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The hooker's face looked like it had already been shot. Not how Johnny Phoenix remembered her, not at all. His index finger slowly inched away from the trigger-pad.
A monowheel crashed past, momentarily obscuring his view into the alleyway across the street. Phoenix relaxed his grip on the 910P, letting the pistol fall back into the bottom of his loose rad-coat's hip-pocket.
Nu-Zhuhai was a hot, muggy city, and visibility was low at the best of times. Heat haze blended with a dense smog of carbon dust and heavy metal salts to hide everything more than half a block away. Avenue Pak Deus was wide and straight, so the even the buildings across the road were blurred and indistinct.
It was her though, he was sure. Even now, in Nu-Zhuhai’s muggy night, where the exhaust fumes of preceding day conspired with the omnipresent neon-lighting to sabotage both his eyes' zoom and nightsight, he could recognise her figure.
Orders were simple. No contact. Get in, get the job done, get out. Simple, like a hair-trigger.
The monowheel had passed. He could see her again. Half her face was in shadow, but the other half was callously highlighted by the corner store's neon-lighting. The scarring was intense; a lattice work of bold red lines cutting across her cheek like Martian canals.
Without any conscious volition, his combat boots began to pace forwards. A monowheel swerved around him, gyros screaming almost as angrily as its rider. Phoenix felt the 910P in pocket. It would be so simple to draw and fire. So right. One more corpse in his wake wouldn't mean much, and he was already compromising the mission. It didn't really matter what the monocyclist had yelled; it was bound to be an insult.
"Hey, John, care for a good - fuck! Oh, shit, Johnny!"
Johnny didn't care for insults, or proportional responses. He could've popped that monocyclist's head like a rat in free-fall. One shot would've been enough to shatter that black-haired head with a ten mil anti-personnel round.
He could’ve popped her black-haired head too, just as easily. He probably should have. Orders were orders. But she wasn’t there anymore.
Fuck. He'd been too preoccupied. Same old mistake. Wound too tight. Reactor pressure too high. She'd seen him. If he'd had his medcomp, he wouldn't have made that mistake. They didn't trust AIs on this colony; it was hard enough for him to move freely here as it was, let alone with a semi-AI medcomp wired into the small of his back. Like a wire addict with the jones, Johnny had problems.
Eyes forward. Focus. She was running. Johnny’s right hand reached into an inside pocket, tearing open the plastic bag of pills, fingers scrabbling at random. A glance down. Stims and painkillers. Three of each. An overdose, but anything less wouldn't do jack for him.
Another monowheel passed him. One combat boot after another, Phoenix crossed the last two lanes of Avenue Pak Dues, heading for the alleyway. She was running too. Outpacing him. Not good.
He bit down on the pills in his mouth and felt his head clearing. Eyes forward. Still not catching up to her, but he was back on the footpath now.
People. His shoulder sent one man stumbling backwards. Another grabbed at his coat. Without thinking, Phoenix turned and lashed out with a right hook. The man crumpled.
Johnny breathed. She was still in the alleyway. He could see her in the blue flashing neon. He remembered that arse and those thighs. It was her, alright.
He was wearing combat boots; marine boots. Not full light armour, no combat AI even, but boots. He wondered if they were functional. There was only one way to answer that, so Johnny jacked in.
Wireless, he found the boots' simple interface. Scrambling their over-ride lockdowns was simple.
Jacked out, he was half-way down the alley now, moving fast. His path was blocked by a stall selling some bizarre squawking kind of winged creature. She must have dodged it, he realized. She was ahead of him, in what was rapidly evolving into a packed night-market.
He engaged the boots jump systems. Small shaped charges in each sole detonated with each footfall. The stall's canvas roof tore apart around him, as he tore through it like a matter-conversion torpedo through a solar sail.
The boot’s charges gone, he hit the ground rolling. He registered a pain in his shoulder. More pills; another handful should do.
She was close now. Even over the at-once cloying and repulsive smells of the market, he could remember her scent. The smell sent flashbacks into his drug-addled brain; his digitally-enhanced memory allowing perfect recall of their times together.
Struggling to his head, Johnny hit something hard. A fist crashed into his jaw. He rolled with it, crashing across a table full of bracelets and religious artwork. As his body rolled, instinct took control of his left arm.
