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[Sharp]

Well, it's up to ivy whether or not he gets to keep it, just like whether or not I could permanently remove Dash's eye.


It all seems fair to me.

[Wiznerd]

Every pore in my body opened with a dense condensation, never in my long trivial life had I experience such a thought of completely isolation. I felt the familiar beat of my heart buried beneath the clothes of warped leather. Reminding me once again…that I was alive. As my heartbeat settled down to a normal state the familiarity of life touched me once again. I saw myself once again, not through a physical apparition, but more of a mental persona. Unlike the other fellow human’s who could only see their twisted form in that of a looking glass. I saw the inner soul, every membrane that stretched across the being of what I was today, this moment.

I lay on my back, the cool earth behind me, tapping my fingers slightly I became aware of every surrounding crevices, crumple, and inclination…within a few meters. I had been submerged in a completely new environment. One similar to long days past, but yet there was a peculiar oddness to this forest, this entity, or world. With my other hand I felt the cool blade of my knife, still lashed to my belt, the small athame engraved with Gaelic runes, long lost in the battle for humanity, but yet still holding the purpose on which they were placed.

My ears tuned towards the sounds of the new awakened territory. The slight breeze muffled by the leaves scattered on the ground and high above in what I only assumed to be trees. In the far distance I could hear the babbling of a small flowing water body. The erythematic churning of the water on the moss covered stone, soothing the situation which I had been drawn into. I sat up, feeling the small particles of dirt hit the ground off my back. The greasy hair in my head falling into the usual style which would cover both what would be my eyes, and the back of my neck. Breathing softly with the repetitious sounds of the wind, I continued to make great effort in keeping myself private in this new world.

Weaving my legs into a more comfortable fashion I noticed a small envelope of parchment brush my skin. Taking little care in ruining this new found document, I read it. Though one must understand that in such a predicament of mine, even the easiest tasks of reading would be a challenge. This small parchment though how insignificant it may be represented one of the few skills I have mastered over the past years. I touched my callused hands along the smooth envelope, feeling the inclinations of ink, I read. As my fingers scanned the parchment beneath the surface, I realized my new found position in this new found world. My mind raced for a plan, for the document would lead to greater significance than was originally thought. I cast the closed envelope on the ground, regarding that it would be best to my situation if it were to remain unopened, until one of my so called opponents found it.

Standing up the muffled breeze flowing through the greasy hair, I retrieved the small dagger object from my belt, touching the ruby crystal at the hilt as a reminder to bless the Great Gods. My fingers gripping the blade, and a small trickle of blood streamed across the cold steel. Finally I threw the knife into the ground with a great vigor, as it dug halfway into the topsoil. From an observer I would assume that this primitive ritual would be utterly useless to any individual, but I must remind you as a hawk depends on clear skies to hunt, I also depend on a clear perspective to fight. The quick thud lasted very briefly, but the tremors that became from the blade echoed beneath the soil, across the new found world. Soon imagery of white lines, and black shadows formed, creating a topographic view of the new surroundings. Individuals would appear aside from the animals and the local flora. Removing my simplistic leather strapped sandals; my raw bare feet exposed a better quality sensor to these eligible vibrations. I focused my stance at each person, or object collecting they way they walked, their overall stance, dimensions, and best of all the single heartbeat that all shared in common. For the simplicity of the time being I named each individual through a series of letters, until I could better my knowledge of each subject.

Retrieving the athame from the earth, I repeated the ritual of casting it back down. This time, my bare feet picked up a further layout of what I had discovered to be a forest. On four chartered sides a new found turf, seemed to reflect the vibrations, meaning that is must have shared a few common characteristic with sand. The only thing I have discovered previously to be a bad way to transfer motion.

Recovering the athame blade, and my sandals, I secured them once again to my belt, and slowly made my way cautiously toward the promptly individual I had named “A”.

