ParagonSs

Short Stories

Simply put, I, (The Player of Paragon, like to write things. sometimes I write little short stories and the like, and I'd rather not clutter up the character page with any significant text blocks. So here they go.

The Musings of I

Sometimes I am beholden to asking myself a simple question; Who am I? Sometimes I day-dream as a woman in shining armor, forever entombed into a set of metal armor, doing great and good things. Day Dreams are not real, they are what-ifs that I, unfortunately, will never obtain. I can also call myself a murderer, A lab technician, a trapped and terrified coward, and a ShadowRunner as well as a couple little emotive states that aren't worth describing. Sometimes, the guilt of all the people I've hurt, or even killed haunt me, but I don't let it paralyze me. It gets compartmentalized, and neatly shoved away. But is it still a part of me?

In all honesty, I'm just a faceless who puts on masks. I shuffle between these emotive states, disassociating with the last one as I become more and more entrenched in a view that I would otherwise abhor. I never killed anyone, I just enter into a disassociative state to commit my atrocities. When it's all done, the horrors are thrown away, stuffed into a box and a new "one" is picked out. When I am a Shadowrunner, I build myself a tower and make it impregnable. I make every stone so tightly sealed that no insect can squeeze through, no grain of sand can make it inside. The tower would no windows or doors. it will never accept passage by friend or foe. No weapon, no act of violence, and not one mote of love may penetrate its stony interior. Even though such a tower is built, I often fail at completing all the steps, and sometimes the shock of what I do comes to me, but once it is over, the tower will be deconstructed. Brick by brick, meticulously and carefully so that no trace of it ever remained in my heart, and shoved away until it is required again as it is replaced by another "building".

This may not be exactly true, but it describes it aptly, but I sometimes worry about my self on a metacognitive facet. If I keep doing this, and the disparity between my "selves" grow, Will there be some sort of conflict? Will my "good-side" bare no longer with the evils I committed, and try and slay the piece of my soul that hurts, maims and wounds? Would I sink into such a state that I would continually be in a state of emotionless and "efficient" thinking that I may never leave it?

Sometimes I wonder the things that I have gone through in the Spin-Rad labs have done something to cause this "state". Perhaps it was my awakening that had caused this? The Dreams, the thoughts of slaying evils while living in a world outside the cold labs churning right up until I had slammed one of my handlers to the ground after they had committed a now forgotten injustice had caused the slivers and cracks that would eventually come to who I am now?

For now, I am myself, even if such a thing may change in the future regardless.

A Theoretical What If

'A theoretical what if: A Shadowrun where Paragon is the ditzy distraction.

“Let. Me. In!” shouted Paragon.

The stereotypical looking Troll eyeballed Paragon, looking up and down the Elf with a gazing eye that would be associated with the type of person who would be examining jewels or meat.

“I’m gonna be honest with you, this place doesn’t look like your type to be here, no offense; You’re too ugly and small to be a Bunraku and you certainly ain’t a customer.”

“What!? No, I’m a secretary for -- Dirk Johnson, and if I don’t get to him immediately with *This* Package, then we’re obviously gonna have a problem when he burns the building down.”

The Troll tensed up, almost imperceptibly to most-everyone.

“Uh-huh.”

He crossed his arms, staring once more.

“You lie like a hobo in a dumpster, frag off before i make you frag off.”

“Fine, I’ll just go around you.”

For a moment, Paragon flickered once or twice as imperceptibly magics was drawn, and she began floating up in the air, floating upwards, presumably towards a open windor or the roof of the building. One hand was clutching the package while the other was reaching to the sky.

Right up until the Troll plainly grabbed the ankle of the woman, and threw her down wards to the wet concrete.

“Oh Drek, looks like I stained my nice wet floors with blood. Anyone who gets this Keeb away from my sight before I go round two of the geekening might even get in without a fleecing.”

The woman moaned in pain as she was promptly dragged off to a nice dumpster out of the rain and in a nice place so she could sulk long enough to recover from the plain beat down she had just been a recieved. They even slammed the door closed so that the Elf wouldn't have any rain pattered on her.

Putting her finger to her ear, she whispered something to the likes of “Status?” into the microlink in her ear.

“We’re in. That was hilarious by the way, I got the Trid-vid of that amazing show for later.” replied the nasally voice of the teams Decker.

“Fraaaaged uup. I never want to stand again.”

Like a smelly snake, something stirred to open the closed dumpster door, letting the light into the accommodations and revealing a muffled looking man.

“Frag-off, this is my dumpster, and I’m not gonna share to a loser.” slurred out the other occupant of said dumpster, who promptly began to take a gulp from the bag-concealed bottle in his hand.