Bloedzuiger's Fanfic(s?)

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Bloedzuiger's Fanfic(s?)

Post by Guest on Sat 13 Dec 2008 - 15:08

Well, my first fanfic. Or rather, chapter 1 of the fanfic I'm writing. Should anyone *cough*Danjo*cough* want to rip it apart, feel free to do so. Here goes nothing.

Chapter one: Смерть

"What exactly are we looking for?"

"An assassin, Triela. A good one, at that."

"How do you know?"

"Remember I was a cop not so long ago. He killed those hooligans without leaving any clues – all the police knows is that he used a combat knife, or maybe two. We'll probably get more information once the survivor wakes up, and then we can start searching."

"In any case, why are we doing this? Our job is to deal with terrorists, not gangsters."

"I've talked with Mario. He might be another survivor from Amsterdam, so I have a personal interest in his case. I hope you don't mind?"

"Well… I guess not."

A week later

"Hillshire, it seems the man spoke. You're looking for someone around his late teens or early twenties, bald, and very skilled with knifes. Oh, and he's blind, though that doesn't seem to affect his fighting. Should be an easy to spot combination."

"Thanks. Do we have an area?"

"Sort of. There have been several similar incidents recently around the location of the attack, but it’s the first time there are any dead."

"Seems like our target lives nearby. Thanks for everything, Alessandro."

"You're welcome."

Hillshire grabbed his coat, put it on, and left. On the way out, he picked up Triela and explained the situation to her.

"So we're going to just roam the streets to see if we can find him?"

"More or less. There are a few places in which the attacks have happened more than once. We'll set up guard in one of those, and watch the people. Be careful though, we're going into one of the nastiest areas of the city. You'll grab some unwanted attention with the violin case, so don't let your guard down. And remember not to use the firearms unless it's strictly necessary."

"My guard's never down, so don't worry."

They got in Hillshire's car, and left. As the car moved on, the city streets looked dirtier and the people looked tougher. Soon afterwards, the Mercedes started making heads turn, and when they finally stopped, there were a few groups of people waiting for them to get off the car. Triela was the first to speak:

"What are we going to do? If we leave the Mercedes, they'll rob it, but if we go out they'll attack us. If only we could use our firepower…"

"We can't. See that group over there? Try to talk to them, and if they get aggressive, knock them out. It should get the message that we don't want to be bothered across. Then go to the watch point and look for the target. If you find him, follow him, and stay in contact through the cell-phone. I'll stay here, with the car, so that they don't take it while we're away."

"I don't really like this… If that man finds out I'm following him he could attack me…"

"Are you worried about getting killed?"

"No! I'm worried about killing him when you're so interested in him."

Hillshire laughed briefly, and then smiled.

"Don't worry, you're the best after all. If you can't do it, nobody can."

Triela smiled as well before leaving the car. She approached the gang, and told them that she'd like to pass through. One of them made a strange motion, and they started surrounding her, but before they even managed to form a half-circle, she'd kicked their leader in the stomach and punched another one in the face. She then turned to face the remaining four, but they kept their distances with wary eyes.

"Look, I just want to get through here, alright? Let me be, and I'll let you be"

"A'ight missy. Ya don't knock more 'o us cold, and we's won't take yar car. Deal?"

"Deal!"

After a few minutes, she was at the watching spot, a small room in a small floor of a dirty building overlooking a nearly empty street. She waited and looked, not losing her focus for a second. She thought she'd seen the target a few times, but after double checking, it happened to be too old both times. She wass talking with Hillshire about returning when she spotted another suspicious person – and this time, the age fitted.

"I think I've found him. I'll follow him, Hillshire. I'll get in touch soon!"

By the time she'd hung up, she'd already left the building and was running on the street, chasing after the nearly out of sight youngster. After a few confusing seconds, she spotted him entering a side street. She followed him and, to her dismay, found the street deserted.

If I make any noise, he'll hear me! I can't allow that to happen.

She continued chasing him, as stealthily as possible, to a small building, which he entered, locking the gate after going through it.

I guess that's good enough for one day. I'd better report in.

She pulled out her cell-phone and rung Hillshire. No answer. She began to run, dialling again, without any success. She broke into a full sprint, and made it back to the place where she'd left the car – but there was no car, nor any trace of Hillshire. She was about to ring HQ when someone tapped her back. She turned quickly, taking a defensive stance, but dropped it when she realized anyone who was behind her and meant her harm wouldn't have warned her of their presence.

