KarlMrax

They don’t mention any of that
in the ad copy, of course. To hear
the brochure tell it, you just put on
the N2 and hit the ground at sixty,
invisible and invulnerable, world
without end a-fucking-men.

Crysis: Legion, TRINITY

KarlMrax

I peek out, pan on zoom, again
on thermal.

Crysis: Legion, TRINITY

KarlMrax

I was parsing the twitch protocols
when Chen said “F_____k, he’s dead.” 
Gould threatened Chen and
told her not to make threats
she couldn’t back up, but Chen
explained that the rogue was
actually, literally dead. I
accessed his vitals myself at
that point and confirmed this.
The right ventricle and left

KarlMrax

 PA’s ability to recollect the
details of specific events
borders on savantism.
During our interviews he
often recited overheard
conversations verbatim, in
their entirety. We have
managed to acquire
independent records of two
of these conversations

KarlMrax

You do know how this thing
works, right? They’ve told you that much, at least?
We’re not talking about a
meatport here, I’m not one of those
new cybersoldiers with the spinal
jacks. We’re talking about carbon
nanotubes and room-temp
superconductors. Synthetic myelin.
Tendrils finer than human hairs
burrowing into me, sniffing their

KarlMrax

You don’t wear the N2, you mate
with it. You fuse. And it feels pretty 
good at first, let me tell you. It
feels great—and after a while you
start wondering why it feels so
great. A neuron’s a neuron, right?
When you get right down to it,
what’s the difference between
sending signals to my visual cortex
and sending signals to any other

KarlMrax

—and man, even
the grunts I can get a bead on are
way tougher than they have any
right to be. I’m pumping off shots
that blow good-sized divots out of
 reinforced concrete, and these
fuckers just take it. Four, five shots
to bring them down sometimes—
even with all that unprotected
meat showing—and I don’t have

KarlMrax

Then I’m flat on my back, and a
horse has just kicked me in the chest.
A horse, or a high-caliber armorpiercing
round. Tactical vectors
back and highlights a target
halfway up a faraway cliff face,
too hidden in the local cover for a
make. Not human, though.

Crysis: Legion, HIVE 

KarlMrax

Carbine’s gone. The scarab won’t
do shit against this thing. I’ve got
grenades but the Heavy just—
Oh, wait …
The charge level’s barely grazing
50 percent but it’ll have to do. I
slap two stickies onto the front of
the cab, set the timers so they don’t
blow up in my face. Whatever the
suit’s got to give, it gives now.

KarlMrax

But then I guess the spore
remembers: It eats backbones like
me for lunch. And if we’re a little
too tough to chew, it spits us out.
Something throws me against the
wall. I rattle around on the floor
for a moment like a pebble in a
pickup; then the spire opens its
throat and shoots me halfway to
the goddamn jet stream. Suddenly