew its eyes back down to the ground as the crowd of deadbeats halted whatever nonsense they were once doing to give this rather imposing man his egotistical presence.
It felt like an hour passed by as there was silence until the man then drew his words: “Twenty-thousand yenko,” he paused. There was no breath afterwards from this person as he then continued, “Twenty-thousand yenko to the last of you standing.”
The silence was then cut with the sound of smog pushed by an object that then hit the floor near this one’s person. Eyes drifted to the rather fat wad almost in disbelief; the crowd, too, in a state of awe—not accepting the reality of which they are within—stared at Jay at ready to pounce. These eyes peered through the “helm” to see the man slightly but it was nearly moments that it clicked for the mad mob to then charge at the cash without thinking twice about the casualty near it.
This was the first time that Wishmaster Jay would feel its heart give life to the limbs it wish to lay dormant in its eternal despair. Life was the driving force guiding Jay’s legs to use whatever energy was given to them by the chicken’s meat earlier but in all the commotion a hand quickly grabbed the yenko only to be immediately counteracted by the crowd. Escape was not in the cards this time; breathing in the toxicity of Osaka, it felt something take over this one’s body. Preservation and the protection of that money was the goal; casualties were merely the effect of this rampage, and at this point, it was this one’s money.
With fists balled, it zoomed and crushed multiple faces while a dazzling display of red sprayed the air, the crowd, and Jay’s face. It was almost tantalizing for this one’s emaciated body that it just continued to kick and beat the crowd down. One by one, each were brought down but not without a fight.
“Agguhh..” Jay moaned as it was attacked by three mad-driven denizens; a crack to the head soaked the cloth covering this one’s face, a knee to the stomach drew massive amounts of pain to the spine, and claws tearing the hooded rag it wore. There was only red within this pool of bodies and at the corner of Jay’s eye was the man—distant but eager to see the destruction he witnessed before him. There was no change in his eyes but a wispy smirk grew upon his face in the delight of their pain. It was no matter—this one had 20,000 yenko! But maybe more could be drawn from the rich man…
The sounds of screams of agony and anger resonated throughout the area drawing the attention of Sam within his quarters. The sounds of bones breaking and makeshift weapons being used against the organic matter was rather delicious for him; it was a part of Osakan life that made him appreciate the fact that he was stationed there in the first place before going MIA.
“Oh MAN. It sounds like a huge deal. Maybe they’re fighting over some food or some crap left out by a mess hall,” he said, wiggling with devilish delight. It was more exhilarating to hear the cries of these creatures then to actually participate in it. It brought his spirits up from his quick dive into the recent past and Jay’s inquisitiveness that he feared would be the end of his occupation—or being. Opening his door and placing a jam, it gave him more entertainment to his “hobby” of retrofitting.
In the meanwhile, the preservation system of the body drew adrenaline by the buckets to every part, giving the fleeting power back to take down the competition. With a leap off one rotund and disfigured bear, it allowed the thin body of Jay to go high into the air. It was then the body clenched, feeling the sharpness of metal pierce through the body. Painful images flooded this one’s mind: thoughts of defeat, captivity, silence, and through it all—optimism. It made Jay sick and quickly returned to the task at hand: kill. Get money. Run. It didn’t matter anymore as the smog gave resolve to the motions of this one’s body, landing on the crowd to continue the assault.
Attack after attack of blunt objects making contact, every claw-to-flesh drew the red—including the stench-ridden clothes in pieces, gave way to the thing within: a beast. The spirit of the crowd went deep within the body, completely blinded by the lust of greed and selfishness. Parts of flesh and fur went hand-in-hand with Jay’s clothes, to reveal only so much of the withered body within its cloth-bound protection.
MORE. MORE RED. MORE… kill.[/b] The last of those standing were fighting each other in blind fits of rage. Red covered this one. This one embraced the warmth of these bodies placed upon Jay in their own red. The hood, bound to the head well enough to withstand the fight still giving sight-access through its small opening, stared at the one who originally had the money, and then leaped down in front of him as if a hungry dog looked for its next meal.
A guttural voice spoke towards the man with an ultimatum: “More or you die.”
The background crowd quickly realized that their target had gone to the one originally with the money. Everyone still able or alive stopped fighting. The fear that they had prior to the brawl began to build up as they stared at the two figures: the heavily breathing Jay and the other, more powerful than the lot of them.
The figure then replied, “Oh. I don’t take threats from scum who fear showing themselves to the world when they are already viewed as the trash upon the worlds’ shoe. Most importantly… MY shoe.”
The now sprawled and exposed—yet bound—tail stood straight as Jay braced for something; this man moved and quickly lunged out.
Bring… it… ON!
