The Write Stuff (The Writing Thread)

[awe921]

i've made a version of the worldwalker chapter 1 draft that you can comment on. there's a suggestion place at the end of the draft, too.

feel free to read through it and make suggestions.

[MadameButterflyKnife]

this is half "i wrote a bad original thing" and half "hey how much can i fit in a single tc post"

cw: violence, smoking, talk of suicide

immaculate. part 1: sinner

“So, sinner. I'm guessing you don't come around here a lot.”

I-00 stopped right in his tracks. He hadn't expected that young rebel to notice him. He had approached from behind and all, just like in the countless simulations he'd been in before being sent to this nowhere island. But here they were, smoking a cigarette and making the barest of glances to him between the palm leaves. At least, he assumed they were palm leaves. It was the dead of night, and all these tropical plants started to blend together once you were surrounded by enough.
“You make a lot of noise, you know.” He pulled his bandana up, and turned towards I-00, rifle in hand. “I could hear you coming from a fuckin’ mile away. You've never done an ambush before, have you?”
Just like he had practiced, I-00 raised his blaster in return. It felt heavier than usual, but he chalked it up to the fact he had walked a mile in the heat to get to this encampment. Why did it feel so hard? It was supposed to be second nature for him. It was in his blood.
He'd never been this far away from civilization before. Never went beyond the walls. Never this far away from the light before. He'd spent his short life bouncing from laboratories to simulators until he got sent here just his month. Even while he was here, he'd spent most of his time in the city, looking pretty for the populace while they gave him dirty looks. They didn't seem to like the company being here. He never understood why.
“Maybe not,” he responded. “But I can shoot. I will shoot.”
“Do you even know how to shoot a gun?”
“Why would I not.”
The rebel laughed, but there was spite in his voice. “I'll give you this, sinner. You look like an old fighter I've known as a kid. If it weren't for that damn Daylight corporate uniform, I'd mistake you for a future martyr for the homeland like me.”
“My name's not “sinner”, sir.”
“Well, you've never given me a real name, dipshit. So I'll call you what I want.”
“My name's…” He stops himself before he says I-00, like he's done for years. But he remembers the new name they've given him. The name derived from his source material. Just as derivative as the alphanumeric designation, but it at least sounded human. “Immaculate Aqal.”
Immaculate Aqal. Immaculate. Aqal. That was your name now, he repeated to himself. Not I-00. He was Immaculate Aqal, just like someone else was, years ago in this very place.. It was something everyone else had to believe, and they wouldn't if he didn't believe it himself.
The rebel boy sure as hell didn't believe him. “I'm not stupid like you people think this island is. You're not fucking Immaculate Aqal. Don't fuck around with me, mister.. Tell me your real name.”
“That's my name.”
“It's not.” He pushed the barrel of the rifle closer to Immaculate. “I knew Immaculate Aqal, and you're sure as hell not him. So why don't you tell me the truth, sinner.”
Immaculate stood his ground. It's not like he had a choice. All he could hope for was that the backup would arrive at any moment. He was sent ahead just because he had a face that the enemy might trust. The face and voice of their dead hero, repackaged into someone that was meant to have all the skill, but on the winning side. “I tell nothing but the truth. That is the name I was given, just as you were given a name.”
The trees rustled behind him. Backup. A weight lifted off his chest as the rebel put his rifle down.
“Should've known someone like you wouldn't arrive alone.” He backed away, step by step. “You won't be around longer to slander the name of a hero. You may have your army, but so do we.”
And with that, he took a shot. Immaculate dodged just fast enough, falling to the ground as blood ran from the side of his torso.
He watched as his opponent's slow pace quickened, faster and faster until he turned around into a sprint, disappearing into the endless bush.
Immaculate never knew that a person could run so fast. At least, not without the help of hyperboots, and he doubted that guy had those. It would be a stupid question to ask what he was afraid of: he feared the superior firepower that was seconds away. Fear was a natural biological response in all animals. A shabbily-put together solution to the question of death.
Of course that man was afraid. Yet he, and all those others, confronted that question every day.
The people that supervised him had a motto: death, pain, fear, all those were a disease. And progress was the cure. And Immaculate focused on that motto as the world around him fell into a blur, the details of the physical world turning into colors and voices, lifting him up as the world turned dark.
Progress is the cure. So, progress.


It had been a week since the shot heard ‘round the island. A bit of an exaggeration, but it sure as hell felt like it at the time.
The moment the bosses at the Daylight Company found out that the face of their development, their repackaged martyr, had been shot in the dead of night, they immediately jumped to damage control. The official story was that Immaculate had not been shot, but also he had been shot at by the dangerous revolt on the island, fighting against the progress being brought from across the water.
Corporate had to save face. They wanted to maintain their shining city with all its luxuries, protect it from the dying forest that surrounded it, and to do that meant to show no sign of weakness. No more risks like the one they had just taken. Even now, exaggerations were being spread among the locals. The truth was drowned out, replaced by rumors that Immaculate was dead, or that a massacre had occured in the woods.
His superiors and handlers had set up a simulcast for later that day, to put those rumors to rest. Even now, his face was on light-up billboards, advertising the event. He'd say some words about progress, they'd publicly execute some anti-capital rebels as revenge, all of it was planned to the minute. He doubted that it would work. They'd already made one perfect, corporate copy of Immaculate Aqal, grown from bloodshed. What would convince the people otherwise that there weren't more, just waiting to be popped out of a factory every time the company made an error? Immaculate himself wasn't sure if that was the case or not.
It was dawn in Solas City. The sun barely had the energy to rise through the perpetual rainclouds, and the only people awake to watch it struggle to reach the sky were the ghosts that walked these streets.
Immaculate didn't want to wake up so early, but at least he had been gifted the free will to take a walk. He'd been in the medbay for a week or so, and he was dying to be anywhere but there. So, he filled out the paperwork and files needed, and he got himself a designated period, in a specific ward in the city during the early morning, when all the drones living there were under curfew and it was easier to keep track of him.
The streets felt much more familiar than the endless jungle he got shot in. They reminded him of home; the neon lights, the echo of footsteps on concrete, the cameras perched on corners, and the sharp, efficient designs that surrounded his form. Unlike his “home”, though, people actually lived here. He noted the cracks and graffiti that stained the grounds and walls, the occasional group of tents where street people slept, potholes that filled with rainwater, imperfections that proved that this was a place that existed in the real world, no matter how much Daylight tried to make it look perfect.
Immaculate turned the corner, away from the glare of the cameras and drones flying overhead. As he stepped into the dark alley, the weight fell off his chest. Not an actual weight, he noted to himself. He was never one for metaphor. It was more of a metaphorical weight, one that immediately threw itself back on him when he saw what was on the wall.
It was one of those colorful murals dotted across the city. It was large, bright, a stylized representation of reality that was just asking to be painted over once it was discovered. A scene of a young man, his hair tied back in a bun, with a rifle holding a young child painted in living color, surrounded by grey and red flowers and an ever growing list of names. The man looked directly at Immaculate, as if he was ready to face him head on in a fight. Next to him was a drawing of a scroll, with the words “IMMACULATE AQAL” and some foreign words that Immaculate couldn't make out. From the context, he figured it was probably some “rest in power” kind of thing.
A memorial to the villain of this corner of the world. The one he had been taught about by the company that made him, whose name he was meant to redeem in Daylight's version of history. His purpose for existence.
“You know, sinner, I didn't expect you to survive that.” He looked behind him, to find that rebel from the week, with that same bandana over his face.. The same one who shot him before running off into the wild. Immaculate pulled his blaster at the guy as he rambled on. “Unless they just gave another brat plastic surgery and sent ‘em here for revenge.”
“They would not go to all that effort for a man who they have yet to identify.”
The young man laughed, walked right into the barrel of the blaster, and pulled down his mask. He looked like most people did in Solas City. Medium brown skin, narrow jet black eyes, and wavy black hair left loose around his shoulders. The local phenotype, the one that Immaculate himself had despite being nowhere near the description of ‘local boy’. He looked just like any other resident you'd see on the street. Didn't even have an obvious insignia or weapon on him. Immaculate would be hard pressed to find him in a crowd.
“Why don't I do the job for you then, sinner? Joseph Luna. Nice to meet ya.”
“Well, Joseph. I wish you luck on your death wish.”
“I'm not the one wandering the streets-”
“You are. There is no possible method for you to be here, had you not been wandering the streets.
“What are you doing here, anyways? Finally got sick of Daylight's designer bullshit?” The two of them walked in circles in the alleyway, Immaculate keeping his blaster pointed at Joseph.
“I filled out all the proper forms for this walk. For your information.”
Joseph laughed. “Of course I'm wrong. Well, sorry for holding out hope you're not just the faker you've already made yourself out to be.”
“I am no faker. I have told you this before.”
The two of them slowed down, and stopped in their tracks as rain started to fall. Joseph reached into his jacket, presumably for a gun of his own. A stalemate. 
Immaculate had the upper hand, though. Superior firepower, against nothing but a cocky grin. He could shoot Joseph right now, couldn't he? End this right here and now. Another victory for the industrial machine spreading across the country.
But he couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger. It was easier to do it in the simulations, with faceless rebels that you pressed a button to annihilate. Maybe it was the fact that Joseph now had a face and a name. Even if he was the man who shot at him not even a few days ago, Immaculate couldn't bring himself to return the favor.
He was going to need to practice that when his allotted walking session was up.
He couldn't help but look at the mural that towered over them. The figure there looked larger than life. That false savior that the locals called a martyr because, according to what his handlers told him, they were afraid of progress.
That's why Immaculate was here. To ease them into progress.
“I'll give you this, sinner. You're not Immaculate Aqal.” Joseph looked up at the mural. “But you got his face right. You're a dead ringer for the guy. But who are you, really, under that stolen name?”
“I would prefer you stop with the implications that my name is stolen.”
“But it is, sinner. You know just as well that name isn't yours. It belongs to him.” He nodded his head to the mural of Immaculate Aqal. The first Immaculate Aqal, the one that died fighting to stop the spread of the capital that now surrounded them. He looked at that, and not the Immaculate Aqal in front of him, the one with the same face and blood, but with the sigil of Daylight printed on his body.
Joseph stepped back, and pulled his hand out from his jacket. Immaculate bit down, aimed, and fired his blaster.
A loud boom, and a bright flash of plasma flew from his gun. He probably woke the whole ward up with that shot.
Joseph touched his hand to the side of his arm. Blood, instantly dried up from the heat of the shot. A little scrape. A lucky shot. And then, he pulled out what he had in his jacket. A black permanent marker.
“They used to say the pen is mightier than the sword. Never believed it myself, but maybe there's some truth to the statement. Or…maybe you're just a bad shot.”
“And maybe you're wasting my time.”
“Really? I could have sworn I was at least being entertaining. Don't tell me I've wasted all this effort into finding you just for this wound?”
He'd had enough of this. Immaculate kept walking, far, far away from whatever Joseph had planned. “It's not my fault if you make yourself a target looking for me.”
“I just want to know who you really are, sinner. And why you're making a mockery of him.”
The rain was falling in sheets now, and he had to return to the Daylight Company's campus in half an hour. No time to humor this guy.
But he couldn't help but answer the question about a name.
“If it gets you to call me something other than “sinner”. Designation I-00.”


