O.o
This is like one of those books that I just picked up at a thrift store and as I get really into it, as it gets really interesting, I find out that it's the first book in a trilogy that has been out of print so long I have no hope of finding it again
nooooooooooooooooooo.............
seriously, great job! I love how you bounce back and forth between the two points, and your descriptive detail is fantastic! I can picture everything as if it was right in front of me!
Very nice. I normally don't read the stories here, but I decided to read this one. Really good, I couldn't do this in a million years. 
(Hmmm... Maybe if I copy and paste...? 
)
OOo! Nice story! I like it a lot! It tells juuuust enough to be interesting 
And I'm a fan of the Exo Unmasked sketch too (but I'm a sucker for a pretty face )
[ QUOTE ]
(but I'm a sucker for a pretty face )
[/ QUOTE ]
Flattery will get you everywhere.
Thanks for the nice comments, folks! Part two is in the works. Feeling inspired I guess! I've promised myself I will do one piece of visual art to go with each post. Since, y'know, that'll be important to the whole thread not getting deleted since it's in the fan art section.
Back to work!
Interesting and vivid. I could see it play out right in front of me. Always leave the reader wanting more, that fits. I, too, like the sketch and have seen it on your site before wondering what was behind it.
I often wonder why more writing isn't posted. I know there is the whole RP forum but... anyway, be nice to see more writing as art here.
Me? I'm mortified to post any writing, I'm lucky I can post responses, hehe. Not a bad start to an interesting story, I'm sure.
The drawing I was working on to answer that challenge about showing a character in a moment of weakness or despair.
And the next chapter.
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Exosteel: Birth Pains
Chapter 2
He had long ago ceased to be unimpressed by the itch. It was a powerful, inexorable, maddening force. It could not be reasoned with. Michael Keach had no sense of time in particular, suspended as he was amidst the remains of the building, his career, and his dreams. But he was fairly certain that he had been there for an eternity. Which was silly, since Michael knew perfectly well that an eternity was not a finite, measurable amount of time, and if he had been anywhere for any amount of time at all, it had not been an eternity.
The itch. It had just bothered the surface of his skin at first. Then deeper, into the muscle, as it continued to spread. His heart had begun to itch, then his left eye. Now the itch was tickling at his mind. It was affecting the way he thought. Even if he never died in his tomb, he was beginning to feel certain that whoever Michael Keach was, whatever he meant to the world, would perish anyway as the strange, almost phantom sensation prickled his personality away. It made him angry.
Almost as angry as he was at John.
Just when things were turning around
It had been months since Michael had cracked the Rikti Virus, and the Countess had them awash with attention; good press about the possible benefits of a substance capable of mutating cells in a predictable manner, bad press about all the unforeseen side effects (which Michael and John communally scoffed at, so confident in their own testing and sequencing abilities that they perceived it impossible), and no press about the Countesss biological weapon project. This last project made Michael uncomfortable, though John seemed to have no compunctions about creating a weapon capable of dissolving flesh, muscle, and bone upon contact. However, Michael held his tongue. The good we are doing, the cures well provide, will outstrip this one evil, he told himself. He was almost lying to himself about enjoying all the publicity, as well.
God knew, Michael postulated one evening (to a woman on one of the number of dates he had begun going on since he had become a public face of Crey), that the corporation needed good publicity, and right now, he and John had the most successful project in the whole company going. Her name was Alice, and she was pretty and nice, and didnt understand a thing about genetics, chemistry, or politics, in all honesty. They went back to Michaels place that night and slept together. She left before he woke without saying goodbye, and the only time the two of them ever spoke again was when Michael called her out of a dwindling sense of chivalry towards the opposite sex, and she told him he hadnt needed to, and shed see him around. Bemused, but not upset, Michael had allowed himself to part ways with Alice. I wonder if this is what life is like for John.
I wonder if this is what if feels like for John.
Michaels arms were pinned and he was incapable of scratching, and he could not help but hope that his former partners sanity was flaking away as his own was, like so many particles of dead skin. It wasnt just that his life was probably ending that made him angry, Michael decided, but that John had to screw it up just when Michael thought his life was finally getting good. He had been happy. And John had betrayed him out of something as stupid as jealousy? That was so wrong. It was supposed to be, had always been Michael who was jealous of John. John, however, was too immature to handle any emotion that wasnt happiness tempered with a dose of superiority, so Michaels partner sold out their whole lives over some stupid credit-mongering and a girl, of all things.
