More spillover inspiration from that story Plasma wrote.
Preface to me writing: I enjoy writing a lot, but bring myself to do it about half as frequently as I draw. Dunno why.
Preface to the story: This is the story of my MA/Invul scrapper Exosteel. Artwork done by me of him that I felt was good enough to put up somewhere can be found
here and
here. I have edited some parts of the story from the way I wrote it to make it more appropriate for all readers. Some language was kept for transitional purposes. I'm sure the forum will protect all of your eyes from my subversive language.
Other than that, enjoy! Or, don't! Critiques on the art and the story are welcome.
Without further ado...
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Exosteel: Birth Pains
Chapter One
The first thing he noticed was the weight, the steady, immovable pressure above him. Or maybe below him. He was being pressed upon so forcefully from both directions, he could not tell which was up or down. The rubble cracked and echoed around him, settling more heavily in upon itself with its final death rattle. The pain hadnt come yet, but he was sure it would. And then he would come to an end. He wasnt a strong or brave man, particularly, and if it was going to hurt a lot, he was pretty sure hed rather just give up and die. And then the world would be without
who?
what was his name?
Oh, god! Whats my name?!
Michael.
Thats right. Michael what?
Michael
Michael
Michael!
What?
Earth to Michael! Wake up, you idiot. We cant be sleeping on the job. We have work to do! This is Crey, my friend, this is big time. No more napping, right?
Michael sat up at his desk, attempting to rub the bleariness from his eyes, but only succeeding in massaging it in more deeply. He squinted into the fluorescent lights, trying to make out the face of his partner. Sorry, John, he managed, wiping the spittle from the side of his face. He glanced furtively down at the wet stain in the middle of the report hed been rereading. Great.
Jesus, did you go home last night? You look like crap.
Uh
yeah, no I didnt. You see, I wanted to finish editing this report in time
what time is it? John turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow crinkling his brow and a mouth turned down in slight disapproval, the only marring facets of an otherwise perfectly handsome face. Michael was suddenly very self conscious of how he looked. His hair, sandy blonde, was disheveled and greasy from a night spent in the facility, his mouth tasted sour, of the ham and cheese sandwich that he had eaten twelve hours ago. He ran his tongue nervously across his teeth, feeling the plaque build up and sure that everyone could see the stains in his mouth before they could smell the rottenness of his breath. He felt awful.
Cmon, Michael, that report is due in ten minutes. Maybe its a good thing you didnt go home last night. John snatched up the damp document and strode from the room, his angry motions not disturbing one strand of his perfectly styled black hair, the faint smell of mint trailing after him.
Michael let his head sink into his hands, his weary eyes sliding shut.
John didnt even ask me if I got anything useful done last night. I think I did. I think I cracked the Rikti Virus! Oh, this was supposed to be a good morning. What a fool you make of yourself, Michael Keach.
Keach!
That was it. Michael Keach.
He coughed, bringing him back to reality, suspended between two immense pressures. Michael Keach was afraid he was going to die. The pain still had not set in, but a new sensation, a burning itch, had begun to spread up his left arm. It was a curiosity, to Michaels scientific mind. He had never in his wildest dreams expected death to itch. It seemed such a trivial tingling of nerve endings to signal the end of ones time on earth. He expected to be blown away, crushed utterly, eviscerated, decapitated, to waste away with some incurable disease. It didnt seem like people, especially in Paragon City, ever had the luxury of deaths that itched.
But still, the odd, hot tickle progressed, crawling slowly up his arm, like the legs of a thousand roaches scraping across his skin. And he began to panic.
Why? Why me? Why am I here? It should be John, that [censored], it should be John
John.
I hope, at least, youre buried next to me, you traitor, you sonofabitch
You
sonofabitch! You did it Michael! The gene sequencing, the cell construction, everything! Everything is opened up to us! John smiled widely, his perfect teeth glinting in the unnatural light of his office. You sonofabitch! Why didnt you tell me this morning!
Uh
I was tired, I dont know. It wasnt the right time to celebrate, I guess. Michael couldnt help but blush, basking in the glow of approval from his partner, his mentor. Michael was smarter than John, sure, but John was good at everything, and Michael felt like he was getting a little bit better at things by being Johns friend. Especially during moments like this one.
We have to call the Countess right away. Shell want to know immediately! Michael this is so huge! Damnit, man, we are gonna be RICH!
O-ok, lets call the Countess, then!
You call her. You deserve it. John smile widened, and Michael for a split second thought there was something oddly reptilian about it, like a crocodile smiling at prey on the bank. The second passed, and Michael, almost proudly, accepted the phone John thrust into his hands. John pressed the single red button on the phones stand, that sent a call speeding directly to the Countesss residence, to be used only in times of great success or great failure.
Hello? The voice on the other end of the line was deep, husky, and commanding, but at the same time unavoidably feminine. In short, it was comprised of all the things that scared Michael most in the world.
Countess? he squeaked, stopping to clear his throat loudly into the phone before continuing. This is Michael Keach. At your
uh
offshore facility? Well, Im calling to tell you, weve done it. Weve managed to map the Rikti Virus. We know why it works, how to make more
Excellent. That is thrilling news, Mr. Keach. She did not sound thrilled. I am glad you have accomplished this is such a timely manner. You will find that promptness will take you far in this organization. Michaels eyes flicked nervously to meet Johns, and the dapper mans smile widened, if that was possible. Now, Mr. Keach, I have a follow-up project for you and your partner. One that will require all of your professional expertise.
And it was true. It would.
Damn you, John