“That's not a name, you know.”
Immaculate didn't know how Joseph got there. It had been a few days after their most recent interaction at the mural. Now, here he was, in the richest area of Solas City, during one of the few points of his day where Immaculate could be left alone with no guards breathing down his neck. It wasn't like the guards weren't there; they were standing right outside the entrance of the cafe he was in, and he wouldn't be surprised if any of the customers were hiding in plain sight, prepared to fire at will if any rebellious citizen decided to get an idea.
Usually, when he walked into an establishment, he either got looks of awe or someone trying to throw a can at his face. He wasn't exactly someone who would blend in most of the time. He'd been advertised across the city as the face of the next phase of the city's development. Cast away the turmoil of the initial revolution against Solas City and Daylight. Rewrite history, repackage it in a younger form, and use it as the model for what would happen next.
He didn't even like coffee, honestly. But he was supposed to endorse the new megacorp business ventures in the city, and these high end cafes were the most peaceful way of keeping up the contract that he involuntarily signed while he was popped out of a lab. At least these cafes were peaceful. No one ever wanted to talk about combat, or worker rebellion, or stocks, or anything like that in a cafe. You could just forget about everything that happened in the rain outside.
At least, you were supposed to. But there Joseph was, standing behind the carbon-steel counters, barely making an attempt to pass as one of the help. He even still had his hair down and his cigarette in his mouth. The circular blue neon signs advertising various new products the Daylight Company made framed his face, as if he was supposed to be blessed.
“What is this about.”
“You can't just leave me with the phrase Designation I-00, and not expect me to ask for clarification. Cause that's not a name.”
“You really do have a death wish.”
“Maybe I do, sinner. But is it really so insane to ask for the truth?”
Immaculate glared at him. “I have told you nothing but the truth. I know you do not belong here. You clearly are not employed at this officially sanctioned cafe.”
“What makes you think I'm not employed?”
“The health code violation hanging from your lip.” He pulled the cigarette out of Joseph's mouth, and put it out on the countertop.
“Awwww, now I'm gonna have to clean that up.”
“I can have you shot at any moment. You are surrounded. All I have to do is say the word.”
“Better them than you. I've seen you shoot.”
“You think you're clever, don't you.”
“Fuck yeah I do.” Joseph leaned over the counter. “Besides, you really think I would be stupid enough to meet you alone in your little golden district? Mr. Whatever your name is.”
“I have told you every name I've been given. And. Every time we have met, you were alone. Excuse me for making the assumption.”
“Not the only one with a damn army behind these words. You should know better than anyone that I'm nowhere near alone in wanting to annihilate you pigs.”
He took out a mug of coffee, and slid it towards Immaculate.
“I do not drink coffee.”
“Yes, you do.”
“First you say my name is not my own, and then you say my taste buds aren't my own.”
“The real Aqal? Loved coffee. Was a coffee addict. If you're not a faker, you'll drink this damn mug.”
“I didn't order this coffee.”
“Then what is your order? Lemme guess, you want it in a bigger mug? Or do your fancy, rich boy need some special beans with an extra dash of exploitation put in?”
“I am not here to drink coffee.”
“You're in a fuckin’ cafe, you're here to drink coffee. No way you come here every day, 1630 sharp, to not do the one thing this place is explicitly made for.”
“Unfortunately for you, that is exactly what I do. It is your problem if you are tracking my every move just to judge my eating habits.”
“All's fair in war, sinner.”
“I have told you to stop calling me that.”
“I'm sure as hell not callin’ you “Designation I-00”. What, do all foreigners have a barcode for a fuckin’ name?”
“Just me. And about 12 others, according to the file.”
Joseph chuckled. “I don't know what that means, but. You, my friend, are fascinating. An absolute motherfucking enigma. It's the only thing keeping you alive.”
“What exactly do you mean.”
“I could kill you right now. Me, or anyone in this bar. In fact, why don't you hand me that spoon over there?”
“No.”
“I really have to do everything myself, don't I? Even in a revolution, I'm still a humble laborer.” He grabbed a metal spoon from behind the counter, and began spinning it in the coffee. “And just like that…”
As Joseph pulled out the spoon from the coffee, Immaculate could see clear as day that the metal had been burnt away. Potent, industrial-grade acid. Straight from the factories on the outskirts of the city.
“You thought you could poison me.”
“And I saved your life, why don't you thank me?”
“I am not thanking you for backing out on your second murder attempt against me.”
“I wouldn't call that incident in the jungle a “murder attempt.” More a heat of the moment thing, a righteous act of judgment against a liar who thinks he's a saint.”
“I am more of a saint than the man you consider the real thing.”
“You're gonna take that back, or I pour this coffee on your face.”
“I know you will not. You have squandered an opportunity to kill me, and I know you cannot change that decision.”
“He was a hero, you know. Died protecting these people from your “company” trying to steal their free will. Someone everyone wants to be.”
“He died standing in the way of progress.”
“I've started to hate that word over my 21 years of life. “Progress”. Fuck your company motto. You know what your “progress” is? It's destroying every life on this damn island and reselling it to us in the hope that we can work our way into buying our souls back. It's building a broken, shiny city over a well established home, and charging us our blood for the right to not die of exposure. It's being killed for not waiting to make a difference. The original Aqal was the one who taught me about that shit, you know. You're acting like a mockery of everything he stood for.”
Immaculate paused. He'd heard the arguments against what Daylight did for Solas City before, but he'd never heard those arguments from someone who sincerely believed them. He'd only heard it in lectures. Strawmen, rebels, unions, designed for simulations and information uploads to show how terrified and unhinged those who fought against the inevitable wave of history were. But Joseph said it with enough conviction and anger in his voice, that Immaculate could almost be persuaded. He knew that he wasn't supposed to be persuaded by such things. He was better than falling for some charismatic voice that the working drones would go head over heels for. He was supposed to be the persuader, not the one persuaded.
He pulled Joseph's collar and slammed him to the counter. “As far as I can remember, in our little pursuit, you are the one who follows me. You pulled the trigger first. Do not try to act like you are the virtuous one here.”
“You and I both know this didn't start with me. Not even with the real Aqal. It's a never ending pursuit.”
“It was not one I asked for.” Immaculate brushed his hands through his bun, and tapped on a marking located on the back of his neck. It was a distress button, a tracker, a control leash, and a branding all in one. A single tap, and the guards that protected the billion dollar investment “Designation I-00” would be all over this place. He whispered across the countertop. “I will say, Joseph. The fascination goes both ways. You are possibly either the most confident or most suicidal person I have ever met. This cafe has a back exit, leading to the lower levels. I have called backup once more. Though it is a coin toss on whether I think you want to live or die.”
“...Thanks for the gesture, but. Running would be a pretty shit way to die, sinner.” Joseph pulled out his gun, and fired at the side of Immaculate's head. As if it were clockwork, people in the cafe got up, moved around in formation, and pulled out their weapons and bombs while guards rushed into the scene.
Immaculate got pulled out by corporate security just as the firefight started. A shame, honestly. He would have liked to be awake to see a real battle.
Give him some experience to prove that he was just as “real” as the predecessor Joseph, and every other rebel and worker in this city, was head over heels for.


