I'm a junior in high school and I'm an intermediate piano player, so reading the music wouldn't be too bad, especially since I'll be able to just play my part and learn from reading that way. I've already talked with my voice teacher about learning how to read music and sing for college. I always knew I wanted to major in music in college, but not what in music specifically.
From looking at it now, I want to do Music Performance and focus on Piano and Voice, and I want to study Classical and Pop/RnB (I guess it would be Jazz in college) and Gospel. I sing and play at church, but I want to be a performer who releases albums and tours around the world like Alicia Keys, Usher, Beyoncé, Michael Jackson, etc.
BUT recently, I've become more interested in the actual technique in singing and analyzing performances on YouTube and helping my friends at school sing better. (I'm not giving them too much technique talk or anything, but since I've been taking lessons for 2 years my friends know enough about technique and music and singing, in general, to be able to help them out. My friends actually sound much better after I help them, so I guess I'm not doing a lot wrong.) I have actually started considering becoming a vocal coach after college because I am pretty patient when it comes to helping other people sing on key and I always try to make sure that my friend(s) isn't straining or doing anything that I know will hurt them, in the long run, I'm always making sure my friends breathe correctly, have decent posture, open their mouth, especially when approaching the "extreme" high or low notes, and they've all improved just in a quick 5 or 10-minute session. When it's something harder, I always work on it with them and then make sure to show that I'm patient and they never end up showing a bunch of stress or anything. They actually enjoy me helping them out!
Back to the main topic, I want to know if I should start a foundation in classical singing now so I can work on it over the summer and be ready for the auditions senior year. And can you be a singer yourself and a vocal coach helping others? I really would love to do both, but I feel like I ould have to choose one over the other. Touring myself but doing checkups and lessons for others sounds like it would be a big strain on my voice, and if I want a life-long career in singing, my voice and body is my instrument. I damage my voice, I can't go to Walmart and buy a new one. Thanks for any suggestions and advice!
"What the hell do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?" On a Monday...
"I want to ask you a question."
"No, go away." Los Angeles, CA...
"Please, Dad, can you just help me with this?"
"Get out of here, you little brat!"
In a random house in the suburban area near LA, a young boy was trying to pry his dad out of the TV. The father was also trying to get him out of the living room, because he was watching a boxing match, and he didn't want anything to block the damn TV.
The boy tried many ways to get him ask his question, but all was met by absolute failure. He tried pulling him of the sofa, but he just sat there, unmoving. He tried to move his beer bottle, but he was met with a slap. Then, he had a brilliant idea: turn off the TV. However, once he grabbed the TV, hell broke loose.
"What the fuck are you doing with that?! Give it back!"
The father left the sofa, alright, but now he was extremely angry. So angry, in fact, he immediately punch the young boy in the face. Aside from giving him a concussion, he was knocked into the bookcase, which also nearly fell down, and some books also hit his head.
"You little fucking punk!"
The father grabbed the boy's leg, and threw him again, this time, into the kitchen. He nearly fainted by the pain, and he cried, like a kid he was.
He was scared.
He was scared of him.
He was scared of more punishments like this.
Day after day, week after week, month after month. Ever since mom left to buy milk, his dad had been beating him for the most insignificant mistakes he made, and even when he did exactly what he was asked for, he still beat him for no reasons at all.
"You know what?" The father asked. "I've given up on you. That's the last fucking straw, after all I've done to you, you still keep being the little slut's boy, huh? Well I have a surprise for you! You can meet your mom in hell!"
And at that moment, the kid was truly afraid.
And at that fateful night, Willy learnt a big lesson.
Lesson that will carry on till the end of his life. Dawson's Bizarrely Morally Grey Adventure It's (not) Always Sunny in the Resistance Starring: Michael Tsarouhas
as William Dawson San Diego MCRD, CA, 2007...
"Hey there, Will! What're you doin'?"
It was hard to see that the new Marine recruits had a lot of potential.
