o.o Niiice. By a huge coincidence, I was part-way through a triplet of stories called "Another Day," Which were just about days in the lives of my characters in Sega City, however, now I'm gonna HAVE to change them to fit this =D

*busies off somewhere to type*

*returnzor* Hope this fits the theme well enough:
(Floor plan of Radians Prower's Bar ^^))

As the radio clicks on with the inane chatter of whichever proto-evolutionary lifeform they had decided to run-down the "Top 20" this week, I groggily rise to the world. Top 20 was the perfect example of what waited instore. Claims of preference from the masses, everyone knows that "We choose!" But it's a lie, it's decided by the higher ups. Like everything else.

Dang I'm overly cynical this morning. Evening. Whatever. Why is that?

Rolling out of my bed, my only sanctum against whatever the universe has in store for me next, I walk to my apartment's bathroom, and prepare to put on my "Happy Face". The one I always kept with the locals. Nothing ever gets Maggie down, she's always up for a laugh. Yeah, I say that, but that's only because deep down, everything's a joke now. I laugh, because otherwise it would make me cry.

A shower does little, to wake me up, but at least I smell fresher, and it drowns out my headache. Ah the headaches, my constant travelling companion. I wonder if _He_ gets them too? Still, it could be worse, from all I've seen, a headache is the least of my worries.

A t-shirt and shorts are my usual coverings for this world. Something that didn't look to out of place, and hopefully,
something not to different from what he wears. That's always important. When the locals see me, they should just think I'm him, and no one will be the wiser, untill I say so. It seems to have worked so far here, sometimes a little too well, but hey, a girl's got to have fun.

The soft click of the door behind me puctuates the night air, and I take in the atmosphere, last night was a full moon, that would explain my mood. And the straps. Still, the night air seemed heavier then usual, it felt as if my soul were being torn apart and relaid in a dark narrative, but maybe that's what I get for being out at night. I pass through the dark alleys and dim streets with a casual ease. Many would be cautious here, perhaps even obtain mod escort. For a price. But I don't like dealing with the Mods and Admins, I don't know what they would make of me, I don't want to know. Besides, any mugger in this part of the city that hasn't learned to keep clear around a full moon is asking for trouble.

Normally, I'd check the haunts of His friends, some of them know me now, or think they do. Just like they think they know him. But they don't, they don't know either of us. Me because I hide, because I know what I can become, I can keep it in check. Wheras him, their ignorance of him is dangerous, almost as much as his ignorance of himself.

Tonight however, my plan is different.

The RP bar, just another dank hole in the City's society. Rumours say that it can actually look appealing in the day. I've never seen it. By the time I get there, it's dark, and the lights are set to "Scummy". All in all, at that time of night, it's my kind of bar, the kind where no-one cares who you are.

The bar was, at this point, manned by a surly looking rabbit girl with pirced ears, and when rabits pirce thier ears, they do not mess about. Though the girl looked like a slim-lined beutiful beach babe, all graceful curves and sleek fur, there was something about her that said she was far from helpless. Something in her eyes.

That and I knew for a fact that ever since Old Radians picked up a limp, there was a loaded shotgun behind the bar.

I order a whiskey, and have them leave the bottle. Some say I've a problem with drink.

I don't.

I've seen problems with drink, and sometimes they keep me awake at night. That's why I've taken measures to stop that in myself. The whiskey is for decoration, mouthwash.

For hours it seems I sit, isolated in my corner booth. I attract a few leers from the more drunken customers, but a glance at my eyes tells them I'm not interested.

And if that dosn't do it, theres always the teeth.

Then, as the bar slides into one of it's seemingly cyclic lulls, he enters. I panic. I don't want Him to see me.

As he takes over from the bar bunny, I emerge from my booth, and make a rush for the stairs in the corner, up the staircase, and into the toilets. I slide the lock shut with a click, and rest against the door, falling with a crouch to the floor. What is it about Him. Why can I not just speak to him? Why do I hide myself like this. Either way, something within me is determined not to let him see me tonight. I just hope that something isn't someone I've met before.