“I found you this time. I believe I have gotten better at sneaking.”
The two of them were at the city walls as the rain poured. Immaculate carried his blaster with confidence on one side, aiming through the cracks while Joseph stood on the other side, putting together his own rifle.
“You're still on home turf, though. One moment in the bush, and you'd get caught immediately. Just like when we first encountered each other.”
“I prepared for such a situation.”
“You sure you prepared for it? Or did you prepare for a version of it just as-”
“If you call me fake one more time, Mr. Luna, I will shoot you on the spot right now.”
“Aw, don't worry.” Joseph smiled. “I wasn't going to call you a poser again. I was just gonna call you stupid.”
“My official intelligence scores say otherwise.”
“Actually, this says otherwise.” He finished putting together the rifle, took a shot, and ran into the bush.
Immaculate thought for a second. He was told only to guard the fence. He wasn't allowed to take any risks, not after he had gotten shot. But, wouldn't trailing a rebel that might have been trying to jump the fence count as guarding? Yes. Yes it would, in the obvious continuation of logic. So, just as he had practiced, he jumped through the gaps in the wall, landed in a roll, and began his pursuit.
The forest was disorderly, chaotic, and full of blatant code violations. But he kept on running. He still wasn't 100% sure what the motivation for chasing after Joseph was. Maybe it was something as poetic as the fascination he mentioned the last time they had met, the attempt to understand an enemy with such an obsession with chasing him down. Maybe he just wanted to pay the favor. Maybe he was just trying to be a hero, like he had been conditioned to do. Maybe he wanted to escape that pressure for a little bit. Or maybe, just maybe, he really was as stupid as Joseph just called him.
Immaculate hoped it wasn't that last option.
Keep running. Progress through this forest, as if it was a self-imposed mission he was on. He could see Joseph in the distance. He's been running for longer than he's ever done in real life. The simulators couldn't replicate the real pain in his ankles, the humidity pushing him back as the foliage hit his face. And it especially couldn't replicate the frustration he had as Joseph weaved through the trees, like it was second nature.
Damn running. There was only one way he could get him close.
He aimed, and the bright flash of a plasma beam reverberated across the bush. And from a short distance away, Immaculate heard a faint “fuck.”
“So now you do not want to talk. Every time I've met you, you've been trying to converse with me. With no prior warning, I will add. And now, the moment I talk to you. Pursue you. Now you want to run away?” Immaculate noticed the uncharacteristic raising of his voice. He cursed at himself mentally for doing that. Stupid. He was always supposed to maintain that neutral tone of voice, the same one that he heard over the loudspeakers and newscasts in the city. To lose control of your voice was to lose control of emotion, and to lose control of emotion was to lose control of your plan, which meant lost control of progress. Untamed emotion was for people like…well, Joseph. Aggressors who acted irrationally. Damn, he was a bad influence, wasn't he.
“You can't prove I wasn't trying to mess with your head, sinner. Maybe I was just leading you into a trap. An ambush.”
“There is no evidence of traps. Or ambushes.”
“No shit, there's never evidence of those! If there was, they'd never work.”
“I am absolutely certain there is no trap here.”
“Uh-huh, and what makes you think that, smartass?”
Immaculate emerged from the bushes, and stepped over Joseph's wounded leg. “Because I am right here. And if there was, we'd both be stuck.”
“...You're almost as clever as the guy whose face you stole, you know?”
“I would hope I was.”
“Oh, what's that supposed to mean, Mr. “when the fuck are you going to give me your actual name.””
“You are so persistent about getting the answers you already have-.”
“I don't have any answers! All I know is that seven years after Aqal blew himself up, your dumb ass begins walking around with all of Daylight's streams telling us that oh, actually this random guy with surgery-”
“I do not have any form of cosmetic surgery, for your information.”
“-is the real Immaculate Aqal, and you'll be marked by drones and shit if you even say otherwise! And don't try to give me shit about how you're telling the truth-”
“I am.”
“-because I'm not stupid. You…” Joseph pushed himself up. “Fuck, these plasma blasts hurt harder when you actually manage to hit. Least it didn't hit anything vital.”
“That is the point of shooting someone. To hit them, and hurt them.”
“Shut the fuck up.
“You're very defensive.”
“You're disgracing the guy who raised me, I think I have a right to be defensive! Also, you shot me!”
“You shot me before.”
“Smartass.”
“Thank you.”
Immaculate could just leave him to die. Or at least, for someone to find him. He knew that various fighters lived in these forests, and considering they were still within a few minutes running distance from the city walls, he figured that Joseph could drag himself to safety by nightfall. He did all he was supposed to do. Protect the city, guard the wall, prove a point to the enemy.
It would have been better if he had left him alone. It would have even been better if he had just stood there like a statue on a pedestal, asking to be looked at and praised by no one. That was right, it would have been better for him to do nothing.
But instead, he sat down on the dirt next to Joseph.
“What, you want to deal the killing blow? Do it. Coward.”
“You have spent your whole time pursuing me and asking questions about myself. How about, this time I ask the questions.”
“And what if I don't answer?”
“Then we continue this pursuit. I chase you, you chase me, we keep spiraling deeper and deeper into this game of cat and mouse.”
“Like Tom and Jerry.”
“Who is Tom and who is Jerry.”
Joseph laughed. It felt like one of the first genuine laughs that came from him, instead of the mocking ones that he'd heard a thousand times before in their conversations. “You truly are an enigma. Every answer you give me, it just raises a billion more questions.”
“How about you give me answers, then. Who is Tom and who is Jerry.”
“First thing. There's a little glass bottle in my bag. Can you get it for me?”
Immaculate stared at him for a second, before slowly reaching for Joseph's satchel. As he pulled out the old glass bottle, he stopped for a second. “How do I know this is not poison. Or more acid.”
Joseph took the bottle out of his hands, and took a deep swig. “This is how. Now, you want to try?”
“I would rather not. I'm not very confident in your skills in “wanting to live”. What is the purpose of this, anyway.”
“Painkiller.”
“A pretty inefficient painkiller.”
“Unfortunately, you're right. My fucking leg.”
It was honestly embarrassing watching Joseph squirm on the floor like that. Injuries were always much more brutal when you saw them in person. When it wasn't pixels on a screen, or hard light simulating the form of a charred leg, it was enough to make you nauseous.
This whole experience was a rush of backstabbing emotion that made Immaculate consider just walking back and going back to sleep in that temperature controlled, not full of bugs room guarded by enough security that he wouldn't have to deal with some new rebel with an obsession towards getting clear answers and dying once they got them. But yet, once more, he didn't act towards what was clearly his best interest. Instead, he pulled something out from his own belt. A bright white bottle, filled with pills. “Use these. They are more concentrated painkillers.”
“How do I know you're not giving me your cyanide pill?”
“I don't have a cyanide pill. That's how you know.”
“I'm surprised they want you to live if captured.”
“Actually, I just have a self-destruct mechanism built into my neck. No pill needed.”
“You know what? You being a robot would explain a lot. The stupid names, the fact you barely fucking emote, the fact…”
“The fact what.”
“...I do mean that, you know. What I said a while back. You might be a fake, but you look exactly like he did the day he died.”
“You say that like you saw him die.”
“I did, sinner. Right next to me. I was fifteen, feeling his blood pool by my knees, hiding as they cut his tongue to prove a point.”
Immaculate took a moment to process that. “Oh.” He had no idea what to say in this situation. “...Good for you?”
“You are a fucking robot.”
“You shot me yourself. You know better than anyone else that I bleed.”
“Hey, for all I know, they replaced the guy I shot with some robot they pulled from a sweatshop at the last moment for their simulcast.”
“I'm not a robot.”
“You're as cold-hearted as one. Colder than vice. Look at you, all fake and mechanical-acting.” Joseph took a pill. “Even the way you stand looks like it was dictated by a damn focus group. It's a perfect right angle, pisses me right off.”
Immaculate had never thought about how he sat. He ever so slightly bent his back over.
“Okay, now it looks like purposeful asymmetry. A false sense of vulnerability.”
“That is what I'm doing.”
“Is that so, designation I-00. God Almighty, that's not a real name that real people have. You never answered my question last time we met.”
“You were trying to poison me.”
“Details. Now, “Designation I-00”. So, are you a robot, is Daylight's culture just that impersonal, were your parents drunks-”
“I think you would know if my parent was a drunk, if you knew him so well you could watch him die.”
“Aqal never had kids, smartass. Don't lie to me again.”
“Not in the typical way. Daylight took his tongue.”
“And what, let me guess, you're his kid because you ate his tongue after your corporate bosses told you to. How much did they pay you to say this?”
“They put his tongue on ice. They sent it across the ocean to be extracted. Took the cells, reprogrammed them to an infantile state, and used them as a base to build a perfect replica. His blood, his sweat, his tears, reborn. Reincarnated as a blank slate, to be resold as a hero. Someone to act as the face of their work here, while quelling the flames of martyrdom that the workers of Solas have been fueling for the seven years since his death.”
“Hm. A clone, straight out of the old pulp books. If it weren't for how insane you acted, I would almost not believe you. But I wouldn't put it past Daylight to try such an insane scheme. How old are you?”
“Did you ever get a formal education?”
“Up until twelve, now answer the question.”
“Seven years since death, seven years since birth. Do the math yourself.”
Joseph laughed, and reached for a cigarette in his pocket. “You're younger than you look. Would've guessed you were about…early twenties?”
“The unbelievability of progress.”
Sitting up, Joseph flicked a light, lit his cigarette, and blew a smoke ring into Immaculate's face.
“You have such a dedication to your death wish. It's fascinating.”
“The fight's gonna kill me anyway.”
“I've never met someone so dedicatedly suicidal as you.”
“And I've never met someone so confusing as you, so we're even.”
“I've told you everything.”
“You just give me more questions, don't you know?”
“I could say the same thing about you.”
As the rain fell around them, Immaculate heard a faint rustling noise. It was close. Very close. How had he not noticed it earlier?
An unfamiliar voice yelled from the bush. “We can make this easy. Put your blaster down, and we shoot! Get away from the body!”
“I'm offended by being called a body. I'm fully alive.”
“When we get you back to camp, Joseph, I'm smacking you in the face. You! The one in the Daylight-”
“Is that their fake hero? We lucked out.”
“Shit, they'll be looking for him. Make this quick-FIRE!”
Immaculate jumped into the bush as the bullets fired. Bullets. Such old fashioned things. He managed to land right in front of one of the rebels firing. With ease, he slammed the butt of his gun into their face, and shot at them.
One down. Just like machinery.
He ducked and dodged through the trees, as years of practice had prepared him to do. Another shot. And another soul stolen with a flash of light.
He saw the last of the ambushing rebels begin to drag Joseph's wounded body away. Without hesitation, he clicked his blaster, took a shot, and blew a hole right into the guy's face.
The fight was over in less than a minute. Most of his firefights were like that, according to his simulation stats. The higher-ups wouldn't accept anything less.
“You know, I was having such a fun time talking to you. Almost forgot that you're no different than the other corporate fucks out there.”
“You said it yourself. All's fair in war.”
Joseph finally managed to pick himself up, as he looked down at the body of what was once a comrade, but was now nothing but dead dust. “You're not even a bad shot. Hit everyone else in one.”
“Of course I am not.”
“You just didn't wanna shoot me, did you.”
Immaculate looked back at him. “It is a known effect that once you get to know a face, then it gets harder to kill it off. That's why an image is so powerful.”
“And why you stole his.”
He was tempted to snark back. Point out that it was his birthright, his reason for living, and that he couldn't exactly change what was coded into his DNA. That he didn't exactly have the power to put in a two week's notice for his life.
“...I wish I could know him as well as you supposedly did.”
“So you can improve your slander skills?”
“I don't slander.”
“Whatever you say, sinner.”
“For the last time, my name-”
“You know why he gave himself that name? Immaculate. It means free of taint, free of sin. Something good, something clean. He gave himself that name when he began fighting, because Aqal knew what he was fighting for. A world that could be good, a world that could be just, something not run around by the greed your company and your city's all built on. He never even wanted to be a hero. He just wanted to be someone who fought.”
“Do not interrupt me.”
“You're not worthy of that kind of name. “Immaculate.” You were made from his stolen tongue. His stolen voice, as he bled out to death. And here you are, enforcing the very thing he fought against. You're made of wrath and greed, you're made of nothing but sin.”
All Immaculate could do was glare him down, his gun still warm from the shots. “How many people have you unleashed your wrath upon when you tried to get them your “just” world.”
“How many people have you killed bringing about your mantra of progress?”
“I'm not claiming the moral ground here.”
“Then what's your argument, sinner?”
“Pain is a disease. Progress is the cure.”
“Is your little blaster there considered progress?”
“Yes.”
Joseph leaned on his rifle, stepping away while leaning on his good foot. “Just yet more of how you perplex me. All this chasing and fighting, and yet you've yet to blow the killing shot on me specifically. Is this your idea of fun?”
“Is it your idea of fun, Luna?”
“It fuels the fire in my soul. Maybe you could say I do find our little chase fun.”
“...Then maybe I find it “fun” as well.”
“So then. Catch me if you can, Designation I-00.”
Joseph took a shot, grazing Immaculate's ear, and just like that, he was gone. But Immaculate would figure out where he turned up eventually. Maybe this was a game. Maybe this really was “fun” for the both of them. A moment of levity for two people who would–no, not “would”. Could. The two of them were too far in this fight to back down.
He was never good at assessing how he felt about things, but if he really did find this fun…it would explain a couple of things. Every irrational decision he'd made in his chase of Joseph, every irrational decision that Joseph made while chasing him. The only justification for any of that was the appeal of keeping up this pursuit. If the game was won by either of them, then there would no longer be any game to play.
But even still, the point of every game was to win. And in this game, only the winner could live to see the future of this city unfold. Eventually, Immaculate would have to deal that winning blow one day, and he knew Joseph thought the same thing.
There was one victory today, however. He had gotten Joseph Luna to stop calling him “sinner.”

