Fill
Member
[div style="margin:0 auto;max-width:100%;background-color:#000000;color:#ffffff;padding:1%;overflow:hidden;font-size:8pt;"][div style="border:2px solid #ffffff;padding:1%;"][div style="border:2px solid #ffffff;padding:2%;"][div align="center" style="margin-bottom:2%;"][img src="[URL]https://www.creativeuncut.com/gallery-35/art/sm-peter-parker-apartment.jpg[/URL]" alt="IMAGEONE" style="border-radius:8px;"][/div][div align="center" style="border:1px solid #ffffff;margin-bottom:1%;"][/div][div align="center" style="border:1px solid #ffffff;margin-bottom:2%;"][/div][div align="left" style="overflow:hidden;font-size:1.25em;font-family:'Courier New';"]A small click with the turn of a key in the lock of the door before the handle twisted. A small beam of light from the hallway cut through the dark interior of the apartment like a knife while the shadow of a young man overcast the light. Opening the door partially before slipping through easily and closing the door behind his back, the lock twisted shut as he leaned backwards resting against the door before regretting his decision as a sharp pain emanated in a series of jagged lines across his skin along his back. [font color="8b83c2"]Ouch. Ow. Sunnuvagun.[/font] His hazel eyes glanced across the room from one side to another. An organized mess. Just how he left it. The clutter hiding the real mess he made as his other identity unless one knew how and where to look. The maps and the photos, the notes and tools, and the wires and circuit boards sitting on a workbench for a small project of his.
Items of his double life hidden under the mess that was Benjamin Woodrow Carpenter. Or just "Woody".
Running his right hand over his face as he lifted himself forward off the door and trudged forward across the room before sitting down in his swivel chair, dark bronze fingers cracked open his laptop sitting on his desk. It booted to life from its sleep mode before fingers began typing away at its keyboard. Ignoring the dull ache running up and down his arm along with the sharp occasional drumming of pain at his elbow, hand, and forearm, he continued typing. A few moments pass and a link on google is selected before his eyes trailed over a series of articles. A click on one video was all he needed before lifting the wired headphones to his ears. As the video played its way through different stories, a kick and a push against the floor slid him back away from the desk as he sat hunched over, fingers and hands interlaced and raised in front of his mouth and elbows sitting on his legs. He tapped the nails of his thumbs against his lips every so often.
A small glance through rounded rectangle glasses followed with a look at his phone sitting with its screen facing down before he closed his eyes. Later. He could look at it later and see what messages he missed.
For now, he simply listened.
"Our other top story of the hour, the string of disappearances in Duskburg have come to an end thanks to Millennium Law Enforcement and perhaps a helping hand. A recent upheaval in abductions lead to a public outcry within Duskburg. Men, women, and children taken from their homes with no explanation have been returned safely after law enforcement received an anonymous tip as to their location."
[font color="8b83c2"]Anonymous. Good.[/font]
"The perpetrators behind the attacks appeared to be an organized group of Nosferatu. Currently, these infected individuals will be harbored away at an undisclosed location for quarantine. The official law enforcement statement as to how they worked so quickly . . . "
Nothing of interest there besides knowing anything they said would be an attempt to cover any potential incompetence on their part. Not to say they did a bad job, but they were not exactly looking in the right direction. Woodrow tuned it all out. His eyes closing. Another splinter group of Nosferatu. Had this been part of a larger scheme or to draw him out? Perhaps distract him long enough for something else to go down while his focus was elsewhere.
All the Nosferatu were supposed to be underground in hiding. Supposed to being the key words. Every criminal had its stranglehold on Millennium and even more so Duskburg with the eternal night hanging over its head. That district seen as a cancer and unsavable until he began poking hornet nests. This entire week had been so busy.
". . . Sensation . . . "
[font color="8b83c2"]What?[/font]
Kicking himself forward closer to the desk, he wheeled forward before hitting rewind a few times.
