I, Singularity - it's her day in court (1046 words).

[David Evil Overlord]

The opening of the courtroom scene I've mentioned. This is how Our Hero spent her Valentine's Day (instead of going to school). So it's either a different short story, or another chapter in the novel. Or both.

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My heart was hammering in my chest like some runaway doomsday device trying to break free from my ribcage. My knees couldn’t decide if they wanted to be solid matter or jelly. My blushing face felt like it was about to burst into flames. My lungs suddenly found there wasn’t enough oxygen for me to breathe.

Some hero I was.

The head-up display inside my mask swore both the atmosphere and temperature were perfect for my kind of life. I wanted to swear right back at it. Even machines crafted by Technomancer were still just machines. And what did machines know of my biological reality?

My biology really didn’t want to be here.

My name was called. My true name, not the name my parents gave me. That was enough to break the spell that held me trapped like a fly in amber. A quivering, hyperventilating, blushing fly who hoped she could get through this day and still be on speaking terms with her bladder.

On legs as steady and solid as well-cooked spaghetti I stepped through the open door and stole into the room.

I wasn’t scared. I couldn’t be scared. It was just a room. That’s all. It couldn’t be any worse than all of the vaults and fortresses and bunkers and lairs I’d broken and entered over the past six months. Could it?

The inner walls were buried beneath dark woods, like children lost forever in the really nasty kind of fairy tales. The thick stones of the outer walls thwarted the barbarian heat of the Australian summer that hammered upon the gates. The marble floor was a skull-white glacier, hungrily sucking the warmth from my feet right through the soles of my boots. Clinical tube-lights glared down upon me.

It looked like an infinite number of baseliners were crammed into the room, like sardines in a can. And they were all staring at me.

I fixed my eyes on the little wooden cage they had waiting for me. It wasn’t really a hundred kilometres away. It would only feel like walking that far. There was no sound except my boots tapping out a desperate S.O.S. on the icy floor. Above my boots, I wore nothing but a second skin that showed every trembling muscle and nervous twitch in anatomically correct detail.

Comic book artists have a lot to answer for.

For generations, they’ve drawn exaggerated pictures of our bright, tight, copyright uniforms. Bright colours to draw the eye. Tight fabrics to show off our athletic physiques. Copyright on every symbol on our uniforms, so their corporate overlords can stick those symbols on overpriced t-shirts to sell to all the baseliner fanboys and fangirls.

Bright, tight and copyright. Like we’re f***ing cheerleaders. Thanks to those comics, no baseliner would ever recognise any of us without our skin-tight spandex.

I couldn’t keep myself from shaking like a leaf in the wind. I was no look-at-me attention-junkie like Speed Demon. Public speaking made me sick to my stomach. I so hated making a fool out of myself in front of everybody.
Hiding behind a mask helped. A little.

This was even worse than the time last week when my teacher Mr. Hartwell caught me sneaking out of class. Again. Questions were asked. Lies were told. Well, I couldn’t tell him I was wagging school because Clone had just busted out of prison again, now could I?

I don’t even remember the lie I told Mr. Hartwell. It didn’t matter, though. He didn’t believe me anyways. He made me stand up in front of the whole class and explain myself. I threw up. Twice.

B*****d.

I was so lucky he didn’t search my schoolbag and find my white-and green/black spandex. No way could I have lied my way out of that.

He spent the rest of the day watching me. Until Technomancer started what she called a “small fire” in the chemistry lab. She gave Mr Hartwell something to stare at that wasn’t me, and gave me time to slip out of school and do my hero thing.

Tech got a little carried away, though. She didn’t need to burn down the whole building.

I couldn’t summon Technomancer just by thinking about her. I’m no telepath, and she can only read the “minds” of machines. So why did my thoughts of her cause the wrench and cogwheel icon of my sidekick start flashing in the corner of my head-up display?

