#mostly because EMP arrows are really cool

[fosermi]

the silver bug got to me it seems...

anyway! have sacrificed chaos Silver because hes a cutie pie (ft. sonic and guifil and an itty bitty eclipse) <3

welp, I'm off to a road trip! bug me as much as you want ill be bored in the back seat.

heres some closeups:

[junkyardlynx]

“Crow,”

A voice squawked in my ear, crystal clear and uniquely grating. My handler, a wiry middle-aged man with a voice like steel wool. I didn’t know his name and I didn’t care. 

“You there, birdbrain?”

“...What is it, HQ?”

“Oy, oy, save the animosity and low voice for the bad guys. You’re en route to the black box, but...just wanted to let you know that you aren’t the only one with a SHINE out here. You’re the only friendly one, though. Lucky you!”

Yes, lucky me. A chance to spread my wing, both literally and figuratively. Swooping low and piercing through the mist spreading lazily over the forest treetops, I ran a systems check on my stealth, ICE, and weapons suites. All green. I grinned inside of the black helmet I wore, which was something visually akin to both a pyramid and a beak. Our callsigns were mostly attributed to something about our appearance or unique abilities. Between the helmet and the Kestrel flight/fight system, it was pretty easy to see where mine came from. 

Another SHINE, huh?

SHINE. Synthetic High-Information Neurolink Exoskeleton. Like most acronyms, it neglects brevity and accuracy for a cool name. Pilots of these advanced personal exoskeletons were usually called Shiners. The overall technology package was pretty new and viable candidates were few and far between, with most applicants washing out within the first two tests. It should be noted that “washing out” was a sanitized term for, well. Anything from neurolink installation failure to psionic organ rejection. It was estimated that Russia, the largest superpower, had around thirty combat capable Shiners. A country’s overall military prowess was determined by the strength and skill of its Shiners after the Toa-Yahontov Skirmish, where two JDF Shiners lead an overwhelming victory against five Russian armored divisions. 

I was one of twelve NATO Shiners. We were relatively late arrivals to the peacekeeping table, due to deliberations over the moral quandaries inherent in our creation. Experimenting on teenagers left a bad taste in the mouth of rational people, I suppose. Wonder why? We turned out to be quite instrumental to a tenuous world peace, though. Our first real deployment lead to us taking on both JDF and RAF Shiners on the artificial island of Oxcallos, smack dab in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Both superpowers had a mind to lay claim to the neutral scientist-lead nation for their own devices, intent on breaking the technological and military stalemate they’d found themselves in since the late 2080′s. My blood surged with a heady sweetness when I recalled the sensation of finally tasting real combat with my SHINE, as if all the pain and training had paid off. Ostensibly, we were there to enforce peace, but I know I wasn’t the only one that reveled in the chance to prove myself to both the world and our commander.

I was pulled out of my reverie by a blip on my radar, some 3 kilometres to the northeast. It appeared only once, but I was sure it was no mistake. My SHINE and I didn’t make “mistakes.” We moved as one, our senses were one. Noting that the buildup in the stealth system’s heatsink was nominal, I nodded internally and increased my speed, on an intercept trajectory with the radar blip.

“HQ, anomaly noted on radar, time logged as 18:37. Moving to intercept. Permission to engage potential hostiles?”

“Permission granted, Crow. Good hunting, even if I’m not seeing whatever you’re seeing.”

“Just trust me. Going radio silent.”

I wove through the mist, silently cursing its presence. Anyone paying close attention would be able to see sharp, unnatural voids in the mist where my sheer speed cut lines into the air. As a countermeasure, I took erratic loops, full stops and dips, the maneuvers only possible because of my SHINE’s unique method of flight - an array of black, bladelike pillars. When active, they formed an elecromagnetic field around the core SHINE, interfacing with my psionics for fine flight control and my neurolink for synchronicity. Flight at the speed of thought, really.

Coming up on the area that had pinged hot on the radar, I made a straight descent onto the ground and switched the Kestrel to scouting mode. The “wings” switched to their inert position, attaching to my SHINE in the rough shape of a cloak, causing me to hover just a couple of inches above the forest floor. I glanced from side to side, monitor inside of my helmet flush with information. The forest floor had been disturbed recently, and the air stank of charged ions and spent fuel. Someone was using a mass-produced SHINE flight system around here, a basic propulsion model. Probably an A-Type Osprey, judging from the smell and scorch marks. As I nodded to myself, running the numbers on who would still be using such outdated tech, I heard it. The softest “plink” of a high-tension fibre wire bowstring.

There.

Without shifting my body, one of my wings shot out and sliced a projectile out of the air. The Sagittarius EMP Arrow buzzed uselessly amidst the fresh dirt before exploding into harmless shrapnel. I’d picked up on the danger as soon as I landed, but decided to play on the back foot and let the attacker come to me. Chasing a target I couldn’t see into the forest was a good way to get riddled full of holes, after all. 

