Don't like ads? PRO users don't see any ads ;-)

One of a Kind: Chapter 5 WiP

By: Notonefuck on Jul 12th, 2013 | syntax: None | size: 6.40 KB | hits: 196 | expires: Never

download | raw | embed | report abuse | print

Text below is selected. Please press Ctrl+C to copy to your clipboard. (⌘+C on Mac)

>As the sun slowly begins to dip into the horizon, you drop onto an outcropping on the side of the mountain you are climbing. You take in deep breaths of thin air in an effort to still your shaking limbs.
>It was just then that you notice a taste so foul coating your tongue that it raises goosebumps all over your body.
>A tingle of your comlink later and it’s gone.
>You would have grunted in frustration if you weren’t busy trying to regulate your breathing.
>It seems like you’ve been having hallucinations on all of your senses all day, and your comlink is the only thing that can fight off the unwanted sensations.
>It’s incredibly tempting to blame your steadily worsening infection. It’s progressed to the point that you are beginning to feel clammy and your forehead is a bit hotter than you would have liked it.
>But any disease you have shouldn’t be so far along that you are experiencing symptoms so radical.
>Even more mind-boggling is that all it takes is the introduction of a standard jamming frequency to push the symptoms away from you.
>It raises the question, is someone watching you and deliberately doing this to you? It doesn’t seem so far-fetched as time goes on.
>By now, you have gotten your breathing under control and your aching limbs comfortably settled as you shift into a position more agreeable with your wounded back.
>You’re sure to take extra care to not let your fingertips brush against anything. The unfortunate digits have been worn almost raw against the unforgiving rock that you are scaling.
>Naturally, it’s far from pleasant to use them, but they should be okay by morning.
>Holding your hands out, you watch as the scraped, abused skin of your palms and fingers very slowly knits itself back together.
>You slowly flex them. These hands of yours, they’ve done so many things. Created, destroyed, abused, been abused, and too many other things to count.
>In a way, it’s saddening to see your clone healing factor repair damage done to them.
>You had seen military personnel, small-town heroes, rescue workers, peacekeepers, all of them laden with marks and weals they came across in their hazardous lives.
>It’s mystifying, you think. To carry the marks that came with such danger.
>Each little deformity could be counted as a badge, a story of some heroic act, a brush with death, or even a simple but memorable accident.
>Just the placement and angles of those marks could tell volumes about their owners.
>You possess none.
>”Hazardous” is your job description summed up into a single word. For everything you’ve done, don’t you deserve to carry tales of your own exploits?
>The healing ability the clones have always does away with wounds, and eventually scars. For it wouldn’t do if the illusion of total conformity was broken, now would it?
>You feel a scowl tugging at your face. It’s all a reminder that you are just a number at the end of the day.
“Fucking Frontier...” you idly curse under your breath.
>Carefully dipping your still healing fingers into your pocket, you pull out the odd tracking beacon you were given.
>As you flip the plastic case between your fingers, you entertain the idea of smashing it and destroying Frontier Laboratories’ chances of finding you.
>...Then you remember there is probably a tracking device implanted in your body anyway.
>With a sigh, you replace the beacon and settle yourself.
>You’re usually not the type to mope, but all the free time you’ve had has let your mind wander.
>Pulling your knees up to your chest and resting your chin on them, you continue to ponder over your life.
>Frontier is everything you know, yet you hate all of its employees bar Emma and despise the establishment itself. Situations like the one you’re in are a prime example of why.
>Thinking back as a far as you dare, you find only a handful of fond memories. Gaining total sentience, your first real conversation with Emma, Frontier’s verdict not to label you defective, and by proxy, saving you from being put on their ‘to be euthanatized’ list.
>You blink as the images and sensations of each one flash before you in sharp and life-like detail, aided by your comlinks Augmented Memory Recall, or AMR function.
>It’s a paltry amount to hold precious compared to a normal human,
>/But you’re not a normal human, now are you?/ a faint voice in the back of your head chimes nastily.
>…but it’s all you have.
>As the sun's last rays slowly begin to fade from the sky, you back up against the side of the mountain outcropping, hoping to avoid any chilled wind, and watch the steadily darkening sky give way to unfamiliar stars.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
>It’s a tense, uncomfortable silence as the six girls slowly trudge down the wide castle halls to their guest rooms after dinner.
>The meal, while delectable as expected, had been a mostly silent affair. The few times the quiet had been broken was filled with the hushed chatter of the various noble cliques at the long, communal table.
>The whispers were never said lightly and there always was a terrible paranoia that seemed to ensnare all who heard with its head-turning, wide-eyed symptoms.
>Even if everything was said with secrecy as its main directive, it didn’t take a genius to figure out just what the hot topic sweeping through the ranks of the castle was.
>Not even the most important of the meal’s attendants were immune to the unsettling atmosphere.
>Both Celestia and Luna had seemed to be their usual, cordial selves. Smiling, being reassuring. But when nop0ny was looking, they would exchange looks with varying expressions.
>Shining and many of the higher ranking guards wore looks ranging from grim to neutral the entire time. Many of them would slowly scan the room with their eyes while their ears would swivel about at the slightest unusual sound.
>Poor Cadence, who was perfectly able to pick up on her husband’s discomfort, fidgeted nervously in her seat the entire time. The pink alicorn had been away on business during the first council meeting and had yet to be informed on what was going on.
>For once, Blueblood had been silent for almost the entire meal. Not even once did he make a snarky comment about anypony at the table. A look of pondering weariness bordering on fear had been present on him the entire time.
>What is it about this thing approaching that has everyp0ny on pins and needles?