A girl. Oh, Sarah. Michael laughed bitterly, choking as dry sand and rock found its way into his open mouth. If I could rationalize life after death, Id be terrified that Id miss you. Where are you? I hope youre ok. How could John do this? Ruin my life, and to no ones benefit!
It was at a benefit, to raise even more money and hype for the potential cancer cure Michael had unlocked, without Johns help this time. Thats when he met her. He knew who she was of course. Sarah Noel was almost a household name: action scientist, evolutionary botanist, revolutionary researcher, contact to the famous longbow agent Biotrauma in their combined fight against the Devouring Earth, and damned pretty, too. She wore a golden evening gown, long black gloves, and her brown hair crowned her head in an impossible pattern of curls and twists, and Michael, scientist though he was, could not unravel the mysteries of physics that held it in place. She smiled at him across the room, he spilled champaign all over his tie, which fortunately, was liquid-proof. It was almost sincerely love at first sight, as far as Michael was concerned. He was fairly certain he had never spoken to someone so intelligent, and her avid interest in what he was working on was more than attractive.
They began dating, and the media ate it up, the first marketable, scientific couple that Paragon City had seen in a while. Pretty soon, not just the news and science networks were eagerly covering Michaels progress (for the project had truly almost become his own, with John running the publicity end of things), but the entertainment news and tabloids wanted photos of Michael and photos of Sarah and photos of the two of them together. There was one picture in particular that Michael enjoyed. He was in profile, standing up almost straight, and Sarah was holding a dainty hand between herself and the cameras, her eyelashes and lips just peeking out from behind the edge of her upraised arm. They had been getting a sushi dinner. He thought the two of them looked just good enough to be spattered across all the grocery store rags, with ridiculous headlines based more on imagination than fact or even conjecture. And they were.
Life was on the up and up.
There was a crack and thump as something about him shifted and settled further, but the added weight of the rubble seemed unimportant next to the weight of the grief that sat on his chest.
Thinking of Sarah, Michael began to weep softly, cool tears sliding from his right eye. His left eye continued to burn in the darkness of that mausoleum of destruction, and the as the rock absorbed his whimpering, crushing the sound into silence, he knew he was alone.
oooo nice writing there Serengeti....definately should keep this one rolling along for us forumites
...in regards to writing being placed here versus the RP forum. to me the RP forum is more geared towards actual RP'ing. self contained stories...like the above...are in effect works of art and as such should be posted here. just my wee thought on the matter ~
...the sword is truth...
~whiteperegrine~
A work in progress of Exo vs. a Council Vamp. There's more to the picture (rue you, you average sized scanner), but that's what I could fit for now.
On with the story (this part's longer, sorry).
==================================
Exosteel: Birthpains
Chapter 3
John, I
The phone slammed into the receiver as Michael walked into the office, and John spun around in his chair so he was facing away from the door. He glanced away from the diploma tacked the wall that he was pretending to study intently, and Michael saw that he looked like hell. His hair, still with its regular amount of product in it, had somehow become disheveled, matted across his brow in a flat mess. Sweat beaded above his eyebrows and on his cheeks as a dry tongue tried in vain to wet dry lips. John, are you ok?
John snorted, and thought Michael scarcely believed his senses, the burning smell of alcohol suddenly became apparent in the room. Michael, nervous and unsure, began to laugh. He wanted to ask who had been on the phone, but instead he said, Are you drunk?
No, Michael! Im not drunk. John paused, a thin smile spreading across his face, clearly about to unveil some great wit. Unlike you.
Michael scratched his chin, not amused but unable to leave his friend hanging. He chuckled, uncomprehendingly, and said, Im not drunk, John.
Oh, yes you are.
No, Im not, Im
YES YOU ARE! Spittle leapt from his lips and seemed to boil on the ground where it landed. You are drunk. On power. On publicity. Youre a lush! What is this, the Michael show, now? Michael backed away as John advanced on him with a finger pointed like a rapier. You and your pretty girlfriend, all over the news. All over the papers. Like youre the only one whos doing anything. Youre the only one whos smart!