“Is that you, Paris?” 

I asked, taking a shot in the dark. My SHINE’s external speakers broadcast my voice into the endless canopy of trees, and the only response came in the form of three arrows - from three directions. 12, 7, 4. Classic triangle attack pattern.

I blocked all three with two of the Kestrel’s twelve blades, clicking my tongue loud enough for my assailant to hear. 

“You’re getting slow in your...well, you’re the same age as me. I guess you’re just getting slow. You know it’s a war crime to attack a NATO peacekeeping officer unprovoked, right?”

Six this time. Three behind, one in front, two on the sides.

I was getting a little annoyed, now. Paris was probably testing my defenses, seeing how many arrows they needed to fire at once to overwhelm me. That worked for me. I didn’t mind being underestimated if I was the one that set it up. Knowing full well I could deflect all six, I let one slip through my six o’clock before hardening my SHINE’s systems to avoid the EMP burst and deactivating the Kestrel’s scout mode. Falling to the forest’s floor, I stood back up, making a show of attempting to restart my weapons suite.

If they fell for this, they were an idiot.

“Come on, Paris. No mercy for an old comrade? I dunno what they teach you in Greece, but you’ve gotta be kind-”

Idiot.

Sixteen armor-piercing arrows bared down on me, forming a nearly-perfect circle meant to impale me with no room for conversation. This was Paris’ preferred way to fight - unseen, from a distance, and with overwhelming firepower. Their signature weapon was some sort of tricked-out bow coupled with a miniaturized fabricator, capable of producing a wide variety of specialty arrows. Owing to the psionics all of us Shiners trained in, Paris could do this fancy little trick where they simply threw the arrows with their mind. It let them set up attacks that were seemingly impossible to dodge. Thing is, they loved their goddamn bow, so there was always one arrow just a little faster than the others. That was what we called a “dead giveaway.”

Kestrel roared to life with an electrostatic burst, and I spun all twelve blades above my head into an interlocked shield, scattering the arrows with a horrific metal screech. Kicking off the compacted dirt beneath me with the aid of my SHINE’s synthetic muscles, I leapt a good ten feet in the air before activating flight mode, cutting through the dense forest in the blink of an eye. With branches and limbs falling to the cold earth, I followed the direction of that arrow that was just a little faster than the rest. In the thick eaves of an old redwood, Paris scrambled to fire another shot that I barely dodged before I slammed my metallic fist into their sternum, knocking the air out of them. 

We sparred for a few seconds, just like the old days. Unlike the old days, though, all i wanted was to end this pointless little fight as soon as possible, so I simply slapped Paris’ centurion-like helmet with the flat of a Kestrel wing, knocking them out cold. I’m sure they thought I was a bad sport. 

Maybe, but at least I didn’t shoot first and reminisce later. Dick. I set them against the trunk of the tree, rummaging through their SHINE’s external compartments until I found what I was looking for. The black box containing all of Rabbit’s intel, pulled directly from their brain. And I do mean directly.

“HQ, this is Crow. Looks like the Grecian army sent out Paris to recover the black box. I’ve incapacitated them. Do you want me to bring them back to base along with the black box?”

“Crow, I hate to point out the obvious, but what are you doing blabbing on a battlefield?”

“What do you mean?”

“Since when did they send Paris out without Hektor?” 

The descending roar of a Type-A Osprey sounded in my ears, followed by the metallic “shing!” of what could only be a legendary lance.

“Ah, shit.”

[tessatechaitea]

Black Canary: New Wings #4

Black Canary on the future site of the EMP. Sorry, EMP Museum. Sorry MoPOP.

The covers of this series scream, "Seattle is a major character in this comic book!" But the story whispers, "Do you know where I take place? Shh, shh. Don't worry about it, baby. We took care of that on the cover." You know how when a movie takes place 20 or 30 years ago, the writer and director have to make sure to pepper it with tons of nostalgic references from that time? What if they did the same thing with movies that take place in the present? Father: "Holy baloney! A dinosaur made from fire that spits tornadoes is ravaging the Museum of Pop Culture! We have to skip seeing The Rise of Skywalker and get out of town!" Daughter: "Just let me finish my Fruity Pebbles that turn the milk blue!" Father:: "Hurry up! And don't forget to grab your Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figures!" Daughter:: "Okay Boomer." Hmm. I just realized that maybe current movies already do that just to seem current and I just don't notice because why would I notice people mentioning mundane things I hear about every day? I suppose if I watched a movie that was current in 2000, I'd probably roll my eyes at all the stuff they packed in their to remind me of what the year 2000 was like, like meeting people at the gate in airports and being able to keep your shoes on at airports and being able to arrive at an airport five minutes before your plane departed and leaving my machete in my carry on bag at the airport. For some reason, the airport experience was super different in 2000. This issue begins with an advertisement for Hercules Luggage.

