Joined: Jan 2008 Gender: Female Posts: 6 Location: No Where Karma: 0
Re: Shadow Lands « Result #1 on Feb 24, 2008, 9:14pm »
One such elf huddled next to the rest. It was bloody cold, and she was slowly beginning to think this was completely and totally no worth the effort. They had long since run out of usable supplies, thanks to the constant drizzle, and carelessness of one of their comrades. Not that it mattered. A sniper had finished him off. And their band of six became five.
Someone stood up.
Wonderful. Now she was freezing and soaked through.
Last time you would catch her signing up for anything again. Period.
Those happy voices. They were so carefree. They were all she had left. She was an empty shell. They were her last memories, her last fragments of what she used to be. The last two years of her life, had been hell. Nameless guards and faceless scientists. Chemicals, alterations, experimentation. They had all stripped her of her humanity, her identity. Her past.
If those voices went away, she would lose. She would become exactly what they wanted her to be.
A weapon. A heartless, nameless tool for them to use, and discard. Not human, just another number in a book, another experiment.
All she could remember of her past self, was her name, a memory here and there, a voice. And art. When she dreamed, she dreamed of pieces of a life long destroyed. The life of a girl who live in a house, who drew, who loved, who was human.
She used to carve things into the metal walls of this grey, metal cell. The pleasure it had brought hadn't been worth the lashing, that left perfect white lines on her back
She was no longer human. She was both more and less than a human could ever be.
Her perfectly shaped hand slammed into the wall she leaned against, head resting on her knees. The skin split. It didn't matter. The nanites THEY had put in her body would heal it fast enough.
THEY were more of a monster than she was. THEY had taken everything from her. Her life, her joy her humanity, her identity.
THEY had only given her a number. They chopped off her thigh length hair, shaved her scalp. They took her body, and modified it.
She was a new breed now. Her bones stronger and harder than diamonds. Sensors, chips, networks of new enhanced muscles, replaced her once normal body.
She shifted. The rough blanket rubbed against over sensitive skin.
She hated this place. This place with no sunlight, only artificial lighting, where there was no taste of fresh air to be found, even with her heightened senses.
Where her life had been stripped away.
Where exactly 4499 other lives had been destroyed. "For the good of the country"
Bull shit. The "Great US of A." Nothing but a group of murderers. She used to have a cell mate. She never knew the girls name. Her number was 4459. She became a mistake in an experiment. They "culled" her. Because she had been a mistake.
Names. No one could remember them. Names made things human. Names distracted from a target. Names gave personality. Names could give you power. So they took the names away. They were only numbers.
That way, when they said "Kill that" It wasn't a human. It wasn't a life. It was a target. Numbers were reusable. Names were special. Names were not allowed.
There were only Targets. There were Those who gave you the Targets. They were the ones she wanted to turn into targets.
But THEY were smart. THEY had learned from the last time, that we were stronger. That we COULD kill them. That THEY weren't as powerful as they thought.
It was when 4472 broke his cuffs, and killed every guard stationed around him. Everyone else had followed suit. She had been there. The rush of adrenaline she had felt, the rush of pure, undiluted power.
To watch the life of the guard that whipped her, slowly squeezed out, as the foggy glaze of death slid over his eyes as she slowly strangled him, with the muscled hands THEY had given her. The feeling of the claws that THEY gave her, rip through THEIR flesh.
Yes, THEY had learned. THEY had finally understood, that THEY had created monsters.
The cell door opened.
One of THEM stood there with the sleepy gas, and 6 men to catch her.
She was one of the few left. She was a success in their experiments.
She would win, one day. She would take everything they had forced into her, and turn it on them. Bring it on She sometimes thought. The more they gave her, the more she had to turn back on them when the time came.
I will win, one way or another. I will find the people that belong to those voices, and faces. I will win. Because I remember my name.
I am one of the Military projects, Epsilon. I am not human any longer.
I am Epsilion #78. I am Number 4478, and my name is Allie.
Joined: Feb 2008 Gender: Female Posts: 5 Location: in the air Karma: 0
Re: Is it a trend? « Result #4 on Feb 7, 2008, 8:44pm »
hmmmm I can see that.
One of my OC's (original characters) was straight but really single and lonely, until I turned her lesbian and paired her up with another character who used to not have a big role. *shrug*
Re: Is it a trend? « Result #6 on Feb 3, 2008, 2:43pm »
Mmn, it might be a trend, but I think that people hace to entertain themselves by creating different subplots in the text. People have to say that people's sexual orientation matters, and try to change it because they either want their favorite characters to reflect themselfs, or give them a reason to hate them.
Yep. Needless to say, a lot of people are angry at this. It's becoming a trend to some, others just argue he's a baby. (which isn't even an argument, because real babies don't talk and plot to kill others)
So is it a trend for characters to suddenly come out to be gay?
For now, I'd say no, since I'm not a fan of Family Guy and thought nothing of Stewie's sexual orientation. But for Dumbledore, it could go either way. Either for whoring attention or small details that wouldn't fit in the book.
Sure, why not? « Result #10 on Feb 1, 2008, 8:26am »
I'll show anyone who hasn't already seen it a chunk of one of my stories, Holy Wars. Hope you like it.
He had been hearing the sounds of gunshots since he got out of the taxi, but now they were more abundant, and much closer. Buildings crumbled from damage, stone and brick slamming into the ground from stories up. Anton moved slowly along the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, surveying the area. There had to be at least one good thing in this God-Forsaken city. Anton’s eyes flicked as he heard a footstep behind him. Someone -- no, two people were following him. He heard them get closer, and clenched his fist. He waited for an opportunity to arise, and soon it showed himself. With near perfect timing, Anton turned and his hand grabbed the wrist that was guiding a fist towards the back of his head. He twisted the arm, making the assailant turn around, and kicked him in the back, flinging him to the ground. As he moved forward, he looked to his left to see the other, going for a weapon. Anton’s hands shot to his back and side, pulling his guns out and pointing one at each of them. The .45 was aimed at the one still standing, and the barrel of the magnum was at the back of the attacker’s head. A soft whimper could be heard. “Are you that fucking stupid? You need to be a little better prepared for someone to actually fight back against you scum!” He pushed the barrel of the magnum harder against the back of his head, and the whimper grew louder. Anton looked up at the other one-- he couldn’t have been more than 16 years old. He was wincing at the laser that was pointed at his forehead, it looked as if it burned him. They were just kids… Christ, this city was worse than he thought. He reached in the boy’s pocket and pulled a .45 out, and laid it on the ground. He looked up at the other boy. “Give me whatever weapon you tried to pull on me a minute ago.” The boy quickly reached in and pulled out a large hunting knife. Anton took it from his hand and threw it next to the gun. He stood up, removing the barrel from the boy’s head and lowering his guns. “Get the fuck out of my sight.” The boys’ eyes grew very wide, and in less than a second they both turned and ran as fast as they could. When they were out of sight, Anton put his guns back in their respective holsters. He picked up the weapons from the ground and inspected them. The knife was very clean, no doubt valuable, but he threw it into an alley anyways. The .45 had a full clip, very well polished, and didn’t even have a bullet in the chamber yet. That kid had barely, if ever, used that gun. He was just another kid who had bought a weapon so he could tote it around and intimidate people. Hopefully, Anton had taught two people the consequences of their actions. He took the clip out of the gun, and set both the gun and clip in his pocket. He’d keep the clip, no use letting 12 bullets go to waste, and sell the gun itself to a thrift store later. If he was lucky he could make a good $400 off of it, it seemed to be in excellent condition. He continued on his slow path down the sidewalk.
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