The dreary night is no different than the dreary day. Here it never lets the sun peek through the ever-present clouds, and here I sit, legs tucked against chest on the roof of the old, dilapidated library, watching the rain come down in soft static, breif specters of cars whipping past my perch. The wind rustles my fur and causes a great stirring of sound in my pointed ears, so much so that I turn my head away from it's gusty breath, causing my thick fur to part. I ponder why I am sitting here, waiting for the airway bus. I have nothing better to do at home, have I? So I sigh, pry myself from the aluminum bench and gaze into the city, eyes following the intracate pathways of the roofwalks. I follow one, knowing not where it will guide me, but towards an adventure, even a small sort. Any adventure is worth more than a life as a receptionist when you're born and raised to survive a post-war planet. Any. (More)

So I set to my tiny adventure, following the once sleek path, now corroded with wear . It twisted and wove through the lower city buildings, and I went with it, minding the occasional pedestrian a quick bow in greeting. I had followed that trail all the way to upper-city Tevumn, the old, rusty buildings of the lower-city giving way to slim, professional ones. I stopped, rain 'thocking' lightly on my red leather overcoat, taking in the fresh breeze and the cool rain when I heard it. The slurred crack of a plasma rifle. (More)

It was in the building below. Instinct told me to avoid this situation and keep walking, as if I had heard nothing, but I pushed it aside, for I liked adventure, and nonchalantly strode to the center window that peered down into the building. It was dark, but because of the eerie glow of the plasma gun, I saw two figures on the posh red wooded floor. One was holding the gun, obviously the man who shot it, because the other was hunched over, grasping at his midsection. The gunman was in a slim suit, tie crooked against his chest and that gave him the air of false professionalism. I quickly glanced about, then, seeing that I was the only person out this late, decided to interfere. I swung my prosthetic arm back over my head to gain momentum, then back forward, sending the glass to cascade over the two men. I then vaulted myself into the hall. Landing with a thud on the floor, I sat for a few seconds to regain my stolen breath. (More)

I rose to my paws, still shaky and when I looked up, there was the gun, in my face, touching my nose. I could feel the scalding heat and hear the sound of the complicated machine that held it whirring. The hound behind it had his jowels pulled up in a menacing sneer, sharp canines bright in the gun's glow. From behind came a rasp voice; the injured man. "Are you daft?" (More. Wow, this is long. XD)

I grinned momentarily at the comment. "Probably." And in that instant I kicked the hound in the family jewels. Hard. He howled and fired his gun, plasma burning the side of my face, causing me to whimper as well, as it sung with pain. Instinctively, I grappeled around for the gun that the hound had dropped in his rage, blind at the moment, either because of the light or the burn or both. Rough wood soon gave way to smooth metal after I had groped around the floor for a bit. I immedeately sn.atched it up in my bionic hand and pulled back the charge lever, a satisfying click reassuring me that it was ready to fire. I swung my hand wildly around, as I was dazed, and shot at every breath, footstep, and rustle of clothing until the sharp yelp of an injured canid rung through the high windowed corridor. (More)

Whether it was the hound or the injured man, I knew not. I slowly opened my left eye, the one not burned, and there lay the prostrate body body of my foe, the deep mahogany bloodhound, still twitching, not yet dead. I looked backwards at the other man, wincing at the sting of my injury. He seemed to be unconcious until he lifted his head. His face was angular, his ears tall and he had very prominant eye-spots, making his face very expressive. In this instance, his face wore one of someone who needed medical attention. He simply stated, "Take my phone. Call my colueages."

Pretty neat so far, the writting style is very "film-noir" in mood.

XD Now read it in a smooth, downtown jazzish voice.

ok jazz voice XD

This story sounds great so far! ^-^

Keep up the amazing work!

That was... EPIC! XD