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Post by The Krazer Mighty on May 17, 2009 14:26:05 GMT -5
Krazer Mighty remained passive through the whole ordeal, watching without feigned interest. Watching with nothing more than a calculated smile. Let them believe he enjoyed their suffering. Allow those beneath him to hold on to something. Hope came in many forms. When those below him believed for an instant that Krazer Mighty cared for anything other than the objective, they were much more docile creatures. Mindless pack animals that would do anything commanded of them.
Yet.
There was always that wild card. Certain things[ that exceeded his expectations.
Fast. Accurate. That thing that graced the battle. That thing that clawed at the soft bloated flesh of its fellows, left countless bodies laying in the filth. It moved too well to be just another beggar. What did they call this hooded creature? Its acrobatics were too well practiced to belong to any of Osaka gangs. Darkstalkers didn't train members and Violators simply enjoyed letting whomever joined their ranks dangle. Thinking such untapped potential belonged to a nameless rabble of thugs was a thought he wasted little time entertaining.
GTC.
Yes.
Twitch.
They were always sending pitiful creatures to infiltrate his company. Pitiful. Might as well let them do whatever they thought possible to stop them. Show the dirt at the GTC that even their best would be destroyed here. Under the blanket of continuous gray.
“More or you die.”
No threat. Not here at least. Not from the pitiful hooded thing before him. Its claws would not pierces his flesh. Its claws would not break through his protective exoskeleton. Krazer Mighty stood straight for the first time since leaving the compound. Let that pitiful creature tremble in awe at his stature. Allow the thin to be fearful of the machine's seven foot frame.
“Oh. I don’t take threats from scum who fear showing themselves to the world when they are already viewed as the trash upon the worlds’ shoe. Most importantly… MY shoe.”
It did not matter how much training anyone received from the GTC. One could spend their entire life dedicated to preparing for this exact moment and still never see that machine move. Swift, fluid, the zenith of grace.
Those hands tightened around its throat. So bothersome talking down to these pitiful creatures. He found it much easier to bring that thing to his level. Let that which dared to attack a machine see the folly behind its actions. Squirm, wither, panic. Let it do these things before extinguishing its life. Turn every shade in the color spectrum. Scream silently and beg for his mercy. Let it do these things before Krazer Mighty finished toying with it.
"Insect. What was left of his people backed slowly away from him, the thoughts of greed doused by its ignorance. Metal dug further into flesh, rivets of blood ruined his onyx suit. "No. Not an insect." Tighter. Increase the pain, rivets become a quiet stream. "An insect would not bite the heel of God. Nothing in their insignificant bodies would convince them that such an action would ever bear fruit."
He took it. The wad clutched so tightly in her hands. It had no meaning anymore. No. It just no longer stood for the same thing it once did. Krazer Mighty knew full well the threat of symbols and martyrs. Leaving this money behind would only remind those creatures; that one stood before him. "You took the rules out of context."
A fatal misunderstanding, but one he should have come to expect from those who lived under his rule. impetuous vermin.
"To count me as one of you. Foul thing." Krazer Mighty smashed its body into the frame of the limousine. "Insulting."
Perhaps... Krazer Mighty paused. Perhaps such a thing as this would bode well for him. A creature with talent could prove to be a useful asset. There would be no need to sink resources into training. "The price for such treachery is your freedom."
The door opened he took one last moment to show his prize to the world. "Look at it, remember fondly your times spent on these streets. Recall those moments of pain and suffering as happy memories. Allow those times when the fear of starving to death on ashen nights warm your heart. All of this will be your only light. Your only inspiration. Servitude for life. You now belong to Krazer Mighty."
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Kragt
Proletariat
Posts: 84
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Post by Kragt on May 18, 2009 1:12:57 GMT -5
The tapping of Kragt’s shoes echoed eerily into the vast and empty room as he walked in. It was dark, black, and void like even. The Fist of Holystrike eagerly ran his digits over and over on the tome he held. He could sense something was not right about this room. There was an aura here, something that screamed that this now desolate room once held something great. But whatever it is, or was, now long gone. Kragt took in a deep breath, embracing the absolute silence and oblivion for a brief moment. Then came a release as lights flooded the room. The feline held up his arm, covered in its usual black suit, to shield his eyes from the change.
“Sir, it’s time to begin the mission.” A familiar voice beckoned him away from his meditative calm.
“Fine, remind me of the mission status on the way there. Is the GTC sure that this is vital to the lives of Neo-Tokyo?” Kragt measurably lowered his limb, still standing in his spot, his paws still going over the cover of the lexicon in his grip. A certain apprehension leaped through him, he never liked leaving Tokyo. The thought of leaving his most important loves unguarded, and letting his own beating heart be placed upon the mat of death’s door were such awful dreams to fabricate. The fur around his neck stood up as he turned to leave the room that brought him serenity a moment before.