The 910P rose from the pocket unbidden, already spitting. Two shots only.
Johnny clubbed the stallholder with his pistol's smooth grip, and rose unsteadily to his feet.
"Motherfucker."
The man was obviously a pimp. Big, skin dyed a fashionable shade of green, eyes reflective and artificial, one arm mechanically augmented, and two large, bloody holes in his chest.
Her pimp, probably. Johnny was mad now. As his right hand grasped inside his rad-coat for another pill, his left twitched on the hair-trigger’s sensitive touchpad. Swallowing the pills, he emptied the last of the 910P's thirteen-shot clip into the already-dead corpse.
Anger. To Johnny, that was another new sensation, really. Medcomps didn't allow the glands to control you like this. Rage. It felt good. It'd been months since Johnny felt this good.
But, then, medcomps didn't let you overdose on painkillers either. The alleyway spun around him.
He reloaded. His right closed around the second 910P, still in its holster.
There was a door open behind the next stall. She was up there. He could feel her trail in his guts.
Pistols drawn, he stepped into the dark hallway. It took an instant for his eyesight to adapt to the darkness. An instant was all it took for the bouncer to fire.
Old thread, but ah well. I've been a bit busy. University, working two jobs, getting a band together....such is life. Hopefully this installment will provoke more replies.
The bullets hit him in the thigh and gut. Even with the drugs, the pain clawed at Johnny’s fragile mind, like rivets hammering into his skull.
Phoenix went down hard. One pistol skidded away down the corridor as his hand hit the floor.
A snigger. The shooter stepped out of the darkened room. “Sucker.”
Johnny’s foot caught him in the shin, shattering bone like ice. The man fell, hitting Johnny’s back with a crash like a bad shuttle landing. Forcing his wounded leg into action, Johnny rolled, flinging his elbow back.
The wild blow caught the bouncer in the temple, gently pureeing his brain.
Pills. It hurt to swallow. Still lying on the floor, Johnny retched, his hand catching the precious pills thrown up. Blood dripped through his fingers.
He looked down his body. The leg was okay. Muscle damaged. Bone unbroken. With a medcomp, he probably wouldn’t have even noticed it for more than a few seconds. Now, it hurt, but he’d felt worse.
The stomach though, that was hard. Some organ damage, probably. He could run a self-diagnostic, but there didn’t really seem to be much point. He was losing a lot of blood. He could see the pool beneath him.
The wound was small though, he realized. Clean entry wound. Lucky Johnny, as always. The fool had plugged him with an anti-armour shot.
Two standard field dressings would cover the wounds. With shaking hands, Johnny bandaged the bloody holes. That was something he hadn’t done for years; marines didn’t bother with bandages. Medcomps made them unnecessary. The dressings in his trouser-pocket had probably been impounded from some colonial militia or some poverty-stricken charnel-house charity-hospital.
Back on his feet, Johnny stretched, testing his limitations, seeing what movements produced too much pain. Then and only then did he dose himself with some more pills.
Time to move. He’d been lucky in taking out the bouncer so quietly, and luckier still that the man didn’t trip any alarms with an electronic death-rattle. Still, someone was likely to come check on the doorman soon.
And, besides, Nu-Zhuhai still had police, and maybe they’d be coming down this alleyway soon. 910Ps were loud.
Johnny located his other pistol, and then stowed the bouncer’s gun in his waistband. Rearmed, he staggered towards the stairs. If this was a brothel, the downstairs rooms would be security and welcoming rooms, and he’d already met security’s welcome.
Upstairs, he sniffed again. Augmented senses showed him her trail.
He shouldered his way through a rotten wooden door, not even pausing to marvel at being on a colony which still used wood. As the door fell away, Johnny found himself confronted by a startled family armed to the teeth, quite literally.
“Oh, motherfucker.”
Normally, Johnny wouldn’t have spoken on a mission, unless strictly necessary, instead maintaining a cold, professional silence. But, then, normally, he would be satisfying his painkiller addiction automatically and intravenously. Normally, he wouldn’t have blood seeping out of his stomach through inferior colonial combat bandages.
