Vyzion Eyri
The Southern Legion
The Umbra Combine
1671
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Posted - 2013.11.01 00:35:00 -
[1] - Quote
Vyzion jogs. And jogs. And jogs.
The large immortal woman on the running track lapped him once again. He briefly glances at the brawlers. He saw that look that Matari lady gave the sprinter who had already lapped him again. Vyzion contemplated the mix of jealously, annoyance and dismissal that she had briefly displayed in that instant. A half-forgotten tale he heard somewhere, a long time ago, returned to him. The story of an immortal who, when questioned as to what she wanted, answered with "I want to die."
Vyzion blinked, shaking himself from the reverie. Don't think about that or you'll fly erratically, he chided himself silently, dragging his thoughts back their original topic of consideration.
I lost another dropship... Even as he thought it, Vyzion's insides coiled tighter and his heart beat faster, and almost subconsciously his pace started increasing. Why had he been destroyed? What had caused that forge gun to manage to clip his left thruster? The air rushing into the cockpit through the broken nose of the dropship as it went into an uncontrollable dive... the desperate attempt to save the craft... he barely noticed he was closing the distance between him and the other immortal on the running track.
Wait, that was it. Speed. Vyzion slowed back to a jog, breathing deeper. He closed his eyes, letting his augmented senses guide him along the track. Between a forge gunner and a dropship, the forge projectile always won in terms of speed. There was no escaping it simply by rushing towards the closest area of safety.
What the forge gunner doesn't have, however, is maneuverability, something a dropship pilot has in abundance.
I wonder... if a backflip would be enough? Just need to make sure I don't eat too much beforehand... Grinning now, the mercenary continued jogging at his leisurely pace. He whipped out a book on the mountain ranges and the high reaches of New Eden and began to read as he jogged. Hope nobody thinks this is showing off.
> "I will show you fear in a handful of dust."
T.S. Eliot, The Wasteland
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Vyzion Eyri
The Southern Legion
The Umbra Combine
1687
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Posted - 2013.11.01 11:18:00 -
[2] - Quote
Finishing the chapter on various locations that would be beautiful to fly through (complete with pictures), Vyzion closed his book and slowed his pace down to a walk, then strolled off the track. Can't build too much muscle. My poor Prometheus already struggles under the weight of all those damned armour plates our armoured division stacks on their suits.
Vyzion headed over to a bag he left against a floor-to-ceiling mirror and threw his book in, glancing at his reflection briefly. Skinny. Someone once called him a slaver that had just eaten. Besides that physical appearance mattered little to him. As long as he could fit himself in those rumoured pilot suits that are apparently being developed to remove the unnecessary weight that even the standard light frames brought to the dropship, he didn't mind.
Zipping up his bag, he strolled into a room designated for "Reflexes".
Inside was a dimly lit, white room, and when he closed the door behind him all sounds outside ceased; soundproofed. It was small, the size of a typical mercenary's quarters. The walls were dotted with holes roughly the size of his fist. Vyzion spotted a green button in the center of the far wall. Below it was a message:
Press green button to initiate training.
To end, press again.
If unable to move, clearly say "Terminate".
The third line troubled Vyzion, but surely it couldn't be that bad...
So he hit the green button.
Whump! Vyzion whirled, but nothing was there. Heart racing, he reached towards the green button. Maybe I should've asked before I came i-
Whu-whump! This time he saw it. Two balls shot out of two of the holes in the walls, only to reenter the system on the other side of the room at a receiving hole.
Intrigued, Vyzion watched for a moment. There was no discernable pattern to where the balls would fire from, or what their trajectory would be. Even their speeds varied, but they always ended up in another hole. Unless... He cautiously walked to the center of the room, and once there, began to turn slowly.
Whu-"Gotcha!" Grasped in his hand was a ball a little smaller than the average Locus grenade, made from some form of rubbery substance. "Hah, this ain't so-"
THWUMP! Multiple balls were ejected in quick succession, filling the room with projectiles. All of them reentered holes but one. This one smacked into Vyzion's face, causing him to instinctively crouch.
Blinking away the tears, he stood up. I think I get it. And so he did. Breathe in... dodge. He swayed, and a ball zipped past his left arm. Breathe out... duck. Another ball ruffled his dark brown hair. Breath in.... "OW! What the h-"
Balls were zooming around the room, one shooting out as soon as another 'docked'. Vyzion jumped, pirouetted, kicked off walls, dropped flat on the floor, performing physical manipulations that would've not been amiss in the bed of a Gallentean brothel.
"What... the... bloody... hell," Vyzion grunted, each word punctuated by a whump. "This. Isn't. Reflexes. It's. Bloody. MURDER!"
The balls started firing faster. Swallowing his pride, Vyzion tried to dive for the button. But as if the room had a malicious life of its own, balls started firing rapidly from that wall, preventing him from reaching his goal. Vyzion tried to brute force his way through the barrage, making progress... until he slipped on one of the balls that had hit him previously. Cursing furiously, he turned and pressed his face into the floor and crawled towards the button, taking dozens of hits against his back and shoulderblades. Surely it can't get any worse than this.
But like all who dare tempt fate by intoning such words of folly, he was wrong. The floor hissed, and holes opened up all over it, sucking up balls that had hit him. An intensified rain on his back indicated the ceiling had modified itself similarly.
Gritting his teeth, Vyzion gave up. "Terminate," he muttered. The battering didn't stop.
"Terminate." Louder, but still the balls rained down on him.
"Terminate. Terminate. Terminate!" Undaunted, the balls simply got faster, and Vyzion couldn't even rise against the pressure the combined force dozens of the balls were applying on his back.
Clenching his fists, Vyzion cleared his throat and yelled: "GOD-*expletive redacted*-DAMNIT WHAT PART OF TERMINATE DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND!"
The pummelling ceased. Vyzion got up after a minute, looked at the glowing green button with absolute disgust, and walked out, trying to disguise his limp with a swagger. Luckily he hadn't taken much damage to his face; hopefully no one would realise what happened. He only hoped no Amarrians heard his last, aggrevated cry.
> "I will show you fear in a handful of dust."
T.S. Eliot, The Wasteland
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Vyzion Eyri
The Southern Legion
The Umbra Combine
1982
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Posted - 2013.11.12 14:22:00 -
[3] - Quote
Hunter Junko wrote:Entering the gym, instantly noticed a cry from the reflex room. Shifting my bag, i turned the corner and noticed Vyzion limping away.
i gave a slight nod in his direction as i pass by
"must be tough at that level huh" i asked with a slight grin as i make my way towards the Reflex room.
Vyzion grinned without looking at Hunter. He knew that Hunter knew that he knew that he was horrible under pressure. Another thing I need to work on, in fact. Staying calm when those swarm salvos -I swear those things are invisible even with my googles- come flying and knocking me off balance...
Vyzion heads over to his own bag and exits the gym, whipping out another book, this one on the Prophecy of Macaper.
"When nothing is going your way, go out of your way to do nothing."
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