--
My steps mimicking the contour of the earth, I collected many details about the surface I was walking on. Many smells similar to plants of my home world, traced the inside of my nose, as my mind tracked and placed there location for possible further use. Finally a scent appeared, that was too distant from the rest of the world to be simply natural. My mind raced as a sharp sound of pain was heard in the distance. I crouched down with both my hands and feet into the soil, large vibrations…what could be considered shockwaves echoed through the ground. Individual “A” either had a great strength or a large stature I thought to myself as I contemplated where the individual was moving to according to my current position. As the shockwaves faded, and the individual seemed to slow down, I finally resumed standing following a new perceived target.

--

I followed a path that I assumed according to the way the individual moved, was carved from Individual A. Along the side of the trail I found many small plants, saplings, and young trees bent, and burden from the sudden outburst of power. Tearing off a long slender branch from one of these fallen plants, I fashioned a staff, using my blade, making a perfect primitive resemblance to a guiding stick. Often used by people of my condition. Though I would be perfectly fine without this tool for the disabled, I concluded that for the time being it would be best if I played the condition of being blind, defenseless, and weak as far as it would let me.

I tapped the soil in front of me to portray the role perfectly. The rhythm of the vibrations rebounded off the soil leaving me all more that aware of my surroundings and environment. I followed the trail left by the individual, until at last it seemed to end near the embankments of the stream. My feet sensing the gradient change onto a pebbled surface, I continued to to tap my staff often splashing water on my toes. As my toes reached the edge of the water, the cool liquid brushing over the dirt, and soothing the skin, I waited in silence. Listening carefully as my nose picked up the odor of what I presumed to be individual “A”. Then in the ordinary of the forest sounds, I heard the sounds of movement. The rhythmic babbling of the creek in front of me, was disrupted, soon hearing a very subtle buzzing sound, turned to the left in a graceful manner I tapped my stick on the stoned surface. The vibrations revealing a figure about 3 meters downstream, his face had been turned towards me, but focusing on the individual I swear I felt small droplet of liquid falling from his face. Strewn around him seemed to be a collection of what I believed to be dressing cloths, and different disinfectant.

Once again I heard the subtle muted buzzing. I watched the vibrations from what I assumed to be the source, transfer across what I discovered to be a human form. The buzzing sound seemed to becoming from something on the individuals ear. He seemed alarmed, but I believed showed no effort in trying to protect himself other than be quite.

…I suppressed an argument fuming up in my head. Stereotypical, I suppose that because someone can’t see they can’t hear, and therefore if we be quite everything will be ok, and they won’t be able to know we are here.…

The buzzing continued once again illuminating the individuals face, but as the waves of vibrations crossed the bridge of the nose I saw something quite odd in a human. The wave panned across the man’s socket, but avas there would be no eye. I turned my head now to face the trees, though intently I was still focused on the individual. Looking in a few other directions I decided to play out this individual’s already set stereotype.

I walked forward my path directly blocked by the individual’s presence, tapping my stick lightly on the ground. I walked with a certain purposeful stumble, acting as I almost tripped over the strewn first aid kit, and other items. Finally, sacrificing an act for a confrontment I pretended to stub my toe on one of bottle of medical rubbing alcohol, telling by the thickness and viscosity of the liquid inside. I tripped falling forward, I recalled a constant buzzing escalate as I fell on top of the individual, that I had named “A”.

“Excuse me.” A voice echoed through an interior of a neck, and down into the lungs. From the anatomy I located the individual’s heart, neck, gut, and the apple protruding from the man’s throat. Acting startled I raised a single hand out towards the face of the individual, towards the direction of the noise I had just heard. My clutch was soon blocked by a hand, and then a push from another hand shoved me and my belonging aside, away from the stream. I noted that the push and effort behind it, was accelerated by what seemed to be gloves or a genetic defect occurring on the individuals hands.

“Just who do you think you are?” said the voice.

Ignoring the question, I stood up facing the individual, I gave a low bow. Raised a hand out towards the individual, and expressed a gratitude for my actions.
“Greetings, I assume you are the competition...” My startling low voice erupted from my mouth, articulating each syllable.

Somewhat startled by the awkward entrance, a muffled chuckle escaped under my breath. The feeling of anticipation escaped me; waiting for a reply would most likely be worthless.