Well, it was really hard to see it, because all recruitment were the same. It always started with a bunch of innocent kids, most were either smartasses, dumbasses, somewhere in between, sociopaths, psychopaths, illusioned young boys, the likes that the US Marine Corps had seen every year, every month, every week, every day.
And today was no different. The two young kids that were talking to each other, William Dawson and James Wilson, known as the W-Son Brothers back in high school, were all the type of boys that joined the Army for the only reason of getting free college studies. In particular, Will wanted to be an artist, and James wanted to be a game designer. Both had families that, while supported their career decision, didn't have enough money to financially support them. Therefore, they tried out the tried-and-true way to avoid the cash payment: joining the military.
And to say that they were having a blast was an over
statement. In fact, they haven't met each other since months, until the rare moments where the drill sergeants weren't there for some reasons.
The two man hugged each other, then performed one of the weirdest and longest hi-five routine they had done since they were kids. After that, Dawson smiled and replied.
"Just cleaning the latrine. Jesus, you don't wanna know what they ate last night that made the shit stinks. Seriously..."
"But why you're here, D? You got into trouble again?"
"Yup. Sneezed in front of the DS. I got sent here after being smoked as punishments."
"Well, poor you." Wilson laughed. "Try not to make a noise next time."
"Can't make any promise, man."
"Just try to, bro. That's all I asked."
"Yeah, yeah." Dawson made the fuck off
gesture to his friend. Then they looked at another DS roasting a different unit.
They couldn't act pity on them, because they were going through the same hell as the greenhorns. At that moment, Dawson looked at a fellow recruit.
"Oh hell." Dawson muttered, seeing and pitying the poor offending recruit being humiliated in front of his platoon and battle buddy because he coughed in front of the DS. Yes, making any noise in front of the person making hell out of your life is a bad idea.
Who could've fucking knew.
"That one's gotta hurt." Wilson whispered to his friend, while looking at the poor recruit getting a feet up his butt while giving the DS 20 pushups. He guessed that the guy might had depression by the end of the boot camp.
"Hey, Will, you ever wonder why the drill sergeant were all that angry? All the screaming and yelling at anyone, trying to scare off recruits just to make them do stuff?" Wilson looked at Dawson and asked him. After a few second, he got a reply.
"Nah, man. I don't. Not anymore."
"Yeah. I mean, we got what we signed up for, right? Go kill some Iraqi Gandalfs, go home in one piece, and get money for more school. But to do that, you have to be a true Marine. You have to march miles, carrying pounds of ammo and guns, you have to fire effectively, you have to do what an Army soldier do and more to get in the Marine, to be capable to fight. Until you are a true Marine, the DS will keep yelling at you."
"You sound like you actually know how they think."
"Yeah, I guess I actually know how they act. Just give me a DS hat and I'll start smoking some rookies."
They shared a laugh. It lasted a few second before things became quiet again.
"Seriously, though," Dawson leaded the conversation again. "I personally believe that just talking to the DS and sharing their experiences aren't just it."
"Understanding why they did it, I mean. Yeah, you could hear why they smoked us till sundown and all that, and you could think that you'll do the same when you're in their shoes, but believe me, man, to actually truly
understand them..." His tone became much more harsher.
"...you have to do-"
"Come back here, you little shit!"
Willy ran. He ran hard, to escape the angering demon right behind him, to escape with his life.
He didn't understand why. Not just because why his father was screaming and running with a bat in his hand, but why, since his mom left, he was always beating him at the slightest mistakes he made. Why he was always slapping, throwing, and hurting him. Back when his family was still around, he had his mother shouting at him to shoo him away, but now...
His father threw the bat at him. He quickly dodged the stick.
"Stand still, you motherfucker!"
He kept running.
He just kept running around the house. He knew, by experience, that going back to his room wouldn't help him, because his dad broke the door the last time he hit him. He could try to climb onto the roof, but the last time he did it, he sat there for hours, and when he returned, his dad was waiting for him, and in a bad way.
