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STROKE
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thekylekurtz
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CloseHey, I'm new here so I hope it's not too early for me to be posting work or anything. This is a story I completed before, and I'm in the process of editing it so any feedback would be appreciated. I can't stress enough how little I mind criticism.
Here is the first 2 chapters.
Chapter One: Hope
He moved without attracting even a glance, evanescent in the shadows splashed across the complex. His boots silently padded across the pavement, bringing him to the edge of an open door. A man took a single step out into the night, subsequently driven to the floor with a knife jammed down his trachea on the way.
Stroke looked up into the dimly lit hallway, knife pulled free from the man's spine with a bloody snap as he descended into the building. Each threat along the way fell before he had a chance to scream. One after another he left a trail of red cookie crumbs towards his target. Stroke shifted along the darkness, watching the last guard berate the trio of hostages, butt of his rifle roughly connecting with the jaw of one foolhardy enough to talk back.
The guard turned to the sound of a pistol cocking, silencer pushing against his forehead as Stroke sent a round tearing through the man's mind. He moved quickly, crimson blade slicing the binds at the prisoners hands. The youngest of them, a skinny blonde who couldn't be a day over twenty thanked him. Stroke stared down at her, blue eyes tinged with gray caught between pity and apprehension. His mouth opened, but he didn't say anything.
Red lights crashed throughout as alarms blared, warnings of an intruder rough on their ears. Stroke finally spoke, voice rough as he roared, “Run!” The four burst through the facility, Stroke only having to fire a few more rounds on the way. They dashed into the chilly night air, the three struggling to continue before the bridge ahead.
Stroke saw the lights at the end, recognizing the vehicles as he felt the first round hit. It easily pierced his vest, fifty caliber round exploding from his chest in a red spray across the pavement. The three stopped, staring uncertainly as he stumbled to a halt, blood frothing between his lips as he ordered them to keep running.
The blonde was the last to go, turning in time to miss another round hit. Stroke stumbled toward the edge, blood trickling free from him now as he struggled to stay on his feet. He turned to face the sniper, knowing somewhere on a rooftop he was lining up his sights. Between ragged gasps he smiled despite the agony, last bullet taking him off his feet.
His thin form flew off of the bridge, finally splashing into the inky water below. Even immersed in the cold, feeling his life flow free into the river Stroke continued to smile. He watched the blood and bubbles of his last breaths twist above.
And finally, he died.
Chapter Two: Immortal
“Activate Eighty Three.” The woman looked up from her monitor, thin rimmed glasses slipping from her soft blue eyes. She pushed them back up and asked, “What, why? The last already-” General Magnus stood over her, voice resonating if he wasn't already imposing enough,
“Dr. Andrews, that's an order. You can review his memories from last night some other time, but for now strike them from the record and recalculate his birth date ahead two months.”Dr. Andrews brushed aside a lock of blonde hair from her face, looking down at her hands before answering with another question,
“Do you think it's time we do another rewrite? He may become unstable if we keep using the same-”
“It'll be fine. That's my call. Now activate him, we don't have all day.” She nodded passively, biting her lip as she typed in several prompts, finally accessing the Stroke mainframe. With only another password the two looked up at the sound of hissing, cryogenic chamber in the vault moaning to life.
General Magnus stalked away from her desk, looking out the window at the rows of chambers, each fashioned like a coffin. One separated from the wall, gently landing on the track towards the two. Dr. Andrews adjusted the transmissions received from the last shell, prepping the download for the new body. She looked out at the still body being drawn from it's chamber with remorse, prepared to bring Stroke back to life.
The technicians took the body out of it's resting place and she began the download, wireless transceiver in the blank brain firing wave after wave of impulses. In only a few minutes, he was taken and propped up in the showers, still quivering as the steaming water blasted his cyanotic form.
The General watched for only a moment longer, ensuring the rebirth went well. Finally he turned to Dr. Andrews, smile plastered across his fading features as he said, “Looks like he'll come out just fine. Last couple ones have been doing very well. Good job.”
She only looked down at her hands again, feebly replying “Yeah.” From the showers Stroke emerged with a towel draped across his waist, complaining, “Don't you hate when you feel so cold after a shower? I don't get it.” Dr. Andrews faked a smile, replying weakly, “Maybe you should get some rest then.” Stroke nodded, intense features contorting as he rubbed his head and agreed,
“Yeah, my head's killing me. Night Doc, see you tomorrow.”
Here is the first 2 chapters.
Chapter One: Hope
He moved without attracting even a glance, evanescent in the shadows splashed across the complex. His boots silently padded across the pavement, bringing him to the edge of an open door. A man took a single step out into the night, subsequently driven to the floor with a knife jammed down his trachea on the way.