create a new version of this paste RAW Paste Data

>As the sun slowly begins to dip into the horizon, you drop onto an outcropping on the side of the mountain you are climbing. You take in deep breaths of thin air in an effort to still your shaking limbs.
>It was just then that you notice a taste so foul coating your tongue that it raises goosebumps all over your body.
>A tingle of your comlink later and it’s gone.
>You would have grunted in frustration if you weren’t busy trying to regulate your breathing.
>It seems like you’ve been having hallucinations on all of your senses all day, and your comlink is the only thing that can fight off the unwanted sensations.
>It’s incredibly tempting to blame your steadily worsening infection. It’s progressed to the point that you are beginning to feel clammy and your forehead is a bit hotter than you would have liked it.
>But any disease you have shouldn’t be so far along that you are experiencing symptoms so radical.
>Even more mind-boggling is that all it takes is the introduction of a standard jamming frequency to push the symptoms away from you.
>It raises the question, is someone watching you and deliberately doing this to you? It doesn’t seem so far-fetched as time goes on.
>By now, you have gotten your breathing under control and your aching limbs comfortably settled as you shift into a position more agreeable with your wounded back.
>You’re sure to take extra care to not let your fingertips brush against anything. The unfortunate digits have been worn almost raw against the unforgiving rock that you are scaling.
>Naturally, it’s far from pleasant to use them, but they should be okay by morning.
>Holding your hands out, you watch as the scraped, abused skin of your palms and fingers very slowly knits itself back together.
>You slowly flex them. These hands of yours, they’ve done so many things. Created, destroyed, abused, been abused, and too many other things to count.
>In a way, it’s saddening to see your clone healing factor repair damage done to them.
>You had seen military personnel, small-town heroes, rescue workers, peacekeepers, all of them laden with marks and weals they came across in their hazardous lives.
>It’s mystifying, you think. To carry the marks that came with such danger.
>Each little deformity could be counted as a badge, a story of some heroic act, a brush with death, or even a simple but memorable accident.
>Just the placement and angles of those marks could tell volumes about their owners.
>You possess none.
>”Hazardous” is your job description summed up into a single word. For everything you’ve done, don’t you deserve to carry tales of your own exploits?
>The healing ability the clones have always does away with wounds, and eventually scars. For it wouldn’t do if the illusion of total conformity was broken, now would it?
>You feel a scowl tugging at your face. It’s all a reminder that you are just a number at the end of the day.
“Fucking Frontier...” you idly curse under your breath.
>Carefully dipping your still healing fingers into your pocket, you pull out the odd tracking beacon you were given.
>As you flip the plastic case between your fingers, you entertain the idea of smashing it and destroying Frontier Laboratories’ chances of finding you.
>...Then you remember there is probably a tracking device implanted in your body anyway.
>With a sigh, you replace the beacon and settle yourself.	
>You’re usually not the type to mope, but all the free time you’ve had has let your mind wander.
>Pulling your knees up to your chest and resting your chin on them, you continue to ponder over your life.
>Frontier is everything you know, yet you hate all of its employees bar Emma and despise the establishment itself. Situations like the one you’re in are a prime example of why.      
>Thinking back as a far as you dare, you find only a handful of fond memories. Gaining total sentience, your first real conversation with Emma, Frontier’s verdict not to label you defective, and by proxy, saving you from being put on their ‘to be euthanatized’ list.
>You blink as the images and sensations of each one flash before you in sharp and life-like detail, aided by your comlinks Augmented Memory Recall, or AMR function.
>It’s a paltry amount to hold precious compared to a normal human,
>/But you’re not a normal human, now are you?/ a faint voice in the back of your head chimes nastily.
>…but it’s all you have.
>As the sun's last rays slowly begin to fade from the sky, you back up against the side of the mountain outcropping, hoping to avoid any chilled wind, and watch the steadily darkening sky give way to unfamiliar stars.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
>It’s a tense, uncomfortable silence as the six girls slowly trudge down the wide castle halls to their guest rooms after dinner.
>The meal, while delectable as expected, had been a mostly silent affair. The few times the quiet had been broken was filled with the hushed chatter of the various noble cliques at the long, communal table.
>The whispers were never said lightly and there always was a terrible paranoia that seemed to ensnare all who heard with its head-turning, wide-eyed symptoms.
>Even if everything was said with secrecy as its main directive, it didn’t take a genius to figure out just what the hot topic sweeping through the ranks of the castle was.
>Not even the most important of the meal’s attendants were immune to the unsettling atmosphere.
>Both Celestia and Luna had seemed to be their usual, cordial selves. Smiling, being reassuring. But when nop0ny was looking, they would exchange looks with varying expressions.
>Shining and many of the higher ranking guards wore looks ranging from grim to neutral the entire time. Many of them would slowly scan the room with their eyes while their ears would swivel about at the slightest unusual sound.  
>Poor Cadence, who was perfectly able to pick up on her husband’s discomfort, fidgeted nervously in her seat the entire time. The pink alicorn had been away on business during the first council meeting and had yet to be informed on what was going on.
>For once, Blueblood had been silent for almost the entire meal. Not even once did he make a snarky comment about anypony at the table. A look of pondering weariness bordering on fear had been present on him the entire time.
>What is it about this thing approaching that has everyp0ny on pins and needles?

Pastebin.com Tools & Applications

iPhone/iPad

Windows

Firefox

Chrome

WebOS

Android

Mac

Opera

Click.to

UNIX

WinPhone