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Subject: [Story] The Darkwing Chronicles---A Killer's Tale (Updated 11/22)

Halo: Heretic or Hero---An Elite's Story
Choose your own destiny

FanFicFactor
Forged in the Flames of Passion, go forth and represent!

Welcome to the Darkwing Chronicles

Hello! This is my newest fanfiction in the Halo universe, and I think it is very unique from anything I've ever written. I would very much appreciate it if readers who like/dislike enjoy could please review this story after reading up.

Thank you, everybody, and please enjoy!




Synopsis:

The year is 2526, only three months after the second battle of Harvest.

Branded a traitor and sentenced to death after killing a fellow Marine in a hand-to-hand training excercise, ex-Private Brad Volker will find that his true destiny lies with the criminal alliance known as Darkwing. Will he escape the evil that has engulfed him, or is Darkwing leading him down a path to be damned? Read up and find out!


Table of Contents

Prologue---Darkwing

Chapter One---The Last Mistake

Chapter Two---Working in the Dark

Chapter Three---Lighting 'em Up

Chapter Four---Early Out for Good Behavior

Chapter Five---Freedom?

Chapter Six---Escape Route


[Edited on 11.22.2009 5:12 AM PST]

  • 10.06.2009 4:45 PM PDT
Subject: [Story] The Darkwing Chronicles---A Killer's Tale (Updated 10/6)

Halo: Heretic or Hero---An Elite's Story
Choose your own destiny

FanFicFactor
Forged in the Flames of Passion, go forth and represent!

Prologue

Darkwing

We are killers.

Some call us traitors. They call us inhumane. They say we're just as bad as the Covenant. Just as much of a threat to humanity. Just as sinister.

And they're right.

There isn't a day that goes by that I don't regret it. Regret what I've become; what I will become. I'd sold myself down a one-way path into hell. There was no turning back. Not now. Not ever. The remainder of my life was seemingly written in stone.

Maybe I am a traitor. Maybe I deserve death for the crimes I've committed; for the innocent lives I'd taken; for the decisions I've made. And if death shall come, then I will welcome it with open arms. Acknowledge it as a blessing.

We are Darkwing.

---

One Month Ago

The iron hard fist cracked against my cheek, the feeling equivalent to being run over by a school bus. For the third time, my knees buckled and gave in from under me. I slammed hard against the blue mat that, in reality, wasn't as soft as it was cracked up to be.

The crowd around me erupted in snickers. Thanks, guys. That's exactly what I needed right now: being the nearly unconscious newbie recruit who made a fool of himself not even a month into training for the UNSC. It was such a typical, corny story that usually ended with the rookie becoming a war hero.

Not this story.

No, this story is about pain. It's about the ever-prospering internal struggle that I still recall to this very day.

This is a horror story.

"Get up, Private Volker, this isn't daycare!" cried the Drill Sergeant. He tried to keep his glare stoic and angry, but I could see the amusement in his eyes. He only wanted me to get up so that I'd go right back down.

For whatever warped reason, I gave him the satisfaction, slowly regaining my feet, wiping my bleeding lip with my tee shirt and facing my opponent once more, leaning heavily on my right leg.

Derek, I believe his name was. Corporal Derek Fisher. His head was shaved like a cue-ball, and he had at least six inches on me, as well as another sixty pounds or so. He was grinning wickedly, clearly pleased with his last four takedowns.

"Ready for one more, rookie?" he mocked, putting his fists up again.

"Ready when you are," I replied, not even bothering to hide my lack of enthusiasm.

We circled each other once more, feigning punches every now and then. The small crowd of eight other recruits watched us in complete and utter silence. I snuck a quick glance at the Drill Sergeant, who was smoking a cigar in the corner of the room, nodding thoughtfully and scribbling some notes down on a clipboard.

When I turned back, I saw only a fist as it cracked between my eyes.

Down, down I fell, my breath leaving me completely as I fell like an unstrung puppet to the mat. It took a moment for the pain to rush through me, scorching me from the inside out, unbearable. I covered my face shamefully, hoping, no praying that I didn't pass out.

But Derek Fisher uttered those last few words with such chilling conviction that my eyes shot open once more.

"You protect yourself like you protected your wife."

My wife.

Dead.

She'd been killed only a few months before, on Harvest, shot down outside our house when the Covenant had attacked. I hadn't been there. I hadn't been there to protect her, to ensure with every ounce of the life within me that she made it out of there alive.

