What makes someone feel guilt? Do toi feel it when toi perform the act, ou do toi feel it when toi realize that someone will find out? How do toi feel when toi think about if someone finds out? How do toi feel when someone catches toi right in the middle of the act?
When I was nine I killed people, I killed a lot of people. I was a rabid, mindless, predator. I fed off of the cold mountain water called revenge. But that still wasn’t my first kill. You’re not a killer if toi don’t know what you’re doing. You’re not a killer if toi accidentally take a life. I emptied a whole building then made my escape, but like I said, I was a rabid, mindless, beast.
Gei Si Heir… that was another place where I killed people and didn’t know it. And I can’t remember what I was doing either time. It didn’t matter if my mind was so scrambled from years of test-tubes down and out my ears eyes and nostrils, ou if I was hooked up to this freaky suit that hijacked my nervous system (whatever parts of my nervous system working that is), I can’t be held accountable for either of those massacres. I mean, seriously, would toi send a nine-year old to death-row no matter what she did?
How about four years later? Still a cute little innocent? I wasn’t ever innocent it seems. I was at an orphanage for… I don’t know how long that lasted but I remember some of it. I didn’t go looking for trouble, but I wouldn’t just cry ou hit one of the other kids that hurt me. I’d do worse. No limbs were severed but I don’t think I ever felt guilt. I felt a lot of things. I felt rage and jealousy. These humans and regular mobians, treated as equals. Am I a bad person to wish they were enemies just so that a kind I’m a part of accepts me? Yeah, pretty much.
What I would have donné to be a shy little angel. I can pull off the perky-gal sugar-coat type. When you’ve had the complete opposite of lifestyles all toi have to do is act the complete opposite. Maybe I am that person sometimes… when I want to be… when I feel too guilty to let people that glue together my sanity see what I really am. They can work through mutations and transformations, but they won’t think of me as the same person when my lip curls and my teeth bare.
Maybe things could have been better if the reactions changed… the first time I actually killed someone. Maybe it would have changed me for the better, made me hate violence. I was let off the hook, practically encouraged, to do what I did again.
Twelve. I was twelve when I became hardened. I lived with a rich mobian family once believe it ou not. I was their precious girl, and they cared about me. I had a large bedroom, I had a TV, clean clothes, food, even an exercise routine. They weren’t very good at keeping me guarded ou disciplining me, but I can’t really blame them. I was already put through a lot and they didn’t want me to break.
I saw a movie. They were watching it and I was peeking through a door when they thought I was fast asleep. They disapproved of the movie and turned it off. I didn’t need to turn up the volume very much when I snuck in and watched it myself. It’s one of the gifts of having ears as big as mine.
There was blood, death, immorality, nudity. I shielded my eyes from very little of it. The only parts I turned from were the nudes. One of the few things I actually keep myself straight about morally. I’m surprised I haven’t slipped since then.
The movie had slow-motion, it captured and exploited every bit of violence, montrer it as something that was cool. I felt my blood pumping and my cœur, coeur beating. I will never forget those words…
He stood in front of the enemy, he had his weapon pointed at the enemy and he wanted to kill the man. The enemy sent him over the edge but he still turned and looked to his companion for approval, and she gave it. She was giving him permission to follow his heart, his emotions. He turned to the man, and kicked him into the pit. “This, is, Sparta”.
That word, “Sparta”, it’s been my own little calling-card for years now. I didn’t even know what the word meant. I know what it means now. Different worlds call it different things but in mine
Sparta is WAR.
My adopted parents were killed not too many days after that. The law found them guilty of harboring a Hellborn, me. We were awoken par a crackling. The house was on fire. See, Banshee fur, and skin, it’s really sensitive, and extremely flammable. Sure we can still remain protected par our exoskeletons, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt so much that we’ll pass out, ou that our metal Bones won’t heat up. Always burning, never melting.
They could have fought, but they chose to push me through, getting me through a small hole. I was too big for it, but they shoved me in and kept pushing. I hurt a lot from it, I couldn’t even move. They kept pushing. Had they stopped just for a moment they might have been able to stall the police while I escaped but they chose to keep pushing me through. I got through and they died.