“Yes sir, the council is sure that this is indeed required to keep Neo-Tokyo safe from gang invasion.”
Kragt looked up at the rather tall frame in now in front of him; one of the many soldiers in the army that severed the GTC. Yet not a single one of them was ever shorter than Kragt. It was frustrating at times to always be the shortest in the group, but it did help out at certain times. At least this was how the Fist liked to view it. Kragt made a slight mumble and motioned to the guard, “‘the man who goes alone can start today; but he who travels with another must wait till that other is ready.’ Is the vehicle started?” The feline started a hastened pace out of the room.
“Yes sir, we are ready to proceed as planned. ETA for Osaka is three hours; details shall be discussed on the ride there. Sir!” The armored figure stood to a salute as his commander passed by him, following the Fist as they headed the recently repaired Holystrike Mobile. The lights left and oblivion filled the room once more.
***
Kragt nodded robotically as he read through pages of the book in his lap; picking up key phrases from the voices in front of him. This seemed to be an unusually efficient way of study for him as he turned the page and nodded once more.
“Your target is a male operative who went rouge some months ago. He goes by the name ‘Sam’ and may be armed.” The unit spoke through his helmet at Kragt, who simply nodded again and repeated the word ‘Sam.’ The feline turned another page in his book, taking a second to pat down a few stray hairs on his head. “The target is suspected of also carrying a particularly dangerous weapon. Although intelligence suggests he will be unwilling or unable to wield it. Be cautious all the same.” The guard began tightening the straps on his armor, possibly preparing for any stray attacks that would occur during his delivery. Kragt continued his routine of nodding and page flipping. The Fist of Holystrike licked the pad of his opposed digit and tried to carry onto the next page in the book, but the end was nigh. And his pad only touched the back cover. The book was over and the ride was near its termination as well. Kragt looked up, snapping the book in his lap as his face took on a less peaceful look. His eyes met with the reflective visor of the guard looking back at him. The feline felt his muscles tense as the Holystrike Mobile began to slowdown into the destitute looking Osaka.
“Is there anything else?” Kragt straightened out the corners of his suit and frame. His ears became pert, listening for anything of interest as building after building passed by the windows of the automobile.
The guard made a quick cough, “Ahem. The target can be retrieved either dead or alive. That is the final detail.” The guard’s arm waivered for a second before he slammed his fist onto a large well polished circular button. “Ejection in ten seconds. You have thirty minutes to complete the mission.”
Kragt tightened his clutch on the novel and stared at its cover, an engraving of various swords. “Got it, thirty minutes. ‘Be well, do good work, and keep in touch.’ Wait! Ejection? Wha-” Kragt felt a rush of air push back his whiskers. A slight emotion of panic flashed over his eyes, with his free paw ripping claw first into his three story high seat. Black parachutes shot from behind him, hidden by the darkness above he drifted slowly down. The Fist of Holystrike regained his composure as he looked onto the streets below, feeling an impulsive burst of sorrow as he saw the dejected mass of depraved Osakians killing each other in a bloody melee. Kragt shook his head away from the sight; he had a mission to accomplish for the good of those at home. But first he would need to get out of this chair. After all, being a sitting duck is not a good role for a feline. Kragt undid the buckles and tucked his manuscript into the badge side of his jacket. His legs sprung and his body bounded from the chair onto an open ledge. A small gray stone rectangle that was barely wide enough for him to walk one paw at a time, but at least he had freedom of movement now.
“Now for Sam’s house,” spoke Kragt, ready to hurry along the mission and return back to the more comfortable and brighter Neo-Tokyo. He ambled down the path on the ledge looking for the building he was described earlier. “It must be nearby here somewhere,” mumbled the feline, eyeing each door, window, and wall. His paws made almost noiseless thuds as he sneaked along, keeping away, or at least out of the senses of the mob nearby.
“There it is… and near the mob too. This may end up being troublesome.” Kragt eyed for any opening to his target building, but this was proved futile quickly as the feline’s optical orbs sighted the target in front. The target was holding onto one of the homeless, and he appeared to be interrogating him for something. This small browbeat moment ended and Kragt seized the opportunity to pounce down on his target. His legs pushed against the stone he stood on to propel his body directly onto the male. The Fist of Holystrike set his claws into the back as he made contact with the target; hastily yelling “Sam, you are hereby under arrest for your unlawful act of desertion from the GTC. Do you have anything to say?”
