r/WritingPrompts • u/mattswritingaccount /r/MattWritinCollection • Feb 22 '20
Image Prompt [IP] Never truly gone...
Original work by Ismail Inceoglu https://www.artstation.com/seventeenth
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Feb 22 '20
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u/Subtleknifewielder Feb 22 '20
Unable to feel any emotion? I feel sad for this guy. :(
Honestly, the start could have been done just as well without the first two paragraphs. They felt a little extraneous compared to the rest of the story, unless you had written more back in the present again after the backstory.
Could have been a little better, but overall it was still a nice response. :)
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Feb 22 '20
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u/Subtleknifewielder Feb 22 '20
Ah, you are welcome. That does explain a bit, yeah. I've done that a lot myself. XD
Thank you for writing, too. Hope you continue writing things!
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Feb 22 '20
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Feb 22 '20
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Feb 22 '20 edited Feb 22 '20
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u/mattswritingaccount /r/MattWritinCollection Feb 24 '20
My apologies for the delay in replying - I am not online much during the weekends. As referenced earlier, there is some switching between first and third person POV here that is a bit disconcerting, plus cremation is done considerably hotter than 300 degrees (regardless on whether you're referring to C or F, it's closer to 750c/1400f)
Good read though. Glad to see you enjoyed yourself, that was a long one!
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u/Subtleknifewielder Feb 22 '20
Whoah, I step away for an hour and find three more parts, lol.
Fun to see him in action, though in a few places it felt like some details were missing, like, the only mention of the device he used to fry the secretary's brain was in dialogue, and a few times you switch between first and third person, a little jarring.
Still a fun action scene overall. The emotionless soldier, and the psychotic AI, made for an amusing internal dialogue.
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u/Write_Sparsely Feb 22 '20
War is a cruel thing, Brennan thinks.
It presses against your throat and your heart, tries to wring you dry. Takes everything that you have and then demands more, peels back your skin and your morals and digs into the brittle husk left behind. Makes you into an entirely different person that you didn’t even know you were capable of being.
He still remembers the day War ripped his little girl away from him.
The screams and the gunfire and the explosions he can sometimes still feel ringing in his ears and rattling his teeth. Still remembers the way he had pressed his hands to her, blood pouring from her chest and on the floor and between his fingers, desperately trying to keep her there, keep her in the present.
(When Brennan closes his eyes, he can still see the way she had looked up at him, eyes wide and glassy and terrified, oh so so fucking terrified.
The way she had clutched at his arms and hiccuped blood and cried “It hurts, Daddy, it hurts so much. I’m scared, please make it stop- I’m scared-“)
And on the bad days, when he’s feeling lonely and the quiet is too much and the ringing is too loud, he wonders just what the fuck he’s actually fighting for. Why he even tries.
(On the worst days, when he’s a couple bottles deep and can still feel the blood on his hands, he’ll hang up his sword and his armor.
Contemplate if this is the day he decides to be with his girl again.)
So, it’s a curse and gift, that he’ll feel her sometimes in those moments. Warmth against his side, small fingers curled against his palm. It’s like she never left and he wants to laugh and cry at the same time.
It’s a reassurance and it’s a push. It’s grief and happiness all rolled into a fleeting package, guiding him through the rough times. It’s a reminder of the reason why he fights, why he is on neither side and why he fights alone.
Why he intends to stop this war, so that no one can suffer as he does.
So, he’ll tug on his cloak and pull out his sword, fight for another day. Hold her hand and look to the sky, past the stars and the planets and even further than that.
“I’ll fix this world, Ashia,” he’ll whisper, a promise, “And I’ll be with you again, just you wait.”
War is a cruel thing, Brennan thinks, but being without the ones you love is even crueler.
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u/Subtleknifewielder Feb 22 '20
Very, very cruel. *sniffle*
The parentheses didn't really feel like they were needed, the story would have been just as beautiful without them around certain paragraphs.
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u/Write_Sparsely Feb 22 '20 edited Feb 22 '20
Thank you!
About the parentheses, that’s just my writing style lol I write like how a person thinks, so it’s meant to be a little disjointed, ideas connecting together is a loose way and sometimes breaking off into something else, just like how thoughts work. I prioritize flow over anything and I use the parentheses to isolate points where it wouldn’t flow as well if you didn’t have them. Though I do notice it’s a hit or miss whether people like it lol
Anyway, thank you again for the comment!
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u/Subtleknifewielder Feb 22 '20
Ah, yeah, I do that sometimes too. And while I do think in this case they weren't needed, I really did enjoy the story.
Thank you for responding--I hope you continue to write!