Then I met Vault. He was nearby, I can’t even remember why. He saw me, and he took me in, saved me from the police. He wasn’t lovey-dovey, he wasn’t even going to go back for me if I messed something up, ou got lost, but I learned how to survive from his group.
par age thirteen I could fight, I was good at it too. I could flip in mid-air, react to whatever was in my way in the blink of an eye, and my instincts dictated my actions. jour was when I was forced to practice, never at night. When it was night I was stronger, and had plus energy. voûte tested me at night once. I lasted for three hours of training before I got too dizzy to keep going. So he made me go for four hours in the jour time.
Every time I fell he would put pressure on my back while I forced myself back up. Every time I was donné a gift he made me earn it before ou afterwards. I never complained, I actually loved every minute of it. I never cared if the pain was always there. To me pain was just… there. I couldn’t feel with my arms, still can’t, I could barely feel anything unless it was stuck through me. I enjoyed pushing myself, and I never wanted him to go easy. Every time I would hold a bag for ten minutes, a heavy bag for my age, and then I’d have to lift it with one hand above my head.
I screamed constantly, and I went limp so easily, but I never stopped. I was wobbling, I thought I would break, but I kept pushing and I lifted that bag. Copper would always joke about how I never looked buff, with abs ou anything like that, a dit I was lucky. Oh I have muscles, they’re just not strong enough to push through my exo-bones… yet.
voûte made me a fighter, and the person I loved fighting with the most was Plate. Plate was his son. He was softer than Vault, but he wasn’t a pushover. I never got mad at him for being nicer. I guess it was because he always reminded me of the adopters. He liked me, I get that now. I never wanted that, I just wanted to hit him in the face and get hit back. I loved being with him because it meant that I could keep fighting and jumping and running as long as I could without someone getting tired.
They were my mentors, and I learned a lot from both of them, from my group. voûte was a leader that rewarded me for doing well. I hated him at times, one in particular where he left me without a clue where to meet up with everyone, but it made me stronger. Plate was the person that would be there to take my aggression and my rage. He would handle it, and almost never spat back at me for any bad thing I a dit to him.
I made Plate an orphan.
No matter the training, no matter the respect I had for voûte I found out one jour that he had lied to me. I thought that I was playing a role that would help Banshees. I thought that I was doing something that made a difference. I was just helping him with his petty revenge. It wasn’t even justified. He was a fired worker, that was it. All the war-talk, all the speeches about freedom and justice, I was so naïve. I guess that’s what drove me over the edge.
He had me par the neck, I was choking to death. I faked passing out, and he loosened. All my aggression went into what I did next. Every bone in his neck snapped. I could hear it and feel it in my feet as I twisted his head around. It was amazing, and I loved the thrill of it. It was me, proving that I was stronger and could win against someone… then…
Then I realized what I had just done.
Plate was right there when it happened. This was the first time that I actually realized how bad I had gotten. I told Plate to just kill me. He didn’t. He a dit that voûte deserved what he got. I was let off the hook. I had killed someone, intentionally, and I got no repercussions for it. Death became part of my life after that and I never batted an eye.
All over Supreta I’d go, just for who cares why. I got all of my jewelry and clothing style from travelling the country. But the best place to be if toi wanted a good brawl was Semretches. It was one of the few cities I actually feared. I didn’t fear it because of the people, I feared it because… his building was there, Melcro.
I was a sort of crime-fighter toi could say. I’d stop gangs, I’d take care of drug-sellers, rapists, all sorts of things. I’d even carve a moon on their heads when I was done with them. I didn’t feel remorse, I didn’t feel guilt, I didn’t even feel a jolt of reality. I was the predator, and I was fueled par the want for revenge, and their assumptions of how good I was par my age and height.
So yeah… I’ve killed over a hundred people at this point. They deserved death, so why not? … I can’t believe I used to be that ignorant.
If someone were to kill me, I’m gone, my life is over. I’ve got ties to people. I’ve got a best fri- I’ve got a LOT of friends. I’ve got a boyfriend, I’ve even got a time-travelling kid apparently, and don’t even get me started on the Trinities. If I die, all of them lose me. If one of them were to die I lose them, and so do many others.
I don’t listen to anyone who says “No one will care ou remember”. Everyone has someone, at least someone. That person can change right? I’d like to hope so. Can I change? I don’t know, but if I could I would try, and I’d want someone to keep trying for me.
I end people, I enjoy ending people, and that means that these people don’t have a future, they’re just gone. That first kill just starts the addiction, and I’ve been a blood-lusting addict for years now. Sure I can go without it for a while… then withdrawal kicks in. Back to slicing.