‘Thank you for flying Drama Queen Airlines,’ Technomancer's voice whispered in my ear. ‘According to our instruments, you may be experiencing some turbulent emotions. Your heart is currently flying at 149 beats per minute. Please take care, as rapid breathing may cause the contents of your bra to shift during fight-or-flight response. If you should face plant, please return yourself to the upright position. Please remember to wear clean underwear, securely fastened to the outside of your costume. We thank you for flying Drama Queen Airlines, and hope you have a pleasant fight.’

My hands clenched themselves into fists. My hesitant steps died suddenly, and I danced on their graves with the angry strides of someone whose sidekick gives her about as much support as a sports bra made of nothing but spandex. Tech thinks she’s a comedian, but her stupid jokes are so not funny.

I was still blushing like crazy, but at least my mask hid most of that. I won’t wear one of those tiny domino masks like Tech does. It does look kind of cute, but how does she keep that pretty little thing sitting on her face?

Besides, I needed room for the audiovisual comms and head-up display Tech crammed into my mask.

I couldn’t let Technomancer get away with that Drama Queen Airlines c**p. But I couldn’t answer her back, either. Too many baseliners were watching me. Too many baseliners would wonder why I was talking to myself. And if I got caught on the comm to Tech, too many baseliners would see me get into too much trouble. So I silently stepped into the little wooden cage, and promised myself I would scream at her later.

‘I, Singularity, swear by Almighty God that the evidence I shall give will be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.’

[Bowler1]

My heart was hammering in my chest like some runaway doomsday device trying to break free from my ribcage. My knees couldn’t decide if they wanted to be solid matter or jelly. My blushing face felt like it was about to burst into flames. My lungs suddenly found there wasn’t enough oxygen for me to breathe.
Every sentence starts with My, if this is intentional ok, otherwise review.

I wasn’t scared. I couldn’t be scared. It was just a room. That’s all. It couldn’t be any worse than all of the vaults and fortresses and bunkers and lairs I’d broken and entered over the past six months. Could it?
I would have preferred if she stayed scared, I understand she is building herself up, but still.

The inner walls were buried beneath dark woods, like children lost forever in the really nasty kind of fairy tales. The thick stones of the outer walls thwarted the barbarian heat of the Australian summer that hammered upon the gates. The marble floor was a skull-white glacier, hungrily sucking the warmth from my feet right through the soles of my boots. Clinical tube-lights glared down upon me.
This section was too much for me, always a risk with what you’re trying to achieve – I bet the next person loves this; but!

It looked like an infinite number of baseliners were crammed into the room, like sardines in a can. And they were all staring at me.
Baseliners?? – I must be getting old!

I fixed my eyes on the little wooden cage they had waiting for me. It wasn’t really a hundred kilometres away. It would only feel like walking that far. There was no sound except my boots tapping out a desperate S.O.S. on the icy floor. Above my boots, I wore nothing but a second skin that showed every trembling muscle and nervous twitch in anatomically correct detail.
Cage?? – don’t understand – witness stand maybe?

I couldn’t keep myself from shaking like a leaf in the wind. I was no look-at-me attention-junkie like Speed Demon. Public speaking made me sick to my stomach. I so hated making a fool out of myself in front of everybody.
Hiding behind a mask helped. A little.
Not sure if all the above worked for me, 2nd line is the problem, for me anyway.

Mr/Mrs (I have forgotten) Evil, as ever you are pushing the envelope and for the most part it works very well. There were a couple of sections were you left me in your wake, a very entertaining wake - but it was a little too fast sometimes. This is of course the risk your running and happy to run as well I’m sure, balance of pace is always going to be an issue with your style.

- held me trapped, like a fly in amber – There was the odd comma issue for me; but no big deal.

As ever, very entertaining.

[Bowler1]

Me again...
I'm wondering what market your aiming for, if it is a teenage market then naughty language may be an issue. You could make up swear words of your own, I think it would even fit the character, her own silly words etc.

I'm off again, give someone else a chance!