“You must of disappeared..”I said in a low grunt, I picked up my guide staff, getting ready to leave know very well that individual “A” still stood there silent, trying to make sense of a creature such as myself. Bowing once again, I reached down grabbing a few small stones from the ground as I retrieved back into a standing stance. Hearing the buzzing, and the individual’s face illuminating I exited the embankment and headed back into the woods tapping my guide stick as I went.
--

Entering the woods a smile crossed my face. That had worked perfectly…I thought to myself. A few hundred meters in I retrieved the athame across my belt, I cut another line onto my hand, covering the blade with a small dap of blood. Touching the ruby on the end, I threw the knife into the ground locating, but not before touching the surface of the blade onto a certain pebble, a pebble with a few drops of blood, not of mine, but of the injured individual “A”.

Finishing the ritual, I trekked into the forest guide staff in hand with the same cautiousness, observing manner I had used before.



Nymph at the moment is using the guide stick as a prop to make other think that he has no special abilities, or attuned skills. Please also note that I didn’t mention anything about the color of his skin, and how it change during moods. He is un aware of this action.

Edit: Sorry, ITS got the message too late.
_________________
I Know...

[Its_The_Sneak!!!]

Dash plucked an apple from the tree and descended to the ground. He pulled out his medical kit, sliced the apple in half, and applied a healing chemical to one half. The LO77A unit above Dash's empty eye socket began to buzz. He plucked it from his forhead and reattached it over his ear, then rubbed the wound with the apple. The mixture of apple juice and chemicals soothed and sterilized. Blood had already made its way down his neck, so he cleaned up the trail of it. Just as he scrubbed the last drop from his throat, the LO77A's buzzing increased in amplitude to herald a strange being's appearance from the forest. The being, eyeless as it was, seemed to be looking Dash over.

"Excuse me," began Dash.

The creature reached out its hand as if to grab the apple Dash held to his throat. Dash caught its hand and threw the creature back with a mild kinetic blast.

"Just who do you think you are?" he spat, tossing the apple into the stream.

"I assume you are the competition," the creature stated.

Dash did not respond.

"You must've disappeared," sighed the creature, retreating into the forest.

Dash stared after it with his good eye before going back to tend his bad one. He poured a film of quick-setting medical plastic into his empty eye socket. Into that he placed the LO77A. It fit entirely into the socket, thankfully.

"Plastic setting," announced the LO77A. "Attempting radiation therapy to restore optic nerve to normal functionality."

Slowly, Dash noticed the LO77A user interface fade into his vision.

Calibrating instruments. Plastic should not impair function. Calibrating instruments. Neutrino scanners functional. Visible light scanners functional. Vibration sensor functional.

Dash smiled as the L077A confirmed every system would function normally from within the clear plastic false eyeball. He pulled a self-adhesive eyepatch out of his medikit and affixed it over his left eye socket.

Attempting to emulate vision.

A false-color, then true color image of what his left eye should be seeing faded into place behind the user interface. The image jumped around slightly before finalizing. Dash smiled and confirmed the return of his depth perception. He quickly shoved his belongings back into their respective pockets and leaped to his feet.

"Okay Lotta, let's track down that puppet and burn the sucker."

Okay, scanning for the puppet. Wait, proximity alert: the man called Whitcomb is approaching this position from behind you. Counter places him at resizing in four hours, thirty-two minutes, ten seconds. He's safe.

Dash loaded a bullet into his gun and gripped it tightly. The LO77A highlighted Whitcomb's position. Dash pounced, knocking the agent onto his back. The atrian placed his gun to the 3-foot-tall man's temple.

"Can't you take a hint?" Dash hissed. "I wanted you to stay away from me."
_________________
Come into my den let me hear you cluck
You can be my hen and we can f(Bu-GAWK)
A bite to the leg, it's time to play
Baby, let me be your egg that needs to get laid.
- CEO Nwabudike Morgan
"The Chicken of Lust"

[Mushroom Pie]

"You could've just killed me, you know," Whitcomb replied calmly to his assailant. "I've got a toothpick in my mouth, and you could've just sent it straight through my throat when you pushed me down like that." The other man replied by grabbing Whitcomb by the back of his head, and driving his face into the dirt hard. Considering that he was half his normal size, Whitcomb had thought it would hurt a lot less than it did.