And then she was gone, just like that. Taken from me. Gone like my hopes of ever becoming a Marine now. Gone like my faith that we'd survive this war.

Anger.

Pumping through me, spilling lava into my veins, sloshing around inside of me. Everywhere I looked, I saw her. I saw her dying. I saw the Covenant storming my world, burning our homes. I saw Derek Fisher, mocking me, much to the crowd's amusement.

And then, at last, I saw hell.

  • 10.06.2009 4:46 PM PDT

It's not Hip-Hop, its Electro.... prick.

*Wets pants*


Brilliant. Keep it up! Just stay creative, I love your writing style.

  • 10.06.2009 4:51 PM PDT

The Hybrid a FanFic by Tehface

"Look for the signs, the keepers of the flame. They will lead you to war, and perhaps, to victory."

Like Fist said, you have a unique style! Great story. More!

  • 10.06.2009 6:56 PM PDT

Posted by: Dropship dude
No, acnboy. Spartain Ken 15 is a lesser being. Much like the bacteria that lives in your shi­t.
Posted by: mike120593
My shi­t bacteria takes offense to that comparison.

Don't make me lel. You won't like me when I lel.

Nice! I'd love a graphic description of him beating the living crap out of Fisher. This could turn out to be awesome!

  • 10.08.2009 1:13 AM PDT

Halo: Heretic or Hero---An Elite's Story
Choose your own destiny

FanFicFactor
Forged in the Flames of Passion, go forth and represent!

Chapter One

The Last Mistake

There is no way to describe the infinite rage that had burned a hole through my heart. I wasn't myself anymore. I wanted revenge, and I wanted it in blood, even if the payment came from the innocent. It just needed to come now.

And Derek Fisher was all I saw.

I scrambled to my feet, all of the pains from his punches suddenly evaporating. He was still laughing. Still mocking me.

There was a deafening crack as my fist collided with the side of his face. The laughing ceased all too quickly as he crumpled to the ground, wailing, pressing his palm against his cheek. His mouth was filled with blood, and his pupils were the size of golf balls. He had not seen the attack coming. I'd caught him way off guard.

If only he knew what was to come.

I didn't stop there. I couldn't. I couldn't hold back and let the fury just rest inside of me. With speed that even surprised me, I lunged forward, my teeth clenched, and thrust down my elbow. There was a thunderous snap as his nose broke and blood raced down his face, but by then I had already directed yet another punch between his eyes, then another.

"I'll...kick..your...sorry...ass!" I yelled between each blow. Fisher was so horrorstruck, so bewildered that his weak little prey had turned into a monster, but that didn't stop me. I relentlessly struck several more times, feeling the power coarse through my veins as I put freaking Derek Fisher to shame.

Suddenly, I felt something yanking at my shoulder. No, more than something. The eight Marines that had been observing the training exercise were grabbing at me, trying to pull me off of the man who I'd grown to hate so quickly, and with such little chance given. I ignored them, ignored their tugs and jerks on my shoulders, ignored their cries to stop.

It was time to end this.

My hands fell forward, machine like, cold but firm. My fingers slid around Fisher's throat, constricting him until he gasped for breath, screeched for breath, but found no salvation in his lungs. I squeezed harder, knocking his head against the ground as I strangled him. So angry...so terrifyingly angry. Not even his vicious struggling could allow him to break free of my chokehold. The Marines could not move me. Not now, when this new strength had taken control.

Suddenly, he stopped struggling. Stopped gasping. Every muscle in his body jerked to a sudden, abrupt stop that I still see over and over again to this very day. It haunts me. I see his face when I sleep. I see his lifeless, sorrowful eyes, his blood-filled mouth contorted into a frown, unmoving, completely limp.

Dead.

I'd killed him.

I'd killed Derek Fisher.

I'd killed a human being with my bare hands, all because he had mocked me. I'd taken his life like the Covenant had taken my wife's. I was a murderer.

The world seemed to freeze all around me then. Time passed in fragments, screams echoed in my head, over and over, like a broken tape recorder. I looked around, but the faces were blank to me. Alien. I no longer felt human.

Pop.

The last thing I saw was Derek Fisher's baffled expression before I was engulfed by total and complete darkness.

  • 10.09.2009 7:33 PM PDT
Subject: [Story] The Darkwing Chronicles---A Killer's Tale (Updated 10/9)

This seems very dark. And awesome. Although I think eight men would be able to restrain one. Can't wait for more; I'm hooked.