"However, there have been rumors of Sensation possibly being involved. While law enforcement denies this statement, there is speculation as the vigilante had been earlier seen at one of crime scenes . . . "
[font color="8b83c2"]Damn it.[/font]
Running a hand through brown strands of hair, a scoff escaped his lips before shaking his head pulling his eyes away from the screen and looking at the window before hitting the spacebar offhandedly. The video paused. His teeth grinded together for a moment before catching his tongue between his teeth. Of course, they would deny his involvement but the one time he had been trying to be stealthy about his involvement, speculation and rumors had to come into the mix.
Not his fault he caught one of the slimy monsters trying to pick someone off from their own home before having to let him go. Like rats running back to their nests, it led him back to where they set up camp. The rest was history, and he bore most of the ache from that encounter.
Careful to let his left arm and hand rest on the armchair, Woody rubbed the bridge of his before a heavy exhale escaped his lungs. It used to be easier and hurt less with . . . everyone else. Everyone he hurt. And there was nothing to be done but say his apologies and goodbyes. All he could give them was peace and the offer he would help them if needed, if it may make up for a little of his sins. Distance was the best way to protect them if he relapsed. If he failed to be simply better.
He had been trying so hard. Staying low to the ground, listening and watching. That's what fighting in Duskburg had been about. Yet he knew the ugly truth as his right fist balled until his fingers dug into the flesh, nearly cutting blood flow. His eyes closing as his face contorted, seething through his teeth. Nothing he did would make up for the pain. Nobody needed his false hope, his help, or him. All he could do was his best and hope it was good enough to at least see himself as good once more, even for a little bit in his own eyes if no one else's.
All he could do was keep trying, keep going forward. For how long . . . perhaps as long as he could before his run was over. Or until someone or something kills him. What a bright future ahead of him.
[font color="8b83c2"]What a joke.[/font]
A brief thought of looking at the old pictures of his friends crossed his mind. Each photo framed and stacked away out of sight and out of mind. It always crossed his mind every once in a while. On days like these. No, that was a temptation he could never give into. It would only make the ache worse seeing how happy everyone was then. How simpler times were back then.
A weary blink of the eyes caught him off guard before settling further into his seat. Maybe he could rest this once. Just a little. All he needed was a few hours and he would be right as rain to continue his sad little crusade. Maybe he could get to the bed before his exhaustion took full hold of him, force his body to move one more time. A brief movement of one shoulder off the chair was as far as he got before settling back down.
[font color="8b83c2"]"I'm so tired."[/font]
His head leaned fully back into the chair as his eyes closed. For once he wished he could sleep in his own bed. But his muscles would not respond even at the idea of greater comfort. No, this would have to do.
This would have to do for now.[/div][/div][/div][/div]
Items of his double life hidden under the mess that was Benjamin Woodrow Carpenter. Or just "Woody".
Running his right hand over his face as he lifted himself forward off the door and trudged forward across the room before sitting down in his swivel chair, dark bronze fingers cracked open his laptop sitting on his desk. It booted to life from its sleep mode before fingers began typing away at its keyboard. Ignoring the dull ache running up and down his arm along with the sharp occasional drumming of pain at his elbow, hand, and forearm, he continued typing. A few moments pass and a link on google is selected before his eyes trailed over a series of articles. A click on one video was all he needed before lifting the wired headphones to his ears. As the video played its way through different stories, a kick and a push against the floor slid him back away from the desk as he sat hunched over, fingers and hands interlaced and raised in front of his mouth and elbows sitting on his legs. He tapped the nails of his thumbs against his lips every so often.
A small glance through rounded rectangle glasses followed with a look at his phone sitting with its screen facing down before he closed his eyes. Later. He could look at it later and see what messages he missed.
For now, he simply listened.
"Our other top story of the hour, the string of disappearances in Duskburg have come to an end thanks to Millennium Law Enforcement and perhaps a helping hand. A recent upheaval in abductions lead to a public outcry within Duskburg. Men, women, and children taken from their homes with no explanation have been returned safely after law enforcement received an anonymous tip as to their location."