Nobody thinks that, John. I dont think that.
Who gives a [censored] what you think? Its what it looks like you think!
Michael felt resentment rise up in him, and inspired by the awkward, unfamiliar feeling, he went on a counteroffensive. Are you really this mad at me, John? Because youre the publicity end of this deal by your own insistence, and I cant control what the news says just because Im in it. Then, slyly, Who was on the phone, man?
John suddenly lunged, grabbing Michael by the collar of his shirt, pushing him hard against the wall. Michael bumped the back of his head and saw stars for a moment before Johns face came into focus. His eyes were wide, his mouth contorted in a frown of rage. But it was the cold fear, close to terror, that resided in Johns irises that made Michael feel like he had cornered the rat, and not visa versa. John said nothing, simply staring hard for a long moment. Then he let Michael go and strode across the room to his desk, sitting hard in the chair. I spoke to the Countess, John said.
Michael glared at him. His partner was losing his mind. And?
Its time Michael. I know you. I know youre stalling. All these medicinal breakthroughs dont simply lie on the way to the weapon were trying to create. Youre biding your time.
Michael blanched, his mouth working in silent protest. Its not that it wasnt true; he had been avoiding work on the weapon mutation of the Rikti virus. He had simply thought that as long as he had been making money for Crey, the higher ups wouldnt care what he was developing. The cold sweat that had just broken out on his skin signaled the end of his happy self-delusion. Did you tell the Countess that? he asked quietly.
No. John paused, shook his head and blinked bleary eyes. No. Of course not. I may want my due credit, but I dont want you fired. Or killed.
Michael blinked and nodded, almost surprised by that last statement. It was true, however, that bleeding edge science in Paragon City often left scientists bleeding. What did you tell her?
I didnt tell her anything. Nothing. She just mentioned to me that she was wondering about the progress of that particular branch of this little endeavor. John looked up at him, a nervous sadness in his eyes. He looked as though he might say more, then clearly changed his mind. Lets just get to work on it, Michael. Please. I cant do it by myself.
Without waiting for an answer, John stood, and left his office. Michael stood there, frozen in place until the motion sensitive lights went out. Aside from the blinking green light on Johns computer terminal, the room was as quiet and dark as a grave. Oh, god. I dont want to die.
The smell of scorched mortar and brick mixed in his nose with the slight odor of dampness. Maybe above his grave, out in the world, it was raining. Michael hated grey days with a passion, but he didnt mind the rain. Its true, he mused. I dont want to die.
Then again, perhaps he did. To choose between death and living life as it was outside of his chamber of isolation was a hard choice. He was an amateur student of all sciences, and a master of only a few, but he knew that in the solitude of his burial, awaiting death, which would come in its own time, human psychology demanded catharsis. Though he didnt want to think about what had happened next in his life, he knew he had no choice.
I have no choice, Sarah, its my job. He was being defensive. He got defensive when he wasnt being entirely honest.
I dont understand. Youre not explaining everything. She didnt have to know him as well as she did to read him like a book. Michael felt he was clumsy and obvious when it came to emotions. Why would the Countess put your medicinal projects on the backburner and reassign you? This is your baby. Youre the PR face of Crey right now!
I know! I know
I
He paused, swallowed hard. Look, why are we fighting about this. Its just the way things are.
I am not fighting you, I just want to know whats going on. Sarah paused, an angry pout on her full lips. It doesnt make any sense, Michael, you must realize that. Youre getting defensive.
I know. I know it. Im sorry. He sighed. Time for a partial truth. I
I had a fight with John this afternoon. Thats all. It was no big deal, before you ask, sweetheart. He and I are
fine.
A fight? About what?
About the reassignment. I dont want to be reassigned, he does. About
other stuff. He rubbed his eyes, a sudden dull exhaustion pressing in behind them. Hes mad. At me. And you, too I guess.
For some reason, Michael was afraid that Sarah might go after John further. It wasnt that he wanted to protect John, just that he was tired of confrontation. Pretty self righteous of him to be mad at us. He have a good reason? She half smiled at him. She wanted him to know she was listening, and he appreciated it.
