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Posted: May 5 2016, 01:59 PM
Joined: 27-April 16
Okay so a quick TL;DR: This was written for another RP as the exposition post but despite having the other guy say 'lets do this' its been over two days and no response. If anyone wants to pick this up, its an original world adapted from Deus Ex: Mankind Divided.
Sirrina ducked back down beneath the crest of the shambled roof, dodging the stare of one of the soldiers at the checkpoint. Even with half her right hand being mechanical, it still trembled, screwing over any chance at aiming the handgun it held firmly. She was too smart to actually shoot. It would have been suicide, but hatred burned in her like wildfire. The cacophony of voices in her head pulling her in two, the indecisiveness freezing her. The rage permeated her every vein, burning so badly to loose a bullet into the clueless soldier’s skull, even overcoming reason, but an uneasiness stopped her. An anxiety, questioning if she really had it in her to take a life. Could she become the same monster they were? Part of her wasn’t sure. She’d taken on so much responsibility for her age being orphaned. She never asked for any of it and she wanted to lay down some payback badly, but just couldn’t bring herself to pull the trigger.
Sirrina Kasey … rebel, terrorist, outcast. She lived in the place the eye did not see. Sirrina had survived firsthand the tyranny of the government, blinded by their own fear. She knew about being blind but even she couldn’t grasp how paralyzing their fear of her kind was. She hadn’t taken this path by choice though, and being hunted for it wasn’t so much infuriating as it was disheartening. What was her choice? Remain blind forever? She hadn’t even chosen to take the implants herself, she was only eight. How could she? Her parents had given everything to see her eyesight restored. She longed for them, but nothing was bringing them back to her. A few grams of lead had torn them from her years ago. There were nights she lay awake with her weapon, wondering if it was all worth it, or if she should just finish what the soldiers had started with one small twitch of a finger. Sometimes she felt her world was over, only seventeen and everything had already been taken from her. Her loved ones, freedom, childhood … it was all ripped coldly away.
She got back to her feet, treading carefully on the dilapidated, ramshackle rooftops, if they could be called that, which gave ceiling to the various corners of the slums. VTOLs flew overhead, between the towering pillars of so-called progress, the icons of wealth and power of the few. Down here none of that same prosperity was anywhere to be seen. Half the construction was barely standing, kept together by little more than miscellaneous metal duct taped together. She moved carefully along, trying to keep cover where she could while seeing in thermal to keep track of the soldiers. The government had sent not just police down here but the military, making moving between the wards much more difficult for people trafficking contraband or otherwise trying to avoid the law. God knows if she came face to face with those soldiers she’d for sure start shooting.
She wasn’t the only one down here wanting to wage war. Unrest grew like a weed, and the concept of all out revolt teetered on the brink of becoming reality. She climbed out a busted-out window, grabbing the ledge and shimmying overhead of the checkpoint. She’d heard of organized groups of resistance fighters, all of them gearing up for war. She was still too conflicted to join a cause. Lacking her own conviction, she didn’t think she could adopt someone else’s. She rounded a corner, still clinging to the metal rail that followed the top of the wall, and was able to make it back indoors inside a private residence. She quietly let herself out seeing nobody, and continued walking down a bustled alleyway, blending in with the crowd to make it past another pair of policemen ahead. She tucked her handgun into her jeans waistband, concealed by the trench coat she wore.
Interestingly, this piece I am told is written likeis written like Dan Brown (Da Vinci Code), whereas my last lengthy exposition was apparently more Margaret Mitchell. I wrote this piece using a heavily overhauled version of an old character without so much as a character sheet, and no psyche profile done. Completely winged it and I really like how it turned out.
And yes, I know I leave this piece on an unsatisfying ending. I wanted to limit how much I advanced things to let the other guy get in and have his piece too before in case he wanted to pull some kind of twist.