A way out occurs to me. Taking the toilet roll from it's holder, I try not to think about the implications as I bite down on it, and thrust my paws into the bathroom light.

The smell of burning fur fills the air, as my vision is encompassed by nothing by pure white. My body is a cacoon of sheer pain, I want to scream, but instead I bite harder on the roll. I feel my teeth slice through as it chars. But part of my likes the pain, it makes the headaches, the memories, all go away.

Intense fire saturates my bone marrow, my nerve ends all turn numb, and then...

Nothing.

The world returns to normal, and I step down from the source of energy, looking over my new body. A skunk, black and red,
great. I look like a Shadow rip off. Sometimes, I hate shapeshifting.

But now I can walk out of here, he won't see me. Of course, it would be simpler if they unlocked the upstairs doors, being on the ground floor as it is, but no, lady Karma see's against that, I have to suffer in the toilets. I walk down the stairs, and see him at the bar, polishing a glass, how cliche. He has seen me, but my disguise is perfect, a change down to the molecular level. But I can't watch him. I have to leave. Leaving the bottle, I head out.

Wandering the streets aimlessly, I come to think of him again. Why do I not speak to him? Is it because of the others? The way I jinxed them. Endless travelling leaves a nice trail of memories, but in my case, there was a trail of bodies too. I know I didn't kill them. Well, not most of them, there were some that...well... Lets say they brought out the worst in me. Do I not want anything to happen to another innocent? Do I simply feel that he holds no information of use to me.

Or is it because, in all I've seen, he is the only happy one?

Stuck in my own mind I wander far, I spend the remainder of the night sat alone by the docks. I'll have to change back
sometime, but for now, I like the disguise. Though a disguise on a disguise cannot be healthy.

Glancing at the moon, I stare at my own reflection. I'll speak to him. Just, on another day.

--I applaud you for starting this. I too had an idea of a first person noir{It was within a Pokemon based world though, but it got far though} so jumping into this would be my pleasure. Just...a lil later..x_x--

Edit:

Whoever said that "the next day will pass by as fast as you let it pass" was right. I've never seen such a hasty turn of events consume my life right now.

Never thought I'd actually get the grant money to build my own lab, let alone down in the sewers where olden names seem to strike at the hearts of the very Mods that knew him well. Maybe he was picked so as to dull the societical eye from their true endeavors.

Too bad I'm like a shadow on the wall. I see things many people shouldn't see. But I never have a choice. Because I'm merely that. A shadow.

They always say shadows never have feelings. They're probably right. Living in the confines of endless tunnels, stagnant water wherre mosquitos grow to the size of your hand, and a bountiful supply of Mofoian waste-you do begin to lose all sense of taste, smell and remorse. But to shadows it dosen't matter. It never did and it never will.

The construction is going well though. A one-man job, aided by abilities one earns from living the the depths of human intervention. Still could go alot faster if there were other people around. There's glass everywhere, bits of Styrofoam candy floating about and catching a ride down Sewage lane...possibly to be immersed into the hectic piles and waves of manure that ruins this city.

Can't feel sorry for them. They were the fools that decided that they could live here, despite adversity. No one knew that it would get this bad. The good guys left, the bad guys stormed through, an all we have left are shallow hitmen who work for pennies a day-people who want to start fights and others who want to be the victims.

I'm neither.

I'm just your classic, run-of-the-mill Mad scientist who always had plans to dominate the world somehow, by starting with whatever city they're in. To bad I don't work with cliches. Or normal methods for that matter.

Bed's in place. Floor is dry, for once. But that smell of raw compost mixed with oil is still permeating the walls here. Oh well. Better than smelling the fruitful freshness of salty night air, coupled with distracting beams of moonlight.

I can't be bothered to care about the top-dwellers right now...I have a lab to finish. Dosen't mean I don't need to return topside to get food. But the minute I do, someone will undoubetly try to stop me, stating I'm breaking some law. Then crying will ensue and pain will be felt by those that are aff--heh. Good imagination there Derek. People affected by what goes on in the night streets.

