Paradigm Shift

Een RPG die zich centreert rond het leven in een stad waar alles kan gebeuren.

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The story of Riot Masquerade and his little niece

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One day you get into a fight with some asshole spraying racist bullshit on a wall. You end up bashing the shit out of him. Well, that's what I did. To this day I don't feel sorry for him. But I still regret it deeply. Because he was just as vengeful as I am.

Distant sirens taught Riot that somebody had called an ambulance for the guy. He started walking a little faster. The spatters of blood on his hands and clothes were not something for the authorities to see, despite the fact that he too had a bleeding nose and a black eye. He also limped a bit, but it was nothing serious. He'd been off worse.
Leaving the scene of the crime far behind him, Riot started to cool down. He took in a deep breath of evening air and his expression softened a bit. There was a chance he'd get into serious trouble with this, but he didn't care. The guy had deserved it. Flat-out.
Eventually, he stopped in front of relatively small, shabby looking house, where he knocked on the door. For a moment, he had to wait impatiently, but the he heard footsteps leading up to the door.
Margaret opened it. The woman, who was like a mother to him, gave him a stern look when she saw the state he was in. To her and het partner, Iseco, Riot's fighting was nothing new. They knew him well, maybe even better than he knew himself.
"Come in," she just said. Riot nodded briefly and walked past her, straight towards the living room. Iseco sat on the dark red couch and looked up. His dark eyes were critical for a moment, but he then seemed to conclude Riot was relatively okay.
"Been at it again, boy?" he asked laconically. Whenever something serious would happen, they were there for him, but if it was just his own stupidity, the two would just let him deal with the aftermath on his own.
"Asked for it," Riot muttered defensively and he shrugged. Iseco grinned and shook his head.
"You'd best put a cold compress on that black eye. Your uncle and aunt won't be too happy seeing you looking like that," Margaret said sternly. Riot sighed and nodded.
He went over to the small bathroom and looked himself in the eye. The one he could still see out of. He made a cup with his hands and filled it with water, after wich he washed the blood off of his face. It stung painfully when he touched either his eye or his nose, but he just cleched his jaw. Margaret had a point. If he wanted to keep seeing his little niece, he had to look acceptable. And the little thing was one of the lights in his life.
He rummaged through the medical cupboard, but had no real clue what he was looking for.
"Fuck it," he muttered eventually. He took a washcloth and went to the kitchen. Fillin it with icecubes would work just fine.
And so it was that he slumped on the couch, beside the Italian man, with an icecube-filled washcloth pressed against his eye.
"So, how did the other one end up?" Iseco asked, slightly amused. Riot shot him an irritated glance.
"Worse," he said with a shrug. The man laughed.
"How much worse?"
"He'll live."

The next few days passed smoothly. Despite the cold compress, there was still quite a swelling and both his nose and his eye, from wich he could hardly see at first, had an unhealthy shade to them.
On the day that he was going to leave to stay with his aunt and uncle for a weekend, it was still clearly visible he'd been in a fight, but at least it didn't look as bad as the day after.
Iseco had agreed to drive him there and as Riot put his backpack in the trunk, Iseco gave him a pat on the shoulder.
"Try to behave, boy," he said with a grin, as he walked over to the driver's seat. Riot got in on the other side.
As they drove, Riot mostly stared out the window. Time seemed to have slowed down.
Finally, they stopped in a clearly upper-class neighbourhood. A neighbourhood wich could have been a pure example of peace and wealth, if it wasn't for the yellow band that encircled a body, covered by plastic, lying on the street, surrounded by blood. Riot threw himself out of the car. One thing wasn't covered by the plastic. A little red shoe with a pink sock. But it was enough.
He screamed. He ran. Police officers tried to stop him, but he managed to get to the body. He threw off the plastic, wich revealed the bloodied, mutilated body of the little girl.
"No.." he groaned. "NO!!" His voice rose, as if the denial would get her back.
He lifted her body up and held her close to him as the grim reality started to sink in. Tears started running down his cheeks. He tightened his embrace. He didn't want to let her go. She couldn't really be gone. She was so young, so kind.

For a while, they didn't even try to pull him away as he sat there, completely waery of his environment, cradling the small girl he'd played with so many times in his arms. He trembled, he couldn't think cleary anymore. There was only this all-consuming agony. It couldn't be true. Not her. Why her?
"I'm so sorry," he groaned as he pressed his face against her light hair. Hair that was almost as light as his. "So fucking sorry.. Please.. no.."

She was so cold. So fucking cold. And it was all my fucking fault. I should have been earlier. Should have been there to protect her from that son of a bitch. Should not have started that goddamn fight in the first place. Then she'd still be here. I'd be embracing her as well, but she'd still be alive.
BUt it's too late now.

Finally, Iseco softy pulled him away. He tried to resist, but all his strength seemed simply gone with the wind. Tears still streamed down his face. He, the guy who refused to cry, let alone in public. BUt this was more important than his pride. She was one of the few people he'd always been proud of.
The body was covered again. Iseco pulled Riot, now covered in blood, carefully against his chest. Riot buried his face in the man's shoulder and Iseco softly patted him on the back.
"Ssh, easy now, it's alright," he said softly but Riot shook his head. It wasn't. It was not alright. If it was alright, she'd still be here. He closed his eyes tightly, but the pain didn't go away.
It would never.
Iseco carefully helped him up, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Riot looked up. The body was being loaded into one of the vans. From a distance, Riot could see his uncle and aunt watch. They looked at him, their eyes accusatory. For the first time in years, that didn't spark the blonde boy's rebellion. He just let his head hang down.
They were right. He was to blame. And that was something he would never forget.

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Solance Ainsworth



When all we have left are memories. And with so many good memories, the
bad ones are remembered best.



/ rent weg

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Ashley Grey

... Well damn.

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