He could try going into the lawn, but then again, his father would just overpower him.
And in this situation, messing up means death.
He could feel the pure anger and hatred from the man chasing him, and his father would actually beat him until he never wakes up again.
And then he fell.
He fell into the kitchen. He couldn't move anymore, he couldn't stand up again, since his father pinned him down.
"Got you, little bitch." The dad growled. "Got any last words, you brat?"
His mind raced. He looked around, trying to find a way to break free of the grip.
Then he saw a black handle.
He grabbed it, revealing a rusted kitchen knife, and without any hesitation...
...he stabbed the man in front of him.
And time stopped.
The father's face twisted into pain, surprise and a part regret, as he clutched where his wound at. He dropped the bat, and tried to hold his pouring blood, and he was slowly losing consciousness, as his vision was being blacked out.
"You... piece of shit..."
Will stood up, and without any thinking, he stabbed him again,
So this was why he hit him...
Why he was always been beaten to an inch of his life.
Why he was always violent.
It felt good...
It felt good to finally stop the beating.
It felt good to finally stop the pain.
It felt good to finally stab his father!
STAB!!! (cue Exodus Blues - Metro Exodus OST in the background) The Avenger, 2035...
It was ironic that the organization he worked with is called the Extraterrestrial Combat Unit. Seriously, it is.
He understood why he isn't going to shoot the Skirmishers in the foreseeable future, because they are ADVENT deserters, and the enemy of his enemy is his (temporary) friends. He knew desertion very well, and the Skirmishers he met were always nice to talk and hang out with. In fact, Pratal Mox had been one of his drinking buddy ever since that Reaper recently rescued him from the ADVENT prison.
But when they needed to recruit actual aliens to defeat aliens, he would like to see a line clearly drawn before XCOM turned into the Terrestrial
Well, to be fair, the friendly aliens he met were actually friendly, and also fun to hang out. The fact that there were about a dozen of them, give or take, helped. And none of them were as annoying as Stoner on weed withdrawal. And most of them were, dare he say it, human-like, as all of them had understandable goals, personalities and backstories, and it was nice to hear about the culture of the other non-hostile races. Expect the big ones.
And the fact that a human was keeping them in check helped, and said human could be best described, within a sentence, as a Mary Sue incarnate IN SPACE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It was still a fucking wonder why XCOM haven't won the war yet.
"Hey Dawson." A voice came from behind his seat. "What're you doing?"
"Drinking my ass off, Vakarian, what the hell do you think I'm doing?" Despite the hostile tone he used, they all knew it was used for jest.
Garrus Vakarian was one of the alien individuals that he respected, if not being an outright friend. Yes, he still had reservations about the alien sniper, but damn if he didn't find him to be a crack shot and a great person to hang out with. It was people like him that made him enjoy the few operations where Alpha had to work with the Normandy Crew. However, it was the company he kept (and a part in) also made him reluctant to do another joint operation with the Normandy Crew.
The alien sniper sat next to him, and Dawson looked at him. "You want a drink?" He asked.
"Spirits, no. I'd die of allergy if I drink yours."
"Oh yeah, you're made of different acid than ours." He sighed. "Figures."
The two kept their mouth shut, as Garrus ordered a dextro drink. The silent between the operatives held for about a few seconds, before Garrus asked.
"Seriously, Dawson. Why're you drinking? I never thought you were the one to knock yourself up after a Covert Op."
"Well, you're wrong. After a war, you tend to keep a pretty face to your family and the outside world while hiding a bar worth of booze under the table."
"Why didn't you ask for your family's help?"
"Would I like to trust the people that immediately judged me as a baby killer after I left the Marines? Would I like to trust a group of people that advocated for peace while they had never fired a gun or met an insurgent in their entire life? Your species had mandatory conscription, so everyone knew what they had faced, but not us, and definitely not the 21st century naive Americans."