To her surprise, she came face to face with the hooligans who she'd fought against before. Before she could say anything, they spoke:

"Look, we told ya we wasn't gonna take yar car. We didn't do it! I swear! Look, we can take ya to where they have it if ya want. They's got the guy that came with ya as well. So don't take it out on us!"

"Lead on. And no funny stuff."

She followed one of the youths through a labyrinth of streets, alleys, and houses to a deserted factory. In there, she could make out the sounds of several people making a huge ruckus.

"Look, ma'am, these guys are dangerous. I dunno what they are, but they's got big guns in there. So we're takin' off here. If I were you, I'd be nice'n'kind to them, so they dun't pull out tha nasty stuff."

The youngster started backing, and after a few steps he turned tail and run, half jogging. Meanwhile, Triela had already entered the building. Inside, about a dozen people were talking, yelling and screaming at each other, drinks in their hands. A few of them were leaning on a car - Hillshire's Mercedes. The noise started dieing out when she entered, until there was a nearly complete silence. She didn't wait for them to speak:

"Where is the man that was driving this car?"

"Who are ya to come askin' anything? This car's ours, so that man'd be me." Said one with his hair dyed green.

"I was in this car with a man ten minutes ago, so I know what I'm talking about. Where is he?"

"Ooh, so ya was with a man in this car, huh? Guess that explains why there was such a classy car in these slums. Now listen, we don't know what yar talkin' 'bout. First of all, this car's ours, but even if it wasn't , we wouldn't have seen anyone inside of it, or even near it. That good 'nuff for ya? Now scram, yar ruinin' tha mood."

"Just one more thing. If you don't know where he is, who would?"

"Hah! That'll cost ya somethin', sweetie. How 'bout… 100 bucks?"

"Alright. Here." Triela pulled the emergency money Hillshire had given her, and handed over the cash. She wasn't going to bargain if the information could lead her to her handler.

"Well, well, well… He might be in the back of our shack. An accident, ya know? No funny stuff now, we's got some nasty things and we ain't afraid of using 'em. No cops come 'round, see? Now go to the back and get yar dear outta here before I change my mind."

Triela ran to the back, kicked the door open, and entered. Inside, Hillshire was tied to a chair, gagged, and bruised all over the face and chest. She untied him, and whispered:

"Wait while I get the car back."

She pulled her handgun before he could reply and dived through the door, shooting several of the thugs before hitting the ground. The survivors tried to pull out their guns, but they died as well before managing to even take aim. The last one left was the green haired man, who managed to shoot once before being hit. His shot flew far from the target.

Triela went back into the room and helped Hillshire get inside the car before taking a seat herself. Seconds later they were heading back to HQ.

"Hillshire, are you alright?"

"More or less. It could be a lot worse, don't worry. I'm starting to wonder if we should drop the search, seeing the risks."

"No need. I found the assassin today, so we could end it tomorrow. We could just ask Giuseppe, or someone else, to drop us off and come pick us up, and that way we wouldn't have to worry about the car. How's that sound?"

Hillshire laughed briefly.

"Nobody would guess it was you who was whining before about searching for this guy. Why the sudden change?"

"I guess you must have passed it onto me."

Triela smiled, relieved. In the end, it was all fine.


Last edited by Bloedzuiger on Sat 7 Mar 2009 - 6:57; edited 3 times in total

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Re: Bloedzuiger's Fanfic(s?)

Post by ElfenMagix on Sat 13 Dec 2008 - 15:19

Just skimming through. Looks good.

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Re: Bloedzuiger's Fanfic(s?)

Post by Kiskaloo on Sat 13 Dec 2008 - 15:32

It does indeed look good.
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Re: Bloedzuiger's Fanfic(s?)

Post by TTIO on Mon 15 Dec 2008 - 12:32

Agreed. Just one minor thing:

Bloedzuiger wrote:By the time she's hung up, she's already left the building and is running on the street, chasing after the nearly out of sight youngster. After a few confusing seconds, she spotted him entering a side street. She followed him and, to her dismay, found the street deserted.


You randomly switched to the present tense here, you should probably put it back to past...

