KarlMrax

Half a second after that
the cloak runs out of juice and I
start taking hits. A couple even get
through before I crank the armor
setting, but I don’t think there’s
much left inside to hit anymore; for
all I know the slug just bounces
around in there and rolls down my
leg. (Sometimes, Roger, I think I
can almost hear it rattle when I

KarlMrax

I check my levels: Cloak’s fully
charged. Twenty seconds
guaranteed invisibility to beetles
and choppers, forty if I don’t have
to do anything fancy. And out
there, all those cobalt-eyed
cocksuckers just waiting for me to
make a move …

Crysis: Legion, PRISM

KarlMrax

Grendel Boy must weigh 120,
130 with his armor on. With the N2
backing me up I could throw him like a softball.
That’s what I do. One armored,
badass, humanoid softball, blurring
through smoke and rain and
leftover flames, barely seen as it
flashes past gaping stone windows
in the dead of night but man that
fucker’s moving fast, can’t get a

KarlMrax

Recessed nozzles along the walls,
probably loaded with everything
from halothane to nerve gas.
(Nothing my filters can’t handle,
worst-case I can always use the
rebreather.) 

Crysis: Legion, PRISM

KarlMrax

I stand at the door and knock.
The door blows off its hinges.
Lockhart blows back, Gauss gun
cradled against his gut: “Come on.
Come on! Show me the color of
your guts, boy!”
The joke’s on him, of course. My
insides and outsides are all the
same color by now, all
honeycombed and striated and

KarlMrax

“Fuck you, Tin Man.”
I don’t even bring up a weapon.
I grab him by the throat and raise
him high and I squeeze. At first I
think he’s making those sounds,
those hacking choking coughs, but
no: It’s Hargreave, invisible and
omnipresent as always. Hargreave,
laughing.
I throw Lockhart through the

KarlMrax

The door is open. 
The light inside is warm and inviting. 
I walk in.
A flash bomb goes off in my
head. Electricity sings, right down
in my bones. I can’t feel my skin—
no, the suit. We can’t feel the suit.
We can’t move.
“EMP assault.” I don’t know
which one of me is saying that.

KarlMrax

The table flexes around me,
tightens my restraints. Lights wink
at the end of those articulated
arms; tiny saws whine into the
ultrasonic,

Crysis: Legion, PRISM

KarlMrax

The doctor with the optional
Hippocratic Oath is not avoiding
my eyes now, no sirree: He’s
staring right into them, and he
looks about ready to piss himself.
Flickers of unfocused light and
shadow play across him: reflections
of outputs changing far, far faster
than they have any right to. And
although it should be impossible for

KarlMrax

I’ve got every goddamn
capacitor in the suit dedicated to
speed—maybe twenty seconds at
 maximum sprint before the juice
runs out

Crysis: Legion, PRISM