I crack myself up.

Cool. Mind if I try?

~~~

You don't have to be important to be notorious. That's my motto in life. Spent over two and a half years proving it. A lot of people know me in Sega City. If they don't... they will soon.

And they'll know that I hate alts. Hate them more than people who can't use a spellchecker, more than Sonadow fics, more than that guy who appears to be stalking me. They infest the city, take over houses that could be used for good, posting citizens...

Glance at myself in the mirror. I've changed over time, from a small, shy hyena into an outspoken feline in tight red leather. But I never changed my name. I wanted to sometimes, I really did. But I got my pride. Stay true to your roots. Remember where you came from. Everybody's got a different story. Mine's as complicated as it gets. Want to hear it? Maybe some other time.

But alts haven't got a story. Maybe that's why I hate them so much. Maybe that's why I'm picking up my Glock 9mm. I won't come back until the clip's empty. Nobody comments. Who misses an alt?

Sailors are the easiest to spot. That horrible hair, those disgusting skirts, those deformed eyes... I'd kill them all, if they had enough life to register a death. There's more every day. All I can do is keep count of how many bullets I use.

The Sailors embody my greatest fear - that there will someday be a Sailor Harley, that I will be convinced, or maybe even mocked by another. Perfectly respectable members have fallen prey to their duplicating tactics. I'll never forget my horror the day I saw Sailor Bayfield shame her master by registering her name and breathing in the air of this city.

Six bullets later I leave the Sailor District, feeling as dirty as ever for even treading their streets. Eventually, I stagger into an alleyway and vomit, wishing I could clean out my brain and my soul as easily as I do my stomach.

When there's nothing left, I head home. I pass the RP Bar, and fond memories assail me. It was the reason I came to this city, you know. Time was I'd be in there every night, chatting up guys and girls, but all that changed after the bomb dropped. I lost a lot of friends. And a lot of reputation.

Past the Creative Portal. Wander around, see the sights... try not to open my mouth. It gets me into a lot of trouble.

Glance in the SPA. Its residents are rioting again. They want equal rights or food or something. I used to go there a lot, get drunk, sleaze myself up... before I realised it wasn't getting me anywhere.

Check out the South Island adverts, tear out one for Shadow's new game and tuck it in my pocket for later.

Pass by Knothole Village, where a permanent war now seems to be going on between the philosophers - those who love the place and those who hate it. If they hate it they should leave. I keep out of it as best I can.

I run into an Evil on my way. They're rarer than Sailors, and this one's drunk and he's throwing leet at me. I hate leet. When I've finished slamming his forehead into a brick wall, I feel a lot better.

It's an easy life in Sega City, if you know the right people. If you don't, you'd better get to know them fast or you get to know a pair of cement shoes.

I head back to my apartment on the waterfront, and lean out the window. Think about the Admins. I used to be an Admin too. I know the power they have, I've held it. I've used it. Do you know what it's like to have everything, then lose it all? It's like a part of you dies.

Yeah, I had that power once. The power to push people around, to tell them that it was my way or the highway. With my 'friends' at my side, of course.

It wasn't taken from me. It was lost. Now I crave it like a seed craves the sunlight. I'd kill for it. What am I saying? I already kill... But true power has to be earned. I won't grovel for it. I won't plead. Believe it or not, I've still got my pride.

I could leave this place any time I wanted, and start over again. But I don't want to. I guess it's just nice to be where everyone knows your name.

Even if I don't have power... even if I don't have the raw fear Admins can dole out... I can still have fun.

I stick the advert of Shadow on my wall along with the rest of them, the draft of the NC-17 fic I'm writing at the moment, and slam another clip into my gun, waiting for tomorrow night.

(jumps in)

xxxx

Black and white.

Two opposites.

No shades of gray.

That embodied my life. That was the essence of my very existence. Living on the edge of a knife, teetering between the darkness of oblivion, and the burning light.

The wind whipped past me; unlike the former goodness of Sega City, the wind was the same as always. I was standing atop one of the tallest buildings in the Sailorness District...and the wind roared as it always had. That was one of the few constants of this city...of this hellish pit.