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The Eagle

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

Alfred Tennyson - 1851
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Re: Bloedzuiger's Fanfic(s?)

Post by Guest on Mon 15 Dec 2008 - 14:15

Whoops! I started writing the story in the present, but then realized it sounded really weird. That must've slipped through Embarassed . Corrected, thanks for the feedback everyone. Is there something else you'd change? I'd like to improve my writing skills, after all, before I get to some of the more complex chapters. Smile

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Re: Bloedzuiger's Fanfic(s?)

Post by TTIO on Mon 15 Dec 2008 - 17:04

Laughing It happens to use all...

As for general feedback, I sorta suck at that sort of thing. All I can say is that I liked it...

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------




The Eagle

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

Alfred Tennyson - 1851
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CEO of Cheese Pie Inc.

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Re: Bloedzuiger's Fanfic(s?)

Post by Guest on Thu 18 Dec 2008 - 22:51

TTIO wrote:Laughing It happens to use all...

As for general feedback, I sorta suck at that sort of thing. All I can say is that I liked it...

I also liked it.

If only I could write like that... Good Good Good It is awesome!

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Re: Bloedzuiger's Fanfic(s?)

Post by Guest on Fri 26 Dec 2008 - 15:13

Well, here is chapter two. Thanks for the support , everyone Very Happy

@Riful: If only I could draw like you... Razz

Chapter two: ястреб

The following day, Triela was called to meet with Hillshire in Lorenzo's office. When she arrived, Lorenzo and Hillshire were seated one in front of the other, arguing:

"I don't think he'd agree. And even if he did, we've got nothing to make sure he's not going to turn on us." Said the German calmly.

"It's not just my call. I've asked Jean, and he agrees with me. This would be a step forward for two reasons. First, we'd learn just how good Type two's are without their handlers, which is important to the long term research of cyborgs; and secondly, the team needs a takedown specialist."

"All the girls are killers. We don't need anyone else to do that."

"I'm not talking about killing. I'm talking about hits, taking down a single target. None of the current girls is trained for working alone – they've all practised team fighting. What we need is someone who can kill the enemy's leaders without killing everyone between them and their target."

"Then what about Sandro? He's a spy, he could do it with ease."

"He's against killing unless there's no other way. And we wouldn't be able to see how well the Type two performs alone. And, before we continue, Triela is here, so it's time for the mission to start. We can continue this later."

"Very well. But I still don't think it's a good idea. Goodbye." Said Hillshire, standing up. "Let's go." He said when passing next to Triela "I'll tell you what this is about in a minute." They walked to the parking lot, Hillshire limping slightly, but when Triela was going to the Mercedes, Hillshire touched her shoulder and pointed her to another car.

"Olga's going to drop us off, and come pick us up when we phone her. Wouldn't want yesterday's situation to happen again."

"Which reminds me – How did they manage to tie you to that chair?"

"One of the girls came and asked me for directions. When I opened the window, she hit me with a tazer. And now, for our current objective." Said Hillshire when they got in the car.

"It's to find that assassin guy, isn't it?"

"Yes, though with a few changes. We're supposed to try to recruit him as a handler now." Answered Hillshire with a displeased look.

"What!? But… Isn't he a criminal? Why would the Agency want anything to do with him? And why, if we need a handler, don't we get one from the NOCS or the military?"

"Hold on, and let me explain. I'm not really happy about this either, but it's not like we have any say in the matter. Apparently, the chief wants to test how well the new cyborgs work without their handler, so Jean suggested getting someone who couldn't fight. There are rather few people who have enough knowledge to be handlers but can no longer fight – one of them is our current target. The second reason is that we need an assassin ourselves. I don't really see the need for it, but Lorenzo does, and it's his opinion that matters."

"Still, he is far too young! Even if he does have the skills to kill, I don't think he can pass them on. And besides, it's dangerous! You'd be living next to a killer who'd have more than enough reasons to get rid of you!"

"Calm down. As I said, there isn't much we can do but follow orders from now. Let's put some faith in Jean and Lorenzo. There's nothing I'd like so much now but to be proven wrong, and find that my concerns were unnecessary. In any case, let's go over what we should do when we get off."

By the time they'd finished reviewing their objectives, they were back in the slums, near the place where Triela had seen the suspect go into a house.