"See, you did it again. You're gonna kill me if you keep that up." The man ignored this comment.

"Why did you come looking for me?" he demanded, stabbing his gun a little more deeply into Whitcomb's temple for emphasis.

"One of us has got to kill the other, right? So why not get things over with quickly?"

"I guess so. You didn't really think that you were going to get the better of me the way you are now though, did you?"

"Unless," Whitcomb went on, ignoring the other man's question, "you're taking me alive."

"Wh-what? What are you talking about?" When someone's behind you, with a gun to your head, you've got a lot less to read their mood off of than usual. But there's still plenty. The confused inflection of his voice and the ever so minor withdrawal of his gun told just as much as the raised eyebrow that Whitcomb couldn't see but was sure was there.

"Well, it's been about two years or so since I've been running from Them, and I never really have known Their intentions. Do you want to take me back to run tests on me? Or do you want to kill me because I know too much?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" the man asked after a brief pause. "Who's 'Them?'" Whitcomb let out a laugh.

"You know full well I can't tell you that."

"What? Why not?" he asked. Whitcomb rolled his eyes.

"Because They don't have a name. They're too secretive to have a name. They're Them!" The gun backed off a bit more; this guy was a great actor.

"I've got no idea what you're talking about," he said.

"Of course you don't. You're working for Them. How could you acknowledge that They exist? I know the drill." If this guy continued to feign stupidity as well as he was now, Whitcomb thought he might have a chance to get a way.

The weight of a full-grown man on top of him was starting to get uncomfortable.

"Listen, uh--wait a second, what's your name, anyway?"

"Dash," the gunman replied.

"God, they give out horrible code names these days. Whatever. Listen Dash, if you're not going to shoot me, then at least get off of me so that we can discuss this like two rational people."

"And why should I do that?"

"Because if you don't, I can shrink you again," Whitcomb replied with a grin.

"No you can't. You have more than four hours left before you can do that. Even then, you can't guarantee that I'll shrink. Besides, we're not making skin-to-skin contact." A steadfast rule of Whitcomb's was to never show surprise, but that's not always the easiest thing to do.

"You've done your homework, eh? They've never sent someone who knew so much about how I worked before."

"Lotta had all that info on you in a matter of seconds," Dash replied.

"Lotta? Oh, you mean that little computer thing. Not too bad."

"Nope, not too bad at all," Dash agreed.

"Well, you're absolutely right. I can't change my size again for another four hours, thirty minutes, and two seconds."

"Two point seven," LO77A corrected aloud.

"Two point seven four," Whitcomb corrected, with a grin.

"Two point seven four nine!" LO77A said, as testy as the robotic voice could manage. Whitcomb laughed.

"Sister, I could do this all day with you, but it's really not getting us anywhere. Anyway, the time's totally different now." Whitcomb let out
a sigh.

"So, Dash, what do you say you put the gun away and we settle this the old fashioned way; by beating the ever-loving Hell out of each other?"

"And why would I want to do that?" Dash answered, pushing the gun deeply into Whitcomb's temple once more. "Like you said, one of us has got to kill each other; why not get it over with?" Whitcomb let out a chuckle.

"What, you don't think you could take me?" he asked facetiously.

"What do you mean!? Of course I can," Dash replied, the slightest tinge of anger in his voice.

"No, no, that's it all right. You don't think that you could beat me in a fight. I mean, I don't blame you; I don't think you could either." Whitcomb winced slightly as the gun barrel bore into his skull.

"Which one of us is holding the gun?" Dash asked. "I'd say I've already beaten you."

"Of course you did," Whitcomb stated indignantly. He refused to let his nerves show. "You took me by surprise. And, you're armed."

"It's not my fault you're more poorly equipped than I am," Dash said flatly.