Stroke looked up into the dimly lit hallway, knife pulled free from the man's spine with a bloody snap as he descended into the building. Each threat along the way fell before he had a chance to scream. One after another he left a trail of red cookie crumbs towards his target. Stroke shifted along the darkness, watching the last guard berate the trio of hostages, butt of his rifle roughly connecting with the jaw of one foolhardy enough to talk back.
The guard turned to the sound of a pistol cocking, silencer pushing against his forehead as Stroke sent a round tearing through the man's mind. He moved quickly, crimson blade slicing the binds at the prisoners hands. The youngest of them, a skinny blonde who couldn't be a day over twenty thanked him. Stroke stared down at her, blue eyes tinged with gray caught between pity and apprehension. His mouth opened, but he didn't say anything.
Red lights crashed throughout as alarms blared, warnings of an intruder rough on their ears. Stroke finally spoke, voice rough as he roared, “Run!” The four burst through the facility, Stroke only having to fire a few more rounds on the way. They dashed into the chilly night air, the three struggling to continue before the bridge ahead.
Stroke saw the lights at the end, recognizing the vehicles as he felt the first round hit. It easily pierced his vest, fifty caliber round exploding from his chest in a red spray across the pavement. The three stopped, staring uncertainly as he stumbled to a halt, blood frothing between his lips as he ordered them to keep running.
The blonde was the last to go, turning in time to miss another round hit. Stroke stumbled toward the edge, blood trickling free from him now as he struggled to stay on his feet. He turned to face the sniper, knowing somewhere on a rooftop he was lining up his sights. Between ragged gasps he smiled despite the agony, last bullet taking him off his feet.
His thin form flew off of the bridge, finally splashing into the inky water below. Even immersed in the cold, feeling his life flow free into the river Stroke continued to smile. He watched the blood and bubbles of his last breaths twist above.
And finally, he died.
Chapter Two: Immortal
“Activate Eighty Three.” The woman looked up from her monitor, thin rimmed glasses slipping from her soft blue eyes. She pushed them back up and asked, “What, why? The last already-” General Magnus stood over her, voice resonating if he wasn't already imposing enough,
“Dr. Andrews, that's an order. You can review his memories from last night some other time, but for now strike them from the record and recalculate his birth date ahead two months.”Dr. Andrews brushed aside a lock of blonde hair from her face, looking down at her hands before answering with another question,
“Do you think it's time we do another rewrite? He may become unstable if we keep using the same-”
“It'll be fine. That's my call. Now activate him, we don't have all day.” She nodded passively, biting her lip as she typed in several prompts, finally accessing the Stroke mainframe. With only another password the two looked up at the sound of hissing, cryogenic chamber in the vault moaning to life.
General Magnus stalked away from her desk, looking out the window at the rows of chambers, each fashioned like a coffin. One separated from the wall, gently landing on the track towards the two. Dr. Andrews adjusted the transmissions received from the last shell, prepping the download for the new body. She looked out at the still body being drawn from it's chamber with remorse, prepared to bring Stroke back to life.
The technicians took the body out of it's resting place and she began the download, wireless transceiver in the blank brain firing wave after wave of impulses. In only a few minutes, he was taken and propped up in the showers, still quivering as the steaming water blasted his cyanotic form.
The General watched for only a moment longer, ensuring the rebirth went well. Finally he turned to Dr. Andrews, smile plastered across his fading features as he said, “Looks like he'll come out just fine. Last couple ones have been doing very well. Good job.”
She only looked down at her hands again, feebly replying “Yeah.” From the showers Stroke emerged with a towel draped across his waist, complaining, “Don't you hate when you feel so cold after a shower? I don't get it.” Dr. Andrews faked a smile, replying weakly, “Maybe you should get some rest then.” Stroke nodded, intense features contorting as he rubbed his head and agreed,
“Yeah, my head's killing me. Night Doc, see you tomorrow.”
Huh. I wonder why they revived Stroke. I guess I'll find out soon enough, right?
I thank you for not overplaying his revival since we barely know him.
I thank you for not overplaying his revival since we barely know him.
Thanks for reading!
Yeah, I didn't want to make that part too long, as it would be pointless. And he's the 83rd, so yeah, I'll definitely make it clearer. I appreciate the feedback, and plan to post more soon.
Yeah, I didn't want to make that part too long, as it would be pointless. And he's the 83rd, so yeah, I'll definitely make it clearer. I appreciate the feedback, and plan to post more soon.
I like the writing, particularly in chapter 1, personal, thus unexpected, doesn't let you run through, forces you to read each word, a story, yes but a piece of writing, also.