No, not really. Just PR stuff. I think he always thought he would be the poster boy, you know? He has the looks, the personality for it. Im here by accident
Youre not here by accident. Her voice was firm, but there was no anger in it. Exasperation did, however, color her words. Youre brilliant and you know it. Hes riding your coat tails and in your shadow, thats all.
Yeah, well. I still feel bad about it, hes my friend.
Is that why youre rolling over on this reassignment issue? For Johns sake?! She was not going to let this go, Michael could tell. His mind slowed in his panic.
No! No, its just that the Countess
We talked about that part already, Micheal.
And John has been talking to her
Yes.
And she wants to move ahead with the weapon
He stopped suddenly, realizing his error.
The what? Her tone contained an equal amount of electricity and ice. Michael had never heard anything so terrifying.
I
oh, god. Dont hate me. Michael could tell he was being whiney and pathetic, but he was so scared. Hed had nightmares about this moment. The true purpose of his experiments unveiled, even on such a small scale as this, could cost him everything.
What weapon, Micheal? Shes reassigning you to a weapon?
Deep breaths, Michael chided himself, having trouble remembering to breath at all. No. No, shes not reassigning me to a weapon. Its been the project from the beginning. He sat down, defeat welling in his chest as tears welled in his eyes. There was no way out. Crey, its a big company. Its a world power. The Countess, she kept our contracts on the stipulation that we develop a truly terribly biological agent. It will melt flesh on contact, and disperse immediately afterwards. Its untraceable. Its criminal, and its criminal to make it.
Have you made it yet? Sarahs eyes had narrowed, her gaze was far away. There was a stern set to her jaw. She looked, for all the world, like a superhero.
No. Honesty is a virtue. But I could. I could make it tomorrow. He sighed, deeply. Somehow, he felt better now that Sarah knew, even if she walked out on him. He knew he deserved no less. I dont want to, but John and I knew there could
no, there will
be consequences for not doing as the Countess requests. Weve all heard the stories about Crey.
Sarah sat down next to him. There was anger and sadness in her eyes, but she laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. He fell towards her, and they embraced, and he shook with relief. Why did you do it? she asked.
I thought the good I was doing would outweigh this one
scar. I was wrong, I think.
You werent wrong, Michael. He looked up at her, feeling stupidly childish. We all have to take risks to do the right thing. Even sometimes do the wrong thing. You can fix this.
How? I cant refuse the Countess Crey. Shell kill me, or worse, go after you, and I
No, thats not what I mean. She smiled, her brilliant mind working behind her shining, white teeth. Youre right, you cant refuse the Countess. But you can do something else. Design a neutralization agent.
What? Michael sat up straight, the obvious idea just beginning to process.
Make a cure, or a vaccination, or something. She stood up, brown eyes reflecting light like Steel. I can use my
contacts in Longbow to get the antidote out to all the police and heroes. We can make the city immune before its ever an issue. Develop her weapon, and make it as awful as she wants. But build a failsafe. Disarm it before its ever set up! The passion in her voice brought Michael to his feet.
My god, do you think it will work? But he didnt really have to ask. He knew it would. A slow, confident smile spread across his face. He had been right when he had surmised there was no way out. No way out but through.
No way out but through. Nothing to do but to try. Michael flexed the fingers of his burning left hand. He thought about trying to move it, resigned to the fact that it was going to rot off anyway. He pictured Sarahs smiling face in his mind. He imagined her voice. No way out but through, it said, comfortingly at first. As it echoed down into the depths of his mind the phrase became mocking, and the needling anger and itch returned.
Are you just going to give up, Michael?! With more will than strength, Michael somehow began to move his left arm. There was a rumbling, and a cracking, and then it was free. He could move it. He could not see his hand in the darkness, but he reached up and scratched at the surface in front of him. Some of it crumbled.
He let out a whoop, which died quickly amidst the rocks. He began scraping in earnest, a slowly kindling anger given focus and direction by what his rational mind had already decided was a futile task. Nevertheless, he was a incensed man, driven not just by the potential for survival, but by the idea of seeing John and his accomplices again. And getting even.
=================================
Ideas, predictions, wishes for the story? Wanna do an art/art, art/literature, literature/art trade? Hate everything I do?
Let me know!
- SL
More spillover inspiration from that story Plasma wrote.
Other than that, enjoy! Or, don't! Critiques on the art and the story are welcome.
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.
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