The male screamed out, “Guagh, get your damned GTC claws out of my back ya fucking bastard!” He began to push forcibly against the ground to try and remove the feline from his back. “Besides, you got more important things to worry about, like the other rogue GTC member who is about to smashed into a pulp by a crazed android. You fucking tard!”
Kragt thrust his arms down against the target to keep him restrained, “There wasn’t another rogue mentioned in the report. Why should I trust your words on this?” The feline silently began to check the facts from the mission in his head while trying to discern what was really happening here. A quick shoulder to the chin forced Kragt’s attention back into reality where the tasmanian devil forced the Fist off of his back against the dirt.
“Shut up and hurry up, were running out of time. There’s another operative that has been living off the radar for a while now. We got to go save that person. Fucking GTC…,” the last words were mumbled as Sam turned and rushed away. Kicking up a substantial could of dust in the process.
“Hey! You’re still under arrest, and you better not have gotten any blood onto my suit!” Kragt yelled and chased after him, grabbing the tome from his jacket for support as he hurried after the target. Kragt turned the corner, wiping a bit of blood from his lower lip and then he stopped in shock of the sight. The once writhing horde of brawling homeless was now a bloody field of corpses. Dust became absent in front of the feline as the fluids kept a thin liquid coat everywhere. It was just so much blood and so many dead people. As he continued forward the usually semi-silent steps of Kragt’s booted feet now made wet popping sounds as the red mess was unavoidable.
“’Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind; quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.’ May the world bear kindness onto these senseless deaths; for I may have failed today.” Kragt whispered his words to the cadaver near his boot, stepping over it to move forward. Time was running low on the mission now and he had two operatives to apprehend.
The violence was not over yet. Kragt looked up from the gore to see a tailed figure being beat up against a limousine. The vehicle and the act were both unnatural to this setting. The cause of all this death and suffering was plain now. Holding onto the ragged figure and continuing to torture it was the android, a tall and intimidating figure was he. This would certainly be a challenge to do, but it was required of Kragt, Holystrike, and honor that he save those that he could. The Fist of Holystrike move forward as the scene continued. The tailed figure became slumped over the lengthy automobile and the robotic giant stood over it, almost gloating in victory in a sadistic way.
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Post by Jetillian Prower on May 18, 2009 10:45:12 GMT -5
The Wishmaster’s body hit the metallic frame of the vehicle, cracking its back into place. Jay thought briefly on how much that felt so good yet so bad at the same time. The red was everywhere now; discoloring that of which it was thrown upon did not even faze this metallic “god" in the slightest. The red was coughed upon the already soaked rags that covered Jay’s face and simply dripped down onto its body within. Deep breaths. Unwavering optimism. Why?
The crowd decided to book it as the entity glared at the mob, almost telling them to push their fears into motion and leave the premise. Suddenly, sounds of multiple feet and yells emanating through Samaritan’s alleyway which made him fall off his chair in shock. His agile reflexes allowed him to recover, and get back upon two feet to run at the door and peer through. The battered, bruised, and shaken crowd was nearing its completion by passing by his quarter.
Grabbing the last badly mangled hobo, he inquired, “Why the heck are you guys yelling? What’s going down there besides the typical bar fight? I mean… why else would you freakin’ idiots be screwing around near the mess?”
Obviously frightened by the sudden halt and the possible death behind him, he frantically responded, “LOOK man, I need to get out of here. There’s one other freako like yourself that got right up in Krazer’s face and challenged him all-like. Covered in blood, puke, sweat, and dirty clothes from the head down… it’s ‘Master Jay most likely. That poor bastard but serves that thing right for killing the whole lot of us!”
Finally the struggle gave way to Sam letting go and looking in the opposite direction—the direction of which the mob came through. Blank stares turned to immediate pain; something pounced him out of nowhere which made him close his eyes briefly, clenching his teeth. An eye peered open as he was suddenly interrogated by the smell of a certain kitty-cat he knew of.
“Sam, you are hereby under arrest for your unlawful act of desertion from the GTC. Do you have anything to say?” his captor said. “Guagh, get your damned GTC claws out of my back, ya fucking bastard!” Sam retorted, trying to force him off by pushing Kragt down but the grip was too firm, paralyzing his arms. “Besides, you got more important things to worry about, like the other rogue GTC member who is about to smashed into a pulp by a crazed android. You fucking ‘tard!” Grounded now, he growled angrily.
“There wasn’t another rogue mentioned in the report. Why should I trust your words on this?” Kragt said, immediately checking the mission objectives within his head. This was opportunity for the switch, and Sam to mount the cat.
“Shut up and hurry up, were running out of time. There’s another operative that has been living off the radar for a while now. We got to go save that person. Fucking GTC…,” the last words were mumbled as Sam turned and rushed away. Kicking up a substantial could of dust in the process. There was fear in Sam’s soul—not for himself but for his prize to be compromised by some dumb luck.