Thank you very much. I'm really glad you liked it. Some high praise too, I may have to reread and touch up future chapters before posting them. Probably post 3 tomorrow, too tired myself to do much of anything constructive.
These are quite nice. Short and sweet and to the point, and so expertly done! Bravo my good wo/man. Bravo.
* Standing ovation
* Standing ovation
LockeZ
I'd really like to get rid of LockeZ. His play style is way too unpredictable. He's always like this too. If he ran a country, he'd just kill and imprison people at random until crime stopped.
5958
Hmm, I though this was going to be a thread about how you had a stroke and couldn't do artistic work any more.
That's not two chapters, by the way. That's not even two pages. There's certainly some variation allowed in the length of a chapter, but I think it's pretty close to universally agreed that when you are dividing up a work of writing, a chapter is supposed to be a larger unit than a page. It would be more accurate to call them scenes than chapters, but there's no need to number them when the work is that short.
That's not two chapters, by the way. That's not even two pages. There's certainly some variation allowed in the length of a chapter, but I think it's pretty close to universally agreed that when you are dividing up a work of writing, a chapter is supposed to be a larger unit than a page. It would be more accurate to call them scenes than chapters, but there's no need to number them when the work is that short.
Thank you TheRexion, and everyone for your feedback! I really appreciate that you guys even took the time to read it.
And LockeZ, while I don't believe writing can be so easily classified, I do appreciate your feedback and see what you mean. This is my rough draft to Stroke, and I do believe I need to flesh the story out more and make it significantly longer. So that's something I plan to do regardless. Thank you.
A weakness of mine is that I always write in short bursts, though it is quite difficult to lengthen something already written. But I plan to still.
Here's the third chapter.
Chapter Three: Sweet Dreams
“Been having these dreams lately Doc.” Dr. Andrews shifted in her chair, pushing the frames of her glasses up her nose again before beckoning Stroke to continue. He shook his head, running his fingers through the short strands of tawny hair on him before going on,
“Dreampt I died last night. And the night before. Every night, really.” She nodded, expecting to review the deletion sequence from the last mission when he surprised her, “Last night, I drowned. The time before, felt like my head exploded. Time before that, men shot me. And when I went down, they didn't stop. Just kept shooting.” She opened her mouth, thin layer of light pink lipstick still as she struggled for words. Before she had a chance to dismiss them Stroke said,
“They don't feel like dreams. I've been shot before, and I remember how it feels. But this, it hurt, until I bled enough. Then everything began to get numb. Felt my life slipping away.” Dr. Andrews found the composure to answer, “You have been on a lot of missions, maybe it's all starting to catch up with you. You could take a vacation-” Stroke seemed to ignore her comment entirely, blue eyes gazing off in the distance as he recounted,
“They started after I went to a ball. Got dressed up, didn't know anyone there besides the other Nobodies and that General guy, so I hung out on the side. This pretty little thing stopped me, trying to thank me for saving her life. But Amanda, I know I've never met her before. The way she was thanking me- she seemed surprised.” He sighed, sharp features drawn into his hands. He finally seemed to recall what she was saying, and wondered with a small smile,
“You saying I need a vacation? Could always come with me.” Dr. Andrews shook her head, blond locks bouncing left and right as she answered, “No I couldn't do that, I'm sorry. There's so many rules against-”
“C'mon Doc, you only live once.” In the ensuing silence Stroke's playful expression faded, concern falling over him. Dr. Andrews' gaze remained locked away from his eyes. She blinked in surprise when he asked, “Sorry, asking you out on a date that bad?” A false smile flitted across her soft features, eyes looking at him differently than before before she apologized and left the room.
Alone with his thoughts Stroke sat in his chair, eventually realizing the expression.
Pity.
And LockeZ, while I don't believe writing can be so easily classified, I do appreciate your feedback and see what you mean. This is my rough draft to Stroke, and I do believe I need to flesh the story out more and make it significantly longer. So that's something I plan to do regardless. Thank you.
A weakness of mine is that I always write in short bursts, though it is quite difficult to lengthen something already written. But I plan to still.
Here's the third chapter.