*Saves thread*

[Edited on 10.10.2009 7:31 AM PDT]

  • 10.10.2009 7:28 AM PDT

Halo: Heretic or Hero---An Elite's Story
Choose your own destiny

FanFicFactor
Forged in the Flames of Passion, go forth and represent!

Posted by: Wolverfrog
This seems very dark. And awesome. Although I think eight men would be able to restrain one. Can't wait for more; I'm hooked.

*Saves thread*


Hey, thanks, Wolver. And yeah, I agree I got a bit unrealistic right there...but he was SO ANGRY! lol.

The next part is all ready, but I'll let this one sit for a few hours before I put it up there.

~Murph!

  • 10.10.2009 8:46 AM PDT

Posted by: Dropship dude
No, acnboy. Spartain Ken 15 is a lesser being. Much like the bacteria that lives in your shi­t.
Posted by: mike120593
My shi­t bacteria takes offense to that comparison.

Don't make me lel. You won't like me when I lel.

Graphic violence FTW!

*Saves thread

  • 10.10.2009 9:45 PM PDT

Halo: Heretic or Hero---An Elite's Story
Choose your own destiny

FanFicFactor
Forged in the Flames of Passion, go forth and represent!

Thanks for the comments, everyone. I'm hoping that I can start bringing in some more fans, though. Anyway, here is chapter two; you'll finally get to meet Darkwing in this one. Hope you enjoy!
----

Chapter Two

Working in the Dark

The Director was not a benevolent man by any stretch of imagination. He sat at the end of the great ovular table, his face bathed in shadow. There were no lights in this building. No windows. No evidence of an outside world at all.

Slowly, the automatic doorway at the far side of the room slid open, and in strode two humans, one formally dressed and the other in a set of black battle armor that seemed almost invisible against the dark walls.

"Director," said the first man, leaning against the edge of the table. The Director did not look up from his papers, but grunted shortly in reply.

"We think we've found something worth showing you, sir," said the second armored man. He laid a newspaper down, then casually slid it down the length of the table so that it stopped just under the Director's eyes.

He cast his glance down at the headline, but only for a moment before looking up again. On the front page, in great bold letters, read Trainee Murders Marine in Hand-to-Hand Exercise. There was a blurred picture, evidently taken by a security camera, of a young man, no older than twenty two or so, throttling a Marine nearly a head taller and broader than him.

The Director grunted again, this time to ensure that he understood their means of coming here. There were always new recruits for their...cause. Some had even become full-fledged operatives. Criminals were always a good place to start.

"We think the kid would be worth a try," explained said the armored operative. "He's being held in a penitentiary just South of here. High security." He paused, then added, "Nothing we haven't dealt with before."

The Director nodded slowly, and, at long last, spoke in a deep, grim voice that struck needles through the hearts of even the bravest men.

"I trust your team can handle the operation, Agent Pulse?"

Pulse, the armored operative, nodded. "It would be our pleasure, Director."

"Then go now, before it is too late," the Director demanded. "You may bring him back here. We will evaluate him soon afterwards."

"Yes, sir."

Without another word, the two visitors turned and exited, the doors sliding to a close almost inaudibly behind them.

The moment they closed, the man in the suit shot Pulse a furious glare.

"This is a terrible idea, Pulse!" he snapped. "You do realize that if we rescue the kid, he'll be assigned to our team?"

Pulse kept striding down the hallway, barely troubled by his partner's disagreeing opinions. "Yeah, I realize that, Phase."

"And?"

"And it doesn't really matter to me," Pulse said, shrugging. "Just another one to add to the collection, the way I see it."

"And what if he isn't as unstable as we thought?" Phase growled. "What if he's still on their side? If we take him in, he has complete access to our networks. He'll know everything. It'll only take one quick feeling of remorse to blow our secret. Think about it, Pulse! We'll have the entire UNSC knocking at our doors!"

"He won't betray us," Pulse said softly. "Not if we're there for him when no one else is." He finally stopped and looked sharply at Phase. "You remember that feeling, don't you?"

Phase's face went pale, and he averted his eyes to the floor in shame. The whispers of his past were ineludible. They were everywhere, taunting him, breaking into his mind.

At long length, he sighed. "Let's do this."

"Right," Pulse said, flashing him a brief smile. "I'll get the boys ready. We've got a jailbird to set free."