[MadameButterflyKnife]

i dont have anywhere else to post this and i do feel bad about double posting (sorry about that) but im still brainrotting about that dumb concept from the previous poist

kamikaze.

“You are a walking kamikaze.”
“Pfft. Don't you know what that word means?”
“It means someone who is flying themselves to their death. Just as you are.”
“And what makes you say that, sinner? Huh? What about me just screams ‘flying myself to death’?”
“Have you looked at yourself lately.”

Joseph looked to Immaculate, yet another cigarette in his mouth. If his futile revolt doesn't kill him, Immaculate thought, then the nicotine will. Or the drinking. Or the absolute recklessness he shows for basic survival. In front of him sat a modern-day Icarus, with enough brain to be entertaining, but enough disregard to find a method of using that intelligence in a productive way. At least in his mind, that was the case. Their interactions together became competitions of might and mind, with Joseph always managing to find some of the little flaws in his facade no matter how hard he tried.

In his defense, Immaculate always managed to fight back.

“If you're going to give me another lecture about-”
“It is a proven fact.”
“Don't you think I already knew that? What, the evidence must be over a hundred years old. Still do it anyways. Now, where was I? Oh, right. You're wrong about that definition, you know.”
“The definition of what, exactly? I'll try to guess. Self-destructive. Reactionary. Irrational.”
“Kamikaze.”
“I believe I am correct, as per my knowledge.”
“You wanna hear a story?” Before Immaculate had a chance to respond, Joseph opened that damn mouth. “Why don't you listen. I know a little more than that company ever had the knowledge to teach you.”

“‘Divine wind.’ That's what it used to mean. Hundred of miles away, there's some other islands that faced a grand, unknown enemy. And then, divinity struck. A storm came to wipe out every enemy that could ever face them down. Twice, actually. And so, they called that storm the kamikaze. They were the downtrodden, the vulnerable, saved by the powers that ruled above.”
“Why're you arguing, then.” Immaculate looked down, his posture picture perfect. Almost looking larger than life from Joseph's seated position. “Thats what you believe yourself to be. Downtrodden with miracles on your side.”
“The meaning of names change, you know. You of all people should know that, sinner.”
“If you believe that, then call me by my assigned name for once.”
“Designation I-00.”
“Smartass.”
“We'll flash forward a few hundred years. The people who named the kamikaze went from the vulnerable to the powerful. An empire hoping to rule the seas with their inherent superiority. They would be the future, and damn anyone who got in their way. They took this old word, and they transformed it to fit their new message. The word now referred to their practice of sending their young and talented off to die, indoctrinated and wrapped in false promises of glory. They would crash themselves into the enemy in an attempt to duplicate the divine actions they had only heard about in stories. That's where your definition stemmed from: it further changed into a description for any sacrificial, self-destructive behavior a person could manage to achieve, created as people watched these boys fall from the sky just because they were told to do so.”

“And who, exactly, informed you of this.”
“I can read, you know.”
“Surprising.”
“I never know when you're sarcastic, you know.”
“I am being genuine.”
“So you are, kamikaze. You're the one destroying yourself like the phrase suggests, not me.”
“I have self-preservation.”
“Oh, do you? You've been chasing me, the known and sworn enemy, for so long know. If you had it, it's long gone.”
“I am simply curious as to your background and your behavior.”
“And so, curiosity killed the copycat.”
Immaculate stared down at him. The silence was tense, but there was a sense of comfort in it as he looked around him, before letting himself relax. Joseph saw right through him, but right now, he was the only one doing so. No need to stand up so tall, pretending to be brave.

“…How about. We are both the kamikaze.”
“Must be the first compromise you've ever thought of.”
“Two definitions of the same word. Two sides of the same coin. And we are both burning ourselves up with this chase we do.”
The cigarette fell out of Joseph's mouth as he said that. “…So we're two storms, two planes crashing into each other. Fighting with all we've got, but never enough to kill, always enough to keep ourselves on fire.”
“Correct.

Immaculate took a long breath of the warm, humid air. A breath that felt like salvation in such turbulent times. “But eventually, one of us will have to die.”

[wingedcatgirl]

Finally got around to reading those - you've built an intriguing world here.

We're pretty sure this isn't how you meant it, but we can't help but read "sinner" the way they used it in Shadowbringers - someone desperately holding on to themself in a world where the "divine" and the "light" want everything made uniform. Joseph would definitely never refer to Immaculate II that way, but it still feels like the term could exist in some capacity. Daylight certainly seems to have the attitude that would get their enemies thinking that way.

[awe921]

i've made what could be a grave mistake that raises setting issues for worldwalker & the stories after it.
and it was right when i was proofreading too NOOOOOO

I blew the problem out of proportion

i just needed to delete it, it's just the first part afterall

[Whistle]

Just remembered this poem about Jupes I wrote for Creative Writing...