Once again, the former Marine sighed, and hit his head on the table.
"Sorry, I got carried away. I just... I just solved my revenge mission, and now I felt like shit."
If he could read the alien correctly, Garrus was surprised at this. "Wait, what?"
"Last Covert Op. You've ever felt a need for revenge before?"
"Yeah, I did. A while ago, I, along with a few like-minded people, were vigilantes in a despot of crime and lawlessness. We were living legends, an actual light in that dark place and all, but one of my close friends betrayed me to all of the mercenary groups there, and I'm still trying to find that bastard till this day. With the help of Commander Shepard, and now The Commander, the chance of finding him is better than a few months before."
"Well, good for you then. To be honest, I could never find them by myself, and I always gladly took any help I could get..." He stopped to think something. "Sorry, getting offtrack again."
"You've been through many vengeance odysseys before, so what's your experience on them?"
"Not glamorous as you expected. Back in 2014, Iraq, there was this crazy jihadist that went full mental on us. He was smart, knowing our patrol and squad patterns to effectively ambushed us. Well armed, well trained, and survived multiple airstrikes, the fucker made fools outta us. The army tried to sent in a few Spec Ops to get the guy, but somehow, they requested a few grunts to help in the mission. That's how I met Stoner, and that was the day I got a personal target."
He drank his own drink, and continued the story.
"The jihadist got us by the balls, and only a few of us survived. I lost a lot of good friends there, but our guy fucked up. Later, I volunteered a mission to finally end the guy for good. And at that time, I figured, well, since he fucked me up, I decided to fuck him up even worse. And when we got him..."
"يا ملعون الامبريالى للكلاب! هل الخيانة حصلت لى... "
Finally. He got the bastard.
After so many people died to him, they finally got their hands on him. Thankfully, the guy was too arrogant for his own good and still wounded, so he couldn't mount an effective defense on them. That, and a shitless snitch helped.
"Finish the job, Americans. Make me a martyr..." The jihadist, half-delirious, sneered at him. He was tempted to grant him his wish. But no, killing him would only make the pain wash away. And as he was a legend in the insurgent community, killing him would only raise others, some more bloodthirsty than him.
"No we won't. That would be a waste of our time." Dawson coldly replied. "Instead, I have a little surprise for you." He then switched to his radio, and called the help outside. "Bring in the prisoners."
There was silence on the other side.
"I said, bring in the prisoners." "...affirmative."
Wilson's voice came out. "Civvies coming in."
The door opened, and it revealed a young woman, possibly in her late twenties, a 5-year-old boy, being shoved into the room by gunpoint, and that Green Beret attache, who, also like Wilson, was reluctant on doing this.
"Okay. I'll take it from here. You guys leave the place, I'll catch up with you."
"I alone will take responsibility. Just leave."
Wordlessly, the GB nodded, and left the room. He guessed that Wilson also left with him, too.
The guy clued in what he was about to do, and his demeanor, from angry and defiant, broke immediately into surprise and absolute fear.
"Wait, what are you doing? Why are they here?"
"Well, your son helped us finding you, and we decided to let him see his daddy. He seemed to miss you so much. How many times had you hanged out with your wife and kid, huh?"
Even though a normal man would have burst into anger and lashed out at the kid, the jihadist knew it wasn't the boy's fault. It never was, it never will. Allah wills it. The boy was always innocent on his eyes. It's all the American's fault!
Alas, he couldn't kill him, for he was at the mercy of the American soldier in his home.
"I never pinned you as a family man, considering how many families you torn apart." Dawson, with his cold tone, kept mocking the target. "Oh, how 'bout those civvies you killed in those IEDs? Have you ever stopped to think about their mothers and sisters, waiting for their sons and brothers coming back?"
"The US Military would never allow the death of civilians. They condemn it. This is real life, soldier, and not a video game where you can walk away from innocent blood on your hands!"