[David Evil Overlord]

Thank you, Bowler1. Not sure if I'm aiming for the teenage market or not. Just planning to write it and see what I come up with.

Yes, the cage is the witness stand. As her sidekick notes, she can be such a Drama Queen sometimes. She gets stage fright, so standing up and speaking in front of people is an ordeal for her. Wearing a mask helps.

Baseliners - baseline human, no super powers. Rather offensive super hero slang.

[Warren_Paul]

hey DEO, back for more not a superhero goodness, sorry for so late on this critique, been busy fussing over edits.

Originally Posted by David Evil Overlord

My heart was hammering in my chest like some runaway doomsday device trying to break free from my ribcage. My knees couldn’t decide if they wanted to be solid matter or jelly. My blushing face felt like it was about to burst into flames. My lungs suddenly found there wasn’t enough oxygen for me to breathe.
-Bowler is right, here are too many 'My's'. need to change the sentences up a bit. Once again, love the metaphor, its a very colourfully descriptive paragraph-

Some hero I was.

The head-up display inside my mask swore both the atmosphere and temperature were perfect for my kind of life. I wanted to swear right back at it. Even machines crafted by Technomancer were still just machines. And what did machines know of my biological reality?

My biology really didn’t want to be here.

My name was called.-the name is missing here- My true name, not the name my parents gave me. That was enough to break the spell that held me trapped like a fly in amber. A quivering, hyperventilating, blushing fly who hoped she could get through this day and still be on speaking terms with her bladder. -I'm not exactly sure on the point of this paragraph, past telling us her name, or what this description is getting at-

On legs as steady and solid-you probably only need steady here, not solid- as well-cooked spaghetti I stepped through the open door and stole into the room.

I wasn’t scared. I couldn’t be scared. It was just a room. That’s all. It couldn’t be any worse than all of the vaults and fortresses and bunkers and lairs I’d broken and entered over the past six months. Could it? -After two paragraphs mentioning the 'room' I don't have a clue where we are, what is the room? I'm guessing it is supposed to be the courtroom?-

The inner walls were buried beneath dark woods, like children lost forever in the really nasty kind of fairy tales. The thick stones of the outer walls thwarted the barbarian heat of the Australian summer that hammered upon the gates. The marble floor was a skull-white glacier, hungrily sucking the warmth from my feet right through the soles of my boots. Clinical tube-lights glared down upon me. -very colourful description, probably a bit too colourful, had to stop and figure it all out, but still don't know the purpose of the room-

It looked like an infinite number of baseliners were crammed into the room, like sardines in a can. And they were all staring at me.

I fixed my eyes on the little wooden cage they had waiting for me. It wasn’t really a hundred kilometres away. It would only feel like walking that far. There was no sound except my boots tapping out a desperate S.O.S. on the icy floor. Above my boots, I wore nothing but a second skin that showed every trembling muscle and nervous twitch in anatomically correct detail.
-second skin? I'm guessing her costume, some might think a little more indecent than that-

Comic book artists have a lot to answer for.

For generations, they’ve drawn exaggerated pictures of our bright, tight, copyright uniforms. Bright colours to draw the eye. Tight fabrics to show off our athletic physiques. Copyright on every symbol on our uniforms, so their corporate overlords can stick those symbols on overpriced t-shirts to sell to all the baseliner fanboys and fangirls. -okay, so image is fixed after this paragraph-

Bright, tight and copyright. Like we’re f***ing cheerleaders. Thanks to those comics, no baseliner would ever recognise any of us without our skin-tight spandex. -this is starting to sound a bit more mature than past narrative-

I couldn’t keep myself from shaking like a leaf in the wind. I was no look-at-me attention-junkie like Speed Demon. Public speaking made me sick to my stomach. I so hated making a fool out of myself in front of everybody.
Hiding behind a mask helped. A little.

This was even worse than the time last week when my teacher Mr. Hartwell caught me sneaking out of class. Again. Questions were asked. Lies were told. Well, I couldn’t tell him I was wagging school because Clone had just busted out of prison again, now could I?

