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| 'Raptor' - the fanfic | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Apr 23 2005, 07:38 AM (261 Views) | |
| Raptor_Shadow | Apr 23 2005, 07:38 AM Post #1 |
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Everything You Have Ever Been Sold... Is a Pie!
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I decided to give up on drawing a comic out of my Grim Darkness story, so instead I'm going to write it out in fanfic form! As per usual, Grim Dakrness belongs to Eastwood, Virus, Silversword and Lothar, they have full rights to it, may make coffee mugs out of my story at their descretion, blah, blah, blah. Hope y'all enjoy. Raptor - Chapter One The sound of jet engines could be heard in the near distance, a rare occurrence in the restricted air space of the city. This alone should have been reason for the robed chipmunk to be a little more wary in his guard duties, but he stood there. Blindly looking out into the distance, into the pollution-clogged air of the industrially tainted metropolis. Even the sound of a gunshot, precariously close to his position didn’t seem to shake him from his daydreaming. When the source of these disturbances, a trench coat clad raptor walked calmly towards him, brandished his weapon and just as calmly let off a shot at the guard all the Chipmunk could let out was a surprised ‘shit!’ Needless to say, that was the last thing the poor thing ever said; he collapsed into an undignified pile in the street, his deep red robes indistinguishable from the blood that was seeping from the wound. The raptor stepped over the corpse and opened the door to which it was guarding and cautiously stepped inside. Initially, the door led to a quiet, empty hallway. But that hallway soon led into an open space, filled with hundreds of robe-clad cultists, much like the chipmunk from outside the building. Hundreds of cultists, worshippers of the dark machine god Fernex, many of them covered in an unholy arrangement of mechanical additions and ‘improvements’. There were several loudspeakers set up in the hall, blasting out some kind of techno music, the sound was heavily digitised, and he assumed that if binary code had a sound, it would probably be something like this. Scattered around the place were computer terminals, arranged in groups of five or six, a mass of cables disappearing into the high ceiling of the room. These cables resembled massive nerve fibres, and many of the cultists sat by these terminals, smaller cables connected to a myriad of interface ports on their bodies. They just sat there, in some kind of near-dead state, most likely processing whatever information was being fed into them. Others were ‘dancing’, the usual rave type stuff, to the eyes of the dinosaur, it seemed more like the actions of a hedonistic cult than the worshippers of the dark machine god, but he never could understand the way these cults worked. As he made his way into the hall, heads began to turn. The cultists knew what it meant when a man with an angry disposition and a black trench coat typically meant: the Mobian Inquisition. As he walked further into the room, the crowd parted, and a multitude of whispers permeated the room. Guns were taken from hidden holsters, concealed traps were prepared, the level of tension just went from relaxing afternoon of getting high to red alert. On an altar in the centre of the room stood a wolf in an ornate gold and red robe. On closer inspection he was a wolf, but it was hard to tell, half his face was composed entirely of metal, his right arm was mechanised, his body covered in patched of metallic interface ports, and there were wires and cables all over his face. He was the man in charge of this ‘congregation’ and he knew exactly who and what kind of trouble was now approaching him. “Damned fool inquisitor. What does he want here?” He said to himself. He motioned for one of his bodyguard, a nearly mindless one. A cultist whose mind was practically wiped of all independent thought, unswervingly loyal. It approached and asked what it’s master wished of it. “See that intruder, I want you to kill him. Got it?” “Affirmative, master” And with that the bodyguard lunged forward at the velociraptor that stood before it, holding an electrified axe high above its head. As soon as he saw this, the inquisitor dropped on to one knee and proceeded to fire with his pistol, an ornate 10mm semi-automatic emblazoned with a gold symbol of the inquisition. Several shots were firing, the bodyguard dodged all but one, unfortunately no damage was done and the creature continued its charge. As the axe wielding maniac closed range with him, the inquisitor prepared for close quarter fighting. The bodyguard swung his electrified weapon at the raptor; he ducked, barely, and kicked it in the groin. The poor thing was not mechanised in that area and was stunned for at least a moment as pain surged through its body. The inquisitor took this opportunity to take the pistol to its head. He left it there for a moment: hand over the trigger. He liked to make his opponents suffer a little. Then he decided it was kill time. The trigger pulled, the bullet fired, brains, blood and electronics burst from the bodyguard’s head as he fell backward. At that moment those among the cultists who were armed brought out their weapons; over sixty armed cultists, and countless more unarmed. The inquisitor must have wondered what he was planning by busting in like this. He couldn’t even remember what his mission was; all he knew now was that he was screwed. From the crowd emerged the aforementioned wolf, his hood obscuring his face from sight. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, I expected so much more of you, inquisitor.” The tone of his voice was mocking, he was happy that for once he could act superior to his nemesis. “What are you going to do to me, shoot me?” The inquisitor replied sharply, venom in his heart and his voice. “Oh no, I have something much more interesting in store for you.” At that, the wolf began to laugh a deep, menacing laugh. The cultists surrounded the inquisitor and took his weapon from him, bound his hands together behind his back and dragged him onto the altar, at the base of the large computer terminal present. A large cable came forward, a menacing claw like arrangement at its end. The cult-lord took the cable and, rather violently rammed it into the upper spinal cord of the reptilian inquisitor. Electricity surged through him and he screamed, loudly. All he could see was light, blinding white light. He could still hear around him but it was slowly being overshadowed by a loud screeching noise, the sound of being directly connected to a computer. It was all too much for him. He passed out. When he came to, the inquisitor could see, but not the open space of the hall he had been captured in. He was unbound, and could walk freely around. All he saw was a dull blue light, there was no walls, no floors, no ceiling, he was suspended in the middle of a blue nowhere. A giant throne of machinery: power cables, interfaces and pistons appeared before of him. All the products of technology, perverted to some darker form. He approached the throne and it showed itself. A huge mass of flesh and machine. Muscle and polymer. Oil and blood. Skin and armour. It was disgusting, and intriguing at the same time. As he walked ever closer the size of the thing was made apparent. It was colossal. It leaned over and faced the newcomer. A deep, mechanised voice began to laugh, low at first, but not long would it be before it erupted into a long maniacal laughter. “W…what are you?” Asked the inquisitor. “You know exactly what I am.” Replied the creature. “I do?” “Oh yes, I am that which you seek to damage. The object of you malice, I am the manipulator of machines, and the one you perceive has wronged you so very badly. But I am afraid you can do me no harm here.” Its reply was heard, but not by the inquisitor’s ears, it was heard in his mind. And then it dawned upon him what this thing was. And when it did, his face and mind became overcome with fear. He was looking upon the face of Fernex, the dark lord of technology and the evil it could bring. Inquisitor Diego Shadow woke from his troubled sleep with a scream, in a cold sweat and incredibly fearful of what he had seen. It was all a nightmare, all an impossible dream. But why the hell did he have it? He hadn’t faced action against a Fernex cult in years. In fact, reports of anything Fernex had been pretty sparse lately anyway. And who was that wolf, he wondered, he seemed so familiar, even with the disfiguring bionics. Diego had more important things to worry about, namely the stack of paperwork he had to file out about a seducer cult drug raid that was due. Damn, when was it due? He looked at the calendar on the wall. It was the 26th of April and that meant he had, till then end of the day! Diego made his way into the kitchen of his apartment and made himself a coffee. ‘No better way to ignore a nightmare and start off a dull day of paperwork than pumping yourself full of caffeine.’ He thought to himself, taking a sip of the warm liquid. --- I've edited it a bit, hopefully fixing the servitor issue and I think i've fixed most of the problems with sentance size. I've also written a bit more to make it clear that it was a nightmare rather than something that really happened. |
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| Lothar Hex | Apr 23 2005, 09:36 AM Post #2 |
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Illogical
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This seems to be ego-storking more than fan work. 1) A single Inqusitior could never just walk into a Fernexite cult and live. 2) Servitors are not part of cults. Servitors in Warhammer are the worshippers of the GOOD god of Machines (whose name escapes me at this time) and work for the Empire of Man. In a Fernex cult, they wouldn't have servitors, they'd have something else which again. escapes me. Also, you need to work on your basic english skills. THREE commas in one sentence where no pause is required? |
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| Raptor_Shadow | Apr 23 2005, 09:55 AM Post #3 |
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Everything You Have Ever Been Sold... Is a Pie!
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I put it in as fan work because I wasn't sure whether or not a Grim Darkness fic would count. Never intended it to be ego-stroking, just my little bit of story in the Grim Darkness universe. The one man, vs Fernex cult thing, as shown by the end, it's the character's nightmare, nightmares tend to make impossible things happen. The servitor issue, as you said, the Fernex cults would have some kind of equivalent, but the name for such a thing escaped me also. The comma thing is a problem I always seem to have with english, I tend to want to overelaborate sentences instead of splitting them up. I'm very appreciative for the what I find to be constructive-critism, I know for sure I'm going to need it if I'm going to improve. |
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