"Well, thanks for the ride, Olga. See you soon!" Said Triela, leaving the car with Hillshire, who bent down to the car's window to speak with Olga.

"Thanks indeed. We'll meet again here in about an hour, if nothing goes wrong."

"Not a problem. Ring me if there's any change of plans." Replied Olga before taking off.

Triela and Hillshire walked for a couple of minutes before arriving to the house in which the assassin was supposed to live. She pulled out her lockpicks to force the lock open, while Hillshire made sure nobody was around.

Well, now it's good that the street's empty. Guess everything has its advantages. She thought while working.

After a few seconds, the door was open, and they both checked that their guns were ready to fire before going inside.

They faced a badly illuminated corridor with its walls covered in mould, with a few blue patches, where the mould hadn't yet managed to grow. The lighting itself was flickering in a rather disturbing manner; but neither handler nor cyborg were deterred by it.

As planned, Hillshire headed for a random door, and knocked on it a few times. Moments later, an old man in a T-shirt that probably used to be white and short pants opened it, looking at the two intruders with suspicion.

"Whaddaya want?" He mumbled.

"Excuse us. We're looking for a blind man who lives in this building. Apparently, he forgot to mention on what room he lived when he requested social assistance, so I'm afraid we don't know where he lives"

"Oh, that guy. Sixth floor, letter B. Now scram!"

He closed the door in front of them before they could say anything else, so instead of thanking him they just started going upstairs. Minutes later, they were facing the door where the assassin was supposed to live. Hillshire nodded at Triela, who opened her Amati case, pulling out her shotgun and a flashbang. She took a breath, motioned Hillshire out of the way, and knocked the door down with a kick, and tossed the grenade inside. When the light had died away, she entered the room, only to find there was nobody inside.

"Oh. Clear, Hillshire. Watch your step, though, there's some stuff on the floor."

"I hope the man didn't send us to a room at random. That'd be a real bother – not to mention quite embarrassing." He said while walking inside. "I'll search the rooms – you keep guard at the door, in case he comes."

"Got it."

Time passed by, and the assassin didn't appear. Hillshire was about to finish his search, when he heard Triela call him outside.

"Err… Hillshire, would you mind coming for a second?"

"What is it?" He said on his way out. When he exited the room, he found Triela aiming with her shotgun at the killer, who apparently heard him come and turned to face him.

"If she's under your command, I'd rather you told her to lower that weapon."

"Wait a second, Triela. Remember we're here to talk."

She lowered her shotgun without a word.

"Thank you, sir. Now, how about we discuss things in my house? It's not a conference room in the Ritz, but I think it'll do."

"Very well." Answered Hillshire, and the three of them went in. The blind man led them to a small room with a table, several chairs around it and no decoration at all. He sat on one of the chairs, and motioned them to sit as well, then waited for them to speak. After a few tense seconds, Hillshire spoke:

"Before we begin with the more formal matters, there is one thing I must ask you. It might be personal, so I hope you won't mind."

"Depends on what it is. Say it, and I'll decide then whether I want to answer or not."

"Were you one of the survivors of the Amsterdam snuff films?"

The blind man smiled half-heartedly before answering:

"Personal question indeed. Yes, I was there. Yes, I got out. No, I'm not telling you how I did it, and no, I'm not going to speak of my experiences in any program, documentary, or trial. Now it's my turn to ask: Why the interest?"

"Well… She's a survivor from Amsterdam as well, so we have a rather personal interest in finding out other survivors. And now, onto more important business. I belong to one of the Government's Agencies, an anti-terrorist one. You have attracted our attention, and we'd like to know if you'd be willing to work for us."

"I need more information before answering. Telling me what the job involves, and why you're coming with a little girl with a shotgun would be a good start."

"So you don't object to joining the Agency then?"

"Not yet. As I said, I can't answer for now."

"You would be hired as a handler, which means you would be taking care of a child, teaching them how to carry out missions. That's why Triela is with me – I'm her handler. These children are more than normal children, though I can't tell you the details for now, so it would be like training a soldier, more or less."

"And where do you get these children from? I don't expect you to run newspaper ads."

"They are chosen from gravely injured and maimed children. Without the treatment they're given upon joining the Agency, most of them would be dead by now."

"Then why only give that treatment to a few children, and not every one of them?"