MY LITTLE OLD CAT

Just two seconds ago,
Under the blaring jets of Top Gun,
Pitter-pattered up my senior kitten.
It wasn't long before he
Took my hand in his
Ever-soft paw and
Replayed the sounds of bees inside his mouth.

My little Jupiter,
You are

Beloved by all who see you.
Even when you chow down on
Leftover yogurt and waffles,
Only joy can come about.
Victory was mine when I turned three
Everlasting purrs and muffins,
Delicately dealt to me.

Some may never know our bond, but
Only owners know their cats the best.
Never leave me, Jupiter.

[NebulaChimera2211]

Just remembered this poem about Jupes I wrote for Creative Writing...

MY LITTLE OLD CAT

Just two seconds ago,
Under the blaring jets of Top Gun,
Pitter-pattered up my senior kitten.
It wasn't long before he
Took my hand in his
Ever-soft paw and
Replayed the sounds of bees inside his mouth.

My little Jupiter,
You are

Beloved by all who see you.
Even when you chow down on
Leftover yogurt and waffles,
Only joy can come about.
Victory was mine when I turned three
Everlasting purrs and muffins,
Delicately dealt to me.

Some may never know our bond, but
Only owners know their cats the best.
Never leave me, Jupiter.

That poem's really sweet! ❤️
Shame about what happened to him, though…

[Whistle]

Yeah... that's part of the reason I remembered it; just reminiscence about him in general. :(

[NebulaChimera2211]

Yeah... that's part of the reason I remembered it; just reminiscence about him in general. :(

🫂

[awe921]

After 3 months of editing, the chapter 1 of this fanfic thing I've been working on is now complete

I've yet to turn it into it's FINAL FORM aesthetic-wise, but it should be a good read nonetheless!

https://troublecube.net/awe921/projects/...alker.html

[MadameButterflyKnife]

wrote about three short story things, so.

you cry.

Joseph lifted the crosshair to Immaculate's head. One shot, and it would have been over, he thought, as he sunk into the ground, the blood from his arm mixing in with the mud.
 Every time they've played this little game, they never took a shot. Or, when they did, they never shot to kill. Mostly a miss, sometimes a graze. A perfectly aimed shot to the arm, like Immaculate had right now. Or to the leg, he thought, as he watched the other limp towards him. But never anything vital. Never the head or the chest. Something stopped the two of them every time from shooting at each other's hearts.
 So there he was, laying face up on the ground as Joseph aimed the barrel of his rifle. His whole body ached. The piercing of the bullet wound, and the blunt, overarching pain from the fall to the ground, obviously. He'd become used to those injuries. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing, but he was used to it. Didn't make them hurt any less. But when Joseph looked down at him, there was that third sensation of pain. The one that he'd always felt when the two of them were facing each other. As if someone was pulling his chest to the ground. He could identify no specific physical cause for it, unfortunately. No way to circumvent the sensation.
 Silence.
 “I know you will not shoot. You did not do it before, and you will not do it now.” Immaculate spoke those words with as much authority as he could muster up.
 “You think you've found a pattern, sinner?”
 “You are very predictable.”
 “And what makes you say that?”
 “You are. Here's what will happen next. You'll cock your smile, light yet another cigarette, call me either my alphanumerical designation or ‘sinner’, and then we'll split ways.”
 Joseph stared at him. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Opened it again, then closed it again, as if trying and failing to prove him wrong. And then, he put his rifle back on his back. That pull on Immaculate's chest didn't go away as Joseph sat down across from him, and pulled another cigarette out.
 “You're twice as clever as you need to be, sinner. Wonder how Daylight keeps you in line.”
 “They give me something to act on.”
He blew out a cloud of smoke. “For someone so smart, you'd think you'd find something of your own to fight for.”
 “Do you think you are smarter? …Maybe you can say what you fight for.”
 He took a glance up from his light, smiled, before searching through his pockets for a tiny little bottle. “For the people. For those who fought in the past. So they don't struggle in vain.”
 “Did you come up with that on your own.”
 He took a swig. “…You ever tried this?”
 “The answer is ‘no’. Is it not.” 
 “For the ethanol?”
 “For your cause. You fight for what something you were given.”
 “Maybe I was, sinner.”
 “I believe I have made my argument.”
 Joseph grabbed Immaculate's hand, and pressed the little bottle inside. “Wonder if you're out of those painkillers. Take this.”
 “I never can tell if you want me to die or not.”
 “I'll at least ease your pain when I pull the trigger.” Funny, Immaculate thought, that's quite the opposite of what you do when we're in a duel. “So, I-00. You sure you've never taken a swig?”
 Immaculate couldn't lie. Not even to this prick, he thought, as he looked Joseph right into those black hole eyes. “Once.”
 “Then why don't you keep entertaining me, sinner? Tell me your little story. Clone boy's first bender.”
 Immaculate weighed his options. Any tracking process would take until sunrise. He had hours to waste, and Joseph had hours to make whatever great escape he would have to do.
 He might as well entertain the man. Besides, it's what he's been doing the past few months.
Immaculate took the bottle, and gulped it down. It burnt his throat, just as he expected. But the repercussions would be dealt with another time.

  “It was when I was promoted into Stage 4.”
 “You say that like it's meant to means something outside of a corporate dossier.”
 “You asked for the story.”
 “Never said I wouldn't comment.”
 “You do have skill in speaking out of turn.”
 “You're welcome, sinner.”
 “My…supervisor. A Dr. Tardestrella. The woman who oversaw my physical and mental formation, both before and while I've been here. The night my promotion was put into the system, she led me to her office. A small thing. Almost a closet. She handed me a small cup, of a colorless liquid.”
 “Ethanol.”
 “I am glad you could understand the context. I didn't realize at the time. She instructed me that it was an intoxicating, grain-derived ethanol mixture. It would produce symptoms of relaxation, and issues of perception. If I wanted to drink it, I was allowed to, but it was my choice. I took it as an input. A command. So I swallowed it.”
 “See, that's the difference between you and me, I-00.”
 “What is.”
 “I'm killing myself because I don't plan on living long. I'm burning out for a reason. And you, you kill yourself because you got told to.”
 “I am telling a story.”
 “Continue, asshole.”
 “And once a few minutes had passed, she sat down and explained that it was considered traditional in some hierarchal systems that when someone was sent to war, they would be allowed a final drink. Or a first drink, in my instance. A drink to remember, to ease the nerves and soften the blow of the bullet ready to pierce the space between your forehead.
 And thats why I got it. To celebrate, and to soften, the fact that I would be introduced to the next part of training. No simulations, or digital dreams. I would be exposed to flesh and blood. Because I would not just be a propaganda figure for Daylight to market, but a weapon crafted for their dominance. Their progress.”
 Joseph looked at Immaculate, the last of the cigarette smoke fading into the night sky. “And what? You clearly accepted it, considering you're here. And you shot me. Even if you're not very good at hitting me.”
 Immaculate stayed silent. The truth was that, he hadn't accepted it at first. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was just the nature of the topic, but the first thing he did was cry. A strange, uncomfortable sensation, as tears fell from his face and he asked Dr. Tardestrella what she was doing about it, if there was any choice for him to make in it other than accept it, wondering if there was a chance to run for a fraction of a second.
 He had never cried before. And he had never cried since.
 At least, until that moment, where he pushed himself off the ground, and found himself staring at Joseph Luna with tear filled eyes.
 And Joseph didn't have that cocky smile that Immaculate had predicted. The two of them looked at each other with an expression that he couldn't identify. It wasn't anger. Immaculate was intimately familiar with Joseph's anger. And he wasn't quite sure it was apathy. It was just an expression. That was the only way to describe it.
 And then he interrupted the scene. “Not like the first drink thing's bullshit. Did that too. I was young, given a glass before my first fight. By…”
 More silence.
 “By whom.”
 “…Him. The day before he died.”
Him. That weight that hung over the two of them. Immaculate's template, and Joseph's old guide. The two of them couldn't interact without that shadowing over the two of them. As if he really could never leave.
 “I don't remind you of him. I know that.”
 “You sure as hell drink like he did. One gulp and no time to look back.”
 “I doubt that is a genetic thing. More of a matter of environment.”
 “You cry like he did.”
 “I do not cry.”
 “Liar.”
 “You should let your hopes down. Don't think of him every time you see my face. It won't get you anywhere.”
 “When I see your face, I just think of you. And your bullshit.”
 That fucking pain again, as Immaculate managed a laugh. “Hurtful.”
 Joseph pushed himself off the ground, and began to slip away. “That's the point, sinner. I'll find you the next time you raise that blaster.”

dream boy.