Just his luck. A chimeric family. Bodily modification was normal enough even on Terra, and in the colonies things got really weird. Weird like hereditary mods. Weird like fangs, venom sacs and wrist-blades. Weird like hardwired weapons systems piggy-backed onto the DNA. Nu-Zhuhai was not one such colony, but it looked like Phoenix had stumbled upon a family of immigrants.
There was something comically awful about seeing a child of five with enough weapons hardwired to kill everyone in a lecture-theatre. However, seeing that kid, along with his mohawked older sister and both parents…that just got scary.
Johnny released his grip on the 910Ps, letting them fall. This was, he decided, probably the strangest brothel he’d ever visited, and he’d been to quite a few in his time. Usually he’d remember the exact figure, but today he had other things on his mind. Like the hole through his belly and back.
The chimeric woman spoke first: “We want no trouble. Get out of our apartment.”
Of course. Immigrants. Illegals. Nu-Zhahai’s authorities wouldn’t like chimeric refugees anymore than it liked AIs.
“F-f-fine,” Johnny muttered, turning away, one hand appearing to clutch at his wounded stomach.
His hand closed around the doorman’s armour piercing hand-cannon. Spinning back, he raised his arm in the traditional dueling stance.
“I don’t want no trouble neither, ma’am, but I think my girlfriend just came through here. How would your husband there feel if I shot your little boy?”
The father growled. Phoenix’s hard gaze met his one yellow eye. “Don’t even think about it. He’d be dead before you touched me. Now, where is she?”
The sister: “Upstairs. Don’t hurt little Johnny. Just go. That doorway.” She pointed back over her shoulder.
Spitting blood, but keeping the pistol aimed, Phoenix kneeled, and retrieved his dropped 910Ps, and then made for the back door. Little Johnny, he thought, wondering idly if the kid was named after him. Maybe. It was seven years since the Rising. He’d got a lot of fame then, and chimerics probably liked the thought of him a bit more than most.
Scary, really. The girl was telling the truth though, and that was what mattered, he reflected. The door indicated led to a ramshackle outdoor staircase. He could smell her. Hearing sirens, he glanced down.
Nu-Zhuhai’s police had arrived. There’d be a tactical team coming in behind him real soon. Time to move.
Johhny reached the top stair, its rusty iron creaking under his weight. A door was half closed ahead of him. He paused to check the charge and ammo on his pistols, but sudden rifle fire tore apart the wall beside him. Automatically, he dived through the door.
Hitting the floor hurt, and the thin walls didn’t stop much. Phoenix rolled low across the gloomy room, heading for the door opposite. Through the door and out of sight and shot from outside, he breathed, his eyes flickering around. Still alone. Safe for now. He paused to consider his situation.
This was no brothel, but it was bizarrely abandoned for the core of Nu-Zhahai. It felt like the abandoned sublevels back on Earth, favourite hideouts for people on the run and off the ‘net, like the family below. He wondered if she was hiding here too, and, if so, what from? Had she been expecting an assassin? Even him?
His thoughts were interrupted by another burst of gunfire. It seemed like the Nu-Zhuhai police had a shoot-first policy in slum alleyways. Below him, Johnny heard the sounds of screaming. The tactical squad must have found the chimeric family. He hoped they’d slow the police commandos down.
Time to move on. But, first, more pills.
His focus clearing, Johnny scanned the room. It looked and felt like a warehouse attic. Dark structural beams crisscrossed around him. No other doors: “Fuck.”
She’d been here though. Her animal scent was clear and close. There had to be another exit. She couldn’t have doubled back. Lowering the intensity of his eyes’ nightsight, Johnny scanned again, looking now for patches of light, which might indicate some hidden exit. To the left, between two beams, he saw what he was looking for.
Approaching the dim patch of light, he found a not-quite closed trapdoor in the floor. Sniff. She was here before him, confirmed.
Under his weight, the trapdoor collapsed.
There were two people in this room. She was one. The other was armed, and looked just like a pimp, but a little richer than the last one; his flashy mechanical limbs looked to be diamond plated.
Instinctively, he aimed for the head and fired.
The pimp’s corpse hit the floor before the dust from Johnny’s landing settled.
It was about then that he remembered two vital things about her. One, she probably still hated him. Two, she never went anywhere without a gun.