"It reduces their lifespan greatly. So, effectively, we're giving them a few more years of life. A second chance, so to speak. So, what is your answer?"

"Hm… I guess I'm in. Where would I be going to do this job?"

"We'll be giving you a room in our building. Come with us now, you'll start right away."

"Alright. I just need one thing." He got up and left, returning a few seconds later with a large black wooden box. "I'm ready. Lead on."

"Alright. By the way, what is your name?"

"Sergei. Yours?"

"Victor Hillshire."

"And I'm Triela. Nice to meet you!"

A while later, they were back at the Agency's main building. Hillshire told Triela to head back to the dorms, while him and Sergei headed over to the medical section.

"Here we are. I'll leave you with the doctors. See you around."
"Bye! Now, why am I on the medical wing?" He asked the nearest breathing thing, which he expected to be a doctor.

"Well, you are the new handler, right? So you have to choose your fratello."

"Choose?"

"Yes, you get to choose the child you want to be your fratello from a list we give you, and then you get to choose their aspect. So it's all your choice."

"I'm fine with anything, as long as she has good eyesight."

"Oh, and one final thing. What's her name going to be? It's traditional to make it a boy's name, though it's not compulsory."

"Let me think… I guess Hawk's fine."

"That's an animal's name…"

"So what? Hawk it is."


Last edited by Bloedzuiger on Wed 31 Dec 2008 - 11:08; edited 2 times in total (Reason for editing : format problems :S)

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Re: Bloedzuiger's Fanfic(s?)

Post by ElfenMagix on Fri 26 Dec 2008 - 18:49

Another skim-through. I say its looking through... or ...Feeling through since I had to use the braille board to read it.

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If Fernando had Super Powers, He would be God!
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Re: Bloedzuiger's Fanfic(s?)

Post by Nachtsider on Fri 26 Dec 2008 - 23:47

I'd say these are worthy enough to be published on FF.net proper.

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There may be no peace for the wicked, but the righteous can damn well get a piece whenever they feel like it.
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Re: Bloedzuiger's Fanfic(s?)

Post by Guest on Tue 30 Dec 2008 - 6:32

3klicks wrote:The gunslinger girls are deactivated and
preserved in a "crypt" "Fallout" style. They are found and reactivated,
at which point their loyaly program kicks in making the first person
they see their handler. This may cause some very strange people to
suddenly gain a superweapon in this post-nukelear world.

After reading that, and since I've been playing Fallout 3 for the last week, I suddenly had some sort of divine inspiration. Here's the result, to be continued if I have any more flashes of inspiration. I'm also working on chapter three of the other series, and I'll add the titles to the first two chapters as well when I post it.

Edit: put it in spoiler tags so it can't be mistaken for another chapter of the "normal" FF.

Weird things part one: Gunslinger Girl Fallout
Spoiler:

My name… My name doesn't matter. My rank does. I am, or I used to be, the Overseer for Vault 50. A Vault which, I may say was doomed from the very beginning, ever since we were hit by one of the first bombs, sealing the tunnel with only a few of the expected survivors inside. Not to mention we still had the blast door open, so someone (guess who) had to go over there and close it. After being exposed to the radiation, I started to change, though I wouldn't realize it until several years afterwards.

That's not the point, in any case. This tale isn't the tale of my long (awfully long) and boring life, but of the life of the few inhabitants that managed to take shelter here. If you have to blame anything for this horrid, gruesome and most of all, badly written tale, blame both my boredom and my instructions as an Overseer. Well, let's start by saying that this Vault was originally intended to be a military nexus – AKA everyone here was one of the best soldiers we could find. Hell, we even imported some of them. Well, the vault's purpose (to serve as a stronghold of civilization and whatnot) was destroyed after the big bad bomb sealed us off and killed everyone waiting to go inside. But there were these Italian agents, who were being given a tour of the facilities by yours truly to try to convince them to stay, who were inside by the time we got cut off.

I'm not going to bother describing them – check the files in my computer to see a few photos and even voice files. Same happens with their little sisters (that's what fratello translates into, right?). Names, for those of you too lazy to try and hack my password, are Jean and his sister Rico, Hillshire with his sister Triela, Giuseppe with Henrietta (or 'Etta for her friends), Marco with Angelica (suffering from several health problems) ,some lonely girl called Claes, and perhaps a few others – my memory isn't as good as it used to be. Well, as you can already guess, the girls weren't normal, run of the mill girls. I learned (after being sealed off, because then nobody cared about top secret information) that they'd been enhanced through mechanical means, which mainly meant their lifespan was reduced to the following four or five years. And, just to kill my hopes of at least having the Vault last another generation, most of them were sterile. Or so I was told, anyhow.