  • 10.12.2009 5:07 AM PDT

Insurrectionists? Or something...more?

This story is developing wonderfully. It's so...human!

:D

  • 10.12.2009 8:59 AM PDT

Posted by: evilcam
That...probably means that Laserking has either an insanely accurate logical method of deriving people's reactions to things, or he possesses pre-cognition. Either way:LASERKING for Mods!

Join KOTOR_|_Join FanFicFactor_|_TOTAL WIN

Awesome story! Can't wait to see the next part.

  • 10.13.2009 8:25 AM PDT

Halo: Heretic or Hero---An Elite's Story
Choose your own destiny

FanFicFactor
Forged in the Flames of Passion, go forth and represent!

Posted by: Wolverfrog
Insurrectionists? Or something...more?

This story is developing wonderfully. It's so...human!

:D


Nope, not really Insurrectionists, but I guess you could say they act a bit like them. They aren't an army though, mind you. Darkwing is a worldwide organization of elite criminal teams.

  • 10.13.2009 3:15 PM PDT

Posted by: Sergeant Murph
Posted by: Wolverfrog
Insurrectionists? Or something...more?

This story is developing wonderfully. It's so...human!

:D


Nope, not really Insurrectionists, but I guess you could say they act a bit like them. They aren't an army though, mind you. Darkwing is a worldwide organization of elite criminal teams.


Like Cerebus then...but you don't know who Cerebus is. Read the Mass Effect novels, they kick ass!

  • 10.13.2009 3:44 PM PDT
Subject: [Story] The Darkwing Chronicles---A Killer's Tale (Updated 10/21)

Halo: Heretic or Hero---An Elite's Story
Choose your own destiny

FanFicFactor
Forged in the Flames of Passion, go forth and represent!

Here is Chapter Four. Also, please don't let some of these first few parts throw you off. The biggest parts of the story are coming very, very soon, but I need to have some introductory chapters.

There is some action in this one, though :)

Chapter Four

Lighting 'em Up

It was hours, no, days later that I finally awoke, my body numb, all of my senses nearly vacant. I sat painfully up, feeling the muscles that had gone unused far too long, crack inside of me.

Where was I? The room was small, too small for my liking, and colder than ice. I swallowed a cry, perplexed and fearful, my eyes darting around and finally meeting the great iron bars that weaved in front of me.

I was in a cell.

No! I scrambled to my feet, screaming, and threw myself against the iron bars, then twice more. The only pain I felt was the one that was screeching inside of me, splattering my brain against the inside of my skull.

Quick, heavy footsteps clattered against the floor, and a guard came into view, dressed in army fatigues. I leaned heavily against the cell door, too startled to talk, my eyes telling novels.

And then, suddenly, I was on the ground again, winded from the sharp kick that the guard had delivered to my chest. I gaped at him, shaking his head, his face red.

"You stay put, crazy bastard," he muttered. "Don't worry. You won't have to suffer this place too much longer."

My eyes widened, a flicker of hope finally finding its way into me. Did that mean I was getting out of this place soon?

No. Quite the opposite, really.

"It'll be all over in a little while," the guard said snidely, almost happily. "Hope you can find your nametag in hell."

I froze, and in that instant every nerve in my body went on strike. I fell to my knees, slowly, my eyes dancing off somewhere distant. Long held tears began to make their way down my cheeks, and I didn't try to hide them. He'd just said it, flat out, unbothered. I was going to die. I was going to die soon.

It was as if someone had just pulled the plug on me. As if I was flying without wings. I had nothing left to depend on, nothing left to hope for. I was a dead man, even as I breathed here now.

I crawled into the corner of the cell, helpless, barely able to suppress screaming, and curled my knees against my chest and wept. Wept for myself. Wept for my wife. Wept for Derek Fisher. When you are faced with inevitable death, everything snaps into perspective. The reality of it made me want to vomit. Made me want to die quicker, just to be rid of the terrible, gnawing coldness in my heart.

There is nothing left for me.

There is no hope.

---

There is always hope.

Pulse surveyed the area quickly, his eyes just barely peeking above the low wall outside of the penitentiary. He nodded thoughtfully, then turned and sat with his back against the wall facing his crouching partner.

"Guards just receded. We're all clear for the moment."