"Oh, that's where you're wrong, pal. We're all war criminal here in this fucking desert, but it ain't a war crime on top of countless war crimes if none can see it."
The target was trying to calm his family, but it was all interrupted when he found himself staring at a gun barrel.
The woman and child screamed on top of their lungs, which the Marine found it annoying. He then raised the M9 at the jihadist's wife and children.
"And it just so happens that there were two witnesses here."
And he pulled the trigger. Twice.
And there were sounds of two body dropped into the floor, still having a few life left on them before they died.
"No! NO! You bastard-"
And the jihadist then found out that his knees exploded into a mist of blood, fat, muscles and bones.
"And that," Dawson reloaded his sidearm. "Is for my men. Enjoy your life."
He left the cripple crying, unable to move due to his legs being ruined.
And as he walked out of the building, something came in.
He got the jihadist, and finally the US Army would be traveling safer routes.
He was happy about this.
He finally knew why the jihadist ambushed them. thud thud thud
What the fuck had he done?! thud thud thud
He just killed civilians. thud thud ...thud
Civilians that wanted nothing from this. Civilians that were fine seeing their father and husband on their farms, not blowing up American patrols. ...thud thud thud
Civilians that should not be pulled into this. ...thud ...thud ...thud
In fact, he let his rage got over him. He thought that teaching the fucker a lesson would shut him down for good, but at what cost? ...thud ...thud... ...
Would he do it to another civilian?
Would he do it to another American?
Would he do it to a friend?
More importantly, how far is he going to do when this happens again? Present day, somewhere in Europe...
Really, he would never expected to do diplomatic missions of all things when he's with XCOM.
And after having witnessed a string of events that could be best described as something more likely to come out from a smut fanfic
and something that is just out of this dimension
, he was expected to talk to the leader of the group, because Welkin and Alicia made such a stunning first impressions about Alpha Squad specifically and XCOM in general.
Well, at least it didn't involve both of them fucking each other's brains out in public. He hopes so.
The AAR doesn't say anything about it.
"Exalt Emmeryn," He says to the blonde girl in front of him. The girl is literally radiating kindness and compassion, which does nothing but to set his paranoia meter off the charts. Nothing in this place is as kind and caring as her, and he's sure as hell that outside her shell, she's nothing but a ruthless dictator and a potential crime queen inside. "If you wanted to be a part of the Resistance, we'll have to rearrange a few resources to train your troops, if you have any, or to bolster your defenses with our soldiers if you don't have necessary protection, and raise your technology level to our standards. We'll also send in a XCOM Advisor to oversee this change. Occasionally, the Avenger will have to make a landing near your place. Can you arrange that?" On the inside, he hopes that she won't use the help to build her own empire and turn this place into another Iraq and Afghanistan.
Seeing her alone makes his hand instinctively reach for his sidearm to kill her and then off himself. Hey, being paranoid is a part of his job!
...but being suicidal is not. Apparently, his recent suicidal tendencies comes from all the shit he witnessed last night and just a few hours before this.
"Yes, I thank you for helping us, Gunnery Sergeant Dawson. After seeing what we were lacking, in terms of... advancements, the council is thankful for your generosity. We won't be here if not for you and for organization."
"I'm just happy to help, ma'am." He tries to look happy, but given that Emmeryn is the actual avatar of kindness and goodness, he can't help but to look jumpy and suspicious. Apparently, she sees through his expression, and in an attempt to calm him down, she gives him a pleasant smile (that does nothing but to make his spine shivers).
"In return, I would like to send our militia, the Shepherds, under your care, Mr. Dawson. They are known in my land as the just protectors of the people, and I hope they can be of use to you. With your help, I am certain that they will be useful to your quest, and they will learn necessary skills to protect Ylisse from aggressors."