Goodness.

Law.

Justice.

The light...represented that. My second half. The one that was not first...the one who was known as Ultra Sonic 007. The one that everyone in this world knew first. When the light gripped this shell, I tried to fight against the injustice of the Sailors. I tried to aid the Mods who were still good...who still knew that there was a difference between good and evil. Right and wrong.

Two more opposites. I suppose I embody those two as well.

After all, my first half...is a darkness so deep that oblivion would be jealous of it.

My tattered red cape weighed upon my blue-furred frame as the wind increased in speed. My sharp spikes - characteristic of hedgehogs - seemed to stand out against my black shirt and tan khakis. It was an attire I was accustomed to. It didn't really matter.

My first half doesn't care at all. So long as I get the job done. Speaking of which...

The first half. The one that was born and brought into existence. The one that was corrupted from an early age and taught the art of killing. The one who would not rest...because being an assassin was everything.

Jonathon Redley. Most notorious assassin of another world...starter of the most deadly war of that world...and a killer with few equals.

I should know. I am him. I am emotionless, feeling nothing in my pursuit of a target. Pulling the trigger is the most natural thing for me. Tears are an anomaly. Even pain doesn't make me cry. I only weather on, my cold, callous shell advancing against the tides of time.

Ultra Sonic 007.

Jonathon Redley.

I alternate between the two repeatedly. Sometimes I find it hard to tell who I am without looking in a mirror. When the light commands me, my eyes are pure green...and they somehow still possess a spark of righteousness. But when the deep dark holds me, my eyes are a red color that no blood can ever equal to.

I suppose I've grown used to the polarity. In this world, where everything is upside-down, being both light and darkness is necessary. It was probably the only reason I had survived this long.

I calmly flexed my neck as I stared into the moon. The pale light of the full moon - white as snow on this cold night - reflected off of my red eyes. Right now, the darkness commanded me. Right now, I was Redley.

Fitting name, I think.

I jumped off the fifty-story skyscraper, landing on the nearby building of merely forty stories. My left arm shimmered in the light of the lone moon. That was two more constants of this world: the full moon came once a month...and my left arm was always cold.

Long ago lost, my left arm had been replaced by this cybernetic appendage of pure adamantium. Ironically, my old left arm had been lost in a clash between my two halves...and it had been the light that had given this one to me. As a further irony, the darkness used the power within this left arm to great effect on my targets.

The edge of a knife is very thin. As is the political stability of this city. That's why the 'good guys' tread so lightly on the Sailors; they know they can't stand up in an all-out fight. Not yet anyway.

I didn't care right now. Perhaps Ultra would. But not me. I took business from both sides. The highest bidder always obtained my services. It should be an oddity that I have no use for the money I earn; I only use it to buy food and water. The rest I leave behind in a random spot in the city. Call it charity if you will; I've no use for excess money.

I only do what I do because I'm good at it. It's the only reason I still live in this city: Ultra may have his sentimental reasons, but I only work when there's work to be found.

And work is in abundant supply in this blood-drenched void that was once a vibrant city.

I looked down. A Sailor with purple hair was quietly walking along the sidewalk. Unlike the other purple-haired Sailor that was this district's kingpin, this one - short hair - was still on the side of the light.

It was my alter-ego of sorts. The Sailor alt of Ultra. He would eventually find out in the morning - when the sun dispelled the darkness of night - that I had killed her. It would make him feel sad...then angry. Then he'd continue his crusade against the shadows.

I am also a constant of Ultra's world. He has always tried to remove me. Nothing short of death will end my existence. But to doom me to the abyss would doom himself as well. So my existence...he accepts begrudgingly.

I ran down the side of the building. My legs blurred. My left hand shifted into a foot-long blade, capable of easily rending flesh asunder.

My target looked up with confused purple eyes.

Slice.

A clean cut.

The head fell off with a dull thud. The body followed moments later, blood sprouting from the stump that was once a neck.