Chapter Three: Sweet Dreams
“Been having these dreams lately Doc.” Dr. Andrews shifted in her chair, pushing the frames of her glasses up her nose again before beckoning Stroke to continue. He shook his head, running his fingers through the short strands of tawny hair on him before going on,
“Dreampt I died last night. And the night before. Every night, really.” She nodded, expecting to review the deletion sequence from the last mission when he surprised her, “Last night, I drowned. The time before, felt like my head exploded. Time before that, men shot me. And when I went down, they didn't stop. Just kept shooting.” She opened her mouth, thin layer of light pink lipstick still as she struggled for words. Before she had a chance to dismiss them Stroke said,
“They don't feel like dreams. I've been shot before, and I remember how it feels. But this, it hurt, until I bled enough. Then everything began to get numb. Felt my life slipping away.” Dr. Andrews found the composure to answer, “You have been on a lot of missions, maybe it's all starting to catch up with you. You could take a vacation-” Stroke seemed to ignore her comment entirely, blue eyes gazing off in the distance as he recounted,
“They started after I went to a ball. Got dressed up, didn't know anyone there besides the other Nobodies and that General guy, so I hung out on the side. This pretty little thing stopped me, trying to thank me for saving her life. But Amanda, I know I've never met her before. The way she was thanking me- she seemed surprised.” He sighed, sharp features drawn into his hands. He finally seemed to recall what she was saying, and wondered with a small smile,
“You saying I need a vacation? Could always come with me.” Dr. Andrews shook her head, blond locks bouncing left and right as she answered, “No I couldn't do that, I'm sorry. There's so many rules against-”
“C'mon Doc, you only live once.” In the ensuing silence Stroke's playful expression faded, concern falling over him. Dr. Andrews' gaze remained locked away from his eyes. She blinked in surprise when he asked, “Sorry, asking you out on a date that bad?” A false smile flitted across her soft features, eyes looking at him differently than before before she apologized and left the room.
Alone with his thoughts Stroke sat in his chair, eventually realizing the expression.
Pity.
LockeZ
I'd really like to get rid of LockeZ. His play style is way too unpredictable. He's always like this too. If he ran a country, he'd just kill and imprison people at random until crime stopped.
5958
I didn't mean you needed to make it longer, just that you shouldn't call the sections chapters. It's the wrong term.
Chapter Four: Twin Snakes
“You ready old man?” Stroke looked up from the entangled sipper of his sneaking suit at the lithe form of Candle waltzing in the room, sharp hazel eyes condescending as his cocky wide smile. Stoke only gave a grunt in response, to which the young agent gave a grin and asked, “Should I tell them you have to sit this one out cause you haven't had your Geritol today?”
Zipper pulled up to his neck Stroke scowled back and asked, “Pretty tough talk, when we're done you wanna know what getting laid is like? I liked it.” Candle coughed, looking back out into the hallway. His outline faded, form drifting across the room as Stroke moved, palm against the grip of his pistol the moment he heard his knife sliding from his sheath. Cold steel pressed against his throat after Candle's form took to solidity again, young man's assured smile fading over the barrel pressed against his chin. Stroke goaded,
“Still slower than this 'old man.” The knife clattered to the floor as Candle was whisked away again, out the door without another word. Stroke picked the device back up again and slid it away as General Magnus stepped into the room, dark eyes amused as he asked, “You understand the nature of your mission?” Stroke nodded, asking in return,
“Why's the kid coming with? Thought you guys were going to let him start tackling solo jobs.” General Magnus' wide shoulders rose and fell, voice casual as he let Stroke know, “We still have some issues with his... maturity. Maybe if he behaves himself this time around. Just make sure he doesn't get himself killed, he's a valuable asset when he's not acting like a...” Stroke interjected,
“A teenager?” “General Magnus nodded and dryly agreed. Stroke checked his equipment again and followed suit.
---
A cold October wind swept by the two as they looked out into the darkness of the pier. At his side Stroke heard Candle complain, “We've been out here for an hour old man, wish you had shit to talk about besides Flinstones or the Kennedy Assassination. Freezing my balls off.”
“What balls?” Candle growled back, eyes widening at the sight of lights flickering to life at the far end of the dock. He stood on the edge of their rusted container, intently looking for the movement to begin near the boats. Stroke said to no avail, “Remember to be careful, they're- hey!” His form opaque, Candle's thin form drifted off towards the smugglers. Stroke moved quickly, footfalls silent despite his speed as he ran after Candle.
Below the men moved quickly, one hurriedly barking orders at the others struggling to open the locked crate inside the craft. Their movement came to a halt as their eyes drifted to the spotlight above after darkness fell upon the dock, their gaze coming to rest on the handle protruding from the spotlight lit by sparks bleeding out. The men all spun in the sudden dark, weapons pointed out into the blackness as the leader ordered the others to look out.
He drew a chemlight from his jacket, orange light following the snap revealing a thin form standing before him, smile wide. The man reached for his weapon when Candle fired, muzzle pointed between his eyes. The smugglers all turned to the sound to see Candle disperse, reforming to kick a man's knee out from under him, spraying red across the concrete on his way down when Candle fired. Another wildly opened fire, the semiautomatic pulled from his hands after Candle appeared before him, butt shattering the cartilage of his nose. The man screamed when another wildly fired their way, volley of bullets passing through Candle as his form grew opaque.
