malignancy:
gibsonrising:
gibsonrising:
Virulent Malignancy: oh man oh god oh man
gibsonrising:
malignancy:
Little lights in the streets; they go flaring, daring, dying. Beneath his boots, it sounds like glass crackling and snapping. It sounds like mirrors breaking. Pixels shatter and spill away…
And…
He can hear the ground fracturing behind him, and he speeds his bike up further, turning sharply, continuing to zig zag through the roads, the parameters of the city not far off. The roads are becoming rougher, less steady as he moves onto the unfinished, partially paved pathways. His whole body flows with raw adrenaline. He spares a dread backwards glance, eyes widening at the spectral body tailing him.
He turns sharply again, speeds up, and turns again, his body close to grazing the ground with each hard change in angle. He continues towards the parameters.
He most certainly not having fun.
That’s a shame.
What a shame.
Abraxas is. He likes this game, this chase, this hunt. He is knowledgable about how it will proceed as well, Fischer-esque in his planning. The uneasy, uneven roads will do their thing.
And then? Then he’ll do his.
Occasionally, all that yellow rises up from the ground, forming a creation nearly feline in appearance, chasing in leaps and bounds, brush fires in too-dry summers.
The gap between bike and Pestilence is narrowing at an alarming rate.
His jaw is clenched, gazing intently through the tint of his helmet at the scenery before him. He comes to an abrupt edge in the terrain — a small fall downhill, he disengages the bike, bailing hard off of the precipice, baton stubbornly in hand. His vision grays out briefly like the static of a television losing reception as he collides with the ground some meters below, hard, shoulders first and rolling several feet.
He’s in genuine pain, but he’s not the dwelling kind. He blinks and he’s already back on his feet, striding as fast as his legs will take him, which is a fair amount of speed — he’s outrun even the most advanced security programs. He stays close to the wall, relying on the murky shadows of the outlands for coverage as he follows alongside it.
gibsonrising:
Virulent Malignancy: oh man oh god oh man
gibsonrising:
malignancy:
Little lights in the streets; they go flaring, daring, dying. Beneath his boots, it sounds like glass crackling and snapping. It sounds like mirrors breaking. Pixels shatter and spill away…
And…
He can hear the ground fracturing behind him, and he speeds his bike up further, turning sharply, continuing to zig zag through the roads, the parameters of the city not far off. The roads are becoming rougher, less steady as he moves onto the unfinished, partially paved pathways. His whole body flows with raw adrenaline. He spares a dread backwards glance, eyes widening at the spectral body tailing him.
He turns sharply again, speeds up, and turns again, his body close to grazing the ground with each hard change in angle. He continues towards the parameters.
He most certainly not having fun.
What the hell
endoflineismine:
gibsonrising:
endoflineismine:
gibsonrising:
How do I use this thing? Hrm…
What thing are you referring to, dearest Gibson? This ~Tumblr~?
[SQUINTS AT CASTOR.]
Yes, this tumbl. I’m not… I haven’t gotten out in awhile.
[GRINS RIGHT BACK ATCHA!]
It’s all the rage in the User world! As someone who ~prides~ himself on staying well-informed, I could not resist such an opportunity.
As for you, Gibson…why are you here? I’m sure it will be quite the tale.
…Curiosity more than anything. Riveting, I know.
gibsonrising:
malignancy:
Little lights in the streets; they go flaring, daring, dying. Beneath his boots, it sounds like glass crackling and snapping. It sounds like mirrors breaking. Pixels shatter and spill away…
And then it stops. All of those little deaths come to a halt as he…
He looks behind himself only once before revving the engine of his vehicle, speeding it up with an abrupt jerk forward. He drifts to the left, then sharply to the right, back to the left rapidly. He’ll be the damn hardest target to hit as long as he’s got breath in his body.
What the hell
endoflineismine:
gibsonrising:
How do I use this thing? Hrm…
What thing are you referring to, dearest Gibson? This ~Tumblr~?
[SQUINTS AT CASTOR.]
Yes, this <i>tumbl</i>. I’m not… I haven’t gotten out in awhile.
oh man oh god oh man
malignancy:
Little lights in the streets; they go flaring, daring, dying. Beneath his boots, it sounds like glass crackling and snapping. It sounds like mirrors breaking. Pixels shatter and spill away…
And then it stops. All of those little deaths come to a halt as he collects, concentrates, draws in every inch of power, so that he doesn’t destroy what he treads upon.
The time for destroying is over.
Now? Now it is time to hunt.
He glides by on his cycle, leaving a telltale streak before the faint blaze of neon yellow orange between buildings catches his attention. In his mind he can hear alarms go off, and he switches off the light to stealth as best as the glowing circuitry will allow, pressing harder on the ignition to speed up the vehicle.
What the hell
How do I use this thing? Hrm…
