l Inkjet l photo

l Inkjet l

Total Posts :: 610
Member Since :: October 22, 2003 (Global User)

My Personal Information

First Name :: Inkjet
Last Name :: Obsidian Quietus Experiment 0214
Age :: 9
Location :: Fallen from grace.
Occupation :: Resident Printer Wolf.
Hobbies :: Hobbies? Well, he's quite good at brooding. Reciting poetry, perhaps. You'd have to ask him, himself - though I don't know whether he'd tell you or not. He's quite the taciturn one, is our Inkjet.
Personal Bio :: Once upon a time, the Timber Wolf had been known as Obsidian Quietus Experiment TW0214, often called "The Black" for his shadow-kissed fur. Ripped from his mother's womb and placed in an incubator before he had the eyes to see or the ears to hear, Inkjet was made into their prime experiment for a new breed of attack dogs. Or, in his case, attack wolves renowned as "Obsidian Quietus" - the black release from life. Wolves bred to be larger, stronger, capable of more carnage. Wolves with eyes of blood red and pelts black enough to swallow the sun and stars and hunger for more. Wolves without the hindrances of emotion or pain ; without disobedience and without mercy. In the beginning, Inkjet was perfect. Not a single flaw marred his flesh, frame, or fur. And in the beginning, not a single flaw marred his beautiful mind ; he was everything they had dreamed of.

But perfection is not to last.

And there is an end for every beginning.

And everything is never enough.

Eventually Inkjet faltered in his growing list of expectations. It began with a twinge, and though he was not aware of its name, the twinge was pain. During one of the brutal beatings that had become routine, his frame buckled and he yelped, immediately regaining his balance. 'Twas a blow that would have felled any normal wolf ; a slam to his left foreleg with a rough-hewn board. He was led out of the "training room" and placed back in his "den", a simulation of the outdoors. He heard the words "malfunction" and "error", understood them perfectly, connected them with himself. And then he was tortured anew, for more tests were done, more needles, more shock treatments, more scans. The repeated abuse had awakened the feeling sector of his brain, an irreversible thing. Obsidian Quietus Experiment TW0214, once perfection incarnate, was now nothing more than a malfunction and therefore completely useless to the laboratory.

Without prelude or conclusion, they had placed Inkjet into a helicopter and flown him to the Waikato, simply dropping him into the raging river to find his own fate.

My Contact Information

Email Address :: private
My Inbox :: Send me a Message!
IM :: None - ask me.
© Copyright 1999-2005 ezboard, Inc. All rights reserved.