I love playing along in these blog fests, they’re such a hoot (not to mention, sometimes it’s just way easier to blog about what someone else thought up).
Today’s blog fest is all about a favorite character.
While it’s really impossible to narrow down all of my characters to my single favorite, I can certainly say that there is one who always sticks out in my mind. Her name is Bauchellious Dedrix, but everyone calls her Boxy (that was supposed to lead to lame titles like “OUT of the BOX” or “BOXED IN” or even *cringe* “BOXING DAY”). Boxy is from a typical Cyber Punk society where there is one giant interstellar Imperium based loosely off of the Ancient Greek Civilization. This empire is always at odds with the Federation of Free Corporations (the FFC) which is basically what you would get if Disney, Google, Yahoo, Apple and Microsoft could bury the hatchet long enough to decide they could be their own government.
Here’s the first page or so of that story (please excuse the formatting, blogger ate it for breakfast).
I stared down the barrel of my Glorian 39 at the mark on the other end, a middle-aged man in a business suit: another Imperial lackey on the wrong side of the law. So the Empire sent me, a Fury.
The mark seemed familiar, maybe a high profile murderer. Enough of those live in the Empire, even if assassin material is rare. Professional killers are one in a million, according to the psyches. Since roughly 27 billion citizens reside in the Empire, there are at least 27,000 potential professional killers. Considering only 10,000 Furies are on the Imperial payroll, some 17,000 loose cannons are running around in the empire waiting to snap. Long live the Empire.
I watched him, waiting for the conditioned Red Fury to take me, but it was silent. The Fury never came to me. Someday the psyches will find out.
And then it’s back to the brain blender for me.
Okay, I can fake it a while longer.
My mark looked up at me. A single bead of sweat rolled down his balding head, and I watched it drop onto his hand. He wore a single ring identical to the one my Keeper wore. That made him a Keeper. Maybe that’s why he looks familiar.
“I can free you,” he said quietly. I blinked, and my arm wavered. Furies are not free. We march to the beat of our Keeper’s drum. Six years ago I lost my freedom when a drosian dealer tore through my parent’s building. I had killed to stay alive. The Empire found me, and instead of punishing me, they decided to torture me. They told me that killing—even to keep myself alive—was a crime, but killing for the Empire was a respectable job.
I’m sure everyone can see why I like her, she’s disgruntled, snarky and detail oriented. She also feels like her life isn’t her own—mostly because it isn’t, but details, you know?—and this story is about her starting to take control. I wrote it a long time ago, and if I wanted to show any more of it, I'd need to rewrite the whole thing (not something I'm entirely adverse to, I just need the time).