I gotta have a plan to get rid of this trash—both the cat and swipe Jay outta here, he thought. As he was running down the alley, Kragt spoke some nonsense about his clothes being soiled… whatever—at least he was running after his perp.
Back at the limo, Wishmaster Jay tried to cough lightly to clear the lungs of the mixture of red and smog in order to gain some strength to run away. Somewhere in the back of this one’s head said:
I’m property to only the skies, the earth, and the pursuit of knowledge. Images of person holding an object towards a foe swam through the jelly of the brain. Falter upon this ground would only mean I return twofold upon you…
Squeezing its eyes, a clear breath could be drawn as frantic footsteps of two others could be heard to come to a halt near the metallic monster and Jay. Looking lifeless, eyes looked up slowly moving the head up to follow the will of sight.
Sam… brought company? What a Samaritan…
The being continued to stare down at Jay with intention, ignoring to turn around and greet the new blood. The manufactured mouth began to open to formulate words of the language programmed within, “What are you, Robin Hood?—pun intended,” the figure said. Sam squirmed but did not strike until he knew there was an opening. Kragt was thoroughly confused on the fact of what happened, viewing only blood and bodies upon the diseased ground. Sam watched the cat squat to offer prayers to the lost ones. Smirking, he knew no prayers could escape this infested hole; however, back to the matter… what was Krazer doing?
Eyes returning to the figure in front of Jay, he spoke once again, “Superman? Sailor Dirtbag? What is it? The ‘bad guys’ would always reveal who the good-doer was because it would mean that they could threaten their very existence. You have no place in this world; you are mine to do whatever I please. Rather, I’d have you enter my vehicle to soak the upholstery. Metal? Easily repairable.”
He reached out. Sam’s eyes opened wider with mouth agape—NO! Kragt watched; this was all surprising to him. In his time of service, he had never seen such a thing happen. What is going to happen? Looking over at Sam, he seemed to be freaked about something.
What's going on?
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Post by The Krazer Mighty on May 22, 2009 3:37:20 GMT -5
"No!"
Movement.
Slow, such slow movement.
The machine's eyes barely wanted to register it. The fact that what this abomination did could be called a miracle made him strike the definition from his databanks. Now the word proved to be useless.
Muscles, tendons, bones working in unison. Pulling tugging. A joke. Too inefficient. Burning energy when none was needed.
A joke from a Jester. These things infuriated Krazer Mighty. What in its feeble mind possessed it to move towards him? Some kind of misguided hopes of being a hero? Perhaps it felt an undying love towards this thing in his hand. Cherished it? Held the hooded thing above all rational meaning? Indeed that pitiful sack of flesh moving towards him could be nothing more than a jester who told nothing more than a bad joke:
To think that anything it could do to Krazer Mighty, would have any affect.
A bad joke.
Unamusing.
"Begone speck." Lightening shaped as a metallic hand struck that thing's face. Cartilage shattered from the blow. Disgusting liquid splattered across the already filthy street.
It staggered to the ground only so the vermin could kneel on one knee before the God of Osaka. As all things in this world soon would one day do.
"No man, beast, or other can stand against me." Blood dripped from the encroaching hand. Nothing stayed secret from him for long. "Nothing in life evades me. Death does not escape me, Meaning does not hide from me. This thing you try to steal from me, Robin Hood. Futile. After all, secrets are only there to be revealed."
Moments in time hobbled forward without the aid of any sound. Silence had settled between the four. Unspoken words screamed from that pile of flesh. So lost was it, that nothing audible could be formed. Just silence.
The sound of fabric torn asunder roared through the streets.
Twitch.
"You are dead, no?"
Twitch.
"To think a prize..."
Twitch.
Words escaped him. Krazer Mighty could not recall a moment since the time he was operational that life had not been laid before him in an orderly fashion. Were calculations of calculations instantly solved themselves. To the machine holding... her, the idea never would have been entertained.
Surprise.
Twitch.
"No matter who you are, who you once were, the fact remains mute. This dead woman belongs to me." The limousines door opened to reveal not a thing. No light came from inside. Only the blood red upholstery graced them with its presence. A color chosen with only one purpose. After all this was not the first time he had picked up trash, while out on the streets.
"For now I would have her stay in darkness, eternally." Krazer Mighty threw her into the vehicle. It would be poor manners to leave fools such as these without proper motivation. "Give in to that sinking feeling, allow the futility of your uselessness consume your entire beings. Remember that on this day you saw a great thing happen to a thing that you despise."