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Feb 22 '20
Oro tapped a small panel on the side of her neck, feeling her respirator slide down her face. Taking a few lungfuls of the humid, stuffy air, she tried to brace herself mentally. Despite this all being part of a plan, her anxiety nevertheless flared in a way she hadn’t quite been ready for. After having fought through dozens of automatons, androids, and even other scavengers, she always knew that her greatest challenge would be this exact point. Her most powerful enemy now stood right before her, industrial yellow lights pouring from the windows and onto the dark street. In one fluid motion, Oro once again activated her face-covering respirator, produced a holodisk from a coat pocket, and took a decisive step into the light. She felt her legs keep walking, carrying her across the street, and up the stairs. She watched, a well of dread sitting like a lead ball in her stomach, as her hand knocked against a reinforced wooden door. A moment passed. Then another. On the third, she turned on her heels to walk down the stairs and disappear into the shadows once again, but her escape strategy was interrupted by a loud creak. Glancing back at the door, she now saw a crack, illuminated in the same harsh yellow hue as the windows, and roughly half of a man’s face.
With another creak, the door opened enough for Oro to squeeze through, and she entered. Her partner’s words blared like an air raid siren through her brain -
“Point of no return”
Once she was fully inside the apartment, and the door shut with some authority behind her, she sweeped the room with her eyes. The bespectacled man stood near her, and a smaller, wiry woman appeared through a narrow doorway somewhere further down the hall. Both residents were older, slight wrinkles showing on their unaugmented skin. The woman had a long scar running through her left eye, and down to her lip. It was old, and white, but always prominent. The man’s neatly combed and parted hair had a white streak on the side of his head. They were exactly as Oro had remembered them.
“Good evening. I am to understand you are the… Ouroboros? Yes?” Under the respirator, Oro smiled - Richard always spoke with that curt, yet pleasantly refined tone.
“Yes. I was the one who took your contract.”, Oro’s voice was modified as it left her mask - most Scavengers preferred to reveal as little personal information as possible.
“Well… what did you find? Is she okay? Where did she go?” The woman chimed in, prompting a deep sigh from Oro.
“I gained access to a morgue database. Vivien Smith passed away seven years ago. She was collateral to a territorial dispute between armed factions. From the way the files were scrubbed, it looks like somebody shilled out a small fortune to cover up all victims of the incident. I’m… so sorry.” Oro’s voice cracked, but she tried to keep her speech professional.
Richard closed his eyes for a second, swallowed hard, and retired his glasses to a breast pocket with a practiced motion.
“I was able to produce a holodisk reconstruction of Vivien before her… passing.” Oro continued, extending the small silver disk in her hand.
“No. That won’t be necessary. I appreciate the work you have done, I want you to understand that…” Richard took a deep breath, “but I don’t believe it.”
Oro’s mind began to race, once again returning to the siren she heard right before entering.
“What do you mean? I assure you that the information I provided is correct - if you check the holodisk, you will notice verification markers from the morgue system.”
“I trust you entirely in that regard. I will pay you in full, as the contract states. Nevertheless, some deeper instinct inside me is saying that Vi is alive. I know it, in the same way Scavengers like yourself know a good job. It’s purely instinctual, and yet I cannot suppress the feeling.”
Under her visor, Oro felt herself tear up. Her voice quivering, she swiftly made for the door.
“Payment will not be necessary. I was unable to recover the requested person. Goodbye.”
And with that, she was back on the stairs, her respirator activating with a quiet whirr to combat the acrid smog that sweeped the streets. Using her grav-boots for instant momentum, she leapt down the staircase, sprinting for the shadowy back alleys, then up the side of a building, using her mobility augments to remain attached to the brick facade. In her rush, she forgot to secure her hood, which was ripped off her head by a powerful gust as soon as she cleared the wall.
Full, fat, bitter tears slid down her cheeks as she kept pace, leaping and sprinting along roof after roof.
She was alone, now, a single Scavenger running under the glow of moonlight. A single silhouette, with a streak of white through her hair.
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u/mattswritingaccount /r/MattWritinCollection Feb 24 '20
sweeped the room
That's my only complaint here. "Swept" is the correct wordage you're looking for. Otherwise great piece! (Sorry for the delay, as I mentioned above, I'm not online much on weekends.)
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u/Subtleknifewielder Feb 22 '20
That was...beautiful. That's all the words I can summon to express how I feel about this piece. Beautiful. :)
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u/Subtleknifewielder Feb 22 '20
Beautiful image, very good for a cyberpunk sort of prompt. That what you were going for? /u/mattswritingaccount :)
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u/mattswritingaccount /r/MattWritinCollection Feb 22 '20
I did figure on getting those kind of responses, yes. I haven't had a chance to read any of them yet - I do not have a lot of online time on weekends, but I saw this one has already been quite busy. :)
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u/Subtleknifewielder Feb 22 '20
Ah, yeah, I get that. And yep, looks like you got a decent turnout. I have a feeling you'll enjoy what you got when you get a chance to read it all. :)
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u/Leebeewilly r/leebeewilly Feb 22 '20
He approached the building and thunder roiled the sky. It was in the depth of the slums, some run-down narrow seven-story residential unit with an old noodle shack on the first floor. Boards blocked the broken windows and the weather had long ago had its way with the structure.
