Tag: writing
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The Quiet Between Movements
Verus fought without spectacle. No wasted motion.No ego. Just presence. Atriya liked that she never adjusted herself to fit his perception.She simply was. And when they trained hand-to-hand,he felt something unfamiliar. Not adrenaline.Not aggression. Alignment. As if his body was rememberingsomething his mind hadn’t learned yet. War was shaping him. This was refining him.
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A zany/profane ad announcing a survey on my website (the last one didn’t work but now we fixed it)
What the nemesis fight is happening, all you superspy mofos who’ve engaged in a 100mph car chase with 90s style euro-goons, flame-jump-transitioned to the top of a bullet-train, only to find yourself in a hand-to-hand melee where you’re punching/kicking/wrestling in an attempt to gain control of the one knife and one gun that somehow manage…
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Beyond the Weapon
Crew doctrine was simple:strike fast, disable, get back to the gun. Efficiency.Lethality.Distance. But when Atriya trained unarmed with Verus,something shifted. No rifle.No tech. Just bone, muscle, breath. He felt closer to something there —something older than doctrine. He just didn’t have language for it yet. The body remembers what the system forgets.
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The Key He Couldn’t Name
Chaplain Verus never tried to impress him. She didn’t soften herself.Didn’t perform.Didn’t bend. Atriya respected that. She was lethal with her hands —more precise than most Crusaders with rifles. And when they trained,something inside him went quiet. Empty hands.No gear.No tech. Just breath.Just presence. He couldn’t explain why it mattered. Only that it did. Some…
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Inexcusable
Atriya tolerated pain.He tolerated blood.He tolerated chaos. What he did not toleratewas lapses. The shower malfunctioned.The house felt wrong. And he had forgotten to check his weapons. That wasn’t distraction. That was deviation. Deviation is dangerous.
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Something Is Wrong
He’d survived mountains, blood, and broken bodies. Now he was losing a fight with a shower dial. The water never got hot enough.The fruit was overripe.His thoughts wouldn’t settle. And then he realized— he hadn’t checked his weapons. That disturbed him more than anything on the mountain. This is how unraveling begins.
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The Missed Check
He didn’t care if the shower malfunctioned.He didn’t care if the fridge was nearly empty. Civilian inconveniences meant nothing. But forgetting to check his weapons? That was unacceptable. Weapons readiness wasn’t habit. It was identity. And for the first time in years,Atriya had missed it. The battlefield isn’t the only place discipline can slip.
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A zany and profane ad for a survey on my website (yep, that’s what AI thinks I look like)
What the Caveman Yearning is happening, all you office-bound clickety-clackers who’re clickety-clacking away at some infernal piece of data-sorting BULLSHIT when the urge to doff all civilized life washes through you and inspires you to purse your lips and start aggressively bobbing to an imaginary set of primal drums—DOO-doo doo-doo-doo DOO-doo doo-doo-doo—then gallop around on…
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Off-Kilter
Atriya opened the fridge.Protein shake. Apple. Strawberries.Routine. Routine was control. The shower wouldn’t cooperate.The temperature refused precision. Annoying — but manageable. What wasn’t manageablewas realizing he hadn’t checked his weapons. That wasn’t forgetfulness. That was something else. A soldier can’t afford to drift.
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He Ran From the Thought
He’d seen organs on stone. Heard men scream until their throats tore. Survived training designed to erase weakness. But when the failed candidate stood in front of him,waiting for humiliation — Atriya hesitated. That frightened him. So he ran. He could outrun enemies. Not himself.
Kent Wayne 