The last kept firing as Candle's wispy form flew his way, automatic clicking as Candle reformed and spun, side of his foot connecting to the man's neck driving him headfirst to the cement. Knife in hand Candle drove it down in the fallen man's chest.
He turned to the sound of movement, fingers pushing back the trigger of his pistol at the dark figure by the crate when Stroke reached him. His left hand connected to the side of his face, force of the blow throwing Candle off balance as Stroke's right hand passed over the pistol, pulling the slide away as Candle's finger uselessly pulled the trigger. Candle turned to him in in a rage to hear Stroke shout,
“Did you even read the case file?! We were an hour early, to a human trafficking operation. You were a less than a second away, from killing her.”
Candle looked at the figure again, eyes adjusting to the orange glow of the chemlight to see a woman in rags, thin arms wrapped around her daughter. A frown fell across his features, reaching out for the slide to his pistol. With a click he locked the top half of his weapon back in place, only giving Stroke back a halfhearted thanks.
At the sound of helicopters in the distance Stroke began to count the recovered persons, looking over in surprise when Candle said, “Guess... I'm glad you came with, old man.” He remained facing away, still not looking Strokes way even after their pickup arrived.
“You ready old man?” Stroke looked up from the entangled sipper of his sneaking suit at the lithe form of Candle waltzing in the room, sharp hazel eyes condescending as his cocky wide smile. Stoke only gave a grunt in response, to which the young agent gave a grin and asked, “Should I tell them you have to sit this one out cause you haven't had your Geritol today?”
Zipper pulled up to his neck Stroke scowled back and asked, “Pretty tough talk, when we're done you wanna know what getting laid is like? I liked it.” Candle coughed, looking back out into the hallway. His outline faded, form drifting across the room as Stroke moved, palm against the grip of his pistol the moment he heard his knife sliding from his sheath. Cold steel pressed against his throat after Candle's form took to solidity again, young man's assured smile fading over the barrel pressed against his chin. Stroke goaded,
“Still slower than this 'old man.” The knife clattered to the floor as Candle was whisked away again, out the door without another word. Stroke picked the device back up again and slid it away as General Magnus stepped into the room, dark eyes amused as he asked, “You understand the nature of your mission?” Stroke nodded, asking in return,
“Why's the kid coming with? Thought you guys were going to let him start tackling solo jobs.” General Magnus' wide shoulders rose and fell, voice casual as he let Stroke know, “We still have some issues with his... maturity. Maybe if he behaves himself this time around. Just make sure he doesn't get himself killed, he's a valuable asset when he's not acting like a...” Stroke interjected,
“A teenager?” “General Magnus nodded and dryly agreed. Stroke checked his equipment again and followed suit.
---
A cold October wind swept by the two as they looked out into the darkness of the pier. At his side Stroke heard Candle complain, “We've been out here for an hour old man, wish you had shit to talk about besides Flinstones or the Kennedy Assassination. Freezing my balls off.”
“What balls?” Candle growled back, eyes widening at the sight of lights flickering to life at the far end of the dock. He stood on the edge of their rusted container, intently looking for the movement to begin near the boats. Stroke said to no avail, “Remember to be careful, they're- hey!” His form opaque, Candle's thin form drifted off towards the smugglers. Stroke moved quickly, footfalls silent despite his speed as he ran after Candle.
Below the men moved quickly, one hurriedly barking orders at the others struggling to open the locked crate inside the craft. Their movement came to a halt as their eyes drifted to the spotlight above after darkness fell upon the dock, their gaze coming to rest on the handle protruding from the spotlight lit by sparks bleeding out. The men all spun in the sudden dark, weapons pointed out into the blackness as the leader ordered the others to look out.
He drew a chemlight from his jacket, orange light following the snap revealing a thin form standing before him, smile wide. The man reached for his weapon when Candle fired, muzzle pointed between his eyes. The smugglers all turned to the sound to see Candle disperse, reforming to kick a man's knee out from under him, spraying red across the concrete on his way down when Candle fired. Another wildly opened fire, the semiautomatic pulled from his hands after Candle appeared before him, butt shattering the cartilage of his nose. The man screamed when another wildly fired their way, volley of bullets passing through Candle as his form grew opaque.
The last kept firing as Candle's wispy form flew his way, automatic clicking as Candle reformed and spun, side of his foot connecting to the man's neck driving him headfirst to the cement. Knife in hand Candle drove it down in the fallen man's chest.
He turned to the sound of movement, fingers pushing back the trigger of his pistol at the dark figure by the crate when Stroke reached him. His left hand connected to the side of his face, force of the blow throwing Candle off balance as Stroke's right hand passed over the pistol, pulling the slide away as Candle's finger uselessly pulled the trigger. Candle turned to him in in a rage to hear Stroke shout,
“Did you even read the case file?! We were an hour early, to a human trafficking operation. You were a less than a second away, from killing her.”