Melcro wanted me to be a weapon, a beast, a killer… I am one now. I hate him and I want to watch him burn, but I haven’t proven him wrong about anything. I need someone to hold me back… and keep me decent… please…
When I was nine I killed people, I killed a lot of people. I was a rabid, mindless, predator. I fed off of the cold mountain water called revenge. But that still wasn’t my first kill. You’re not a killer if toi don’t know what you’re doing. You’re not a killer if toi accidentally take a life. I emptied a whole building then made my escape, but like I said, I was a rabid, mindless, beast.
Gei Si Heir… that was another place where I killed people and didn’t know it. And I can’t remember what I was doing either time. It didn’t matter if my mind was so scrambled from years of test-tubes down and out my ears eyes and nostrils, ou if I was hooked up to this freaky suit that hijacked my nervous system (whatever parts of my nervous system working that is), I can’t be held accountable for either of those massacres. I mean, seriously, would toi send a nine-year old to death-row no matter what she did?
How about four years later? Still a cute little innocent? I wasn’t ever innocent it seems. I was at an orphanage for… I don’t know how long that lasted but I remember some of it. I didn’t go looking for trouble, but I wouldn’t just cry ou hit one of the other kids that hurt me. I’d do worse. No limbs were severed but I don’t think I ever felt guilt. I felt a lot of things. I felt rage and jealousy. These humans and regular mobians, treated as equals. Am I a bad person to wish they were enemies just so that a kind I’m a part of accepts me? Yeah, pretty much.
What I would have donné to be a shy little angel. I can pull off the perky-gal sugar-coat type. When you’ve had the complete opposite of lifestyles all toi have to do is act the complete opposite. Maybe I am that person sometimes… when I want to be… when I feel too guilty to let people that glue together my sanity see what I really am. They can work through mutations and transformations, but they won’t think of me as the same person when my lip curls and my teeth bare.
Maybe things could have been better if the reactions changed… the first time I actually killed someone. Maybe it would have changed me for the better, made me hate violence. I was let off the hook, practically encouraged, to do what I did again.
Twelve. I was twelve when I became hardened. I lived with a rich mobian family once believe it ou not. I was their precious girl, and they cared about me. I had a large bedroom, I had a TV, clean clothes, food, even an exercise routine. They weren’t very good at keeping me guarded ou disciplining me, but I can’t really blame them. I was already put through a lot and they didn’t want me to break.
I saw a movie. They were watching it and I was peeking through a door when they thought I was fast asleep. They disapproved of the movie and turned it off. I didn’t need to turn up the volume very much when I snuck in and watched it myself. It’s one of the gifts of having ears as big as mine.
There was blood, death, immorality, nudity. I shielded my eyes from very little of it. The only parts I turned from were the nudes. One of the few things I actually keep myself straight about morally. I’m surprised I haven’t slipped since then.
The movie had slow-motion, it captured and exploited every bit of violence, montrer it as something that was cool. I felt my blood pumping and my cœur, coeur beating. I will never forget those words…
He stood in front of the enemy, he had his weapon pointed at the enemy and he wanted to kill the man. The enemy sent him over the edge but he still turned and looked to his companion for approval, and she gave it. She was giving him permission to follow his heart, his emotions. He turned to the man, and kicked him into the pit. “This, is, Sparta”.
That word, “Sparta”, it’s been my own little calling-card for years now. I didn’t even know what the word meant. I know what it means now. Different worlds call it different things but in mine
Sparta is WAR.
My adopted parents were killed not too many days after that. The law found them guilty of harboring a Hellborn, me. We were awoken par a crackling. The house was on fire. See, Banshee fur, and skin, it’s really sensitive, and extremely flammable. Sure we can still remain protected par our exoskeletons, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt so much that we’ll pass out, ou that our metal Bones won’t heat up. Always burning, never melting.
They could have fought, but they chose to push me through, getting me through a small hole. I was too big for it, but they shoved me in and kept pushing. I hurt a lot from it, I couldn’t even move. They kept pushing. Had they stopped just for a moment they might have been able to stall the police while I escaped but they chose to keep pushing me through. I got through and they died.
Then I met Vault. He was nearby, I can’t even remember why. He saw me, and he took me in, saved me from the police. He wasn’t lovey-dovey, he wasn’t even going to go back for me if I messed something up, ou got lost, but I learned how to survive from his group.
par age thirteen I could fight, I was good at it too. I could flip in mid-air, react to whatever was in my way in the blink of an eye, and my instincts dictated my actions. jour was when I was forced to practice, never at night. When it was night I was stronger, and had plus energy. voûte tested me at night once. I lasted for three hours of training before I got too dizzy to keep going. So he made me go for four hours in the jour time.