The dream cost ₱400.0 an hour, but Immaculate figured it was worth it. He liked dreams. Every night, he would settle into bed, close the capsule, and zoom through libraries of memories until he found something he liked. Then, he let the chemicals soak into his head, and fell into a life that wasn't his own for a few hours, until he woke up. He wasn't the only one who did this, not by a long shot. Store-bought dreams were always better than the real thing, Daylight advertised. When you let your subconscious take the helm, you risk nightmares, anxiety, fears that stood in the way of your life. Why worry about that? Try Daylight Nightlight DreamTechTM, where every night is paradise.
Immaculate had never had a dream of his own, and he figured himself lucky for that. He didn't know what his subconscious would make up, or if it was even developed enough to make a dream outside of a hot flash of light or two. Abnormally underdeveloped social intelligence, the algorithm said about him when he got sent to this city, but who needed social intelligence for what he did? All he needed to do was look pretty and shoot straight. And he was damn good at that.
All his dreams, from the moment he was made, were pre-programmed chemical injections for fun and learning. At least now, he had a bit more of a choice in what his dreams were about. He never liked the randomly inserted dreams that were just mere simulations of his original's life as reimagined by the company. If he wanted to see that, he'd just watch the movies out in theaters. Most of the time, the dreams were just generic fake memories, meant to satisfy wants that he knew he'd never be able to have until he retired. And he doubted they'd ever let him retire.
His favorite dreams were the ones with the -companionship- tag. They usually inserted him in faux gatherings with faces either programmed or stolen from his memory, and tricked his mind into thinking he'd known them forever. Faces that meant nothing were turned into family members, childhood friends, ride or die companions. He'd buy a bunch, and run them over and over again, inducing sleep just to have the chance to experience them.
They would get transmitted into his brain. Radio frequencies burnt right into his head. And he'd feel the warm embrace the whole way through.
He didn't really know why he enjoyed them so much. He didn't need companionship, he thought. He had everything he needed, he was built with everything he needed in mind at the tip of his fingers. No one else could afford to spend so much money on inserting fake memories into dreams every single night. But it didn't matter. His body was sore, and he was going to bed.

“You come here often, I-00?”
And there Immaculate was, in a simulated house party, leaning over a subconscious countertop. The dream was a period piece, dating back all the way to the late 20th century. For a moment, he could have forgotten who he really was: Designation I-00, a perfect replica, a product for saving the people of Solas City from themselves and their so-called martyrs. In a dream, he was an alternate version of himself, surrounded by people he could call friends and surrounded by old tech and colorful lights. Immaculate wondered if this was how real people lived their lives. The people down in the bottom levels of this city.
He thought he could forget the real world. Until the program decided to pop him of all people into the system.
He looked at Joseph. Or, at least, the dream's idea of how Joseph Luna, that goddamn “fuck you and fuck the money you stand on” rebel who must had had a target locked on in Immaculate's mind. Cigarette in mouth and cup in hand. Even in a fake world, he wanted to kill himself for real.
“Even in my dreams, you want to chase me down.”
“Aren't you the one in control of your own mind?”
“No.”
“All matter of fact, aren't you. Least you managed to be right for once. But don't you want to be?”
“You are not real.”
“Maybe I'm not. I'm just how you think of me.” He sat up on the couch, and twirled a kitchen knife in his hands.  “Fuckin’ suave, killer, and always in your head.”
“And always with a death wish. I suggest you not drop that knife.”
“You like dreaming, sinner?”
Immaculate looked head on at him. He wasn't real, he had to remind himself. Just a guy, persistently in his head who he couldn't even escape with preprogrammed dream lives. “Yes. I do not see how that's relevant.”
“You like the sensation of sleep, don't you? The luxury of getting to rest.”
“Let me guess, you're going to call me a sinner once again for wanting to rest.”
“Fighting's a virtue, you can't give up on it.”
“I'll trade my virtue if I see morning light.”
“What are dreams, anyway?”
“Random neuron fires that your subconscious pieces together to build a narrative while you sleep. This is an artificial dream with controlled neuron signals. The system controls what is allowed in here. Which should not include you.”
“What kind of dream is this?”
“A companionship-tagged dream. Designed specifically to amplify feelings of belonging and closeness.”
“What, I-00, you lonely or something?”
“Why do you ask me so many questions.”
“Ask yourself, I'm all in your mind, remember?”
“...I don't consider myself lonely.”
“Are the rest of these people your friends?”
Immaculate looked around. He would admit, outside of Joseph, he didn't recognize any of these faces. Maybe he'd seen them around at HQ, and a few reminded him of models on advertisements, but if you asked him, he wouldn't be able to put a name to the face.
“Am I the closest to you, sinner?” Joseph-no, the mental, subconscious construct of Joseph, smiled. “Looks like what they say is true. Keep your enemies closer.”

find me.

 And there he was, face down in a puddle of rain and blood in Solas City. Joseph's mouth tasted like iron, his eye was swelling, and his whole body had that signature dull pain of “having fell from great heights” throbbing across it.
 The rain wasn't doing much to sooth the pain. It was warm, almost hot, as it fell on his body. His rifle laid just out of reach. If he could just push himself off the concrete, pull himself towards his weapon, keep going, he could put up a last stand. Not that you need to, not that it helps, Joseph thought to himself. It was a strange phenomena: when he crossed paths with that I-00 boy, a straight shot from either of them became curved by the hands of fate, just barely missing.
 He couldn't put a pin on why that was. He'd at least tried to disconnect the visuals of that sinner, I-00 versus the dead man he was molded from. But for all he did to ascend from his mortality, Joseph Luna was still human, with all the sentimentality that came with it. Of course he wouldn't be able to fire at an old friend, someone he loved like a brother, even if he could look in I-00's eyes and know instantly that this wasn't the Immaculate Aqal he watched bleed out on the jungle floor.
  There was something different about those eyes, something that couldn't get Joseph to look away. They were a smokescreen that he couldn't help but look into, just for the chance to see what was underneath. That was what you had to do to a target, of course, but the desire to search never left his head, no matter how much he tried. If Joseph could just figure out the details behind I-00's little glares, or how his hands trembled when he aimed, or how he tries and fails to hide his amusement with every one-liner dropped, or how he aimed his blaster right at Joseph's head, just as he was doing now.

 Fuck.
 “You think you've got the upper hand, sinner?”
 “I am quite objectively, and literally, standing above you right now.” I-00's foot dug right into Joseph's back as he clawed at his rifle. It was just within arm's range, if he could just reach a little further-
 “Then shoot, I-00.”
 “What.”
 “It's called a dare, sinner. You've got the upper hand, and the finger on the trigger. So why don't you shoot?”
 “You really would like to die.”
 “I like calling your bluff.”
 “I do not bluff. Whatever that means.”
 “A card game term, sinner. When you play, you pretend you're more powerful. That the house gave you incredible ammo, and that you're willing to unload it on everyone that goes against you, when in reality, you've got nothing more than a single bullet in the revolver. So you lie about your hand, to hide the fact that you aren't as lucky you say you are. The perfect mask against an opponent.”
 “So you are calling me a liar.”
 “You do it all the time, don't you? Said it yourself, that's just your job. You're a master bluff by design.”
 Joseph could feel the click of the blaster as he managed to grab the barrel of his dropped rifle. He could feel I-00 raising it, and the little spark of emotion rising in his voice as he muttered, “…I would never lie to you, Luna. No point in lying to a dead man.”
 Grab the rifle. Swing it over. Joseph knocked I-00 out of the way, and pointed his rifle at the man. He still felt too much like shit to pick himself up, but at least he wasn't defenseless this time. The two of them stood in a stalemate, as Joseph smiled. A real, genuine smile, one that never failed to appear when he saw I-00 in his scope. “You got it right that I'm a dead man, I-00. You just misjudged my deadline.”
 “They already have one in mind for you.” That mention of “they”, of the company that sent itself from across the sea and fucked over everything Joseph had ever known in his life. He had to remind himself that no matter how much of a thrill this chase was, the two of them still had one mission each. To kill the other. To make an example of the both of them.
 No matter how human the face across from him looked, with his bloodied face and split lip that framed a face both so familiar and so distant, Joseph knew this wasn't someone he could let in. This was a product, designed to drill into his soul and split it apart into every little fragment that could exist of it.
 And the worst part, it worked. Because the sight of I-00 triggered a pain in Joseph's chest, one of the few pains that grew worse the longer you wait from the wound.
 “You will not shoot.”
 “And what makes you think that, sinner?”
 “You cannot have a chase with one man.”
 “Is that your way of saying you're gonna back down, huh? Back down from shoving that barrel down my throat?”
 “Is that your confession?”
 “…Maybe it is.”
 I-00 looked down, and lowered his blaster. He put it on his side, exchanging it for one of those mass produced, all-in-one cyberknives.
 “I knew it. You bluffed. You would never shoot for my heart.” Joseph's smug remark was interrupted by a sharp blade shooting right past his head, nicking his ear.
 As the warm blood flowed down his face, I-00 turned away. “Don't speak too soon.” His shoes clicked on the concrete as Joseph grabbed the glowing blade. White text flickered across the hilt. Registered specifically to a “Designation I-00”, with all the information and coordinates associated with its owner. “Maybe this will make the next time we cross paths come faster.”
 “You're not exactly a hard man to find. Your face is all over this dammed city.”
 “Goodbye, Luna.”

 And there Joseph was, left alone, left on the pavement, left on the ground of a city of lights, left to fight in a city of vice, left behind in a city of “progress”.

[awe921]

partly because Worldwalker took 4 months i decided to make a story that only took 2 days for me to make.

check it out. consider the text in the red though

[Guma]

“Penders” (parody of “Bezos I” I just wrote on a whim)

Writer, cartoonist, auteur
Owner of echidna lore
Kenneth, Kenneth Penders
Writer, cartoonist, auteur
Owner of echidna lore
Kenneth, Kenneth Penders

Come on Kenneth, you can do it
Pave the way, put your back into it
Tell us why, show us how
Look at where you came from, look at you now
Flynn & Hurst & Slott & Bollers
Amateurs, they're fucking bawlers
Sue their ass, drink their blood
Come on Ken, get ‘em!

