So, fun fact, my family participated in foster care a while back. I've got seven foster siblings out there that I haven't seen in at least 4 years or so now...but they still all are a part of my life. I'd love to meet them again one day.
Honestly, the most traumatic day in my life so far was saying good-bye to a little girl we had from birth till a little over a year old. Broke my heart. Miss you, Michelle.
Foster care has always been a theme I've wanted to explore in a story.
August’s voice drifted up to me. “Dinnertime, Nathan.”
Now came the conundrum. Did I go down and take my place at the table? My gloves worked well, but they didn’t handle silverware well.
I didn’t need food right now. As a cyborg, I only required about half the normal food intake of a normal teenage guy. Back home I got about a fourth. I was hungry, but I’d last another six hours or so before I reached the critical state. I decided to give it some more time, they weren’t ready for the big reveal. Mrs. Social Worker probably wasn’t even home yet. I wanted to make sure she was cuddled up in front of a nice fire, wearing her pajamas, before they called her up demanding a refund. Maybe her hair would even be in curlers, though it had been straight today.
“I’ll eat a bit later, I’m not hungry right now.” I said, which was true. As a cyborg, I didn’t feel much. It was more like I had a fuel bar, and I sensed it getting low, rather than actually getting sensations of hunger. The same was with sleep. And similar to food, I required about half, tops. I’d be fine on two or three hours.
My stuff clicked, and I pulled it off the charger. I slipped my feet into the special shoes. I yanked the gloves on up to my elbows, and powered on the screen by a set of quick intricate hand gestures.
OK, it's confirmed, he's a for-real cyborg. That's so cool. Nice job with the details of that.
-last edited on Feb 4, 2019 15:27:10 GMT by TheGreatCon: why is that word not allowed here? XD
Post by TheGreatCon on Feb 4, 2019 0:13:32 GMT
Chapter 2: Reputation
I spawned inside my shop. My eyes wandered over my stuff, checking to make sure it was all still here. I had locked up last time, but you could never be too sure. This wouldn’t be the first time somebody threw a rock at my window and then tried to climb through. And that was despite a ten foot drop on either side.
The forge was out. I grabbed a long metal prong, and treaded over. My booted feet were soft on the cold concrete floor, which was a bit rough, but not quite just glued-together gravel. I poked the embers. There was enough orange left there to forgo breaking out the flamethrower.
My equipment was a mixture of old and new. That’s what the game had done: fused our history with our present. You could be a blacksmith, you could be a marksman, you could be a plumber. Everything was fair game. There wasn’t much call for plumbers, though.
I checked under my menu, looking at my notes. I had only three orders right now, two of them just minor repairs on previous jobs. Then I had my custom weapon, ordered by an oricsh-looking fellow who had said he lost his last blade imbedded in an assassin. I didn’t ask questions. Their business was not my business.
Some people thrived off the blood and bureaucrats in the game, they fed off the intrigue and interplay like leeches. But then there were humble folk like me that were just trying to eke out a living well on the outskirts, making honest money on virtual items that had absolutely no physical manifestation.
I didn’t care what bloc he came from. He had probably told me, trying to recruit a new member, but honestly, I didn’t give a brick about all the factions. They all wanted the same thing, which was power, and I was critically cynical of that regime. I mean, only one guy gets to be on top. I checked the leaderboard briefly, just to see if I had missed anything big in my afternoon absence. Nope. FF’s main man “skulduggery773” was still up there. There had been some fluctuation in the scores, though, so something had gone down. Oh well, it was presumably miles away from my humble abode, and leagues away from actually effecting me.
I was the neutral party in a world that screamed at you to pick a side. Thus I had no friends. Oh well, I didn’t want any. Friends were dangerous. They were a weakness. People could use them against you. And plus they tended to get in scrapes and then start squealing your name.
I flipped my menu back away as the knock rang out on my door. I gave up temporarily on the sputtering flames, and crossed the room. I pulled back the deadbolt, and peeked out of my sophisticated little eyehole.
I opened the door with a grim sigh. “I said next week.”
The orcish fellow was on the stoop, wringing his hands. His username was flashing above his head, blinking “Ojo” whenever I looked at him too closely. His stats were also listed, which weren’t all that bad. He had a lot of XP for such a short survival time. He was probably an assassin himself. Unless, of course, he was a snap, but hey, let’s not jump to conclusions. “I know, I know.” He replied. “I just wanted to, you know…see it.”
I spawned inside my shop. My eyes wandered over my stuff, checking to make sure it was all still here. I had locked up last time, but you could never be too sure. This wouldn’t be the first time somebody threw a rock at my window and then tried to climb through. And that was despite a ten foot drop on either side.
The forge was out. I grabbed a long metal prong, and treaded over. My booted feet were soft on the cold concrete floor, which was a bit rough, but not quite just glued-together gravel. I poked the embers. There was enough orange left there to forgo breaking out the flamethrower.
My equipment was a mixture of old and new. That’s what the game had done: fused our history with our present. You could be a blacksmith, you could be a marksman, you could be a plumber. Everything was fair game. There wasn’t much call for plumbers, though.
I checked under my menu, looking at my notes. I had only three orders right now, two of them just minor repairs on previous jobs. Then I had my custom weapon, ordered by an oricsh-looking fellow who had said he lost his last blade imbedded in an assassin. I didn’t ask questions. Their business was not my business.
Some people thrived off the blood and bureaucrats in the game, they fed off the intrigue and interplay like leeches. But then there were humble folk like me that were just trying to eke out a living well on the outskirts, making honest money on virtual items that had absolutely no physical manifestation.