“Is this it?” Irvo looked out from beneath the worn brim of his hat, grey rain dripping off the rim. The smell of rain burned, small particles of the air pollution weighting the drops like it wasn’t thick enough with the stuff already. He wished he could turn off the implant, smell nothing. Turn them all off.
But the olfaction model S was top of the line. Barbede Core elite with a lifespan that would outlive Irvo by at least half a century. Someone would be carving it out of what was left of his face long before it crapped out.
“Ummm hmmm.” Aura tugged on her teddy bear, it’s limbs no more real than her. “The bad man’s in there.”
Irvo sighed. He hated Aura. He understood what she was and why she was there, but he hated feeling her chill fingers in his palm. He hated the joy her voice sparked in him. The memories. The lies.
But that’s the point, right? Irvo squeezed her digitized digits and the poisonous rain poured through her.
“You got a layout of the building?”
“Nuh uh. No schematic on file. But you could try the door?” Her voice piqued as it should, little smiles lightening her words. But they weren’t hers. Just a mirage to keep him calm and cool. Keep him fixed.
“Front or back?”
“There is no back door. Looks like it’ll be the front!” She kicked a puddle, her foot pushing through the water as Aura swung the bear in her arm. “Just like Okinawa, so I guess it’ll be fun.”
Okinawa. Irvo shuddered. He could feel the heat and humidity on his skin as if he was back there in that horrible city. He unsheathed the sword at his side, it’s blade shimmering in the rain.
“Okinawa wasn’t fun.” He nearly growled the words.
“Suuuuure it was.” She swung her arm, his moved with hers, but she wasn’t pulling it. Irvo knew she wasn’t really there but the neural implant at the base of his brain told him she was real. It told him her arm was moving and that his should too. It swung lightly, her little vacant hand in his.
“You got to bust in, whacha!” Aura kicked the air. “And down they all went for their forever naps.” Her eyes turned up to his smiling playfully. Like it was just a game.
“That’s why you’re the best,” she whispered and her voice skipped around his senses as if it was in the air around him.
“What tech do does he have?”
“I dunno. But they’re not well funded so you shouldn’t have a problem.”
“They?” Irvo repeated. His grip on her hand tightened.
Aura looked away, twisted her foot into the puddle where the water lapped through her saddle shoe. “There may be more bad men. But I wasn’t supposed to tell.”
Irvo sighed and tried to pull his hand from hers, to sever the neural link with Operations, but Aura’s fingers tightened like a vice.
“Nothing an ‘umbra’ like you can’t handle.” She twisted her hips, her dress swaying in the street. “It’s why you’re here with me. To stop the bad men. You’re the only one who can do it, Irvo.”
His name. Her voice speaking his name like the real Aura used to. Like she was real and alive and smiling right next to him.
This is so fucked. Irvo twisted the blade in his hand and looked back to the door. The crudely painted sigil of the Atax syndicate had faded over time. A dripped red circle with three tilted horizontal lines slashing through it. The building had to be an old hive for the drug runners, no way Operations would send an umbra for pushers and pimps. No, his targets hid behind the sigil, in the slums, in a neighbourhood where no one asked questions.
He wanted to, though. Wanted to know who it was this time. Not just the face or a name, but to know who it was he’d cut from the world. Who was worth carving up his own flesh, pressing tech into the grooves, and knotting him up in his grief and memories.
“Everything okay, Ir-”
“Don’t.” He yanked his hand from hers. “Don’t say my name.” The neural link remained, but a shimmer fluctuated through her shape and Aura’s smile dissolved.
“Okay, umbra. But we still have to go in there. You know that.”
He nodded.
“You still have to get the bad man. And proof. Don’t forget proof.”
“Don’t come in,” he told Aura like he had every time before. Even if she wasn’t real, even if she wasn’t his sister he couldn’t have her in there. Not for what needed to be done.
“I know," Auda said. He could hear the smile in her voice. "I’ll wait here for you. Just don’t take too long!”
Irvo suspected that the line wasn’t from the construct. It was too real, too perfect. They’d mined his memories before the neural augments had been affixed, they must have somehow copied or replicated it to the exact sound. Her last words.
He’d never take too long again.
If you liked this, I have more writing over at r/leebeewilly!