"You can't win a fair fight, can you?" Whitcomb asked, unrelenting. "Without the help of your little electric girlfriend there, you can't do anything, I'll bet. "

"Stop talking nonsense," Dash demanded sternly.

"Did she tell you to say that?" Whitcomb's face took on a coy grin. "I'll bet she did. You can't even think for yourself, can you? Even right now, she's whispering in your ear, telling you to grind your teeth, telling you to growl like that, isn't she? Oh! What's that? Is your trigger finger tightening a little? Is she telling you to do that too? Of course she is. That little machine's just got you wrapped around her finger." Whitcomb's hunch was right; Dash's finger was beginning to tighten. However, the pressure of the gun suddenly vanished from Whitcomb's temple, and he could hear the sound of it getting holstered.

"You know something?" Dash asked, leaning down closely. He was talking quietly so that his anger wouldn't show. "A bullet's too good for you."

Check mate.

Before Dash had a chance to act, Whitcomb jerked his head back sharply, driving the back of his skull into Dash's nose. Instinctively, the larger man pulled up, holding his nose and swearing at the pain. That was probably the stupidest thing he could have done, because it gave Whitcomb enough room to stab his elbows up, catching Dash in the ribs sharply. Stunned, Dash rolled off of his miniscule captive to let the air get back into his lungs, while Whitcomb took the opportunity to get some distance between himself and his enemy.

"Wow, you're pathetic," Whitcomb said, a small laugh in his voice. "Tell you what. I'm feeling pretty generous today, so I'll give you a free swing at me. Come on, big guy. Plant one right here." He pointed at his chin. Dash climbed to his feet, his stern face unmoving, like it was chiseled out of stone. For a moment or two, he loomed over Whitcomb. This might have been intimidating if people hadn't done it so many times before.

Being child-size isn't too big of a problem with being three feet tall.

Dash silently reared back his fist.

The biggest problem with being three feet tall is that you're eye-level with everyone's crotch.






Whitcomb couldn't have been out for long; probably only a few seconds. As his senses returned to him, he saw Dash, about twenty feet away, and some flying pieces of bark, presumably from the tree he was now leaning against.

That was one hell of a punch.

As quickly as his foggy and numb brain would let him, Whitcomb climbed to his feet, smeared the blood leaking out of his nose onto his sleeve, and grinned.

"Well, you've got a little bit of fight in you, at least," Whitcomb said, spitting out a tooth shortly afterwards. He walked slowly and methodically back towards Dash, who for the time being merely stared him down. Whitcomb grabbed his oversized sunglasses off of his lapel and slid them onto his face. They slid down the bridge of his nose, but the very ends of them caught his ears.

"You know, I really like these things," he said. "You've sort of ruined them, but they're still really nice shades, don't you think? With you throwing punches around like that, it's probably not a good idea to let them near your fists, if I want to keep 'em intact that is. That's why I put them on my face, because you're not going to be able to do what you just did again." By this point, there was about five feet between the two. Whitcomb pulled his toothpick out of his cheek, where it had gotten lodged, and stuck it behind his ear. Dash remained silent, but stepped forward and pulled his fist back again.

Like reeling in a fish.

Martial arts is easy. You just have to understand the basic principles behind it. One of the most important ones is using your opponent's momentum against them. When someone throws a punch at you, they throw a lot of weight forward. That makes it really easy to throw someone off balance.

Practice at it, and you can throw people, even if you're puny and small. You're not using any of you own strength; it's all coming from the other guy.

The bigger they are, the harder they fall.

When you're three feet tall, just about everyone is pretty big.


Like a masterful artist practicing his craft, Whitcomb crouched underneath the massive fist, and grabbed it tightly with both hands. From there, it was all one fluid motion: twist turn swing release. Dash was sent flying through the air, skidding once painfully before crashing into the same tree that he had sent Whitcomb into moments before, his head painfully supporting the weight of his upside-down body. Whitcomb nonchalantly approached him, and delivered a quick kick to the stomach for good measure.