His partner nodded shortly in reply. Lucifer didn't talk when he didn't need to. He was a mysterious fellow whose face was nearly always hidden by his deployable, moonlight-silver HUD visor that shielded down to the top of his nose. His face was scarred with years of killing, and he was nearly always avoided by other operatives. Pulse was among the only ones who could stand being near the precarious thing.

Pulse pressed down on the COM receiver on his wrist. "You ready over there, Scorch?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Scorch replied, sounding rather pleased with himself. That was his one flaw, thought Pulse. He was far too self confident. "Detonators are all set. Waiting on your call, Pulse."

"Understood. Give them hell, kid."

Pulse sighed and shut his eyes tight, lightly tapping the back of his head against the wall. He nodded at Lucifer, who stared with a mixture of blankness and bloodlust.

"You know what to do?"

Lucifer grunted eerily, his hand slowly descending down to his belt, where he unlatched his magnum. "My job."

What a guy.

---

Scorch literally hung to the side of the ovular penitentiary by a thread. He was nearly invisible against the black bricks, but if anyone could have seen him, they'd see the inexplicable expression of joy on his face.

"Time to light 'em up," he chuckled, whistling tunelessly while he attached the miniature yet incredibly lethal detonator to the wall. No feeling beat watching a ball of flame punch through the clouds. Explosives were his specialty, and, though he rarely admitted it, his hobby.

His fingers working quickly, he punched in the correct coding on the detonator and nodded to himself as it began blinking an angry red. Show time.

In one swift movement, Scorch pushed lightly off the wall, letting the grappling hook descend him thirty feet before he landed on the wet grass.

Instinctively, he turned and ran across the courtyard, no longer bothering to stick to stealth. He thought he heard a guard scream something as he ran, but it was quickly swallowed by a thunderous BANG and a flash of light. The side of the building behind him burst outward, engulfed by flame, throwing bricks and debris in different directions. He heard guards screaming, scrambling over to the explosion site, creating a quite humorous scene of chaos.

"Impressive, kid," came Pulse's hoarse voice over his COM. "Alright, Lucy and I are making our way in from the front now. Get out of there before they send backup."

"Gotcha," Scorch replied, then, after a pause, added, "And Pulse? Don't call me 'kid'."

"Right. Over and out."

---

Pulse turned briefly to Lucifer as they sprinted for the entrance. "Kid's in way over his head."

[Edited on 10.21.2009 5:38 PM PDT]

  • 10.21.2009 5:27 PM PDT

Posted by: Dropship dude
No, acnboy. Spartain Ken 15 is a lesser being. Much like the bacteria that lives in your shi­t.
Posted by: mike120593
My shi­t bacteria takes offense to that comparison.

Don't make me lel. You won't like me when I lel.

Very nice emotional descriptions :)

I'm loving the interactions between the Darkwing members already, keep this going at all costs!

  • 10.22.2009 1:45 AM PDT

Halo: Heretic or Hero---An Elite's Story
Choose your own destiny

FanFicFactor
Forged in the Flames of Passion, go forth and represent!

Posted by: random no337
Very nice emotional descriptions :)

I'm loving the interactions between the Darkwing members already, keep this going at all costs!


Thanks Random, there is a lot more of that to come...sorry for my absence, too, I will be getting right back on writing this ASAP.

  • 10.25.2009 11:46 AM PDT

Halo: Heretic or Hero---An Elite's Story
Choose your own destiny

FanFicFactor
Forged in the Flames of Passion, go forth and represent!

Yo! I've finally gotten to throw in the action-packed chapters we've all been waiting for. No more introductions. This is Darkwing.

It is a little on the long side, so if you do not want to read it all in one go, that's cool. Take your time.

Your eyelash-batting-review-longing friend,

~Murph

Chapter Five

Early-Out for Good Behavior

When the two operatives entered into the main lobby, Pulse and Lucifer quickly scrambled to find cover behind a screen of tall, ostentatious-looking plants. It seemed as if whoever had built the lobby had made an industrious effort to make it resemble a five-star hotel, complete with a small lounge with leather couches, a fireplace and several outdated magazines.

As if the guests here needed to feel welcome.

"Report?" Pulse whispered into his chatter, straining to hear over the cries of guards rushing for the gaping hole in the west side of the ovular building. The explosion had been only to divert their attention, leaving the main entrance wide open for a quick, stealthy break-and-take.

Phase's voice crackled in from his safe-haven back at headquarters. His combat prowess was mediocre, which he often was mocked for, but his technological skills were unmatched, so it had been reluctantly decided that he should stay back and work behind the scenes.