Krazer Mighty grinned at those who stood before him, knowing full well the effect it would have on their minds. Let their rage fester and boil till whatever goal they had could no longer be found. Allow those minds of theirs become so infatuated with Krazer Mighty that the very idea of anything else running across it was nothing more than a bad joke.
Alas this is what it meant to live ones life as a peon.
A life filled with pain.
and he smiled.
ooc: Only half an hour late!
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Kragt
Proletariat
Posts: 84
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Post by Kragt on May 25, 2009 19:48:01 GMT -5
“I can’t believe it… This isn’t how things should happen,” Kragt whispered, watching as the tall android smacked Sam out of the way and flung ‘her’ into the limousine. The fur covering his body stood straight on edge as his eyes absorbed the site. The tabby’s paw clenched into a fist, his own claws drawing a bit of feline blood from within. Everything was up on Kragt, his ears, tail and whiskers were the only things seemingly keeping his senses on the earth and not all in his ocular ability. Something had to be done…
“Sam! Slow him down; start flinging bodies at him, or at the limo. We got to get her out of there,” Yelled Kragt. His voice hissing out orders as his bloodied paw pulled the book out from his jacket.
Was this really a time to fight? The Fist of Holystrike shook his head swiftly and started dashing forward. As he ran, hurdling over the corpses still strewn on the ground, Kragt kicked up their blood with his boots. The feline needed a plan quickly; the apparent requirement for one was brutally obvious. “That’s it!” Kragt stopped. The sudden lack of movement combined with blood soaked boots forced his balance off. His feline balance couldn’t save him from falling back first into a puddle of blood; the sudden shock forced his eyes closed as the red fluid flooded his suit, fur, and hair.
Alright, now if I step back and look only at the objective I need not fight. My goal is only to recover the agents. Now it’s really just a matter of anthro ingenuity.
Kragt’s eyes shot open. He felt a thick layer of grime across his back, and frowned at the realization that he was laying in a mess of a dry cleaning bill. At least he had a plan to make up for it. The tabby rose from the puddle of gore, blood started draining down him through his hair and suit. The feeling would likely leave uncomfortable scarring later.
The Fist of Holystrike dug his claws into some wood that covered the windows of a nearby residence, and began ascending towards a greater height. His pads sensed concrete as he lifted his body onto a ledge that was a story higher. The sound of blood dripping filled Kragt’s ears and he cringed at it, worried that ‘her’ blood would soon be making the same sound if he didn’t hurry. The feline began to walk on all fours, his tail balancing his movements, making a hasty dash through the shadows above. One after another his hands left prints as he paced onward, after a short eternity he was where he needed to be.
Kragt kicked against the now brick roof that rested underneath him, his frame started a descent till a soft thud marked his landing on the paved ground. His feline eyes forced themselves open to the world, and he absorbed the light with a stare. The tabby stared for a moment at the closed door of a limousine; a probably locked door… The Fist of Holystrike lowered his head looked underneath the bottom of the vehicle to see the robots limbs still standing in their spot. “He’s probably still gloating, arrogant bastard,” Kragt said in a hushed breath with his paws touching the keyed slot of the door.
The tabby raised his body upright and examined the small circular lock tediously. He focused on it, grinning, and pulled his still soaked ponytail out from behind him. Kragt’s eyes remained on the lock as a few blood soaked strands rose up, pushing slowly into the keyhole and twisted. Some more strands entered, and more after that, until the keyhole was filled with a small writhing mass of fluid and protein. The feline’s ears flickered repeatedly; listening as a series of tumblers were moved locked and pushed into place. The process continued until…
Click.
Kragt blinked, removing air from his eyes after what felt like an endless torment of duly staring at a small metal circle. The lock was open and his paws clenched on the handle of the limo, and he pulled it outward, he pulled with a joyous zeal as he experienced the opening of the door. During this brief moment a smile of hope and joy of things to come crossed the mind and face of Kragt. His eyes opened now to bring an end to the sudden beaming joy that was hope.
The Fist of Holystrike watched in shock as the Android was staring at him with a stern glare that seemed to speak ‘you are annoying me.’ Kragt shot his paw onto ‘her’ coat arm, a now futile gesture as he felt a metallic rope form a noose around his furred neck.
“Pathetic animal, your trespass will only mean your death,” were the sullen sounds of ‘her’ captor’s voice.
Kragt felt the ground fly away from his feet; the limousine had started its movement, and now Kragt was about to be hanged in mid-drive!
