I do not think the satellites can see the potential lurking inside me to tear them down. The additions are too fine to see, too masked by the pump and throb of my heart and the fizzing of my neural circuitry (normal for a genius, when I was a sub before the surgery, but even so, there are enough geniuses in the world that they could not track us/them all, even if they cared to). I removed the tracker imbedded in my spine myself, with the aid of a scalpel, a mirror, and enough bedsheets to tie me in position so I would not do myself irreparable harm when I inevitably blacked out. Five blackouts, it took, and ten cuts, but it's out. They can't find me now. The pain was--I can't remember, it was so bad. I might have bled out and died, but I avoided the major arteries. I might have accidentally paralyzed myself, but I was so very, very careful. I did not move for two weeks after the surgery, to let it heal right. Tied in position with bedsheets, pissing myself and sucking fluid up a straw from gallon jugs. I could have freed myself at any time with a swipe of the scalpel, but I didn't. I think that is what makes me different, not the surgery. This stubbornness and self-control is something I have had my whole life, even when it only meant that I could keep my job sweeping the floor because I always kept it real clean even when the ladies walked in with dirty snow on their boots.


Inspiration: "The Great Destroyer" - Nine Inch Nails
Story potential: High.
Notes: I didn't think this would go anywhere new, but I was hooked on the character by the end.

She got to know the detainees by having them try to kill her. It all started when she needed a new, challenging exercise routine. Once you're super-strong, super-fast, and augmented six ways to hell, you take some serious challenges in order to keep growing and getting better. She knew most people stuck to the minimum regimented workout/supplement schedule, but she didn't just want to be good enough--she wanted to be better than everybody else. Partly so that she could do better, and partly so that if things ever went really, really South, she'd be able to get out. Or at least she'd stand a better chance of doing so. She'd tried the standard extreme sports and the recommended workouts--had even gotten a greyhound dog and started running with it every morning--

Inspiration: LJ writing prompt about working out, various people's posts about finding a challenging workout.
Story Potential: Medium.
Notes: It's an interesting way to get to know somebody, and this does seem to be unfolding to a larger story. On the other hand, it's not a very original larger story.

He finished his drink, wiped his mouth, and set the glass upside-down on the bar with some decisiveness. Then he turned around, leaned his elbows on the bar, and waited for the first taker. A low mumble went up around the bar as they noted his challenge, and some of the closer men picked up their drinks and moved over to a place where they were less likely to be disturbed by flying fists and bodies. He waited, a little impatiently, a little nervously. It might not have worked, after all. There was always a 70% chance that a processing improvement wouldn't take, and a 10% chance that it would--

Inspiration: My survival day calendar - in Australia, turning a glass upside-down and placing it on the bar may signal that you believe you can win a fight with anyone.
Story Potential: Low.
Notes: Cute scene, no story. On the other hand, that would be an awesome name for a pub.