"Guards are all heading for the detonation site. Let me see." There was a short silence while Phase punched something in on his overly large computer monitor. Another thing he was teased for. "The objective is being held in the East Cell Blocks, cell H to be exact. Area schematics say to take a hard left just up the hall."

Pulse was about to sign off when, suddenly, he heard a gasp from behind him. Groaning in exasperation, he whipped around.

It seemed that two guards had stayed behind to patrol the lobby, and one of them turned to sound the alarm while the other charged the two operatives, drawing his handgun as he ran.

"Damn!" Pulse exclaimed as the first shot ricocheted off of the plant pot, shattering it. He rolled to the side just as Lucifer shot out from the opposite corner of the room and snapped a vicious kick at the unsuspecting guard's neck, making him tumble like a pile of bricks.

The alarm that sounded moments later nearly deafened them. Pulse nodded to Lucifer, who gave a slight shrug in reply and led them down the hallway, now in a full sprint.

"Hands up!"

Pulse hadn't even turned around to meet the two guards pouring out from the side corridor before Lucifer slammed both of their heads against the wall with a brutal yet refreshing crack. Jesus, he's good at that. It wasn't every day you came across a guy that could wound or kill three grown, trained men in less than three seconds.

More guards hustled from their posts down the adjoining hallways, yelling, and instinctively Pulse tossed two smoke grenades to either side of him, issuing a burst of grey fog that momentarily halted his pursuers.

"You need to move, Pulse!" Phase ordered. Weird how he was in more of a panic than Pulse. Actually, now that he thought about it, it wasn't that unusual. It took a lot to make Pulse lose it. "Six more coming in from behind; make your way to the cell block, or we'll have to--"

"We're not backing out of this operation, whether they send six or six hundred," Pulse retorted through clenched teeth. He turned hastily to Lucifer, who had already drawn his submachine gun and was poised to fire.

"How much time can you buy me?" Pulse demanded of the vague, dangerous Darkwing operative. Lucifer didn't look at him when he answered.

"That depends how long you can live."

A bit surprised by his comrade's witty remark, Pulse narrowed his eyes, nodded slowly, and turned to rush through the smoke, barely avoiding crashing into a wall, and made a quick left. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw Lucifer quirk a rare smile. Not of happiness, of course, but of greed. Lust. Will to murder.

Was that supposed to bug him?

As he rounded the corner and paced down the next corridor, the blaring sound of a submachine gun and several cries of pain reverberated all around.

"Hang a right just ahead, you're not far now," Phase intoned. Pulse obeyed, quickly skidding to a start and starting down the next dimly lit, white-walled hallway. He passed several cells, some empty, some with morbidly discontent prisoners rattling the bars, screaming pleas or threats toward him, their eyes sharp as daggers. In each deathly glare there was hatred and vengeance. No remorse. This was the house of monsters.

"Sorry, boys," Pulse muttered lightly, trying to keep from grabbing one by the neck and showing him some manners. "I don't take hitchhikers."

He ignored the passionate swearing being tossed out from behind him as he strode down the hall, whistling casually, glancing into a cell every now and then to examine its raging inhabitants. He passed by one two-person cell, where one of the convicts was speaking quietly to his inmate, who lay against the wall, his mouth full of blood and his eyes vacated. Lovely.

He was about to arrive at cell H when a peculiar prisoner caught his glance, sending it back with matching defiance. Pulse stopped in his tracks and turned his head slightly.

The girl didn't look much older than sixteen or so, and she did not look to him like a criminal of any kind. She had long, luscious black hair that hung over her right cheek, short and slim, with the iciest pools of blue eyes he'd ever seen. She hadn't been banging at her bars, either. Instead, she was sitting calmly in the corner of the dark cell, alone, her knees to her chest. Their gazes met, and for a moment Pulse felt his heart leap into his throat. There was something terrible about this girl. Something sinister. At first glance she may have looked like a princess, but Pulse new now that he was staring into the eyes of a figure of evil.

Pulse shook his head and quickly strode ahead, and the girl did not try to stop him.

Finally he came to a stop in front of cell H, manufactured for only one person, but the way Brad Volker was curled up in the corner, twenty could have fit in there.

The boy looked younger than he'd expected, but that might have been simply because the grief had gnawed away at him. Made him weaker. Caused all of his senses to implode upon themselves until he was a frail, defenseless mess of sorrow and resentment.