This just complicates problems. He's fine with the regular recruits XCOM usually gets, because while they can't hit the broad side of the barn, they at least can suppress targets effectively, throw grenades with unprecedented accuracy and always eager for connecting flanking shots, and in the cases they do survive, they become veterans with astounding ease. But as far as the report goes, the militia she got was led by a man who had a (literal) pointy unbreakable sword of destiny, but that doesn't mean jack shit if he can't fire a rifle. Hell, last time he checked. that group also had underage kids, for fuck's sake.
And speaking about near-worthless bodies, he also read the report about them, but most just point out that they were as idealistic as they can get, because they are the people with the wish to make the world a better place, and they have the determination to back that up.
However, in his line of work, most idealists ended up leaving XCOM, because they couldn't be bothered to look the other way when the organization did some morally gray actions, and ended up revolting and leaving the Avenger. A few gutless souls even created rebel forces against the Resistance, and although the irony was thick, it certainly wasn't thick enough to prevent total collapse of many rebel groups against XCOM.
You can not use darkness against the masters of darkness themselves.
"Wake up, Boss. I want you to see what you have done."
The man in question woke up in a dirty room, with just enough electricity to power the only lightbulb in the room and the TV in front of him, and saw himself tied into a chair. He also saw a man with him, but he wasn't being tied up like him.
"Funny, I'm surprised you called yourself Boss after you left. That made it really hard for us to track you down, huh?"
It was painful to just look at the freed man, and when he actually saw the torturer, he was surprised by this development.
"Will?!" He croaked out.
"Wilson." The XCOM operative coldly reported. "Fancy seeing your ass here."
"Why're you here, Will?!"
"HIGHCOM send their regards."
"And what the fuck you want from me?!"
"I don't know," He shrugged while walking in front of the TV. "Thought you knew already, after, well, you deserted
"I did it for a good reason, Will, and your bloodlust only-"
"You wanted to be a fucking hero, that's your only fucking credible reason. That's why you never got guts to do what's necessary, Wilson, and that's why you left us."
"No, I left because XCOM wasn't there to protect the civilians! How many camps had been wiped out because it wasn't in the protection racket? How many desperate men, women and children were left for dead when they begged on the Avenger's ramp? How many innocent civilians had been executed for allegedly being Faceless? XCOM doesn't give a damn about them, so I left!"
"And what the hell had you done then? Associate yourself with terrorists, cutthroats, and bandits in order to liberate the masses from the only force that can kick ADVENT for good?"
"Oh yeah, what about the terrorists and the power hungry crowds on your side, huh? XCOM can destroy ADVENT and the aliens, but what would you do then? Keeping the power and keep oppressing the lower classes?" He struggled to free himself while spitting spite into his former best friend. "I wouldn't trade one ADVENT for another! That's why I fucking left!"
"You wanted to stroke your moral ego, that's why you left. And speaking about being in the higher moral grounds, you wanna know how many people suffered because of your insurgency?"
He sneered again. Dawson intentionally killed civilians before, and now he blamed him for genocide?!
"At least I tried to minimize casualty, not leaving it to the wolves!"
"No. Your group
raided hundreds and thousands camps, Resistance or otherwise, killing civilians left and right, and taking all their food and resources. Your group attacked civvies in City Centers just to make us look bad! I'd reckon you don't even have control over the insurgency you have, 'cause for all intents and purposes, it looks like EXALT's been giving your troops orders!"
"Bullshit! We only attacked XCOM and XCOM only! We would never-"
"Who's giving you reports?"
And at this point, his rant stopped.
"What the fuck does this relate to anything?!"
"Who the hell gave you those reports? Who's your left hand man? Is he called Frank Reynolds? That goblin fucker's been using your naivete to get his own supplies for his own and escorting drugs to other regions. He also used your insurgency to terrorize the population 'cause it gave him a boner! He's been lying to you, pal, since you were never on the ground with your troops! He stroked your moral ego boner so you can sleep soundly, thinking that you defeated XCOM over and over again, while the only thing your rebels did was to kill non-combatants!"
