matrix (tw blood and death) There are a lot of reasons why this man is not often sent on extractions (anymore). Most of them are the same reasons why this man should not have ever gone on any extractions.
There is not enough time to make a list.
It was a splitsecond hesitation - barely a fraction. But it was enough. The kid they were running with is falling to his knees, s l o w m o t i o n, his head a perfect holiday firework of blood, grey-matter, bits of bone and cartilage. The remnants of one brown eye splatter outward like a wet marshmallow peep caught in a blender. The agents they were running from - he, no longer they, they is dead now, their virtual representation's brutal end terminating the real - are quicker than that slow fall, already pressing through the fine mist of gore, inching closer. Like an iceberg. Like downhill a freight train with no brakes.
Cold horror and hatred devour the ingrained brainwashing (gunsmurderyouaretakingalifeyourparents). Wayne finally pulls the fucking trigger
but let's be honest. It's too late.
reality Zion makes him uneasy. Part of him - a bigger part than he wants to admit - had hoped he'd get rejected at the gates. But his codes worked, no matter how disgruntled the supervising guard tech they had to call in was. Old codes, old ship that shouldn't be making the trek from the surface (or anywhere), but some shit you just can't get from trading from the littler outposts and flexible pirates. 'Some shit' usually involves information, but runs the gamut from medical attention down to washers half a centimeter larger than he can find anywhere else.
It's too crowded, and he's never been able to adjust to crowds in the real world. He has no reason to slip through them unnoticed, and he's certainly not treated like a prick celebrity socialite, all eyes and flashing lights pointed in his direction. The utterly normal mixture of curiosity, disregard, courtesy, all just rubs him the wrong way. At least the regulars on the docks know to leave him the hell alone. For the most part.
bruce wayne | the dark knight
There are a lot of reasons why this man is not often sent on extractions (anymore). Most of them are the same reasons why this man should not have ever gone on any extractions.
There is not enough time to make a list.
It was a splitsecond hesitation - barely a fraction. But it was enough. The kid they were running with is falling to his knees, s l o w m o t i o n, his head a perfect holiday firework of blood, grey-matter, bits of bone and cartilage. The remnants of one brown eye splatter outward like a wet marshmallow peep caught in a blender. The agents they were running from - he, no longer they, they is dead now, their virtual representation's brutal end terminating the real - are quicker than that slow fall, already pressing through the fine mist of gore, inching closer. Like an iceberg. Like downhill a freight train with no brakes.
Cold horror and hatred devour the ingrained brainwashing (gunsmurderyouaretakingalifeyourparents). Wayne finally pulls the fucking trigger
but let's be honest. It's too late.
reality
Zion makes him uneasy. Part of him - a bigger part than he wants to admit - had hoped he'd get rejected at the gates. But his codes worked, no matter how disgruntled the supervising guard tech they had to call in was. Old codes, old ship that shouldn't be making the trek from the surface (or anywhere), but some shit you just can't get from trading from the littler outposts and flexible pirates. 'Some shit' usually involves information, but runs the gamut from medical attention down to washers half a centimeter larger than he can find anywhere else.
It's too crowded, and he's never been able to adjust to crowds in the real world. He has no reason to slip through them unnoticed, and he's certainly not treated like a prick celebrity socialite, all eyes and flashing lights pointed in his direction. The utterly normal mixture of curiosity, disregard, courtesy, all just rubs him the wrong way. At least the regulars on the docks know to leave him the hell alone. For the most part.