Candle looked at the figure again, eyes adjusting to the orange glow of the chemlight to see a woman in rags, thin arms wrapped around her daughter. A frown fell across his features, reaching out for the slide to his pistol. With a click he locked the top half of his weapon back in place, only giving Stroke back a halfhearted thanks.
At the sound of helicopters in the distance Stroke began to count the recovered persons, looking over in surprise when Candle said, “Guess... I'm glad you came with, old man.” He remained facing away, still not looking Strokes way even after their pickup arrived.
Really nice! Though, on some parts, my mind was like a blender trying to decipher the action that was going on. Drove me crazy when I just couldn't picture it in my head, heh.
Thank you guys. I'll keep that in mind with describing scenes, I know it can get a little haphazard, sorry.
Chapter Five: Empty Walls
She sat in the chair beside Stroke, concern splashed over her fresh features. He looked back up from the comfort of the leather of the couch in her office when Dr. Andrews asked again, “Have the dreams been getting worse, Stroke?”
Stroke frowned, thin lips turning down as his brow furrowed over hazel eyes. He said to Dr. Andrews with uncertainty, “You know how when you wake up, the dream is just a dream? Those events, the things that happened, you can always tell they never really happened.” Dr. Andrews waited for him to go on, pen in hand when he continued,
“But these aren't dreams. I can remember what it was like to drown. To be shot. Falling to my death. And what scares me...”
Silence fell on the two, steady sound of the clock the only vibration in the room until Dr. Andrews asked, “What scares you, Stroke?” He laid still on the couch, seeming to refuse any eye contact as he answered,
“Sometimes I have trouble remembering my own name. Like... I haven't used it in years. Once in a while I can't remember my parents, or where I went to school. Like it's all so far away. But I can remember dying, like it was yesterday.” Dr. Andrews' blue eyes remained fixed on her notebook, ball point pen in hand beginning to quake. Stroke asked if she was all right, his voice snapping her gaze away from the word she'd written, pen swiftly obliterating the note before she set the notebook aside and replied,
“You've had a very different life than most. Ever since you joined, your potential was noticed... And you're older than most people your age, if only in what you've experienced Stroke. Why don't you write down the dreams for me? As many as you can remember, it may help.” He nodded, swinging his feet over the edge of the couch as he got on his feet and replied,
“I'll try it out Doc. But in the meantime, I have a social to attend I guess.” She moved as he did, attempting to block the pad with her body as he stood, giving no indication he'd seen anything as Dr. Andrews wondered, “Oh? What for?”
“Don't know. Typical stuff, important people getting together, drinking and congratulating each other for making other people keep the country safe for them. I'll just be there with Salamander to make sure nothing bad happens.”
On his way out, his calm demeanor faded. He thought about the word, clumsily crossed out on her notebook all the way to his quarters, wondering if he'd misread the bold black letters.
RESET.
Chapter Five: Empty Walls
She sat in the chair beside Stroke, concern splashed over her fresh features. He looked back up from the comfort of the leather of the couch in her office when Dr. Andrews asked again, “Have the dreams been getting worse, Stroke?”
Stroke frowned, thin lips turning down as his brow furrowed over hazel eyes. He said to Dr. Andrews with uncertainty, “You know how when you wake up, the dream is just a dream? Those events, the things that happened, you can always tell they never really happened.” Dr. Andrews waited for him to go on, pen in hand when he continued,
“But these aren't dreams. I can remember what it was like to drown. To be shot. Falling to my death. And what scares me...”
Silence fell on the two, steady sound of the clock the only vibration in the room until Dr. Andrews asked, “What scares you, Stroke?” He laid still on the couch, seeming to refuse any eye contact as he answered,
“Sometimes I have trouble remembering my own name. Like... I haven't used it in years. Once in a while I can't remember my parents, or where I went to school. Like it's all so far away. But I can remember dying, like it was yesterday.” Dr. Andrews' blue eyes remained fixed on her notebook, ball point pen in hand beginning to quake. Stroke asked if she was all right, his voice snapping her gaze away from the word she'd written, pen swiftly obliterating the note before she set the notebook aside and replied,
“You've had a very different life than most. Ever since you joined, your potential was noticed... And you're older than most people your age, if only in what you've experienced Stroke. Why don't you write down the dreams for me? As many as you can remember, it may help.” He nodded, swinging his feet over the edge of the couch as he got on his feet and replied,
“I'll try it out Doc. But in the meantime, I have a social to attend I guess.” She moved as he did, attempting to block the pad with her body as he stood, giving no indication he'd seen anything as Dr. Andrews wondered, “Oh? What for?”