The metal coil encroached further against the feline’s neck, slowly tightening with a measured vice like grip. Kragt began to feel a dilemma as his hands scratched at the metal rope to no avail. The right side of his body repeatedly crashed and skid across the paved road, he made a note of mental anguish about the damage this would do to his suit. The tabby’s optics stared at what would soon become his murderer’s face. This face seemed a bit emotionless, but that may have been Kragt’s vision blurring up. Another plan was needed if he was to survive another day to accomplish anything. The Fist of Holystrike held onto the rope, his own face starting to show less emotion as blood flow and air was slowing down, a fleeting thought was the last line Kragt was able to fully experience.
A mental push sent the feline’s boot into the rear headlight of the automobile, crashing past a plastic casing and into a forceful shock. The tabby’s blood felt afire and he began to shake violently as some unknown amount of power pushed through his body and onto the metallic rope that encircled his furred life band.
Kragt rolled and tumbled along the paved road. The sound of air moving around tires became more distant, and ever fainter. The feline’s lungs greedily took in large helpings of air. He breathed deeply as his senses and mind was able to work again at their fuller capacity. The tabby could now feel a burning on his right shoulder from his earlier ride on it. Instantly a sullen expression and deflated emotion filled him as he realized he failed to save ‘her.’ He gripped his aching shoulder and with a bit of willpower he managed to stand. Limping slowly back to where the limousine used to rest, Kragt pondered over the situation. His thoughts mumbled from his mouth audibly, “Why didn’t he kill her there..? Why wasn’t I warned she would be here..? And wait… where is her weapon!?”
Kragt gasped, standing still and looking at the residence of his original target. A quick pang hurt him as he saw the book he carried all strewn about and destroyed. It was a pang that wouldn’t last however…
The feline could almost hear the clicking in his head as he realized that there was still more left to do on his mission. The Fist of Holystrike hastened his hobbling movements towards the house of Sam, there was business to be done there now.
The fist of the tabby pushed open the door, looking at Sam grumbling and tending to his own wounds that the android had given to him.
“Sam!” Kragt yelled into the hovel of a building, glaring at the Tasmanian devil. He reached forward and walked in, his paw clenching in midair as he now walked. The small fire inside the building grew much larger, leaving its cozy resting spot to form a fist with pads and claws that resembled the closed paw of Kragt. “You knew about this beforehand didn’t you?! You vile bastard! You could have told me before hand and I could have called for backup! We could have saved her!” Kragt finally stopped his yelling at Sam once he got close to cur. The feline made a characteristic hiss at Sam, growling and waiting for his reply.
The devilish figure seemed to ignore the intimidating fist of fire and looked back at Kragt with a determined stare, “Psh, you stay away from her. She's my prize and I intend to use her however I wish. I have something else under my sleeve and I intend to use it!” he yelled back, arrogant and confident in his words.
This response made Kragt grin uncontrollably as he already knew what the next event was. “Oh? And what would be hiding underneath your bloodied sleeves that could get her back? A certain weapon perhaps… A weapon that belongs to Holystrike…?” Kragt moved the flamed fist closer to Sam, things might be getting hotter soon, it was a feeling it the feline’s gut.
The Tasmanian devil rolled toward the closet; sweeping out his right arm in a frenzied maneuver. In his hand there was not a worn down broadsword. The sword shifted and seemed to move with the heat and grow with each second. Finally, the weapon stopped moving and Kragt grinned. A grotesque thing that was once a sword was now being wielded by Sam. The fight began…
Kragt placed the furious flaming fist between them and stood still.
Sam ran forward and slashed vertically downward to dissipate the fist, the grotesque weapon sank straight into the floor of the building. The devil panted and pulled at the armament. This didn’t grant him any progress as he fell onto the floor and howled.
Kragt kept his almost redundant smile. Walking forward the feline simply pushed Sam away from the weapon. Leaning down, the Fist of Holystrike pulled out a pair of metallic cuffs to help restrain the Tasmanian devil. His still wet hair drooped down in front of him during this, reminding Kragt that he would need a lot of cleaning upon his return.
“Sam, by the authority of the Greater Tokyo Council, I hereby place you under arrest.” The tabby looked into the face of the arrested target, which was now unconscious from energy loss. Kragt took the moment to place the weapon, which had reverted back to a normal broadsword, onto his person. The feline proceeded to grab a thin quilted blanket, rubbing his pads against the soft material, and wrapped his target in it. Snickering, the tabby whispered, “Spicy Tasmanian Burrito.”
It was a few minutes, and several attempts at hauling later, when a familiar duo of uniformed officers approached the Fist of Holystrike. Kragt spoke fist, “Biggs, Wedge, I left the target gift wrapped inside. One of you grab him, the other I want to get the car door for me.”
“Sir, Yes, Sir!” screamed the duo. They aptly ambled about and Kragt padded toward the vehicle. He made his slow plodding steps with a sigh of relief. The mission was finally about to be over...