That elephant is coming its brains out.

The issue begins like this because the suitcases play an important role in the way the drug smugglers offload the cocaine from the ships. I suppose the reader doesn't need to have this much information about the suitcases being used though so I have a different theory. You know how David Finch's contract says that he will only draw a comic book if the writer puts at least one scene with a woman in a towel fresh out of the shower? I bet Trevor Von Eeden had the same kind of stipulation in his contract but with elephant orgasms. While the suitcases filled with cocaine float three feet under the surface of the ocean (as you would expect being that they were Hercules Luggage!), Black Canary and Gan Nguyen are being threatened by racists. I bet some readers in 1992 wished they could log onto a popular social media platform, find a bunch of other lonely and pathetic assholes, and complain that this comic book is a social justice piece of shit. But instead, they actually had to pull out their letter writing paraphernalia, sit down at their writing desk, and place a pen in their mouth while looking up at the ceiling to decide how to compose their letter. Do they begin stating that they're totally against racism but maybe comic books aren't a good place to shove this stuff down their throat? Maybe they could point out how they're so not racist that they think portraying a bunch of white guys as racist is the real racism? Or maybe they could point out how, not being racist, they already know not to be racist but they think this comic book's nagging about racism might be the real cause of racism? Whatever their letters wound up being about, I bet editor Mike Gold told them to fuck right off, just like he did with all the racist letters sent in reaction to Teen Titans Spotlight on Starfire! Black Canary and her new sidekick escape the racists and run off into the wilds surrounding Seattle. Meanwhile, the racist assassin's son decides to fuck off and run away from his racist home because he knows racism is bad. I don't know how he figured it out though. I bet he read a comic book about Green Arrow battling werewolves or something.

Black Canary discovers the sheriff is in on the racism by finding his racist stationary he keeps right out in the open.

Not having found the cocaine, Black Canary heads back to the wharf in the morning to stake it out. She discovers the racist assassin going out in a fishing boat with the Senator's son and some semi-automatic rifles. Some people might call them assault rifles but if there's one thing I've learned from Twitter, it's that calling them assault rifles really pisses off the idiots who have no other argument against gun control than to scream, "The AR in AR-15 stands for Armalite!" Oh, also, the racists are using M-16s so none of that matters. It's probably okay to call those assault rifles since the "M" stands for "My assault rifle." To catch the racists, Black Canary tarts herself off and follows them in a speed boat.

Instead of finishing the quote with "What the fuck," she flips the bird. That must be why this comic book isn't approved by the Comic Code Authority!

I wonder how many super cool valedictorians in the 80s gave speeches that ended with them putting on sunglasses and saying the Risky Business quote? I bet it was like 90% of them. While Gan and Chad, the racist assassin's son, get help from the Quinault Indians whose backyard the cocaine-filled suitcases are floating, Black Canary rams her speed boat into the drug smuggler's boat. She pretends to be unconscious while they pull her aboard to save her life.

"Aww, she can't feel nothin'!" is the title of my sex tape. Aww, I Can't Feel Nothin'!" is the title of my memoir.

If there's one thing I've learned about empathy, it's that you can't feel any for any creature that isn't comparable to a creature you love. I don't love any dogs so I go around killing dogs all the time. But I have cats so I love cats and would die for them. I also don't have children so fuck children. Not like that! You must not know any children to have acquired empathy for them if you thought I meant that kind of fucking! Speaking of the cats I love, look who came to visit as soon as I typed that!

It's Gravy!

Maybe Gravy just visited because she heard there was a canary somewhere. Speaking of Canaries with nice asses, Black Canary captures the drug lords and saves the day. Everybody exclaims, "Yay Black Canary! You knew what was going on all along! Next time we'll believe you instead of thinking, 'This woman is hysterical!' At least, that's what it feels like in the moment. But, you know how it is! Tomorrow is another patriarchal, misogynist day and it won't be our faults when we think you're crying wolf again simply because we've learned to take women's words less seriously than men's for no real reason and, I mean, your tits are right there under that shirt and jacket, you lascivious vixen you!" Oh yeah, also Chad kills his dad to save Black Canary's life. And his dad was finally proud of him! Is that toxic masculinity? Black Canary: New Wings #4 Rating: A. A well written book that mostly looks good too. Sometimes people look weird and I wonder if somebody was slacking on the pencils or inks because they were doing a load of cocaine at the time. And other times, Black Canary's ass was totally hanging out there which didn't make me think about the male gaze at all. It just made me think, "Look at that fine ass!" But then, 90% of my thoughts any given day are simply "Look at that fine ass!" Except when I'm near a schoolyard, you perv. Then most of my thoughts are, "Please don't make fun of my clothes, you delinquents!" The only complaint I have about this comic book is that it didn't have enough Seattle in it.