“Don't know. Typical stuff, important people getting together, drinking and congratulating each other for making other people keep the country safe for them. I'll just be there with Salamander to make sure nothing bad happens.”
On his way out, his calm demeanor faded. He thought about the word, clumsily crossed out on her notebook all the way to his quarters, wondering if he'd misread the bold black letters.
RESET.
Chapter Six: Dance in the Flames
“C'mon John!” Stroke resisted against the lithe form pulling at the green cotton sleeve of his dress uniform, voice stilted as he replied, “Stroke.” Salamander turned back toward him, sharp blue eyes coy as she cooed back, “Too shy to call me Roxanne?” Stroke jerked his hand free from her grasp, passing by as he replied, “Not attached enough actually. Let's get inside.”
Behind him Salamander pouted her soft lips, brushing deep red locks free from her eyes before following in tow criticizing, “That is no way to treat a lady you know.” Stroke stood in the doorway to the ballroom, towering over her as he looked down and smiled back, “You done? We are here for a reason.”
The ball was like any other he'd attended as of late, full of old men wearing uniforms that fit them decades ago congratulating each other for winning wars they'd never been to. Stroke sifted through the throng of green and blue men, familiar face above the punch bowl he approached. He smiled despite the mood the place distilled on him and greeted,
“Agent Truman. I can't believe you aren't dead by now.” The man looked up from his phone, small smile slowly drifting across his face as he recognized Stroke, laughing back, “Wow, it's been a long time, you don't look a day older.” Stroke shrugged, calmly answering, “Maybe, but you sure do. How's the crazy jobs treating you?”
Agent Truman's carefree grin faded for only a moment, the man saving face with, “Well as you can see, it hasn't aged me well. But I haven't faced anything you didn't get me ready for.” The man's phone went off in hand, agent sifting through a text to look up and say, “Sorry to cut this short, but I have to be going. See you some other time John?” Stroke watched the man go, joking back,
'Maybe in another life.”
Stroke watched the event drag on, remaining idle by the table to refill his cup every hour. He watched General Magnus tower over the old men trying to talk down to him and Salamander casually flirt with someone old enough to be her father. The calm of the party put him at ease until a girl stepped up to him, coughing to gain his attention.
He looked down at the pretty little thing until the blonde finally said, “I don't know if you remember me sir, but I wanted to thank you for saving me and my family.” Stroke struggled to recognize the familiar face, at a loss for when he'd ever saved her when she said,
“I'm so glad you're okay. They told me you were fine, but last I saw-”
“Ashley!” The girl jumped, turning back to the plump form of her father shuffling their way. He took her by the shoulder, turning the girl away as he smiled at Stroke, apologizing before leading her away. He watched the two go, at a loss. His chest felt tight, every breath drawn short until he heard a voice behind him order “Don't move.” The internal pieces of a pistol clicked with movement, barrel coming to rest against the base of his skull.
Hands up, Stroke noticed throughout the ball old soldiers falling to their knees, cowering before a few men with guns held their way. The security detail now held the entire military ball at their mercy. Smile on his face, Stroke felt the pistol press harder against his neck as he asked,
“So what brings you gentlemen by tonight?”
“Get on the ground. We don't want any trouble, we just want Magnus.”
“General Magnus? So you're the Angels?”
“On the ground.” Stroke began to bend at the knees, feeling for the weapon to draw even an inch away. He turned, palm knocking the punch bowl up, red contents between the two separated as his fist connected with the Angel's chin. Stroke reached for the thin man's collar as he stumbled back, pivoting around him as he draw his weapon and fired at the nearest assailant, blood spraying from a fresh hole in the man's chest.
He felt bullets connect with his shield's body, each round shaking the young man until Stroke stepped back, foot planted in his back forcing the young corpse face down on the buffet table. He looked across the ball and smiled as he saw her. Standing among the cowering men Salamander spun, flames swirling around her breaking free to connect with the nearest Angels scrambling for cover. One turned in time to fire, bullet bursting into ash inches from her smiling face.
Stroke broke into a run, jerking aside as one of the men aimed and fired, bullet that should have freed his mind snapping by as he connected with his would be killer. Stroke's heel met the man's kneecap, pistol shattering the right side of his jaw as he doubled over.
A white hot pain met Stroke, vision blurring for an instant as he felt a round tear through his side. He spun with the force to face his attacker, aiming in time to watch the last Angel fall screaming, engulfed in flames as the old men struggled to get as far from him as they could. Stroke looked down to see the dark stain spreading across his green jacket, left hand pressing down on the wound as he watched Salamander approach.