That was yet another constant: people always bled...and death was the ultimate king in this city.

People always died. I know this for a fact. After all, I've gotten quite efficient at delivering them to death's door myself.

I calmly grabbed the head. The expressin was still contorted into one of confusion.

Puzzling how this girl - who had been a spy for the Staff inside the Sailors - had been so confused when a dealer of death had emerged. She should know by now that her life was forfeit.

Come to think of it, so was my life as well. Everyone's life was forfiet in this city.

As I merged into the dark shadows of the night, taking the head with me, another constant rang through my emotionless mind.

This city consumed all. Light, darkness, life, death, blood, tears, good, evil...it didn't matter. This city was a vacuum that consumed all...

I don't know why they issue warents anymore, the mods don't don't follow up on them. That's why I hunt down these lowlifes, yes hunt, I hunt for a living and here in Sega City it's always hunting season and my license just got renewed.
I have to be careful though. If I don't show the warrent to the mods after I have either caught or killed a bounty then I'm the one their fishing out the river, instead of the judge. Tonight I'm looking for a red bastard who kidnapped the wrong guys kid. Some high ranking officials daughter. High ranking enough to be important, not important enough for swift justice. He probably used every penny he had to get the warrent issued. Fine by me the reward is a large enough sum.

I track this guy to the docks, it's aways the docks. I don't know if it's the dead fish, the dumped raw sewage, or the infestation of rats that are so big cats seem like mice to them. Whatever it is if you want to find a rapist, kidnapper, extortionist, or murderer you can find them at the docks.
I wandered around this sespool for a while. Old factories that were once pillars of the shipping industire now rotting and decaying, waiting for their moment to fall into the river. If you ask me I say letem, give the trash a new place to hide, make these hunts more interesting. That's when I hear it wimpering. The scared tears of a young girl. It's times like these I enjoy droping a corpse on the foot of the mods. Killing f!&*$ like this is damn near satisfying.

I silently break into the hole where she is kept. She looks so much like my daughter it's scarry. I reasure her that I'm here to save her. She doesn't believe me. He's comming. I hide in the shadows and await my prey. I want to kill him so badly I can taste it. But I sure as am not going to do it infront of her.
He enters the room slowly, they always enter slowly. His red hair burns like hell fire, that wont last long. I pull the "holy water" from it's holster on my waist. I grab him by the shoulders and toss him out of the room closing the door behind me.
I can only imagine what the following sounded like to her. some rustling, some grunts, and two gun shots later I emerge back in the room in front of her. I cut the ropes holding her. I let her lay down in the back of my car while the red bastard bleeds all over my trunk. Good thing I brought a tarp. As I take her and the bastard to the mods I watch her sleep and think of my own daughter and thank whatever god remains here in Sega City that I'm comming home alive again.

The bourbon went down hard, scraping the back of my throat and settling in my belly, the warm feeling spreading over me like a hot bath on a cold day. Relaxing. Almost euphoric. I slam the shot glass down on the bar, and rest my head in my hand. The continous drone of the bars patrons drills into my skull, like a bullet... Hey... That's not a bad idea...

"I think you've had enough G."

The voice is dull, like the thumping of the sub-woofers from some bogans car outside, playing stupid doof-doof music. I raise my head up, and see Pinky, the centaurian bar tender looking down at me, his hands doing that bar-tender motion, where they're cleaning the inside of a glass with an old rag. I try to left my head up, but it feels really heavy, like someone's behind me, pushing it down... There isn't of course.

"...I'ves hads enough when I shay I've hads enough..." I slur, my voice betraying my confidence.

"Go on G. It's time to go home." Pinky rumbles again.

"Lishen here!" I shout, bringing myself up to face Pinky, my alchohol stained breath leaking from my maw. "Your gutter trasssh mother hasss had more Alts than I've had hot dinnersh, so shhhut your trap and pour me another drink you cheap, nashty son of a *****!"

...

...

At least, I'm sure I would have said all of that, had I not been face down on the sidwalk outside, my teeth regretting being at the front of my face. I guess Pinky didn't like the comment about his mother...

