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| Xeogaming Forums - Story Realm - Demon (Rewrite) |
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Stitch Roy Koopa Holy crap, it is the RoboCoonie!          Since: 08-20-04 From: California Since last post: 933 days Last activity: 933 days |
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| I don't know which version I'm using yet, but I've at least outlined most of the concept (not here). So, the first introduction:
The leaves filtered through the crisp air, violently cutting through the jet streams generated by the passing vehicles, gliding and soaring beneath hot engines and ruthlessly cold tires, floating back up the back ends and around the next vehicle. Few found their momentary demise wedged in the radiators of the speed demons, while others met the highway only after crunching through the treads of a tire. On occasion, a single leaf pounded itself upon his windshield, hopelessly clinging to the tapered glass before being reintroduced into the flowing jet stream; violently ripped from the sanctity of the glass and torn into the sharp winds. The golden yellow streams of leaves flooded the freeway, contrasting against the morning haze. He removed a hand from the steering wheel, hovered over the CD player controls, and turned up the sounds already pounding throughout the cabin. His head bops slowly in tune to the music, the engine roaring slightly beneath the beats while he negotiates the transfer ramp between the highways. His eyes reflect the sunrise just for a second before he shields them behind a pair of jet-black sunglasses. His radio hand rests on his leg, gently thumping the same beats. His driving hand cradles gently upon the lower portion of the steering wheel, riding the awkward vibrations of the wheels against the newly paved freeway. Somewhere behind him, deep within his laptop bag, a familiar string of tones chimes. He perks his ears turning slightly towards the backseat. The cell phone. His world is a shelter of solitude, a sanctum of calm in a world of turmoil. But, not today. Today, his car was more than a tool, but a motivation to be more than just another person in the world. More than just a statistic, a speck, a blemish on the acne-ridden face of humanity. And the second introduction: It’s an odd feeling. One never really thinks that it’ll feel like nothing until its happening. At least some kind of emotional attachment to the event, but it just seemed so distant. Intensely flowing warmth topped with an excellent dose of color and energy. It was such an uplifting experience, yet such a mood killer at the same time. And nothing like television and movies had dramatized it. Then, there was the day job. It allowed me to escape the stresses of the night world just long enough to plan my nocturnal escapades. And, it was extremely simple to accomplish my daily tasks. Drive the forty-five minutes up the 101 freeway to the downtown San Francisco office, walk up to the third floor and park myself in front of a test console, pop in a pre-release game and “play” for a couple of hours. Watching the interns walk around behind and around me, occasionally placing a cup of tea or coffee near me and a Danish and walking away. Robert, our senior managing editor, walks out of his office at the end of my couple of hours and stands in front of my plasma screen. He holds a laptop in his hands, extending it towards me. Time to write my review. And as the words flow, they become gold to be consumed by the millions upon millions of readers worldwide—to be translated into 40 different languages—and become the sole dictator over the financial outcome of a videogame. I am a reviewer for the single largest videogame magazine on the planet, and my word makes or breaks a game. My week is spent in meetings, with a day planning the out-of-city, state, or country trip for that month. Sometimes it’s a trip to Los Angeles to test the latest XBOX 760 game at a local game publishing house; other times it’s an overnight sabbatical to Japan for the “Best of the Weird” column. Most of the reviewers just go home at the end of the shift. I would really love to do that as well, but I have another calling. When you spend the early years of your youth in martial arts because your parents thought it would help your self-esteem, you realize later in life that most of that “discipline” is useless. Unless, you put that discipline—and an insatiable thirst for knowledge—to work. It was an idea I had dabbled with for years: breaking into organized crime. But, just like work, I didn’t want to deal with the hassle and politics of another environment. Let alone one where I’d risk injuring myself for the greater benefit of the upper bosses. No, it was not my calling to be on the inside. I had a knack for making anything look like an accident. It was a gift, nurtured by science and cultivated by my choice of a videogame industry career. So, with a mixture of international freedom provided by work and an urging desire to efface the world of its evil oppressors, I became The Demon. The first assignment is always the most difficult and the most exhilarating. That plunge into the creation of a reputation. But, first, I had to come up with a look that would merit the name, and hide my identity. My alibi was always fixed and static. No matter what, everything I did was related to business. Robert Sorenson, our outspoken, generic Jewish senior editor, always kept me going places. I was his best reviewer. I kept First Person Shooter magazine—even though we covered all game genres—on top of the stack of videogame magazines. I kept the company going. It was extremely vital to keep me constantly in motion, or my skills might squander away—or so he explained to me. “You have to stay fresh, baby,” he’d say, “if I let you sit, you’ll spoil and I’ll have another intern. I don’t want another intern, babe. Now, take that sarcastic tongue of yours away from the Danish and get on that plane. Go destroy me a game. And bring me back something nice from London.” Ah, Robert. Complete with elaborate hand gestures and flailing of the proximity ID cards we wore at all times on work premises, he felt it his duty to lecture me daily. It added a sense of reality to the whole experience. Something tangible on which I could always depend. Looking back, I never figured I’d be parked in from of a PS4 playing through the digital incarnation of myself. The reputation associated with The Demon had become such a world-renowned phenomenon that it was only a matter of time before the entertainment companies began to capitalize upon it. However, “The Demon” market wasn’t taking off. Companies, such as OnSight Publishing in London, had difficulty getting people to advertise or even try the game. No other magazines wanted to touch it, out of extreme fear of the man tied to the namesake. Rumors had begun flowing through the industry of a movie adaptation of the life of The Demon, but no one could pinpoint a single studio; highly-skilled tabloid reporters could not find a single authentic shot or scoop to back the rumors. If any studio was working on it, they were hiding it well; either to stay out of the limelight, or out of The Demon’s radar. But, these industries weren’t my modus operandi. I, personally, cared less if someone made a movie about me. The game, on the other hand, really sucked. “You can’t write this review, babe,” Robert shifted uneasily at his desk holding a printed copy of my trashed review on the “Demon” videogame, “it’s gotta be more upbeat. I don’t want him paying us a visit.” “Who, Rob? The Demon? I doubt he’d have the time or energy to exercise revenge on a videogame review company, let alone its reviewers or editors.” “Rewrite it, give a better review. I’ve got too much going on right now, I don’t need a possible price on my head, babe.” He pushed the paper back towards me. “No, Rob. I can’t compromise my dignity and reputation for a fear no one has ever really seen. Or, at least, lived to see again.” Rob shuddered at the comment, and pulled the paper back. “Alright, I’ll publish it. But, if I happen to meet up with him, I’m sending him to you.” “Fair enough. I’m sure I can deal with him.” I chuckled internally. So...which one reads better? Which one snags you? It will determine the course of the rest of the story... (Last edited by Zabuza on 12-17-06 07:23 AM) |
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Elara Divine Mamkute Dark Elf Goddess Chaos Imp Penguins Fan Ms. Invisable  Since: 08-15-04 From: Ferelden Since last post: 99 days Last activity: 99 days |
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| I really like the imagery of the first one, though it gives far less information than the second one. That makes it a very hard choice. I think it would be more of a challenge for you to write it in third person... perhaps you should try altering the second one to that. | |||
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Stitch Roy Koopa Holy crap, it is the RoboCoonie! Since: 08-20-04 From: California Since last post: 933 days Last activity: 933 days |
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| I'll try a third-person rewrite sometime this week.
It seems about time that I returned to this and Paradox Island. |
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