Chapter 4
"If there is darkness in the world, it was crafted by man" ~ Duar Religious Text, 3rd century SGD
"God loved the world, but it was a short honeymoon." ~ Newman Castell, "Bleakspace"
"You will either write your own future, or be a footnote in someone else's."
~ Gynnifer Ghant _"Hellike"_
For nearly a fortnight she had been cooped up within the confines of Christmastime, that singularly nasty clump of human detritus washed on the unforgiving shores of Buran IV. It wasn't the crowded, badly lit corridors that finally began to work at her; she realized she missed the Thin and the Freeze more than she missed the milling crowds of swindling, scheming,
shady, sulphurous humans who called Christmastime home.
Still; she was able to catch up on some reading, upgrade her sniper scope to a Leupold Starmaster AG 9 and finally figure out who had carved her initials into the men's bathroom wall. Not at all uneventful, she just felt..
cooped up.
In the Freeze, she was master; she followed her own rules, and never broke them, and they had never let her down.Not once. Those rules had been handed down to her, and she had made them her own with a passion. Sure, she had added to them, and tweaked them; but they were still very much intact.
In Christmastime, the singular rule was simple; watch your back. Personally, the Enemy were far safer to deal with; they typically shot at your face, whereas these noble denizens of humanity tried very hard to use your back as a target.
Perhaps that's why she found it so easy to pull that trigger, over and over again. She simply pasted the faces of her fellows onto the enemy and went to work, with a smile on her face and a song in her heart.
She needed a drink, and maybe something else. She hated to ask around for that ; odd as it seemed, men and women were somewhat scared of her. all things considered, she was ok with that. Still, she needed what she needed, and it would be three days till her armor was totally finished with its cleaning and its upgrades. Ugh.
The Bartender over at the "House of Ale Repute" owed her a favor or two, and he knew her type. God.
Things were so much easier when you could kill them when you were done.
To view this post on G+, click here
"God loved the world, but it was a short honeymoon." ~ Newman Castell, "Bleakspace"
"You will either write your own future, or be a footnote in someone else's."
~ Gynnifer Ghant _"Hellike"_
For nearly a fortnight she had been cooped up within the confines of Christmastime, that singularly nasty clump of human detritus washed on the unforgiving shores of Buran IV. It wasn't the crowded, badly lit corridors that finally began to work at her; she realized she missed the Thin and the Freeze more than she missed the milling crowds of swindling, scheming,
shady, sulphurous humans who called Christmastime home.
Still; she was able to catch up on some reading, upgrade her sniper scope to a Leupold Starmaster AG 9 and finally figure out who had carved her initials into the men's bathroom wall. Not at all uneventful, she just felt..
cooped up.
In the Freeze, she was master; she followed her own rules, and never broke them, and they had never let her down.Not once. Those rules had been handed down to her, and she had made them her own with a passion. Sure, she had added to them, and tweaked them; but they were still very much intact.
In Christmastime, the singular rule was simple; watch your back. Personally, the Enemy were far safer to deal with; they typically shot at your face, whereas these noble denizens of humanity tried very hard to use your back as a target.
Perhaps that's why she found it so easy to pull that trigger, over and over again. She simply pasted the faces of her fellows onto the enemy and went to work, with a smile on her face and a song in her heart.
She needed a drink, and maybe something else. She hated to ask around for that ; odd as it seemed, men and women were somewhat scared of her. all things considered, she was ok with that. Still, she needed what she needed, and it would be three days till her armor was totally finished with its cleaning and its upgrades. Ugh.
The Bartender over at the "House of Ale Repute" owed her a favor or two, and he knew her type. God.
Things were so much easier when you could kill them when you were done.
To view this post on G+, click here
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