"Tell you what, rookie," he said as he removed his sunglasses and grabbed his toothpick. "I'm in a fairly good mood today, so I'll let you go. Go on back and tell Them that They could at least send some more experienced guys to me. Leave as soon as you can get up, because I'm not gonna be as generous the next time I bump into you." With that, Whitcomb headed back into the forest, stepping on Dash's hand as he left.

"Today just isn't my day," Dash groaned.



I wonder what the heck he did to his eye, anyway? Whitcomb thought as he wandered aimlessly through the thick brush. He didn't have that eye patch earlier. His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden rustling in the nearby bushes. Whitcomb turned just in time to see a grey figure, even shorter than himself, leaping out at him, a small dagger in hand. Whitcomb kept his eyes focused on the blade, and when the hand holding it was in range he grabbed it, somewhat surprised that it was made out of wood. As he pinned the eerie little man down, he realized that he liked him, though he wasn't too sure why.

It probably had to do with the fact that he wasn't eye-level with his crotch.

"Sorry bud, but you're a bit too slow," Whitcomb said as he hung over his assailant's head. "With how small you are, I'll bet you're used to big and clumsy guys, eh? You're not too used to attacking somebody on equal footing." The small creature didn't reply, but merely struggled in vain to get free. Whitcomb glanced down at the knife. A weapon might come in handy. He didn't really know how to use a knife, though. Ah, what's there to know? You stab with it. Whitcomb plucked the knife from the writhing wooden hand.

"Well, you're not much of a threat," he said as he stood up, keeping one foot planted firmly on the thing's wooden chest. Without another word he pulled back his leg and kicked the small, wordless man a few feet away, where it fell limp. Having accomplished that, Whitcomb turned to leave, when he choked as a pair of wooden hands grabbed his throat out of nowhere.

_________________

[Its_The_Sneak!!!]

oh yeah, I guess I should thank Sharp for providing me with a safer place to put the LO77A. Implants are against my aesthetic, but prosthetics aren't. You'd have to spend a lot of time digging it out of the plastic now, or crack Dash's skull open so you can remove the whole plastic ball.

But your character would have to figure out it's in there first, and Dash isn't about to tell anyone.
_________________
Come into my den let me hear you cluck
You can be my hen and we can f(Bu-GAWK)
A bite to the leg, it's time to play
Baby, let me be your egg that needs to get laid.
- CEO Nwabudike Morgan
"The Chicken of Lust"

[Sharp]

Unfortunately, LO77A has already been described as having a faint buzzing.

I really wish you would have kept the lack of an eye for a while. It kinda makes for a sucky OM when everyone fixes any dangers to their character ASAP.

[Tacofiend]

Yeah, God forbid Dash have a flaw...
_________________

[Its_The_Sneak!!!]

[Sharp]

Unreserved. I lost all my writing. Power Surge.

[Wiznerd]

unreserved
_________________
I Know...

[Tacofiend]

Gradually I rose up out of the earth and resumed my exploration of the area, moving about the terrain in the way I was intended to. By the time I had begun walking upright again, I was far away from the clearing in which Seth and Charles had been alerted to my presence and I was now on the edge of a stream. As I stepped out onto the pebbled embankment, I noticed the water was surprisingly clear, as the radiant light of a springtime sun caused the surface to shimmer. I stooped for a moment to get a drink, cupping my hands and bringing the purified liquid to my lips. It was a peculiar taste. I’ve tasted the water from rivers and streams before, noting a gritty taste that is always present due to the body of water mixing with the sediment below. This stream, however, tasted as if it had been poured from a tap, filtered and removed of all its impurities. I glanced around for a moment, panning my vision from one end of the stream to the other. Prisms of light reflected from the surface and danced across my body. It was eerily quiet aside from the trickling of the water. I was being watched.