But there was one final matter that came with all missions still left to take care of.
***
Kragt stepped forward into the dark oblivion that was a wide unlit room. He was cleanly dressed again, wearing a shining Holystrike badge, and sporting blood free hair. His steps made muffled echoes into the room. The feline stopped at the center and took in a deep breath. Light flooded the room and all around was a series of uniformed judges. This was the GTC.
“Fist Joab Leebrial. You are hereby called in to report on the circumstances of your mission. Proceed,” spoke the central figure of the group.
Kragt made a quick salute, returning to a normal position to open a folder in his paws.
“I was sent on a mission to retrieve a rogue agent, Errad Gundth, who was living in a slum out in Osaka. At the time of my arrival an android, now confirmed to be Krazer Mighty, had started a riot near the targets location. After I apprehended the target the first time he disclosed that there was a second rogue agent at that location. He also disclosed that this agent was receiving harm from the android Krazer. The rogue agent is now confirmed to be Jet Prower,” Kragt made a brief pause as a few whispers came from the judges above. The Fist of Holystrike continued, “The android Krazer then forcefully took former Fist Jet into his possession. I was unable to recover Jet in time. After the android Krazer left the area with former Fist Jet, I went back to the original perimeters of the mission I was assigned and proceeded to place rogue agent Gundth into GTC custody. At his residence I also recovered the weapon that had belonged to former Fist Jet, the sword Calensabre. The mission was then accomplished as directed.” Kragt stood again at a salute, snapping the folder shut and standing perfectly still.
“So you managed to complete the mission you were assigned,” inquired the uniformed judge.
“Yes Ma’am,” Kragt responded, still holding his salute position.
“Then you are dismissed from this meeting with your rank as Fist of Holystrike still intact. The GTC hereby calls this meeting to an end.” The judges all unanimously banged their gavels in an intimidating thunder.
Kragt dropped his salute, turning about and marching smartly out of the circular room. He could hear the judges scatter out of their seats into the back exit as he reached the end of the once again oblivion filled office.
A familiar hound poked him on the shoulder, “Sir? What are you going to do about that?” She pointed at the worn down sword hanging from Kragt’s belt.
The Fist of Holystrike sighed, looking up at her with his feline eyes, “This sword shall always belong to the Fist of Holystrike. It is tradition now.” Kragt started marching down the hall, his new boots squeaking slightly.
“But sir,” interrupted the canine, “don’t you see it as fate that you inherited the sword at the cost of losing the Jet Prower?” She stood at attention towards Kragt and waited.
The First of Holystrike stopped his march; he turned around to face her with his eyes looking at the distance beyond her. A brief silence preceded his words, “‘Destiny, chance, fate, fortune--they're all just ways of claiming your success without claiming your failures.’ To say that I hold this by fate is to deny that I failed to save Jet. It pushes the blame to fate, and prevents me from learning from my own shortcomings. This was not fate.”
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Post by Shizen on May 25, 2009 20:03:15 GMT -5
Jet
Quality - 5/5 Length - 4/5 Grammar - 4/5 Judge's Call - 5/5
Well it's nice to see you back, Jet. I'm giving you full score on quality because no one has ever made cooking and eating chicken that enthralling. Kidding aside, the fight was very nice and Jet's disassociative behavior was fun to read and see develop. You had some spelling and grammar problems that made me read a couple sentences over. Other than that, a nice read that brings back good memories.
Level Up!
Kraz
Quality - 5/5 Length - 4/5 Grammar - 4/5 Judge's Call - 5/5
You know you do great as a villain and I don't know why you flaunt it so much. Damn over-performing android. It's a shame there wasn't more Krazer action, though as this was a little on the short side for your part. But it's great seeing your inspirations culminate into a great villain with obvious flaws that he hides perfectly.
Level Up!
Kragt
Quality - 3/5 Length - 4/5 Grammar - 4/5 Judge's Call - 3/5
Well it certainly was long, which is nice for closing up stories. Your style needs more personality, though. This would have been perfect if I felt like this was a cat telling his side of the story. With Jet, she makes you forget it's Jet and hse's this other identity. But her writing has Jet's higher intelligence personality. Proper speech and her observations are filled with technical terms. Krazer's post has the essence of a bored machine who finds humanity pitiful or pitiable, but he's too arrogant to cast a care. Shizen's personality bleeds through as he uses slang and his observations are dry and witty and cynical.
If you have a breath of personality of your character in your writing then it makes for a much more tasteful style, especially when writing at the lengths you did. I hope that was the critique you were looking for. Otherwise, you did a nice job as the new head of Holystrike. Keep up the good work.
20 EXP
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