So here I was, right where you are standing now, five girls and five men in a single room, trying to find out how to make this work. In the end, I ended up relying on emergency code 11-045, which means I told everyone to make themselves comfortable while I tried to work it out. So I taught them how to make the bots (which were sealed in special, EMP resistant "boxes" which were designed to open a month after the explosion was detected.) work, cook, clean and, in summary, to take care of everything.

The handlers (male humans except me, in case you're wondering), however, were worried about their little killing machines dieing before being of use. Well, some of them were – others didn't give a damn. So I arranged for them to be put in the cryogenic chambers ("For emergency use only"), and set the bots to wake them up in about two hundred years. After a lachrymose goodbye, the kids went off to have happy dreams in "Training field v1.7734", to keep their skills sharp. A few handlers wanted to "go to sleep" with their little ones, but I forbade it for a simple reason: we didn't have any more cryochambers.

Now fast-forward a few decades – by now, the signs of my mutation are evident: skin's falling off all over my body. Docbot says it's radiation, and that it's going to have "interesting consequences" which, translated from the slang these things use, meant it had got no idea whatsoever of what was going to happen to me. The handlers have aged, which is to be expected; but I haven't, so perhaps all that radiation did something besides leaving me with a face not even a mother could love. We check on the kids from time to time on their training field – we might not be in there, but we can send and receive messages. A few handlers spend several hours a day speaking with their sisters. Not that I blame them though, because there isn't much to do in here besides that and training. I spend most of my time training, just in case any of you cares. One of the girls (Angelica, I think the name was) is in critical, nearly brain-dead, condition. She'd die a few days after Docbot warned us. It didn't come as a surprise (she was in a pretty bad state when she came in) but it wasn't pleasant either.

Let's do another happy jump in time! This time, half a century, decade more, decade less. One of the handlers is dead, and we're getting rid of their remains through the safest means we can imagine – flamethrower practice. By now, by the way, you'd run away if you saw me: I look like something out of a horror film. One with a very big budget. In any case, there's depression here and depression there, here being inside the Vault; and there being in the sleeping program. The man's sister is very, very depressed. More than I'd think possible, actually. Not much to do except wait and see, and give her a good book on thoughts about death.

Now, if we skip another fifty years ahead, everyone except me and our sleepers is dead, and I don't really look like I'm about to die. I look like I've died a long time ago, to be honest. Yes, I know I'm a bit over-the-top with my physical appearance, but it was still traumatic by the time – all over it by now anyways. Okay, I won't mention it again. In any case, it would seem the girls are supporting each other in these times of pain. Not much I can do, and I hate the feeling. By the way, it seems the girls were taking some medication before coming in here, to keep their bodies working. Inside the chambers, they aren't having any of the stuff, and according to my good friend Docbot, who still tries to guess what part of my body's going to melt next, that's what's keeping them alive. I've programmed a few security measures in the chambers so that, when they are about to leave, they're informed of everything that's happened by one of the bots (and given an instant shot of their miracle drug while still inside the chamber).

Last jump in time, one full century this time. I've managed to get the bots to clear out a path from the blast gate, and the kids are about to wake up. That's the good part. The bad part? I'm bored. I've learned to shoot with just about every weapon on Earth, I've studied every single book on the library, and I've done just about everything that can be done around here. The boredom is driving me mad, and it's not in as metaphorical a sense as I'd like it to be. Just so you get the idea, I started programming a robot to tell me jokes. Fortunately, I stopped halfway through. That same moment I knew that, if I ever finished that, I'd be completely nuts.

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Re: Bloedzuiger's Fanfic(s?)

Post by Guest on Wed 31 Dec 2008 - 10:59

Last one I'm posting here. The others will go in FF.net, if I manage to convince my internet to register.