Too fucking late, he reflected as he looked down the barrel of her tiny ceramic pistol and saw the shell rising towards him as if in slow motion.
Interesting ... Though not the type of thing I would normally read. It took me a little while to realize this was Sci-Fi--the references to different types of futuristic weapons and technology I at first took for standard military lingo which I didn't know. The point where Jonny uses the boot charges was where I finally got the point and started making a little more sense out of the setting details you were giving me, and my appreciation grew from there.
Quote:
The scarring was intense; a lattice work of bold red lines cutting across her cheek like Martian canals.
I liked this metaphor. There were a lot of things like this throughout, gems so numerous it would take too long to point them out. The actual mechanics of the writing were very good, and you nailed your tone and kept me interested the whole way.
Still, at the end of both segments, I find myself wondering ... What the heck IS he? Is this the end of the story, or will there be more? If it truly is the end, it seems abrupt and a little cliché--ending with a character death always invites the "Then why the heck did I read this?" response.
I enjoyed the bit with the Chimeric family, and I liked your sci-fi setting, though I have to admit with all the shooting and the half-robotic mutants it felt a little like a video game at times. Not necessarily a bad thing ...
On the whole, I feel like a little more effort could have been put into establishing the setting closer to the beginning of the story. That way, your readers could spend more time enjoying the story and the writing, and less time playing catch up during the action sequences.
--Aevin
__________________
"Go to, like, greater adventures!"
--Din from Namco's Tales of the Abyss
Hmmm, good point on the videogame issue. I think you're right that I've focused a little bit too much on the action in this story, and, indeed, most stories involving this character.
On Johnny:
There a few levels to what he is. Closest to the surface, he is a deniable hitman and general hunter-killer agent working for a variety of reasons for what's left of Earth's government, as it busily fights the Cartel (which until the Rising, which I think I mentioned, effectively ruled Earth as shareholders in the government) and Free Colonies and itself.
Next is his immediate history. He is either a Spaceborne marine seconded to this black-ops unit, or a nanotech-built clone/replica of said marine. His regiment, the 54th, is known for generally being psychopathic and intimidating, and are deployed onto a world when all else fails for as little time (measured in casualties) as possilble. Last in, first out, etc. This reputation is largely a facade; they're a volunteer unit, and well trained and equipped, but their fearsome reputation is something they actively cultivate. The fact that he is a marine means that he is used to carrying a small arsenal, including grenades, flechette weapons, railguns etc, and, most importantly, a medcomp (IE, medical computer) which pumps drugs and nanites into his system to accelerate healing and keep him relatively sane and focused.
Now, seeing as he doesn't have that plugged in on this mission, his mind is running wild, and he is busily overdosing on painkillers to make up for it.
And then there's what he was before he enlisted...basically, bioengineered from before birth, and wired directly into an AI and whatever wireless networks he cares to access. Unfortunately, much of this is broken (especially the mental conditioning) and very often he and his onboard AI want exactly the opposite. The AI's main function is to keep him alive, so it backs up his "mind" at regular intervals. Why he is how he is and his backstory...that's pretty complicated. I've probably written 100,000-150,000 words around this character and setting...most of which is utter garbage. We live and learn...
Basically, he's a hitman with an AI in his skull and a ritalin, caffiene and morphine addiction.
Oh, and it was meant to be a two-part story, but so far I've written four parts, with at least one more to come.
I'm not very good like that...
Part 3:
Pain. Muted. Distant.
Voices.
“He’s dead. No one could survive that kind of wound. You put the bullet neatly between his eyes. His brain is like scrambled tofu in there.”
“I’ve seen him shot before. On Terra, he took an anti-tank shell to the chest, and a sniper’s shot to the temple. Saw him take worse in the Corps. The 54 always believed in leading from the front. He’s the only person I’ve ever heard of who has survived his drop-pod stabilizers being shot out. He’ll live. Just you wait.”
Analysis. The hooker, her, the target, talking to someone. Someone. Must be riot police.
“Han, bag and tag them. It’s your first time, isn’t it? The rest of you, it looks like we weren’t needed after all.”
Another voice: “At least that family downstairs gave us some sport, sir”
“That’s about right...”
