I Don't Mind *HF* Prologue
By Harlequin
6:12, am. While they're sleeping in their lush beds, my mind raced like clockwork.
Left. Roundhouse. Right. 85 degrees. Fire. Straight ahead. 185 degrees. Right. Back. Block. Fire.
Little cartoon-y fuckers were everywhere. Images of Nintendo games flashed through my minds eye like a graduation slide-show. Now I’m talking the real Nintendo, not this waste of cash super-systems franchise.
Stay fluid, focused. Aim. Fire. Aim. Fire. Aim. Fire. Left. Aim. 4 degrees. Fire.
The walls and floor blurred and disappeared around me.
This is my mind, timing the distance and speed of my holographic enemies to a tee.
This is my hand, calculating the effort it would take to off two of these bastards at once.
This is my spine, tingling while I anticipate the programming of the ever elusive assassins.
This is me, kicking ass and taking names.
To me, chaos was everything, but every now and then, we all need a little system. To me, this was as systematic as it got.
As of lately, the Danger Room was my one and only hobby. Habit, even. To most of the court members, training was hell.
It was getting over yourself and doing something.
It was going out of your way to better your self.
It was a chore you’re mother would beat the hell out of you for not doing.
Unless you’re like me, and let’s just say I’ve got an ‘addictive personality.’ Some people will call me manic, but what do they know? I’m the kind that will play the same game over and over, just to watch you sweat. And to me, battling with the BLHC was a whole new playground.
You see, the Blue Hellfire Court. The BLHC, for short. It’s one of many underground courts, belonging to the ever elite Hellfire Club; a big, exclusive, hidden, massive secret, totally anti-social ring of mutants, bent on harmony, security, and peace, not only for us, but the rest of the human race, meaning the cute accountant in the slinky skirt you were checking out at the bank, your totally un-righteous boss and his curly black nose hair, even the asshole in the SUV that cut you off on your way to the dentist. Why I’m here, I wouldn’t even ask.
I’m an oiled cog in the machine that is mutant revolution.
I’m a pawn in the newly founded system that is the uprising of unity.
I’m a dead man if I don’t get off my ass.
One of these fickle machines had indeed been kicking the crap out of me. Ok, I’ll end up battered and bruised, but I have this battle all under control.
“END SEQUENCE.”
Call me what you will, but let 30 of me beat you to all hell for two hours, and tell me how you feel.
I’ve said it before though, I’m a tad abnormal.
With bruises up and down my legs, sides, and back, I’m amped.
With blood dripping down my chin from a gash God only knows where, I’m laughing.
With a split lip and chipped teeth, I’m grinning.
Steven is going to kill me.
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