They'd all felt it before. Even Pulse, the bravest, most reliable operative Darkwing had to offer, had once been struck with that same sensation of sadness after he'd made his first kill. To the organized mind, taking the life of a human being brought with it an inimitable mournfulness, even to the sickest of killers. Except maybe Lucifer, but he had probably been an abominable nutcase from the womb.

Pulse kicked the bars quietly to get the boy's attention, but he would not look up. His eyes had turned a deathly grey, and they were looking absently out into the distance.

Pulse sighed. He'd break through to him sooner or later. Now, he tuned in to his COM again, immediately connecting with Phase.

"Pulse here. You in yet?"

"I think I've got the correct override codes," Phase explained. "Cell door should be opening in approximately ten seconds." There was a pause, and then he added, "Does he look promising?"

Pulse glanced over his shoulder at the boy, who was now shivering wildly, as if he thought Pulse was here to do something less-than-kind to him.

"Looks like a keeper to me."

Just then, the automatic cell doors divided from either side and swung open. As Pulse stepped forward to retrieve the objective he'd gone through plenty of trouble for, another rather alarming sound alerted him and made him freeze on the spot.

"Phase?" Pulse said slowly, trying to hide his rising rage. "I don't suppose you could have accidently overridden all of the cell doors?"

"Huh? Well, chances that I retrieved the incorrect codes are slim, but-- wait, why?"

Pulse gritted his teeth and whirled around as the wave of unleashed criminals flew toward him with all speed, shouting, bloodthirsty. Damn, sometimes that genius is an idiot, he thought.

"Pulse? What's going on?"

"Nothing," he replied darkly, bracing himself for the swarm of lunatic convicts that were nearly about to trample him into the ground. "Just getting to know the locals."

  • 10.29.2009 1:44 PM PDT

By the power of truth, I, while living, have conquered the universe.

The characters are being fleshed out really well, their dialogue together will certainly surpass that of Buck's squad. I like how the thoughts change from the viewpoints and I hope we see this girl in some later part.

I presume that the release of all the prisoners may affect some future events too.

I'll give you a full review at the end of the next part, we'll have been kicked into the story completely then. No more intorductions, as you said.

Great job, Murph.

  • 10.29.2009 1:58 PM PDT

I just caught up; it's great. Keep up the good work Murph.

  • 10.29.2009 2:18 PM PDT

Remember,
It is easy to be male
it is another thing to be a man.

Its looking good Murph.
The banter between the team is really good kinda like the squad in ODST and a little like the squad in Republic Commandos.
I just have a little thing that i want to pick out. Its that at the end of a radio call it should be out not over and out. Apart from that however its really good and i'm looking forward to the next part.

  • 10.31.2009 1:27 AM PDT
Subject: [Story] The Darkwing Chronicles---A Killer's Tale (Updated 10/29)

Posted by: evilcam
That...probably means that Laserking has either an insanely accurate logical method of deriving people's reactions to things, or he possesses pre-cognition. Either way:LASERKING for Mods!

Join KOTOR_|_Join FanFicFactor_|_TOTAL WIN

Yet another great chapter Murph. I love the darkness that goes with the storyline. The squad members are one of a kind characters that fit great in the story so far. And a lot of action! You better keep this one going!

[Edited on 10.31.2009 4:04 PM PDT]

  • 10.31.2009 4:04 PM PDT
Subject: [Story] The Darkwing Chronicles---A Killer's Tale (Updated 10/6)
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No matter how many seals are killed by sharks a year, it never seems to be enough :D

Woah. This is the first time of read any of your stories, and i must say, i am very impressed. I just finished the first part, but im gunna hang out with my friend so i will read some more later. Keep it up :D

  • 10.31.2009 4:33 PM PDT
Subject: [Story] The Darkwing Chronicles---A Killer's Tale (Updated 10/21)
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Do not waste your tears, I was not born to watch the world grow dim. Life is not measured in years, but by the deeds of men.

Posted by: goldhawk
We should know better, because we are better.

The local inmates are a lively bunch...

  • 10.31.2009 4:45 PM PDT
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Do not waste your tears, I was not born to watch the world grow dim. Life is not measured in years, but by the deeds of men.

Posted by: goldhawk
We should know better, because we are better.

Congrats on top topic! :)

  • 11.01.2009 5:48 AM PDT

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