"You didn't notice?" It was time for Dawson to taunt him. "Well fuck me, 'cause the goblin's been loud enough for us to catch him. Hell, the guy's generous enough to give us this!"
The ex-XCOM operative's eyes widen when he saw a familiar book.
"Your membership book. Surprised to see it?" He slapped the insurgent with the book. "Of course you did, Reynolds sold this and your position for our protection. The people you chose to associate, huh?"
"Fuck you." Wilson whispered, knowing what would happened next.
"And thanks to this, we grouped up your little rebellion to a secluded place for us to... well, weed out." Dawson sighed, then keyed someone on the radio. "Firebrand, you there?" "Yup, I'm here, what's up?"
"Our little turncoat wanna say hello." "Then give him a good punch for me, please. If you don't mind, I'm firing some rocket at a random shelter. See ya."
The XCOM operative turned on the TV and let the captive watch the screen. "We also set up some cameras to watch the fireworks." Wilson recognized the building in the screen. It was his HQ. And everyone was in there.
He realized what was going to happen.
"Your little insurgency doomed them all. Remember that."
The building exploded into pieces from the volleys of rockets, and he heard the sounds of a familiar VTOL passing the skies like a jet. He could heard the sounds of concrete hitting the ground, and sounds of people screaming and groaning for help. He kept his eyes glued into the TV.
Surprisingly, despite the opportune time to keep the act, the XCOM operative looked much more sad than angry.
"I'm sorry, Wilson." Dawson sounded weirdly sorrow and apologetic, after his bout of gloating and taunting, but still having enough rage and contempt to made it moot. "But you knew it would end this way."
Wilson kept quiet.
"Your friends, dead."
He felt a tear forming in his eyes.
"The world on fire."
He started weeping.
"And you... alone."
And wordlessly, he felt something on his head.
"Finally, something we have in common."
And the body became limb.
As his rage subsided, as his brain processed the fact that he just killed his best friend first and the deserter second, something changed.
His hands shook.
He dropped the gun...
He now understood.
And Dawson joined the weeping.
His friend, dead.
His world lost.
Him, a terrorist.
Him, a killer.
Him, a cutthroat.
And a fellow failure.
He was no saint, he knew it already.
He was no demon, although he might as well be one.
He was just a damned man.
So XCOM is giving up coil weaponry to some displaced locals for idealistic rookies. And some food. And some gold, he guesses, so at least this isn't a charity.
Let's hope that he won't do that
"You have a deal." He shakes his hand with the Exalt, who gives another comforting smile again.
"Thank you, William." Her genuine happiness at the deal genuinely horrifies him. It also doesn't help that she's, again, the avatar of kindness and compassion.
He also has a gut feeling that she's about to hug him, so he decides that it's high time for him to get the fuck out
In his line of work, in order to truly understand why the other side did something, you have to do something worse than that.
And after many years, he doesn't want to truly understand anything anymore, lest more innocent blood fell on his hands.
I have mixed feeling with this one.
Really, I am. I rushed this one too much. While making my
Alpha!Verse It's (not) Always Sunny in the Resistance
series darker than the Anthology version, I became less and less motivated about this, as I literally had yet another story idea on my mind. Not relating to XCOM, however.
Anyway, I think I had to come clean with this one: my storyline is basically based on the following things: XCOM
, Fire Emblem
Monster Girl Quest Violated Hero
, with sprinkles of Spec Ops: The Line
, Valkyria Chronicles, Mass Effect
, Modern Warfare
, Insurgency Source
and Insurgency Sandstorm
for backstory and characters with additional nobledarkess somewhere. If it doesn't make sense, well, it wasn't supposed to be. It was purposed to be as crack as possible. Because I'm retarded.
There, have fun reading this cancerfest of a story. I'd be damned and surprised (in a good way) if u/sinsinthestarlights
managed to make something related to this story.
Next up, The Gang Breaks the Multiverse (or is it?)