I was starting to write a story to be turned into a script for the video contest, but then realized I was getting too stupid with it. Rather than just toss it, here it is. Maybe I'll do something else with it, but for the moment, it's just a fragment.

 Full edited version of the story can be found on page 3. I apologize for the fact that it's a bit blocky and not formatted all that nicely. Thanks for reading. :)

 My name is Avarice.

I can’t tell you how the world got to be as it is today, or even how to come out of it. What I can tell you is that you’re better off where you are right now than here.

I was born in the year 2023, but my life didn’t truly start until five years ago, when I lost my innocence in a torrent of blood and brain matter after the Feds raided the last Free State in search of the notorious Brothers of the Seventh Circle.

They weren’t here, of course. There was no crime, only a deep understanding of the importance of peacekeeping. Outside these walls was a world filled with unimaginable horrors. We were just an easy target.

They came when I was fourteen. There had been no warning, one moment the night was the same peaceful silence it had been since Starlight City isolated itself from the rest of the world, the next it was filled with the sound of gunfire and screams. Fire lit up the night sky as homes were burned to the ground.

Our house was the closest to the city gates. I used to wonder, what if we had moved when Father wanted to? Would that have saved us? But he loved my Mother, and she loved the house her father built. It was all that remained of her childhood.

I was in bed when it happened, listening to my father’s stories of another life. Mother and my sisters were sleeping in their room downstairs. The twins both had night terrors, so she slept with them most nights. It’s no wonder what caused the nightmares.

There was a knocking on the door, and I heard mother go to answer it. Father had a curious look on his face that turned to pure terror when she cried out. That scream was silenced with an explosion, and ice crept into my veins. The next few moments were a blur, even now, looking back I only have images that flash in my mind.

Flash! Father with a large rifle, another gun hangs in midair in front of me, me with outstretched arms. Flash! Blood on the walls of my sisters’ room. Flash! Mother on the floor, a large hole in her chest.

The next moment I remember clearly, though. It was the first moment of my new life.

Father was in front of me, rifle aimed down the hallway. A man dressed in a dark uniform wearing a Kevlar vest and a facemask under a helmet appeared from around the corner. Father fired off a single round at the same time the man fired his shotgun. Father’s head exploded, and I was covered in things that were never meant to be outside of the body.

He fell to his knees, and keeled over. I was paralyzed, held in place by the shock of seeing my Father die, of being covered in his blood. The only sound I could hear was my heartbeat pounding in my ears overlaying a painful ringing. The gunman then saw me, and the state that I was in. Even with a weapon in my hands, I was too young and too much in a stupor to be considered a threat. He moved to reload his gun.

I was filled with so much rage that all I could see was red. Blood red. I wanted to see this man’s blood. Would it be as red as that of my family’s, or would it be as black as his soul?

The anger brought me out of shock, and I raised the gun, screaming my rage. A sound that raised the hair on the back of the necks of men already used to combat, as I was told later. I pointed it at the man’s head, and pulled the trigger. The first shot went wide and I was thrown off balance by the recoil, but recovered quickly and fired again. This time I caught him in the throat, and his hands immediately went up to the wound, and he fell to his knees.

I stalked over to him, with each step a shot was fired, and by the time I ran out of bullets and the gun was clicking, his face was a bloody mess. Then I was sailing through the air, watching the ground rush past me, and booted feet moving back and forth. I collapsed.

Last Edited on: Aug 15 2010 09:28 PM UTC (Feb 10 2012, 10:55am GMT)

I wondered when you were going to start a story. Nice job. Compelling beginning.

 Thanks, but I've got a lot of refining to do. XD Thankfully I'll feel compelled to do so now that people can see it.

very kool story...more....more....more!!!!!!!

Last Edited on: Jun 12 2010 09:14 PM UTC (Feb 10 2012, 10:55am GMT)

Trust me its not horrible. I feel like posting an old storyI have now. I have to dig it up and format it...

 Ooh, formatting's a [filtered].  Can't wait to see it, though!

It's up. Only took me a couple of minutes. Thank you space bar! :P

 Three weeks after my rescue, I began my training in Sunrise City.

It was no cakewalk, I'll tell you that. I had had no previous training in combat. What child born and raised in a refugee camp does? I was no soldier, but I was eager to learn. 

I was not the only one, dozens of others fled to Sunrise to be protected by the Municipality forces that patrolled the walls, guarded the city gates. Food, water, shelter, all provided for for free by the Municipality. There were conditions, of course. The peace must be kept at all costs, lest this city be ravaged like the rest.

Training started with melee. We were given a CQC-6 knife, edge dulled to be blunt so that there were no serious injuries when facing a live practice opponent. Though at first we were made to practice on foam dummies, jumping into the air and driving the knife down into the chest cavity for maximum damage, slashing from the right to left to catch our opponent off guard and weaken them in a tight situation, and dodging then thrusting up into the abdomen to simultaneously avoid a jump-knife and injure the enemy severely. Afterward, we were made to dodge roll out of the way of incoming melee attacks until we were sore against live opponents.

This went on for months until we were nothing but biomechanical machines; our knives only became an extension of ourselves. We learned to analyze and act in the blink of an eye. Taunts were nothing. One of my trainers, a woman I deeply respect to this day, once said to me, "Sticks and stones may break your bones, but failure will get you killed. Never take the words of your opponent into yourself. The second that you hesitate and doubt, they will have won, and you will be dead. They will shed no tears."

After I completed the melee training, things got quieter. I was given the option to apprentice into one of four professions; Gunsmith, Chemist, Engineer, or Tailor. Gadgets and mechanics had always intrigued and interested me, and so I chose Engineer. It was easy at first, the materials required for simple items were plentiful, but still required money. Money that I didn't have.

I had made friends with many influential soldiers throughout my training, and one gave and taught me to use a cloaking device. With it, I was rendered nearly invisible. With no weapon other than the knife presented to me after I passed the melee course and this device, I was able to scavenge the deadlands outside of Sunrise for materials I needed for my craft. I found that light interfered with the cloaking device, so I crept silently in the shadows up to my opponents, and executed the Rogues guarding containers filled with precious materials.

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That's all for now. I'm bored. Want to check up on the game. :)

very koooool story

Wow, very nice Avarice.

Trying to think of more words to say but the only thing that comes to mind is "Wow!" lol.

Should continue writing more short stories like that. =)