Well, we're 383 years from the beginning of most of these stories, and much much closer to seeing the Role Playing Game that goes with them completed.
While were waiting, I thought I'd share a little more about Sharren. Turns out she was very popular with the readers of this blog.
Also, I wanted to remind you that the current sketch contest is for the best Sharren, our own 6'8" female cyborg. She is a bit of a monster, having retro-grade knees, and she keeps hidden behind an inch of heavy armor. She's also a big fan of 12 mm assault rifles. Really, who isn't?
As always, please leave comments, it gives me more warm fuzzies than looking at the page view counter. that thing is really bland. It also helps me improve my writing.
with no further ado, here's our favorite bad girl.
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The boot screen was a shock. Her mother had told her killers end up in hell. Sharren was pretty sure she was dead. She tried to blink, but the boot screen remained, cycling through it's diagnostics. She mentally went over a brief recap of her last moments. She had slipped a grenade into her own damaged chest, and detonated it. There was a flash of white, then black, then nothing.
The boot screen was still cheerily spitting out data on her vitals and body condition. it was taking a really long time. then she realized, of course! Hell is a eternal boot screen, never reaching 100% on the load bar. Damn. that was not at all what mom had described. She shook her head.
Or rather, tried to shake her head. there was no motor response. She tried to curse, but there was no verbal or comms response. Wow. Hell was thorough. as soon as she thought it, the boot screen gave her an all clear, and vision kicked in.
It was disorienting, just like after her first body-swap. The room she was in was very white, and there where men and women in matching white jumpsuits looking over her body. Her body was in front of her, in what looked like a very expensive cyber-maintenance chair. It looked in good order. There was some minor carbon scoring in some place she did not remember, but the torso had clearly been repaired.
More importantly, she was not in it. she was across the room looking at it. Now she understood hell.
"Hey, your awake." the voice came from a younger man, who had paused to glance down his data tablet. "I bet you thought you were toast. You surprised the marines, popping off one of your own grenades." He crouched down level with her vision. "Well, you're here now. Look, you want back in that monster rig over there? You'll get your chance."
Sharren's mind raced for a moment. she was not sure what they would do to her, but holding her body as collateral was terrifying.
"Calm down there lady" The man said. the UN wold not spend good money patching that thing up if they weren't gonna put you back into it." He stood up and walked over to the body. His had brushed it's elbow, like a new car salesman does to a sleek new model. "Your getting this back, it's just a matter of what we let you do with it. That however, is between you and the Commander." He smiled with a bit a malicious delight shining is his eyes.
Sharren reconsidered hell.