Chapter 3: паук

Sergei woke up. His first day at the Agency had been pretty intense, but that hadn't kept the dreams away. Nothing ever did. Not pills, not alcohol, nothing. He was used to it by now, waking up in the middle of the night gasping for air. His hands, once again, felt sticky with blood; even though he knew it had to be sweat. He washed his hands trying to calm down his pulsing heart, and when he was done, he put on his training equipment and left. He made his way to the outside of the building, enjoying the cold breeze, and listened carefully.

The wind was shaking the leaves, there was a dog barking quite far and, from time to time, a car passed near the building. He stood there, simply listening, for a few minutes, and then made his way to the firing range. Luckily for him, he'd been given a tour of the facilities that same morning, and he had developed an excellent sense of orientation, so he arrived without much trouble. The problem was, however, that he'd forgotten that they locked it every night, so he made his way back to his room and grabbed his keys and, since he was already there, he also took his handgun, and some ammunition.

He entered the firing range carefully, knowing that it would be easy to fall if he stepped on a bullet or a cartridge. He made his way to one of the firing positions, and then searched for the target that corresponded to it.

I'd have it easier if this thing breathed. It should be somewhere around here, in any case.

After locating it, he positioned himself and started firing. His precision was rather good for a blind man, since he knew where the target was and what shape it had. As he fell into the routine of firing and reloading, his thoughts drifted off, and his pace of his shots became slower.

So now I'm a father of sorts. Well, here they describe it as a brother, but somehow I get the feeling I'll have to take care of the girl far more than any normal brother. I wonder how she's going to be like. For all they've told me, and what I've gathered from the other girls, she's going to be pretty freaky, and obsessed about me. No, wait, they told me they'd already fixed that. Yeah, and they also told me that the one that was supposed to be fixed is in love with her handler as well. Bloody scientists, always messing up in some small but important thing.

Sometimes I get the feeling I'm going in cycles. It's true enough that this place has nothing to do with, well, that one, but there are similarities. I hope I didn't make a mistake in joining. Anyhow, if I did, it's too late to regret it. And I still haven't got any idea of what I'm going to teach her. I know I'm supposed to teach her to "be an assassin", but what on Earth does that mean? And I certainly can't have her trained just as I was. So… first lesson… I guess this'd be it, firearms. Except I've been told that they have coordination problems the first few days, so she's more likely to shoot me than the target.

Got it! Survival in the wild. It doesn't require coordination, and I'll be able to teach her to pay attention to her surroundings. Well, I hope. Now what would we need…


His thoughts were interrupted suddenly when he heard someone enter the building. He crouched, knowing that he had the advantage in the dark, and waited for whoever it was to come in.

The lights flickered alive, and he dropped his stance. If they knew where the lights were, they probably were allowed in here. He heard the door open again, and two voices speaking. Apparently, the newcomer was one of the cyborgs named Rico, and the other man was the range's security guard. He aimed at the target, which was probably in shreds by now, while the girl entered the range itself. She stopped, probably surprised to find someone there, and then walked up to him.

"Hi! You're the new handler, right?"

"I guess so. My name's Sergei. What's yours?" Even though he knew it, he thought it polite to ask.

"I'm Rico. Pleasure to meet you. Um… Is it true you're blind?"

"Yes, it is. Since I was pretty young. Why?"

"Triela told me, but I didn't believe it. But why are you here so early?"

"I had some trouble sleeping, so I spent the night here. I shot some, and I thought some."

"Alright! Well, I've got to practice, bye!" She said while running to another firing position.

I'd better go have breakfast now. I hope I manage to get some rest tomorrow, or my "fratello" is going to get a very bad impression.

Sergei walked back to the main building, and headed for the dining room. Most people were starting their breakfast, so he simply joined the queue, got his meal, and went to take a seat at an empty table, but before he could deduce where it was, he got called by an unfamiliar voice.

"Sergei, come sit with us. You're a new handler, after all, and we'd all like to know more about you – and your fratello."

"Fair enough. But before you ask, know that there are some parts of my life I'd rather forget, and not talk about."

"We've all had our hard times. Don't feel forced to talk about anything."

He followed the voice to another table in which several people were seated. Judging from the previous comments the man had made, they were probably the handlers. He took a seat, a deep breath, and introduced himself.

"Well, I'm Sergei. I'm pretty sure you already have researched about me quite a lot, but feel free to ask anything else. Just don't expect me to answer to everything."