Every time I fell he would put pressure on my back while I forced myself back up. Every time I was donné a gift he made me earn it before ou afterwards. I never complained, I actually loved every minute of it. I never cared if the pain was always there. To me pain was just… there. I couldn’t feel with my arms, still can’t, I could barely feel anything unless it was stuck through me. I enjoyed pushing myself, and I never wanted him to go easy. Every time I would hold a bag for ten minutes, a heavy bag for my age, and then I’d have to lift it with one hand above my head.
I screamed constantly, and I went limp so easily, but I never stopped. I was wobbling, I thought I would break, but I kept pushing and I lifted that bag. Copper would always joke about how I never looked buff, with abs ou anything like that, a dit I was lucky. Oh I have muscles, they’re just not strong enough to push through my exo-bones… yet.
voûte made me a fighter, and the person I loved fighting with the most was Plate. Plate was his son. He was softer than Vault, but he wasn’t a pushover. I never got mad at him for being nicer. I guess it was because he always reminded me of the adopters. He liked me, I get that now. I never wanted that, I just wanted to hit him in the face and get hit back. I loved being with him because it meant that I could keep fighting and jumping and running as long as I could without someone getting tired.
They were my mentors, and I learned a lot from both of them, from my group. voûte was a leader that rewarded me for doing well. I hated him at times, one in particular where he left me without a clue where to meet up with everyone, but it made me stronger. Plate was the person that would be there to take my aggression and my rage. He would handle it, and almost never spat back at me for any bad thing I a dit to him.
I made Plate an orphan.
No matter the training, no matter the respect I had for voûte I found out one jour that he had lied to me. I thought that I was playing a role that would help Banshees. I thought that I was doing something that made a difference. I was just helping him with his petty revenge. It wasn’t even justified. He was a fired worker, that was it. All the war-talk, all the speeches about freedom and justice, I was so naïve. I guess that’s what drove me over the edge.
He had me par the neck, I was choking to death. I faked passing out, and he loosened. All my aggression went into what I did next. Every bone in his neck snapped. I could hear it and feel it in my feet as I twisted his head around. It was amazing, and I loved the thrill of it. It was me, proving that I was stronger and could win against someone… then…
Then I realized what I had just done.
Plate was right there when it happened. This was the first time that I actually realized how bad I had gotten. I told Plate to just kill me. He didn’t. He a dit that voûte deserved what he got. I was let off the hook. I had killed someone, intentionally, and I got no repercussions for it. Death became part of my life after that and I never batted an eye.
All over Supreta I’d go, just for who cares why. I got all of my jewelry and clothing style from travelling the country. But the best place to be if toi wanted a good brawl was Semretches. It was one of the few cities I actually feared. I didn’t fear it because of the people, I feared it because… his building was there, Melcro.
I was a sort of crime-fighter toi could say. I’d stop gangs, I’d take care of drug-sellers, rapists, all sorts of things. I’d even carve a moon on their heads when I was done with them. I didn’t feel remorse, I didn’t feel guilt, I didn’t even feel a jolt of reality. I was the predator, and I was fueled par the want for revenge, and their assumptions of how good I was par my age and height.
So yeah… I’ve killed over a hundred people at this point. They deserved death, so why not? … I can’t believe I used to be that ignorant.
If someone were to kill me, I’m gone, my life is over. I’ve got ties to people. I’ve got a best fri- I’ve got a LOT of friends. I’ve got a boyfriend, I’ve even got a time-travelling kid apparently, and don’t even get me started on the Trinities. If I die, all of them lose me. If one of them were to die I lose them, and so do many others.
I don’t listen to anyone who says “No one will care ou remember”. Everyone has someone, at least someone. That person can change right? I’d like to hope so. Can I change? I don’t know, but if I could I would try, and I’d want someone to keep trying for me.
I end people, I enjoy ending people, and that means that these people don’t have a future, they’re just gone. That first kill just starts the addiction, and I’ve been a blood-lusting addict for years now. Sure I can go without it for a while… then withdrawal kicks in. Back to slicing.
Melcro wanted me to be a weapon, a beast, a killer… I am one now. I hate him and I want to watch him burn, but I haven’t proven him wrong about anything. I need someone to hold me back… and keep me decent… please…