I don’t even remember the lie I told Mr. Hartwell. It didn’t matter, though. He didn’t believe me anyways. He made me stand up in front of the whole class and explain myself. I threw up. Twice.

B*****d.

I was so lucky he didn’t search my schoolbag and find my white-and green/black spandex. No way could I have lied my way out of that.
-I'm sure readers are thinking they know a way she could have. I see you fixed the misinterpretation from the last time I saw this bit -

He - He had? you were talking about the past, now your talking in present tense- spent the rest of the day watching me. Until Technomancer started what she called a “small fire” in the chemistry lab. She gave Mr Hartwell something to stare at that wasn’t me, and gave me time to slip out of school and do my hero thing. -This whole paragraph was in present tense, yet it's a memory, isn't it?-

Tech got a little carried away, though. She didn’t need to burn down the whole building.

-Memory ends here, now should switch to present tense-

I couldn’t summon Technomancer just by thinking about her. I’m no telepath, and she can only read the “minds” of machines. So why did my thoughts of her cause the wrench and cogwheel icon of my sidekick start flashing in the corner of my head-up display?

‘Thank you for flying Drama Queen Airlines,’ Technomancer's voice whispered in my ear. ‘According to our instruments, you may be experiencing some turbulent emotions. Your heart is currently flying at 149 beats per minute. Please take care, as rapid breathing may cause the contents of your bra to shift during fight-or-flight response. If you should face plant, please return yourself to the upright position. Please remember to wear clean underwear, securely fastened to the outside of your costume. We thank you for flying Drama Queen Airlines, and hope you have a pleasant fight.’

My hands clenched themselves into fists. My hesitant steps died suddenly, and I danced on their graves with the angry strides of someone whose sidekick gives her about as much support as a sports bra made of nothing but spandex. Tech thinks she’s a comedian, but her stupid jokes are so not funny.

I was still blushing like crazy, but at least my mask hid most of that. I won’t wear one of those tiny domino masks like Tech does. It does look kind of cute, but how does she keep that pretty little thing sitting on her face?

Besides, I needed room for the audiovisual comms and head-up display Tech crammed into my mask.

I couldn’t let Technomancer get away with that Drama Queen Airlines c**p. But I couldn’t answer her back, either. Too many baseliners were watching me. Too many baseliners would wonder why I was talking to myself. And if I got caught on the comm to Tech, too many baseliners would see me get into too much trouble. So I silently stepped into the little wooden cage, and promised myself I would scream at her later.

‘I, Singularity, swear by Almighty God that the evidence I shall give will be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.’ -I guess it's just being clever that we only understand where she is right at the end, the delaying this moment for a 1000 odd words did frustrate me a little, but the ending was probably worth it-

Overall quite entertaining, this segment was a lot more info heavy than the others, to the point that maybe she thought about things a bit too much. I kinda pictured her just standing there while everyone else gaped at her for several minutes as she fussed over Tech and the mask. Perhaps that was the intention...?

The metaphors used were all quite smooth and appropriate this time around.

[David Evil Overlord]

Hi, Warren.

Too many "my"s -- I agree. I will edit.

Missing name. Will put it in. Kept it out because the idea was to give the reader her rather colourful description of her surroundings without revealing where she is until she takes the oath. So I probably should have used a less revealing thread title to get proper reactions from critiquing readers...

Couldn't see a way to have the bailiff call her name without revealing where she is. I'll just write her name in where you suggested.

Her colourful descriptive voice meets her stage fright. She would rather get beat up by a super villain than speak in front of an audience (I don't believe in perfect heroes, so a couple of flaws humanises her).

Curses - jumped the tense again!

The idea is that Tech got her angry enough to ignore her stage fright. She hasn't quite figured that out yet, so her sidekick might just be in for a rough time over her perceived lack of support during this nerve-wracking ordeal.

As always, thanks for the comments.