Someone close to me. Something rubbing me.
Nothingness.
[logged: appendix 1A]
* * *
Pain.
“I think there must have been some mistake. This one here…it’s not dead, is it? This a morgue. I examine corpses. Dead bodies. The deceased. Do you understand me? Get this thing out of here. If they’re cold still, down here. If they’re warm and twitching, then bleeding well send them up there…and while you’re at it, why don’t go out into the street and fall over, you idiot.”
Pain.
[logged: appendix 1B]
* * *
“Sir…my report…I tried to operate…to remove the bullet. It wasn’t there. Not even fragments. We scanned first…of course…but we assumed there was some kind of malfunction…anyway…we found something…not the bullet…but the thing…it…it ate my scalpel…it’s all in my notes…here…”
“Doctor, are you always this demented? People’s brains do not eat scalpels. It does not happen.”
“Well, not quite eat…not literally…more dissolved it…like acid…or nano…”
“Sergeant, put that doctor down for a psychiatric evaluation and find me new one. One that is not insane. And arrange a debriefing with me for that undercover cop who shot him too…the cleanup crew commander said the she seemed to know him…”
[logged: appendix 1C]
* * *
Backup now approx. ten days old. Catastrophic neural damage suffered six days ago. Viral control initiated. Core damage was moderate. Self-repair initiated successfully.
Intermediate memory loss is 86.76%. Fragments of memory recovered from repairable cores logged as appendix 2A1 through 2J23.
Recovery period mostly spent unconscious. Viral AI unable to truly interface with biological sensory apparatus. See appendix 1A through 1C.
Vital signs now in acceptable range. Neural damage corrected. Bioelectronic linkage reestablished.
Personality/memory upload completed.
[file retrieved]
* * *
Johnny Phoenix awoke. His eyes were covered in something. Bandages probably. It looked like this time it was a head wound that took out his previous self. They were always the worst.
The AI was fully online though. Must have been a low calibre shot, or low velocity. Usually at least four cores would still be offline when the self-repair mechanism dumped his backup self home into its broken body.
There was a wireless network present here, wherever here was, too. Encrypted, although not very well. Probably a government network somewhere in the Free Colonies. Time to find out a little about where his sack of meat was lying…
There was a video camera watching him in bed. Peering down on himself, Phoenix stared with distaste at the primitive bandages. Marine field dressings would be better than that.
His belly was uncovered. Nothing connected. The usual red needle marks weren’t even there. That was very bad news indeed. No wonder it had taken him four days to recover. He wasn’t using his medcomp. No track-marks from the needles, and they traced in red the usual plug-in points for well more than four days.
So, he hadn’t been wearing it when he was shot either. That was unusual.
It was about then that the pain hit.
Suppressing it as best he could, Phoenix examined the room around him. Needles in his left arm. Some clumsy IV apparatus beside his bed. White walls.
Tedious really, and, for Johnny, very, very sore.
Starting with appendix 1, he began to probe the ten day gap in his memory. Exploring the rest of the building’s network could wait. He looked safe for now. Just another hospital.
Wait. Back to the camera. A button beside his bed. Within reach of his arm.
The IV needles hurt as moved his arm to the button. Phoenix slid out through the network, trying to mask the agony with activity.
It was admirably quick, really. The nurse must have been very close.
He walked across the camera’s fixed view to the foot of the bed, staring in what could only be confusion at Phoenix’s motionless body. After a while, he crossed to the left side, and crouched down to examine the button.
Johnny moved like a shuttle breaking orbit. His left hand grabbed the IV tubes, so that they wouldn’t get torn from his arm, while he flung his right out across his body to grab and stabilize the IV control unit.
And then, in what would have looked like a blur to the ordinary person, he wrapped the IV tube around the nurse’s throat and pulled it tight.
“Now, listen, one, where the fuck am I? Two, what am I on?”
He relaxed the noose.
“What? You’re in Nu-Zhuhai. State hospi-“
“I know I’m in hospital, idiot, I asked what drugs I’m on. Are you giving me any painkillers? Opiates? I’d even settle for morphine at the moment!”
“Painkillers? No, no…you were unconscious…why would we…”
“None! Why the fuck not you half-brained little bitch?”