[font color="8b83c2"]Anonymous. Good.[/font]
"The perpetrators behind the attacks appeared to be an organized group of Nosferatu. Currently, these infected individuals will be harbored away at an undisclosed location for quarantine. The official law enforcement statement as to how they worked so quickly . . . "
Nothing of interest there besides knowing anything they said would be an attempt to cover any potential incompetence on their part. Not to say they did a bad job, but they were not exactly looking in the right direction. Woodrow tuned it all out. His eyes closing. Another splinter group of Nosferatu. Had this been part of a larger scheme or to draw him out? Perhaps distract him long enough for something else to go down while his focus was elsewhere.
All the Nosferatu were supposed to be underground in hiding. Supposed to being the key words. Every criminal had its stranglehold on Millennium and even more so Duskburg with the eternal night hanging over its head. That district seen as a cancer and unsavable until he began poking hornet nests. This entire week had been so busy.
". . . Sensation . . . "
[font color="8b83c2"]What?[/font]
Kicking himself forward closer to the desk, he wheeled forward before hitting rewind a few times.
"However, there have been rumors of Sensation possibly being involved. While law enforcement denies this statement, there is speculation as the vigilante had been earlier seen at one of crime scenes . . . "
[font color="8b83c2"]Damn it.[/font]
Running a hand through brown strands of hair, a scoff escaped his lips before shaking his head pulling his eyes away from the screen and looking at the window before hitting the spacebar offhandedly. The video paused. His teeth grinded together for a moment before catching his tongue between his teeth. Of course, they would deny his involvement but the one time he had been trying to be stealthy about his involvement, speculation and rumors had to come into the mix.
Not his fault he caught one of the slimy monsters trying to pick someone off from their own home before having to let him go. Like rats running back to their nests, it led him back to where they set up camp. The rest was history, and he bore most of the ache from that encounter.
Careful to let his left arm and hand rest on the armchair, Woody rubbed the bridge of his before a heavy exhale escaped his lungs. It used to be easier and hurt less with . . . everyone else. Everyone he hurt. And there was nothing to be done but say his apologies and goodbyes. All he could give them was peace and the offer he would help them if needed, if it may make up for a little of his sins. Distance was the best way to protect them if he relapsed. If he failed to be simply better.
He had been trying so hard. Staying low to the ground, listening and watching. That's what fighting in Duskburg had been about. Yet he knew the ugly truth as his right fist balled until his fingers dug into the flesh, nearly cutting blood flow. His eyes closing as his face contorted, seething through his teeth. Nothing he did would make up for the pain. Nobody needed his false hope, his help, or him. All he could do was his best and hope it was good enough to at least see himself as good once more, even for a little bit in his own eyes if no one else's.
All he could do was keep trying, keep going forward. For how long . . . perhaps as long as he could before his run was over. Or until someone or something kills him. What a bright future ahead of him.
[font color="8b83c2"]What a joke.[/font]
A brief thought of looking at the old pictures of his friends crossed his mind. Each photo framed and stacked away out of sight and out of mind. It always crossed his mind every once in a while. On days like these. No, that was a temptation he could never give into. It would only make the ache worse seeing how happy everyone was then. How simpler times were back then.
A weary blink of the eyes caught him off guard before settling further into his seat. Maybe he could rest this once. Just a little. All he needed was a few hours and he would be right as rain to continue his sad little crusade. Maybe he could get to the bed before his exhaustion took full hold of him, force his body to move one more time. A brief movement of one shoulder off the chair was as far as he got before settling back down.
[font color="8b83c2"]"I'm so tired."[/font]
His head leaned fully back into the chair as his eyes closed. For once he wished he could sleep in his own bed. But his muscles would not respond even at the idea of greater comfort. No, this would have to do.
This would have to do for now.[/div][/div][/div][/div]