After crossing the river, the forested area on the other side opened up to reveal a path that I could see winding through the densely treed woods. It was well-worn, something that I would expect of an area with more signs of civilization. I followed the path for what I estimated to be a mile before I heard the sounds of a nearby struggle. Dull thuds of bodies hitting the earth and strained grunts could be heard from the other side of the nearby brush. As I peaked around the tree to investigate, I was met with one of the most awkward sights I have ever laid eyes on. It appeared that a man, no more than a meter tall, was grappling with a slightly shorter puppet garbed in a grey coat. I could distinguish it as a puppet from this distance simply by the little mannequin’s lack of facial features. The skirmish was almost comical from an outside perspective. The doll was latched on to the man’s back and had him by the neck, choking the life out of him. The little man threw himself at the ground in an effort to get him off. I had seen him try to pry the puppet off his back a few times, apparently attempting to flip him over. I merged my body with the tree and moved around to the other side to get a better look. The doll had finally managed to bring the man to the ground and was pinning him there face first. Reaching down I saw the puppet take hold of a long knife and raise it to deal a final blow. I had waited around enough.

Time to intervene.

Running out of the sanctuary of the tree, I charged towards the doll in an effort to stop it from it from slaying the man he sat on. I dived towards the puppet, just as it was bringing its little arm down, and knocked him off his helpless victim. I went into a roll and kicked the doll into the bushes as I came up.

“Need a hand?” I asked the small man that was now slowly pulling himself to his feet, gasping for breath.


Just know that I rushed this. This was mainly written so that ITS and Mush could post tonight. I didn't want this to go to waste when Jon reserved so I asked him to hold off until I finished.
_________________

[Sharp]

Reserved. Because I'm a fucking asshole.

Unreserved. Because I have a heart.

[Its_The_Sneak!!!]

Dash sat dejectedly next to the stream. It seemed as if everyone was attacking him exclusively. He hadn't been here for more than an hour and already he had been shrunk, shot at, punched, stabbed at, and had his eye gouged out. This was definitely going down in the records as a bad day. To alleviate his frustration, he halfheardedly punched a tree. Instead of the mild deflection he expected, the 40-foot-tall tree was ripped roots and all from the soil and tossed into the air. Several yards away, The puppet Sever picked itself up and readied his knife for another attack. Suddenly, it saw Victor's head snap towards the direction of a loud tearing of wood. Even in the ambient light, the tree cast a shadow on him.

"Run!" Giles hollered at Whitcomb, and dove for cover. A second later, the tree came crashing down in the exact location the pair had sat. Whitcomb brushed himself off and smiled, realizing his miniscule assailant was on the far side of the massive barrier.

"That... that was full power," mused Dash.

Yes, and your kinetic rings are already charged for another blast at that strength. It seems the ambient energy in this virtual environment is more than sufficient to keep your kinetic emitters constantly and instantly charged.

"Really?" Dash grinned. "Well, I guess that means I'm pretty much invincible now, right?"

I have located the puppet that attacked you.

The LO77A drew an outline around the figure in Dash's vision. He smiled even wider and leaped into the air. The puppet Sever was suprised to see Dash suddenly drop out of the sky and land next to him. The man punted the puppet into the air. Laughing, he kinetic-dashed underneath Sever's trajectory and was waiting in recieving at the other end. It was Sever's turn to widen its eyes as Dash's fully-charged fist rammed into it. A shower of splinters rained from a nearby tree as the puppet encountered its surface. The knife slipped from its hand and flew completely through another tree before embedding itself in a third, 30 feet in the air, 50 yards away. Sever slipped from the dent it had made in the tree and clattered to the ground unmoving.

"YES!" Dash cheered, pumping his fist.

He leaped into the air and rocketed upwards on sheer kinetic force. Far above the battlefield, Dash throttled back on the kinetic output until it matched the pull of gravity. He flattened out his feet and stood in midair, looking down.

"Well Lotta, looks like I'll have no problem taking on anyone anymore. Who should I hit first? Or should I just stand up here and watch?" he laughed. "This is gonna be a piece of cake. I think for fun I'll scoop up some rocks and drop them on people."

Your kinetic emitters were not tested for constant output. They were designed for short bursts only. If you keep exerting them at this level, they may fail.

