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+--- Thread: Gravity Well (/showthread.php?tid=33464)
Gravity Well - Unseelie - 01-22-2010
The world was green, or red. Green, Red. Waves of heat against his face, the sounds and pulses of impact: Beneath his feet, the world rippled, and he could feel it. He saw the flow of air from vent to vent, the soft pickup of scents, masked by the AC. Directions...there were people over there. A messhall, a gym...likely. Everything was percents. if the doors closed, he had a 47.3% chance of being able to get through it in time...if he moved just so, along the highlighted path. If he left his thoughts out, and fired over his shoulder, letting the guides move his arms, fire messages along his spine. Or, of course, he could brute force his way through, thinking on human terms about doors and walls instead of volumes and vectors and proabable density...
The energy was available, for success either way. He could let the mind on his back propose and run the finesse...but if he wanted to hold a man by the skull and watch him gasp as his head imploded...he had the force for that. He could, if he wanted, even do it while the computer had him running down a hall, firing weapons in six directions, literally dodging lasers, because men were so slow.
Gravity Well - Unseelie - 12-12-2011
This way, this arc, up, over. There was a reason that shot had gone there, that his hand found that melting edge, that the heat was marked in white, not blue. There was a reason he was here, rather than just over there, that the doors hadn't been a path. Because men were slow, and they followed paths.
He took a vector up, as vials pressed down against his skin, as lines pumped into his brain, his muscles twitched, and he was a passenger in the ride, looking at a display that showed his view from his feet, from his spread arms, from his back, from his eyes, and he blinked, and in the stutter stop, he found himself contorted, falling, wasps erupting from his sides.
There were paths to take, options he hadn't time to choose. Each time, they were chances, Chi falling down a line, the path of heat and the rate of the arc through hull. Richotchets projected about the tubes in the walls, and all of that, pressed up against his eyeballs and into his brain, while he blinked, adrenaline fueled and fast.
There was a cost to it, marked in Lactic Acid, Fatigue, marked in twitch probability and bone grind, marked in torn cartilage and lung capacity, heart speed, vessel dilation, heat, presperation, dehydration.
Vials pressed against his skin, and things were better, worse, slow, fast.