I didn’t care what bloc he came from. He had probably told me, trying to recruit a new member, but honestly, I didn’t give a ### about all the factions. They all wanted the same thing, which was power, and I was critically cynical of that regime. I mean, only one guy gets to be on top. I checked the leaderboard briefly, just to see if I had missed anything big in my afternoon absence. Nope. FF’s main man “skulduggery773” was still up there. There had been some fluctuation in the scores, though, so something had gone down. Oh well, it was presumably miles away from my humble abode, and leagues away from actually effecting me.
I was the neutral party in a world that screamed at you to pick a side. Thus I had no friends. Oh well, I didn’t want any. Friends were dangerous. They were a weakness. People could use them against you. And plus they tended to get in scrapes and then start squealing your name.
I flipped my menu back away as the knock rang out on my door. I gave up temporarily on the sputtering flames, and crossed the room. I pulled back the deadbolt, and peeked out of my sophisticated little eyehole.
I opened the door with a grim sigh. “I said next week.”
The orcish fellow was on the stoop, wringing his hands. His username was flashing above his head, blinking “Ojo” whenever I looked at him too closely. His stats were also listed, which weren’t all that bad. He had a lot of XP for such a short survival time. He was probably an assassin himself. Unless, of course, he was a snap, but hey, let’s not jump to conclusions. “I know, I know.” He replied. “I just wanted to, you know…see it.”
I read "I spawned inside my shop" and was instantly captivated. What is this writing magic you have infused into each sentence of the story?
I spawned inside my shop. My eyes wandered over my stuff, checking to make sure it was all still here. I had locked up last time, but you could never be too sure. This wouldn’t be the first time somebody threw a rock at my window and then tried to climb through. And that was despite a ten foot drop on either side.
The forge was out. I grabbed a long metal prong, and treaded over. My booted feet were soft on the cold concrete floor, which was a bit rough, but not quite just glued-together gravel. I poked the embers. There was enough orange left there to forgo breaking out the flamethrower.
My equipment was a mixture of old and new. That’s what the game had done: fused our history with our present. You could be a blacksmith, you could be a marksman, you could be a plumber. Everything was fair game. There wasn’t much call for plumbers, though.
I checked under my menu, looking at my notes. I had only three orders right now, two of them just minor repairs on previous jobs. Then I had my custom weapon, ordered by an oricsh-looking fellow who had said he lost his last blade imbedded in an assassin. I didn’t ask questions. Their business was not my business.
Some people thrived off the blood and bureaucrats in the game, they fed off the intrigue and interplay like leeches. But then there were humble folk like me that were just trying to eke out a living well on the outskirts, making honest money on virtual items that had absolutely no physical manifestation.
I didn’t care what bloc he came from. He had probably told me, trying to recruit a new member, but honestly, I didn’t give a ### about all the factions. They all wanted the same thing, which was power, and I was critically cynical of that regime. I mean, only one guy gets to be on top. I checked the leaderboard briefly, just to see if I had missed anything big in my afternoon absence. Nope. FF’s main man “skulduggery773” was still up there. There had been some fluctuation in the scores, though, so something had gone down. Oh well, it was presumably miles away from my humble abode, and leagues away from actually effecting me.
I was the neutral party in a world that screamed at you to pick a side. Thus I had no friends. Oh well, I didn’t want any. Friends were dangerous. They were a weakness. People could use them against you. And plus they tended to get in scrapes and then start squealing your name.
I flipped my menu back away as the knock rang out on my door. I gave up temporarily on the sputtering flames, and crossed the room. I pulled back the deadbolt, and peeked out of my sophisticated little eyehole.
I opened the door with a grim sigh. “I said next week.”
The orcish fellow was on the stoop, wringing his hands. His username was flashing above his head, blinking “Ojo” whenever I looked at him too closely. His stats were also listed, which weren’t all that bad. He had a lot of XP for such a short survival time. He was probably an assassin himself. Unless, of course, he was a snap, but hey, let’s not jump to conclusions. “I know, I know.” He replied. “I just wanted to, you know…see it.”
I have no words for the awesome amazingness I need some new adjectives of how this story draws you in. moar moar moar.
I don't really know what to say to that.. But an experience like that must have had an impact on your view of both IRL situations and fictional stories like this.
I was the neutral party in a world that screamed at you to pick a side. Thus I had no friends. Oh well, I didn’t want any. Friends were dangerous. They were a weakness. People could use them against you. And plus they tended to get in scrapes and then start squealing your name.
I flipped my menu back away as the knock rang out on my door. I gave up temporarily on the sputtering flames, and crossed the room. I pulled back the deadbolt, and peeked out of my sophisticated little eyehole.
I opened the door with a grim sigh. “I said next week.”
The orcish fellow was on the stoop, wringing his hands. His username was flashing above his head, blinking “Ojo” whenever I looked at him too closely. His stats were also listed, which weren’t all that bad. He had a lot of XP for such a short survival time. He was probably an assassin himself. Unless, of course, he was a snap, but hey, let’s not jump to conclusions. “I know, I know.” He replied. “I just wanted to, you know…see it.”
Dang, this feels like a new, edgy feel to the online world we came to know so well in the last book. And that paragraph I bolded. . . that kinda hit home with me. xP
W-wow. . . that's amazing. I had no idea. . .
![[derp]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/YqNTPqyQUocVMYXZgUAI.png)
Nice job with the details of that.
Dang, this feels like a new, edgy feel to the online world we came to know so well in the last book. And that paragraph I bolded. . . that kinda hit home with me. xP