Everything began to slow as he stumbled into a chair, looking up at her thin form berate him, “You okay? You don't have to be so headstrong, I could've handled this on my own you know. Stroke?” The last thing he saw as he stumbled to the floor was General Magnus looking down, brown eyes without a trace of sympathy.
“C'mon John!” Stroke resisted against the lithe form pulling at the green cotton sleeve of his dress uniform, voice stilted as he replied, “Stroke.” Salamander turned back toward him, sharp blue eyes coy as she cooed back, “Too shy to call me Roxanne?” Stroke jerked his hand free from her grasp, passing by as he replied, “Not attached enough actually. Let's get inside.”
Behind him Salamander pouted her soft lips, brushing deep red locks free from her eyes before following in tow criticizing, “That is no way to treat a lady you know.” Stroke stood in the doorway to the ballroom, towering over her as he looked down and smiled back, “You done? We are here for a reason.”
The ball was like any other he'd attended as of late, full of old men wearing uniforms that fit them decades ago congratulating each other for winning wars they'd never been to. Stroke sifted through the throng of green and blue men, familiar face above the punch bowl he approached. He smiled despite the mood the place distilled on him and greeted,
“Agent Truman. I can't believe you aren't dead by now.” The man looked up from his phone, small smile slowly drifting across his face as he recognized Stroke, laughing back, “Wow, it's been a long time, you don't look a day older.” Stroke shrugged, calmly answering, “Maybe, but you sure do. How's the crazy jobs treating you?”
Agent Truman's carefree grin faded for only a moment, the man saving face with, “Well as you can see, it hasn't aged me well. But I haven't faced anything you didn't get me ready for.” The man's phone went off in hand, agent sifting through a text to look up and say, “Sorry to cut this short, but I have to be going. See you some other time John?” Stroke watched the man go, joking back,
'Maybe in another life.”
Stroke watched the event drag on, remaining idle by the table to refill his cup every hour. He watched General Magnus tower over the old men trying to talk down to him and Salamander casually flirt with someone old enough to be her father. The calm of the party put him at ease until a girl stepped up to him, coughing to gain his attention.
He looked down at the pretty little thing until the blonde finally said, “I don't know if you remember me sir, but I wanted to thank you for saving me and my family.” Stroke struggled to recognize the familiar face, at a loss for when he'd ever saved her when she said,
“I'm so glad you're okay. They told me you were fine, but last I saw-”
“Ashley!” The girl jumped, turning back to the plump form of her father shuffling their way. He took her by the shoulder, turning the girl away as he smiled at Stroke, apologizing before leading her away. He watched the two go, at a loss. His chest felt tight, every breath drawn short until he heard a voice behind him order “Don't move.” The internal pieces of a pistol clicked with movement, barrel coming to rest against the base of his skull.
Hands up, Stroke noticed throughout the ball old soldiers falling to their knees, cowering before a few men with guns held their way. The security detail now held the entire military ball at their mercy. Smile on his face, Stroke felt the pistol press harder against his neck as he asked,
“So what brings you gentlemen by tonight?”
“Get on the ground. We don't want any trouble, we just want Magnus.”
“General Magnus? So you're the Angels?”
“On the ground.” Stroke began to bend at the knees, feeling for the weapon to draw even an inch away. He turned, palm knocking the punch bowl up, red contents between the two separated as his fist connected with the Angel's chin. Stroke reached for the thin man's collar as he stumbled back, pivoting around him as he draw his weapon and fired at the nearest assailant, blood spraying from a fresh hole in the man's chest.
He felt bullets connect with his shield's body, each round shaking the young man until Stroke stepped back, foot planted in his back forcing the young corpse face down on the buffet table. He looked across the ball and smiled as he saw her. Standing among the cowering men Salamander spun, flames swirling around her breaking free to connect with the nearest Angels scrambling for cover. One turned in time to fire, bullet bursting into ash inches from her smiling face.
Stroke broke into a run, jerking aside as one of the men aimed and fired, bullet that should have freed his mind snapping by as he connected with his would be killer. Stroke's heel met the man's kneecap, pistol shattering the right side of his jaw as he doubled over.
A white hot pain met Stroke, vision blurring for an instant as he felt a round tear through his side. He spun with the force to face his attacker, aiming in time to watch the last Angel fall screaming, engulfed in flames as the old men struggled to get as far from him as they could. Stroke looked down to see the dark stain spreading across his green jacket, left hand pressing down on the wound as he watched Salamander approach.
Everything began to slow as he stumbled into a chair, looking up at her thin form berate him, “You okay? You don't have to be so headstrong, I could've handled this on my own you know. Stroke?” The last thing he saw as he stumbled to the floor was General Magnus looking down, brown eyes without a trace of sympathy.
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