I push myself up, and wipe the blood from my nose onto the back of my hand. It's mostly dry and crusty. I must have been out for a while. Standing up, I balance myself against the nearest wall, and try to adjust to the change from horizontal to vertical. I look down to where I was laying, and see a pool of vomit.

"...Charming..." I uttered to myself.

From the down the road, the sound of a scream tears open the otherwise silent night. I look down and see a young... VERY attractive woman being terrorised by a group of thugs. She is running towards me. I hope she just passes on by. I am really not up for this tonight. The guys chasing her look like they've only got one thing on their mind, and it's certainly not her purse.

"Please run past, please run past..." I utter to myself, hoping I can will her right past... "...DAMMIT"

She grabbed me and hid behind me.

"Please, help me!" She cries out, her hands squeezing my arms and her small, fragile body pressing up against me. At any other time, I'd probably be aroused. Heck, it'd been a long time since I'd been with a girl...

"Just step aside green boy, and be on your way." The thick, nasty accent from the thug leader spewed forth. Normally, I probably would have moved. Heck, this was none of my buisiness, and I certainly didn't feel like getting the crap beaten out of me by several well armed, sober thugs. But, I must say, I don't take nicely to being called...

"...Boy...."

Sometimes I think I'm the only one here. The voices, they remind me that I'm not alone. I'm not crazy. Far from it. These Voices are the two sides of Myself.

After a few years of this, I know the reason. I'm unstable. Not my mind or body, but My soul. The Darkness constantly Battling the Light for control. I'm the line, the line that keeps them apart.

Sometimes... it's not enough. The line breaks... I break.

Then the battle insues.

I'm pushed to the back of my mind, and I watch as they fight for power. either way... it's horrible. If my shadow wins... all he wants is blood. he kills everything in sight. If my light wins... my shadow is pushed back too..

With me.

I scream, but no one can hear me. I'm not in control. As my Light draws his swords, my nightmare begins.

Kill...

I lie awake in bed, soft silky sheets rest gently on my body. The moon sits high in the sky, it's pale light drifting through the windows, causing the ceiling fan to cast shadows over the room. Outside, I can hear nothing but the sweet sound of night time silence.

This peacful scene however is ruined by the sound of money being dropped onto the table, a rough masculine grunt, and the door slamming shut. I sigh, and release my breath. I thought he'd never leave.

I wait for what seems like an eternity before I move. Sitting up, I look over at the table. The money is getting less and less each time. Feeling dirty and disgusted with myself, I stumble into the bathroom, tripping over and landing on the cold, hard tiles. I don't even bother to move. Instead I curl up into the feotal position, and cry.

I cry because it's all I can do.

What went wrong with my life? Why have I been reduced to this? My eyes start to sting, and my body feels numb as I lie here in silence, praying for a swift and painless death...

*steps in*
This is all very interesting! Mind if I take a shot at this?
-----------------------------------------------------------

I've seen a lot of things wandering the streets of Sega City. The poverty. The crime. The murders. Everyone's struggling to get by.

What always gets me mad is that no one takes a stand around here. The few that do end up silenced. Permanently. Of course, it all gets covered up, and life goes on like it never happened.

That's why I stand up for the weak. Sure, it's a hard thing, but someone's got to look out for them. I get sick of it sometimes, but I deal with it.

A lot of people underestimate me. They think just because I'm only a foot tall and carry some plastic toy they can push me around. That I can't do anything to them.

That's when they get their reality check.

They learn that this little plastic toy is really my gun. They learn that I've just emptied my ammo into their sorry asses. As they sit there bleeding, screaming in pain, I ignore them. They're not going to die; killing's not my thing.

The victim they've beaten silly is surprised to see me and thanks me for saving his life. I say it's no big deal, it's what I do. He tries to pay me with money, but I say no, I don't need it; I've gotta be on my way.

As I leave them behind, he says he'll find a way to pay me back somehow. I tell him, "You don't need owe me anything, pal. This is all just in a day's work."