"Well, introductions first." Said the same voice from before. "I'm Giuseppe, to my right is my brother Jean, and to my left is Hillshire. I think you know them both? In front of me, and to your left is Marco."

They all said their greetings as they were named, and then kept quiet for a few seconds. Jean was the first to speak.

"You are right, we know quite a lot about you. But I'd rather hear your story from your own lips. Is that alright?"

"More or less. My youth was pretty uninteresting and unhappy. When I was starting my teens, my parents sold me to a child traffic ring, and I ended up in Amsterdam. There I was blinded, but before they finished me off, the stage was attacked by a rival mafia group, who released me. I trained with them and helped them in their fight against the rival organizations, but in the end they were disbanded through rather forceful means, so I became a contract killer. A few years ago I retired with what I'd earned, and that's when Hillshire contacted me."

"Why retire, though?" Intervened Hillshire.

"Because I didn't want to keep risking my life. I'm blind, but I appreciate what I have. And I had enough money to be able to retire."

"What weapons do you use?" Asked Jean right after he'd finished.

"Mainly, knives. I've also got a handgun, but I'm pretty bad with it under normal circumstances, so I normally throw my knives if I need to hit something from afar. They're poisoned, so even a scratch is lethal."

"Alright. I think that is all, isn't it?"

"I've got one final question." Said Marco. "How do you intend to take care of your fratello?"

"As best as I can. Advice is welcome, because this is a first for me."

They spent the rest of the breakfast giving him tips for training Hawk, in a friendlier mood. When they were done, he went to his room, stored the firearm, and grabbed his forearm sheathes, which contained the knives he used to train because they hadn't been poisoned; and his MP3, and set out. This time, though, instead of heading to the normal training area, he went to the nearby woods, to practice in solitude. He put the headphones and started practicing unarmed combat, the movements he was so familiar with flowing one after another in harmony and with a deceiving softness. After a few seconds, the movements started getting stronger, the softness fading, and the harmony disappearing. After a few minutes, he calmed down, sat under a tree, and put his head between his knees.

So much to do, so little time… I've got to get over this. Now. I don't have enough time to waste it complaining about my luck.

He headed back to his room with that though in his head. After spending the whole day and part of the previous night training, he was exhausted. Exhausted enough to keep the nightmares at bay, he hoped while he undressed before trying to sleep in his bed once again.

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Re: Bloedzuiger's Fanfic(s?)

Post by Kiskaloo on Wed 31 Dec 2008 - 11:22

A solid start to your fratello, Bloedzuiger.

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What? I like donuts! - Betty Suarez
If I die before my time, go on Oprah and tell the world 'I liked kittens'. - Veronica Mars
Scissors of victory! - Yui Hirasawa
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Re: Bloedzuiger's Fanfic(s?)

Post by Guest on Wed 7 Jan 2009 - 14:12

Chapter four. It's a flashback kind of chapter, next one starts with the fratello itself. As usual, critique of any kind is welcome.

Disposable heroes

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Re: Bloedzuiger's Fanfic(s?)

Post by Kiskaloo on Wed 7 Jan 2009 - 14:42

I take it these kids will be (one of) the foils for your fratello?

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What? I like donuts! - Betty Suarez
If I die before my time, go on Oprah and tell the world 'I liked kittens'. - Veronica Mars
Scissors of victory! - Yui Hirasawa
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A Cat of Many Talents

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Forum Posts : 10895

Location : Seattle / Tokyo / Milan

Fan of : Angelica's Smile

Original Characters : Kara Michelle

Comments : The community's international man of mystery.

Registration date : 2008-09-11

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Re: Bloedzuiger's Fanfic(s?)

Post by Guest on Wed 7 Jan 2009 - 15:29

As in the wikipedia definition of foil? I'm afraid not.
Spoiler:

Spider will grow up to become Sergei, so he can't really contrast himself. It will, however, show his evolution, so as to speak.


Last edited by Bloedzuiger on Sun 1 Mar 2009 - 12:53; edited 1 time in total

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Re: Bloedzuiger's Fanfic(s?)

Post by Guest on Sun 1 Mar 2009 - 12:52

I'm back after having my computer blow up on me. I lost all my work in the series, so I've had to write the new chapter again Cry In any case, feedback of any kind is welcome, and I hope you enjoy reading it Smile

Chapter 5

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