"Any sign of failure?" asked Dash, smugly. "These were designed by Winston-Schumacher, they don't break, even outside testing conditions."

No physical abnormalities detected, but the thermal and electromagnetic energy being generated as by-products are far above normal levels.

"Alright, fine, I'll play it safe and return to ground level, if it'll make you happy."

He released his influence on the kinetic boosters and prepared for the drop. Instead of dropping, however, he began to spin violently.

Left foot kinetic booster has failed. Emitter elements have fused due to magnetic attraction and heat. It's outputting full power, and will continue to do so until the capacitor drains. In this environment, it will never drain.

In a panic, Dash activated his right foot booster and attempted to regain a stable flight.

Right foot kinetic booster in danger of fus- Right foot kinetic booster has fused. Analyzing problem.

Dash spiralled through the air. He was no longer flying in random directions, but the spinning force made it impossible to figure out where he was headed.

The bonds between the elements are weak. A kinetic blast laterally across the emitters should separate the elements, however

Dash placed his fists on his heels and fired. His feet kicked out in front of him and he began to freefall.

...however, the boosters will have to be taken apart and the emitters reseated before the boosters will operate again.

Dash sighed. He looked in the direction he was moving, assuming it to be down. Whiteness stretched out in every direction around him. The wind in his face was skewing his vision, and the LO77A device could not eliminate all the interference on its image either. As a result, Dash saw spots, and couldn't distinguish between them and the small plot of forest somewhere below. The LO77A furiously scanned in every direction, trying to orient itself. Eventually, it was able to locate the ground, and it had very bad news.

You are traveling downward at around 157 miles per hour. Spreading your arms and legs should slow you to 120 miles per hour, but that is still quite lethal. Only possible way of slowing down further is to curl into a ball moments before impact and attempt to discharge your kinetic rings into yourself. This will slow your descent, but there are too many variables to discern exactly how much.

Dash swallowed and nodded. For a mile, he fell with his arms outstretched, staring forlornly at the white below. On Lotta's signal, he tucked into a ball and discharged the full force of his kinetic rings into himself. He hit the ground at a respectable 30 miles per hour. Still too hard. The impact broke every bone in his body, and worse, realigned the booster emitter in his left shoe. It activated almost instantly, dragging Dash at top speed across the smooth white surface, leaving red streaks in his wake. Somehow, Dash managed to fire a kinetic blast down into that foot, breaking the booster once more. He skidded and rolled to a stop. The LO77A scanned everything once more.

Be thankful. You survived and will survive. The bleeding will subside, and since you are Atrian, you will walk again. You're also incredibly lucky that your bones are still aligned, given time, they will set and heal completely. Unfortunately, you need to lie perfectly still until they do. I wouldn't worry about the other competitors interruping the process, it'd seem that you are approximately 54.2 miles from the battlefield. Your bones will set within twenty-four hours, but they will be brittle for several days. Weeks, if you keep submitting them to shock.

Dash sighed. There was no arguing with Lotta, and he was thankful to be alive. He closed his eyes to sleep, knowing full well that if any other competitors did make it out here, Lotta would wake him up long before they got to him. Over time, he got used to the pain, and drifted off to sleep.


So there you go folks, Dash is gonna be fragile as glass for the entire rest of the game. That ought'a do it. He went really high before he fell. I don't think it's possible for anyone else to know where he landed, so if your character is going to go out and find him, he had better have a good reason.
_________________
Come into my den let me hear you cluck
You can be my hen and we can f(Bu-GAWK)
A bite to the leg, it's time to play
Baby, let me be your egg that needs to get laid.
- CEO Nwabudike Morgan
"The Chicken of Lust"

[Sharp]

That's not quite the problem The problem is that if anyone were to ever say, break your arm now, you'd have it back by your next post.

[Its_The_Sneak!!!]

you don't know that, stop accusin'
_________________
Come into my den let me hear you cluck
You can be my hen and we can f(Bu-GAWK)
A bite to the leg, it's time to play
Baby, let me be your egg that needs to get laid.
- CEO Nwabudike Morgan
"The Chicken of Lust"