“You were unconscious…no brain activity…why…”
“Because it fucking hurts…now, don’t speak, don’t think, just dose me up. Then you live. And I said don’t tell anyone, okay?
Phoenix paused. That wasn’t a very good threat. Personnel records time.
“You know why you won’t tell anyone? Because, Marky Ng, I know where you and your two pretty daughters live. I know that Jade likes neo-classical dance, and I know which school she dances at. And I know about how you sued the host-mother…now fucking dose me up!”
*whistle* On Johnny ... Now I don't feel so stupid for not getting it!
I had no idea you'd written so much. For you, this character's established, and it must be a lot of fun to have someone you know so well they can just DO things, without you having to explain their background every time.
__________________
"Go to, like, greater adventures!"
--Din from Namco's Tales of the Abyss
That's one of the big troubles for me. On the forum where I first started posting this stuff, I have a small core of loyal readers. However, I want to, one, develop my skills, and, two, write accessable stand alone pieces. It's difficult to balance repitition with accessability and just plain making sense.
Of course, given that I do read a lot of cyberpunk stuff from Gibson, Stephenson and the like, as well as more generic sci fi, and this is in many ways just a new twist on that formula, I suppose that I take a lot for granted just by writing in genre...which is bad, I suppose. Meh.
I only saw the first part, so that's all this post will comment on, because it's late and my eyes are too tired to read anymore. Though, I would recommend posting each chapter on a new thread. You get a lot more chapter oriented critique that way. Just my own opinion though.
This was a really interesting story, based in the future in a city which is difficult to see in. That would suck. Then most of his body parts don't work right so he has to take medication just to function. Yep, I can't wait for the future.
Regardless, this took a good imagination, and is something new and fresh. I look forward to reading part two.
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He bit down on the pills in his mouth and felt his head clearing.
This is the only part I found as odd. How can a pill affect you instantaneous? Maybe you could clarify how the pills work. I realize this is based in the future, but when one thinks of a pill in today's society, they take a few minutes to even start to dissolve.
Still, like I said, good imagination, well presented, and keeps the reader entertained. But of course, it can't go without saying that he is a violent guy. That poor pimp....LOL
__________________
I come with a bonus reward: Critique my story and you get a critique back. WOW!
I probably should mention that Zhuhai is a real city, and it is indeed very nearly that polluted. Crossing the "border" from the Macau special administrative region is bizarre, not least because the air - already bad in Macau - turns brown. It is revolting. The place has very wide streets too, unlike Macau's alleyways, so the opposite buildings are indeed masked by smog. The monowheels, as another example, are a nod to the preponderance of scooters there and so on. Zhuhai is also notorious for its red light district...
Also, in a later installment, I address in a little more depth why he is addicted to painkillers. It's not that his body parts plain don't work (quite the contrary). It's that he - and most marines - are junkies, pretty much. They're used to having stimulants and so on pumped directly into their blood, and the withdrawl symptoms are what is tearing him apart. He's used to his mind, in combat, being entirely steadied, his pain dampened, his wounds healed and so on...of course, if I have to explain this afterwards, then it's probably an issue with my work, which should be addressed.
Good point on the pills' speed. In part, I suppose it is explainable by the placebo effect, but perhaps more detail could be good.
Snorrie - Could you find me an example, please, and explain what you're trying to say in a little more detail? In part, I'm trying for a bit of a disjointed and staccato narrative. Afterall, the viewpoint character is a painkiller addict on a killing spree...
I disagree that chapters should get their own threads, it's much easier to read through a story in the same thread.
This forum gives you the ability to title each individual post you make Using it will help keep your commentary posts seperates and distinguishable from your storyline posts.
Overall... yes he's a gritty, neurotic soldier. Should his vocabulary necessarily consist of only one word (the F-bomb)? No, I don't think so. Is he totally uneducated? Surely not? Come on... be more imaginative than that. If this is far enough in the future to have medical nanobots, space travel, colonies, etc... swear words & language might have changed.
I'd agree that if you have to explain a lot about your story, after each post, and those explanations are not mirred in the body of your story in a chapter immediately following... then there's something missing from your story.