[Guma]

I made lyrics for “Doomsday” from FNF: Mistful Crimson Morning.

TW: suicide

It all started when we were created
[BF]
Always hungry, never satiated
[BF]

Under the sea and on the premises of land and air, we never learn
Expecting us to bear the burden of living in this world we didn't earn
Does nothing but harm
‘Cept, of course, if you're rich, a sponge, or a crustacean
Feeding on the poor like butchers at a seahorse farm

The only cure for us is bullets straight through our thick skulls
Though you say no, you don't know life as Squidward Tentacles

Every single day of my pathetic life brings my pathetic job
Forced to slave away to idiots for a penny a day
But I thought I had an escape, something that could let me pave my own way...

Down there in Tartarus, the devil's eyes
Watched me play my song
They took me for a fool
They took me for a tool
Really, though, who was I to prove them wrong?

It all started at the Earth's creation
[BF]
We were not designed for satiation
[BF]
Under the sea and on the premises of land and air, we never learn
So why do we continue living life we didn't earn?

Doomsday awaits us, though we try to prevent or ignore it
Death comes around
Earthquakes, plagues, and plastic, tsunamis, and thunderstorms
The world itself wants us down
They tell you that crying helps, then shun you for daring to frown

Though you ask why, though you still try just to prove our worth
The only solution's extinction of this whole accursed Earth

But we can't go there yet, we haven't got the time
To bother making any better rhymes
We suffer through the pain
We suffer through the shame
We suffer through it all, and all we get is...

[...]
[...]
[...]
[...]

DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—
[mm yeah aha]
Don't think I'm serious? Well...
Maybe someday, you'll drop the dopey grin and see it my way
[BF]
Maybe someday, you'll find your tears have become red
Maybe you'll find a neat gun, you'll point it right into your head
And you'll see me in hell!

[...]

[josh6243]

Mukai vs. Ikari Warriors

A team of fighters led by Commander Heidern found themselves in a strange cave. It resembled ruins, complete with a statue of a snake tied up in rusty chains. This must be a representation of the great snake deity Orochi.

A strange gray-skinned man with magical tattoos wearing a topless tribal outfit smirked at them. Upon noticing them、 he announced, “おう？オモシロい。”

“So you're Mukai, huh,” noted Commander Heidern. “Why are Those from the Past still continuing their plans, even while the Perfect Chojin are about to initiate Ragnarok?”

“As a great writer once said, all things come in due time. Now, show me your might, oh great warriors!”

Being naive in comparison to Dolores and Commander Heidern, Brocken Junior and Isla quickly accepted Mukai's challenge. With a smirk, Mukai slammed his foot and summoned a huge stone pillar underneath the rookie Chojin duo.

Both Commander Heidern and Dolores sighed upon knowing that they were about to clean up their younger charges’ mess-ups in a second. They quickly striked fighting poses as the battle was about to turn red-hot.

Before she could get crushed like a pancake, Isla summoned a paint bucket and threw a puddle of ink underneath herself. To avoid the attack, Isla changed into her squid form and dove into the ink. Brocken Junior, on the other hand, caught the ceiling and pried himself free in the nick of time.

“Not bad,” praised Mukai. “You are indeed an heir of her blood, like the Howards, Krausers, and Mishimas before you.”

Confused by Mukai's vague statement, Brocken Junior inquired, “What are you talking about, Devil Chojin?”

“You'll find out in due time. Execution!”

Mukai rushed in and grabbed Brocken Jr., petrifying him with ease. Concerned for the young Justice Chojin, Dolores summoned a pool of Holy Soil underneath Mukai. Suddenly, a huge stalagmite impaled Mukai. Crash!

“Oh,” noted Mukai as he calmly broke free from the earthy spike. “You can manipulate the earth like me?”

“The art of Holy Soil is not like your Devil Chojin magic,” corrected Dolores. “It's a sacred technique passed down by my ancestors.”

“Is that so? Your Holy Soil magicks are certainly interesting, mortal.”

“Thanks. They are more like psychic powers, but you've got the gist of it.”

Just as Mukai was about to summon a stone pillar above Dolores's head, Dolores delivered a powerful psychic combo infused with the Holy Soil, forcing Mukai back a bit. Heidern picked up the slack and carved up Mukai with his Moon Slicer technique. And lastly, Isla bombarded Mukai with a flurry of ink gun blasts.

“What's wrong, chum bucket,” asked a rather arrogant Inkling girl. “Can't handle the power of the Ikari Warriors?”

“You're wrong about that、 warriors,” replied Mukai. “I was just holding back! すべてはチリトかす！”

Mukai flooded the arena with pure petrification energy, turning everyone besides him into statues. With the power of the Burning Inner Strength, Brocken Junior broke free and fired off a powerful Kaiser Wave right at a rather surprised stone Chojin. Brocken Junior ran at a stunned Mukai, turned his left leg into a sickle and slashed up Mukai with a somersault kick.

As a huge gash opened on Mukai's stomach, he praised Brocken Jr. for launching a comeback. “Impressive moves, young one! But let's see if you can handle this!”

Mukai attempted to grab Brocken Jr. with his Destructive Drubbing throw technique, but the current head of the Brocken Clan countered with a trio of Genocide Cutter kicks from his sickle leg.

Clearly jealous of Brocken Junior's amazing techniques, Isla proclaimed, “Oh, yeah! He's not the only one with fresh skills around here, woomy!”

Isla freed herself from the petrification and leapt into the air for a dive kick, stunning Mukai long enough for Amanda to pummel the Devil Chojin a bit. She followed up with a To Front ink-infused flying kick, a Wild Style dark elemental fist combo, a Fill-In ink bomb, a Scribe rising kick, a Piecing C aerial axe kick, and a cl. D heel kick.

Mukai somehow no-selled the entire combo by turning himself into stone, and then he punished Isla by manifesting a stone pillar above her head multiple times. Oof! That had to hurt!

This left Mukai completely unprepared for Commander Heidern's surprise attack, a full 5-Meter Combo. He started with a two hit cl.C vertical chop pushing Mukai back into a corner, another cl.C vertical chop, a Moon Slicer chopping attack, a Cross Cutter, a Red Rain of Pain fire-elemental slicing attack flurry, and lastly a Heidern End explosive hand thrust. Kablooey!  Down went Mukai!

Before he fell unconscious、 Mukai exclaimed, “ミゴトだ！”

Now exhausted, Brocken Jr. only had this to say. “Why does he know about the Brocken Clan's secrets?”

“That's a good point,” noted Dolores as she broke free from her stone prison. “The Brocken Clan has been around for a long time. Maybe a Chojin like Mukai could've picked up on a few things here and there?”

“That's not comforting at all, Ms. Dolores. The Brocken Clan is shrouded in mystery. Perhaps, that secret is connected to the truth behind this tournament.”

“Maybe…”

As Heidern and Isla picked up the unconscious Mukai, Commander Heidern noted, “At least, we have someone who can reveal the truth right now.”

For now, Commander Heidern called in a helicopter, and the four Ikari warriors left for a secret spot to interrogate Mukai. Hopefully, he won't do anything funny while in captivity.

[Whistle]

i think i've created something horrifying during a depressive bout of inspiration

does this require a tag for something suicide-adjacent because i don't really know

> FLOYD
> ...Autumn. I know that one of us won't make it out. The Sisters already told me, on this note. But... I have a backup plan.
>
> Floyd takes off his shirt... reveals his CRYSTALLINE CHEST.
>
> FLOYD (CONT'D)
> Merge with me.
>
> Autumn looks horrified. She steps back, stands guard.
>
> FLOYD
> You don't want that, do you?
>
> AUTUMN
> No. I—I can't do it.
>
> FLOYD
> You realize what's at stake here, right? I brought you here. I brought you here so I could answer all the questions you had. I saved you from whatever could have happened. All I did, I did it for you, Autumn. And what do you repay me with? You just leave me to be here, all alone?! I'm giving you one chance. One chance only. Stay with me, here, and be immortal, in one mind, with the beautiful twin suns, forever; OR DIE HERE ALONE!!

it might not be spoopy month anymore but i thought there might still be some scares in for nanowrimonth

[wingedcatgirl]

have we mentioned that we're writing a story in which isekai as a kity? ik we mentioned it on heavell which covers a lot of people here but not all of ya. it's a cute story please enjoy it

[josh6243]

Collaboration with some friends of mine.

Ganman vs. Benimaru Nikaido, Goro Daimon and Rhea

Benimaru Nikaido and Goro Daimon, along with a strange dark-skinned elf Chojin with red and white hair (known better as Rhea among the Kronos Academy students), found themselves next to the Rialto Bridge, in the Grand Canal of Venice. The fight itself took place in a street next to the canal, with people watching the fight in the bridge and in the gondolas, besides posters with the King of Fighter 2001's logo and typical buildings.

A gigantic Perfect Chojin with an odd mix of features appeared in front of them. He had elk-like feet and horns, with a scaly-green body, dressed with a one-piece cloth of blue color. He had just one eye, which he can use to discover the secrets of everyone that he looked at.

