|
I'm going to take great liberty with the word 'critique' here: How cool would it be if- The story was told from the first person point of view of one of the gladiators. How the gladiator reflects on things around him would set the tone of the game in concrete. Maybe establish Kimaris as a mysterious and powerful being, in the eyes of a gladiator. Kimaris would be a lot more intriguing than he currently is, at the moment he comes across as a bit of a saturday-morning cartoon villain on his day off. I don't know what the focus of the game is, whether the player/s play as either a gladiator or as Kimaris, leaving the true nature of Kimaris elusive works in favor of both. Opening scene from an untitled work (1027 words) A tall bald man with shiny skin and a gormless stare entered a chamber. He wore a grey skin-suit and a large black box on his back that peaked over his shoulders. Its curved surface reflected small luminescent tubes that dotted a low ceiling above. He was followed by a short, stout woman wearing a orange closed-cycle hazardous environment outfit. A heavy-duty reinforced door closed behind them. “Hi!” said the woman. She waved at a plump man in a sleeveless pink jumpsuit who sat on a couch in front of a large display screen. “My name is Izee, it's good to meet you Bryce.” She stepped forward and offered Bryce her hand. Bryce accepted it and Izee shook vigorously. She gestured to the tall man next to her. “I have a friend with me today. Introduce yourself man.” “Hello, my name is Carac.” said a voice from somewhere below Carac's chest. A gurgling noise emanated from his gaping mouth. Bryce blinked at him. “Good. Great.” said Izee, “Okay. The mule is outside refreshing stock and retrieving dried waste. We would like to take the opportunity while we are here to take a blood sample and maybe have a chat with you.” She brushed aside some empty food packets and sat next to Bryce. Izee busied herself with a medical kit. Carac and Bryce watched the screen with rapt attention. On the screen played the drama 'Captain Moreheart'. In it the titular character confronted Cedric, a powerful psionic and master criminal on a narrow walkway over a automated waste reclamation and dispersal plant in full operation. “Curse you Moreheart!” yelled Cedric spraying spit as he spoke his arch-enemies name. He held a shiny cylinder to his chest. “You may have hidden your mind from me, but I still hold the key to my inevitable reinvention as the father of a new age!” “It's over Cedric.” said the exhausted captain, “Do not be a fool, think of the good you can do with your powers if you would only-” “Only what?” interrupted Cedric, “Join you in the ranks of the Second Division Council and its lackeys?” Izee dabbed a patch of skin on Bryce's arm with a swab doused with alcohol. “Cedric's Reckoning, final episode of season nine.” she said, “We have other entertainment mediums we can make available to you Bryce.” Moreheart and Cedric wrestled. The cylinder was knocked in the fray and rolled from the walkway and into a great grinding machine far below. “No!” exclaimed Cedric. Izee stuck a needle-tipped syringe into Bryce and drew blood. "Your available options include hardware, like nerve pads and full sensory suites.” she said. Bryce raised a finger to his lips and pointed at the screen. Cedric had the captain by the throat and against a guardrail. There was a sound of gunfire, Cedric clutched his chest with both hands and slowly staggered backwards. He keeled over the edge of the walkway and fell, both arms flailing about, into a vat of boiling oil. Moreheart panted as he straightened himself against the rail and came to rest on his knees. A Second Subordinate rushed onto the scene, it was Estien, a compatriot-in-arms. He knelt by his captain. “We did it sir,” Estien said, he placed a hand on Moreheart's shoulder, “Cedric is no longer a threat to all the citizens of the Complex.” “He could have been a great asset.” muttered crestfallen Moreheart, “If only we got to him earlier, before he became twisted inside, before he began to hate those he thought were beneath his power.” Estien nodded, “If someone had alerted us to him sooner something could have been done, but the crisis is over now sir, you are a hero.” “But at what cost Estien? A person of potential is dead and there is a part of my mind that I will never get back.” A solitary tear rolled down Moreheart's cheek. A popular song about keeping faith played, the camera slowly zoomed out from the scene of the two men on the platform. The credits rolled. “When I was a kid my best friend disappeared.” said Bryce without emotion, “Maybe the reason I am here is because I'm psionic.” Izee laughed and patted his hand. “Maybe you are Bryce,” she remarked, “but don't obsess over it. That's definitely a way of suppressing your latent abilities.” The next episode began, a brass instrumental wailed as the opening credits for season ten scrolled across the screen. Quick cuts of Moreheart in an office, Moreheart running from an explosion, Moreheart firing a gun and so forth flashed across the screen in quick succession. Izee stood, “We have your sample, it looks like you have settled in quite well Bryce. I'm going to add those nerve pads I mentioned to the next shipment, they should help take the edge off of your sedentary lifestyle.” Bryce paid no attention, his glassy eyes fixed on the screen. “Carac, get the door please.” Carac turned to Izee, turned back to the screen, then strode over to the keypad by the door. He pressed a series of keys, the door swung open. Izee waved to Bryce and walked out of the chamber with Carac close behind into a ill-lit devastated subterranean promenade. The door closed, shutting off the sound of Moreheart talking to a psychologist in mid-sentence. “I have lost a vital part of myself in the service of the Second Division, doctor. I wish I could say I don't reg-” Izee glanced at Carac, who scooped gel out of his mouth with both his hands and smeared it across his face and scalp. “You like that show Carac? Does it remind you of someone?” Izee gave the bulky mechanical mule a kick, it whirred and with a click pulled its headless torso out from a recessed docking station in a adjacent wall. She rubbed a hand against its wide flank and a receptacle popped open. She took the syringe from the medical kit and dropped it in. The receptacle shut into a seamless finish. “We don't much care for it ourselves,” said Izee, “but we do concede that such programs are unfortunately necessary.” theworstname fucked around with this message at 19:42 on Jan 31, 2013 |
# ¿ Jan 31, 2013 13:48 |
|
|
# ¿ Apr 19, 2024 03:50 |
|
Can I use chopsticks to eat drum kits with the latest version?
|
# ¿ Jan 31, 2013 19:49 |
|
STONE OF MADNESS posted:You never got a crit for this and I doubt you'd like your piece to slip forgotten into forums history, so here goes. Thanks for the very helpful critique, I hope to address the problems you mentioned as the story progresses. I've tried to improve my grammar and comma placement in the following entry. However, brief descriptions and wordy words are still a problem. Things get even more enigmatic (and maybe a little confusing) in this next part. It's too drat long, so I moved it to its own thread. The Second Division (1117 words) entry #2 I'm going to add more to this story, so I might as well dump future additions in there. theworstname fucked around with this message at 12:52 on Feb 25, 2013 |
# ¿ Feb 24, 2013 13:25 |
|
I kind of liked it. A little bit camp, a little bit Lovecraftian horror, like an Indiana Jones or Hell Boy movie. Those silly Nazis and their meddling in things paranormal, when will they ever learn? Unless the details about the bit-part General are especially relevant to the rest of the story, half of the words in the prologue can safely be eliminated. theworstname fucked around with this message at 11:01 on Feb 27, 2013 |
# ¿ Feb 27, 2013 09:53 |