Like others have said before, "if you don't like your own story, how can others like it?" Same goes for your "universe" and all the background info. Make it a prologue? Sure, do a fast, exciting intro to grab the reader, then back off and get them familiar with everything in your story's universe. Maybe have an appendix (before or after) to discuss such things.
On painkillers: there are such things as sublingual tablets, and the sublingual route of administration. The pill or tablet is crushed and held against the cheek or under the tougue (ideally), and dissolves nearly instantly. This route delivers a very rapid dose of medication directly into the blood, but via a non-invasive oral dissolution rather than IV (intravenous). Nitroglycerin is administered like this often, for acute angina (chest pain due to heart disease) attacks. It still takes a minute or 3, though, for the effect. Much better than waiting 20-30 minutes as with an oral dose of vicodin, percocet, phenobarb, codeine, etc.
__________________ "At the touch of rum, everyone becomes a pirate." Unanswered Posts - click this, don't be afraid, and be useful... Peach , Faultline
I disagree that chapters should get their own threads, it's much easier to read through a story in the same thread.
I agree, for relatively short stories. However, it has the unfortunate flipside of - as far as I can see - very often outright discouraging readers and preventing critiques...not so good.
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Originally Posted by ghent96
This forum gives you the ability to title each individual post you make Using it will help keep your commentary posts seperates and distinguishable from your storyline posts.
Hmmm, good point. I tend to forget that feature exists.
Quote:
Originally Posted by ghent96
Overall... yes he's a gritty, neurotic soldier. Should his vocabulary necessarily consist of only one word (the F-bomb)? No, I don't think so. Is he totally uneducated? Surely not?
In hindsight, yeah, it is overused. I should drop it out of most of the thoughts and the later dialogue. Too much "what/why/where the fuck?" going on. That said, I kinda like the refrain of "oh, motherfucker" which develops in the first two installments as it all goes wrong.
Quote:
Originally Posted by ghent96
Come on... be more imaginative than that. If this is far enough in the future to have medical nanobots, space travel, colonies, etc... swear words & language might have changed.
My general approach is to write in contemporary English, and that generally includes swearwords. The fact is that the whole language will change, not merely the obscenities. Quite often, sci-fi writers use elaborate and contrived sets of pseudo-swearwords, and that has never appealed to me.
If I'm going to invent a swearword, I'm going to make sure that it's for a reason. It has to be adding to the story and fitting into the setting. I'm not just going to replace "fuck" with "frikk" because its sci-fi (ala the infamous Judge Dredd). If I coin a future swearword, I want the reader to be able to understand precisely why it's a swearword, if they think it through.
Quote:
Originally Posted by ghent96
I'd agree that if you have to explain a lot about your story, after each post, and those explanations are not mirred in the body of your story in a chapter immediately following... then there's something missing from your story.
Indeed. There is, however, a line to be treaded here, between repetitively reintroducing a setting and character and leaving the reader lost and confused. I imagine that I need to introduce a lot more scene-setting.
Of course, as this was originally intended to be a two-part short or even flash piece...this issue is understandable.
Quote:
Originally Posted by ghent96
Like others have said before, "if you don't like your own story, how can others like it?" Same goes for your "universe" and all the background info. Make it a prologue? Sure, do a fast, exciting intro to grab the reader, then back off and get them familiar with everything in your story's universe. Maybe have an appendix (before or after) to discuss such things.
That would be appropriate in a novel. In a short story? It shouldn't really be necessary, although, I guess, in this it definately is. I will admit that I am a fan of cyberpunk though, where details of the character and setting are often left up to the reader's imagination...
Quote:
Originally Posted by ghent96
On painkillers: there are such things as sublingual tablets, and the sublingual route of administration. The pill or tablet is crushed and held against the cheek or under the tougue (ideally), and dissolves nearly instantly. This route delivers a very rapid dose of medication directly into the blood, but via a non-invasive oral dissolution rather than IV (intravenous). Nitroglycerin is administered like this often, for acute angina (chest pain due to heart disease) attacks. It still takes a minute or 3, though, for the effect. Much better than waiting 20-30 minutes as with an oral dose of vicodin, percocet, phenobarb, codeine, etc.
Using it will help keep your commentary posts seperates and distinguishable from your storyline posts.