The gigantic Chojin boomed, “Welcome to my battlefield, Team Japan! I am Ganman, one of the Perfect Origin! I am here to ensure you three win Ragnarok!”

“With such energy, it seems like you would hardly need us,” remarked Goro.

“Sha-bahaha,” laughed Ganman. “With that attitude, I'm surprised you survived your fight against Indra Taryn.”

“Perhaps the world doesn't need me to save it.”

Benimaru nudged Goro. “You'll never amount to anything if you keep putting yourself down. This is our chance to shine like stars, Daimon!”

“I suppose you're right.” Goro took his battle stance in preparation. In response, Ganman simply attempted to measure Goro's Chojin Kyodo with the Perfect Chojin's signature Judgement Lock-Up technique. Such a humble nature from a Justice Chojin must hide impressive power.

Goro's Chojin Kyodo was a mighty million, but he was not exerting it in full, even to resist Ganman's hold. In his stoicism, he held back.

“I see now,” noted a rather disappointed Ganman. “You don't want to hurt me, like you didn't want to harm that Dekatrei Theoi fighter earlier. Though many Chojin have higher Chojin Kyodo than you, I've seen many inferior Chojin overcome their limits. Perhaps you could do the same.”

“If I want to fight for real, I don't need overwhelming strength.” Daimon stomped his foot and the ground shook. A small hill rose beneath Ganman - small, but enough to put him off-balance and disrupt his hold, allowing Goro to break out with little effort and shoulder-check him away.

“Impressive,” praised Ganman as he was shoved away instantly. “Let's see what your friends could do! Elk Horn Tempest!”

Ganman tried to ram into Benimaru and the elven Chojin with his freakishly large elk horns, trying to shred them to pieces. It was clear the Perfect Seventh was using his god-given strength of thirty-eight million Power to overwhelm them both.

“So you're the person I share my DNA with? Gotta say, I'm really impressed. You're really strong” Rhea announced as she got a pair of Rose tinted sunglasses out of nowhere placing them on her head. She licked her lips, being careful not to go over her Demonic fangs.

“I wonder what I've got from you, so far the others all share traits with their counterparts” A card suddenly appeared in between her Index and middle finger. The diamond in the middle began to glow a bright blue as she brought it upwards.

“I'm aware that something similar to these exists, correct? Spell cards right?” She asked before throwing it at Ganman, the second it hit the floor *BOOM* a loud bang followed by a small explosion? No it was more like what seemed to be fireworks being set off.

With a smirk, Ganman countered with a massive Shinkuu Hadouken beam! What the hell?! How did Ganman copy Gouki's technique?

“Mother Fucker!-“Rhea Swore as she placed her hand on the side of her waist. Ganman really wasn't gonna hold back was he? Rhea smirked at the thought, feeling satisfied already. Good.

“Sha-bahaha! That's the power of the Tanden Engine! You see, Psychoman installed it within me after my loss to Buffaloman. Knowing that I couldn't achieve the Burning Inner Strength, he decided to give me technology that lets me copy the world's strongest fighters.”

“That's stupid. Technology is always faulty, you run the risk of frying your nerves, and the technology can get damaged easily…Also what's burning inner strength? Is it like the power of friendship?” Rhea asked, her voice sounded bored at the beginning however she held some curiosity at the end.

“Sha-bahaha! It's exactly what you described it as. Now, let me show another of my techniques. Tiger Assault!”

Ganman powered himself up as his massive hooves were infused with burning ki energy. In an instant, he delivered a powerful Muay Thai combo on Rhea, copying moves from Bone Cold and King to ensure massive damage.

“Elk Horn Scissors! Elk Horn Compressor!”

Suddenly, Ganman pinched Rhea with his elk horns, squeezing the life out of her. This technique was used in a setup for his Elk Horn Compressor, a Super Argentine Backbreaker ripped straight out of Clark Still and Robin Mask's books. He flipped upside-down and slammed Rhea into the concrete.

Once done beating down Rhea for the time being, Ganman set his eye upon Benimaru, attempting to use his Cyclops ability to see what Benimaru was planning for the cybernetic rock Chojin. That eight-million gap between him and that former Perfect Large Number must be a sign of victory, right?

Benimaru gripped his wrist and clenched his fist. “Those Mishimas are posers. There's only ONE godly electric fist!”

Ganman narrowed his cycloptic eye. That may as well have given the game away... but what exactly was Benimaru about to-

“RAIJINKEN!”

Faster than Ganman could react, a lightning-clad uppercut slammed into his jaw and knocked him off his feet.

“RAIKOUKEN!”

Before he even hit the ground, Benimaru struck with his other fist, creating a chain of electrical explosions to blow the Perfect Chojin away!

As Ganman lay face-down, Benimaru pointed at himself with his thumb. “As nice as it is to be stylish, if you can end a fight in just a few moves, you don't need to waste energy on excessive combos! Daimon knows what I'm talking about!”

Goro Daimon quietly demonstrated his agreement by stomping the ground. A pillar of rock sprang up to knock the wind out of Ganman, then collapsed on top of him, burying him with only his head sticking out.

“I see your point,” muttered the cyborg. He grunted and flexed, and with an exertion of his own power, he blew the rocks away, then charged in to take down Benimaru right away with Elk Horn Scissors before the latter could pull any more fancy tricks. He got the grab and leaped into the air, then slammed down headfirst, then flipped over himself to smash Benimaru's face in with both feet!

“Excessive,” grunted Daimon, keeping his cool even as his comrade-in-arms took a dirt nap. He wrapped his arms around Ganman's face so that the Perfect Chojin could not maneuver his horns.

Ganman punched Goro in the gut, but he did not let go. He swung himself around behind Ganman, painfully wrenching the Chojin's head to the side, then flipped backwards to slam Ganman into the ground, then smashed him directly in the spine with an energy-infused fist, using all his strength then and there focused on a single joint to paralyze the cycloptic Chojin!

Ganman collapsed, and Goro had one thing left to say. “... Strong enough for you?”

“Sha-bahaha,” laughed Ganman as his Tanden Engine slowly repaired his body back to normal. “Indeed, you two are quite strong… But playtime is over now!”

After charging up a Territory Explosions spell ripped straight from Nimue's spell book in the palm of his hand, Ganman exclaimed, “Have a taste of this!”

Ganman attempted to erase his opponents in one fell swoop with void-elemental explosions.

Rhea pointed at Ganman dramatically. “I can do that too!” She announced proudly. She paused, how did it work again? “The territory spells is a spacial magic, that allows the user to manipulate the spacial region with our line of sight, the explosions work because inside the orbs condensed heat, is being used as it's drawn in from the space around it, so when it gets released it acts as a bomb” theorized Rhea, as she produce another set of cards from thin air. This time they had animated cartoon bombs on them.

She threw them at Ganman. “Explode!” She demanded, and of course they did. Just not on the level she expected, she had done it to high, affecting her too, as she was thrown backwards. She groaned, laying on her stomach. The back of her legs, arms and her sides had Burns on thanks to the explosion.

“God damn it!” She muttered, as she looked at her skin. “Do you know how long this is gonna take to heal? This is your fault!” She shouted, childishly blaming Ganman. Despite the fact she was the one who made the explosions and couldn't control them.

“You certainly take after me,” laughed Ganman as he charged up for a Kaiser Wave. “Have a taste of this!”

Without warning, Goro slammed the ground with his bare palms, creating an earthen barrier shielding Rhea, Benimaru, and Goro against the massive ki blast. “Hmph… This guy is rough. I think we should counter with a Unison Raid technique.”

Rhea paused. Unison Raid? She made her brain think. “That's where you create a powerful attack together right? You merge your abilities, to form something spectacular” The only reason she knew this was because she had seen Mitsuki, and Libra perform a Unison raid together that one time out of pure spite.

As Goro rushed at Ganman, he confirmed, “That's correct. Now keep with me.”

In an instant, Goro pulled off his version of Kinnikuman's Fu Rin Ka Zan on Ganman. He started the combo with a Jiraishin tremor slap. He then rushed over to Ganman for a back suplex, a slam, a second Jiraishin tremor slap and a Kumo-Tsukami Nage slam throw, giving Rhea some time to hit Ganman with powerful magical spells. 

“Territory Explosion! Territory Nullify!” Rhea was a quick learner, she used an attack spell and a protection spell. Territory explosion you already know what that does, Nullify however protects the users from harm. As Goro and Rhea's body was coated in a golden glow, both Goro and Rhea caused the area surrounding Ganman to fill with void-elemental explosions before Goro let out a loud roar. KO!

After his loss against the three fighters, a badly wounded Ganman admitted, “Sha-bahaha! You've finally beaten me! Take this!”

Ganman pulled out the Earth Dumbbell from his body, passing it onto Rhea before passing out, satisfied with Goro and Rhea's Unison Raid. That shit-eating grin of his was definitely proof of that.

“He's not dead right?”Rhea looked slightly concerned. Damn these new emotions! She sometimes wished she didn't have to meet new people, she felt like it would be easier for her.

Benimaru got up after catching his breath. Ganman certainly hit like a ton of bricks. “He's fine,” explained the former Perfect Large Number. “That Tanden Engine of his is repairing his body. Let's go.”

Benimaru called in a private jet plane for all three. After a minute, it arrived to pick up the Chojin team as the preparations for Ragnarok were finished.