LCLMiller

Liquid black bitterness swirled around the inside of his coffee mug, the symbol of the Arbitor displayed proudly on it in its usual green splendor. The chair under him squeaked as he leaned back in it, years upon years of being used and yet still not giving away. And despite the tranquility of the expansive white domain, Sleuth’s mind was filled with scattered thoughts and founded doubts. He was seriously beginning to question his ability to make good judgement calls, and after the torrential clusterfuck that had happened within the past two days he had good reason to. After all, he was the one to cause one of his friends to lose an arm

One whole day spent in Rapture and I already hate it. The reasons why are numerous as they are varied. There being too much booze is one of them, yes, but it’s amazingly not on the top of the list. Nor is the fact that the bathysphere the good Doctor spoke of is both a) damaged beyond repair, and b) only usable by the ruler of Rapture (as with all of them). For one thing, almost everybody wants to kill you. No joking. Even the supposed ruler, Andrew Ryan, wants me dead for reasons beyond me. What’s more, almost everyone in Rapture is apparently a super powered mutant. Not like the hot ones in the superhero comics that are born wi

The Inventory was a sight to behold when Winslow showed me around earlier, its décor and style reminding me of my workplace back home, except, more green. The bar was of course well stocked, the bartender (Roxxi) looked other-worldly exotic, and strangely enough, she mixed well with the décor.  In a sense, everyone in the Inventory looked like they belonged, even if the laws of reality tried to say otherwise. I was sitting at the bar, reading over a newspaper while Michelle played a bit on one of their old arcade consoles. She said something along the lines of, “beating that red-masked mini-wrestler to the curb!” I

I awake to the light of morning flashing in my eyes, its rays welcoming to me as I stir in my makeshift bed of hay and blankets. Sleeping in the field of some random farmland would not have been my ideal choice of a resting place, but it was better than nothing. The night previous I was stumbling away from the lake and into the forest, trying to get away for some unconscious reason. I tried to think but my mind was blurred, like spiders were in my eyeballs and it only got worse with each step I took. At one point I fell to my knees in this exact field, just wishing for the darkness to clear from my eyesight. Just when I thought I couldn&rsq

As far as I could make it, I only traded one dangerous situation for another. Granted, Miller had the best intentions when he was using that blasted teleportation machine, so I really couldn’t blame him for it. Though if I could, I would whop him one anyway, if only for where the blasted machine took me. In a bright flash of red I found myself deposited on a pile of luggage inside some sort of station, the décor looking like it belongs in the 1940’s. The stenches of liquor and death mixed into each other here, adding to my already splitting migraine. When I picked myself up from the pile, I saw why it smelled that way. Blo