Norepinephrine | ( - SECTOR 1- ) | nOrepI__--0

Instructions

- ( Disclaimer! ) - THIS IS NOT A GAME. This is an art project/novel that writes out a story in its instructions. Format changes could happen, and variation will be evident. If you want to understand context, read below! If you're only here for the art, feast your eyes. This is the FIRST part, it will be continued in several different parts. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ (=| READ HERE |=) Alarms, that's all I hear. They're loud, annoying, disruptive. I struggle and force my eyes open. I stare down at my form, seeing the tubes connected to parts of the skintight tactical latex that hugs my body. I sigh as a drowsiness starts to drown my senses. I grit my teeth and break the restrains keeping my limbs in place. I need to move, I must move, I'm starving, and I don't know for what. I step off of my platform and my leg gives out under me. My hands catch myself before I could completely drop. I swiftly stand up, almost stumbling forward. I place a firm foot on the ground and regain my sense of balance. I glance around the cybernetic mechanical room, trying to gauge out where I could be. I slowly and hesitantly walk towards a large rack, a pearly white case like object sits atop the steel shelf. I pull it off the wall, holding its size in my hands, its roughly six feet long, and a foot wide. I tap a small screen I find on the side of the case, it lets out steam and almost groans as it releases its pressure. The plates shift and and fold over one another to reveal a large hollow sword, its lifted upwards, allowing for easy equitability. I tilt my head to the side, I tap the screen again and the case closes, its like a big scabbard. I find it's name on the top, it says "CRUSHER BLADE". Name. Name? What is my name anyways? I look down at my flanks, trying to see if there is a spot for me to attach the large scabbard onto. I run my hand across a hardpoint I find on the trim over my hip and bring the scabbard to the connection point. A buzzer goes off and the scabbard locks into the hardpoint, sealing with a few orange sparks that whizz past my arm. My mind goes back to the wonder of my name, what is my name? I swear I can remember. Weakness overclouds my thought's again, I feel so antsy, I need something and I need it soon. The large metal door that separated me from the outside shoots open. I turn my head over my shoulder. There's a person in unrecognizable gear and some sort of advanced stun rod. They bring a radio to their mouthpiece and speak into it. "Dessadiah has woken up, I need backup immediately." there's a hint of desperation and hesitant aloofness in their voice. I turn around and stare them down, I must be tall, they look small. I feel my blood warming up. My muscles tense and my skin pales, My body feels lighter and a bounce enters my step. My eyes are locked onto the person, who even are they? Why am I reacting like this? The person speaks again, loudly so I can hear. "Listen, Dessadiah, work with me here. Surrender so I don't have to hurt you. Things can go back to how they were." Back to how they were? What was before? My name, it's Dessadiah? Thing's don't make sense. I don't say anything, my throat hurts too much to try and talk. I only shake my head. Why would I listen to this guy? All I know, I'll be put to sleep again and connected to some large machine. The person is looking at my defiance with hesitancy in their body language. Suddenly two more people adorned in the same gear enter with rifles. I feel my heartbeat spike and my instincts kick in. I don't even know what happened, next thing I knew I was gliding across the distance between me and the group, my mind was clear for that short time. One hit, two, I lift up the first over my head. With a duck and leap to another, two more hits, another drop to the ground. My footwork feels natural, my feet twirling me back and forth, my body curving to dodge fire, everything is too crystal clear. I grab the barrel of the third persons rifle, with a tilt of my head I dodge a defiant swing of their hand. My fist comes down onto the handle of the rifle, breaking the grip of the personnel. I ram the stock into their abdomen. My other hand ascends and forces the figures chin upwards. With a swing of the rifle the hard flat surface contacts with their jaw and they drop like all the others. I let out a long sigh. I wipe my forehead and stare out of the doorway. Are there more coming? I decide to keep the rifle I had stolen. My concerns would be proven right as the loud stomping of several people barrel down the hallway. I raise the rifle and ready myself. And then like a light switch everything goes dark. It was only a fraction of a second but when I open my eyes the hall is completely mangled. I turn around, seeing the fresh of the fall that lay before me. My rifle is gone, my scabbard is in one hand and its sword is in my other. ( CONTINUED IN NOTES )