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Young Sage

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About Young Sage

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    Member

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  • Age in Years
    31
  • Favorite Genres
    Adventure
    Comedy
    Romance
    Thriller/Suspense
  • Location
    USA
  • Interests
    Video games (RPGs), writing, figuring out how to post stuff online, etc.

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  1. Chicago Wildlife Act 8: Deposit and Withdraw Ugh, this feels like I’m recreating the sloth scene from Zootopia. Why did I do this to myself? International crime lord and dashingly handsome jewel thief over here, and I convince myself that it’s the smartest decision to go to the bank to deposit my check during the busiest day, during the busiest hour. It’s like everyone in the neighborhood was threatened at gunpoint to enroll at this specific bank. Was the Bank Mafia also breaking people’s kneecaps if they didn’t go during this time as well? “Oh hello there Robin. Such a pleasur
  2. Act 10: The First Issue You pick the lock to the home with ease. Your prey would not be smart enough to invest in a superior form of security. And why would they? Only a real, thinking, flesh and blood human being would think to do so. Someone not cursed to lead such a meaningless “existence.” It was all pointless anyway. They were destined to die an uneventful death. Such is the sick will of the Readers. You enter the home without making a sound. No alarms blare. You knew such would be the case. After all, this was all preordained. You are merely pushing along a straight line othe
  3. Chicago Wildlife Act 9: Polar Similars Cid Cinders sat in the sauna, reading War and Peace again. He was rapidly approaching the point in the book where the pages were nigh unreadable due to all the blood. Cid was unperturbed. He had already memorized everything. Obtaining a novel novel around these parts was inconceivable regardless, as he was performing covert practices. The walkie-talkie sprang to life. “Hey! Get over here! I got the deets hammered out!” Cid sighed and closed his tome. He lay prostrate, feeling lethargic, apprehensive towards the notion of trekking
  4. Chicago Wildlife Chapter 6: The Honest Interview “Are you ready to begin?” “Yeah yeah, ready when you are, toots.” “Please, for the remainder of the interview, refer to me as Ms. Pike.” “Whatever you say, Pike.” “Very good then. Let us begin. This is Turner Pike, interviewing Mr. Jacques Hein, for the Chicago Tribune. The current date is April first, 20XX. The current time is 4:00PM. Good afternoon, Mr. Hein.” “How ya doin’, too-, ah, Ms. Pike?” “Splendid, Mr. Hein. Thank you again for allowing this interview inside your office. I hope you are feeling well today
  5. Oh look, it’s the Field Museum of Natural History. Now I don’t mind knocking over the same place more than once, but to do so only a few weeks after a previous run? It’s like kicking a handicapped kid after you’ve already thrown him off his wheelchair. Still, I’m getting paid big for this gig, so I hope that kid is wearing a cup. Now I know what everybody is thinking: “Aren’t you rich enough from stylishly stealing that whatever-it-was-called diamond?” Clearly they don’t have the arduous task of experiencing an expensive lifestyle like I have to. Those cubicle dwellers just don’t have that
  6. Sylvester Yagatoni walked into the small room. The blinds were lowered and the incense was lit. A yoga mat lay on the floor, with a cheap pillow on one end. The ceiling fan turned at its slowest setting. Sitting on the work desk was a stunningly beautiful young woman, early 30s at most. She wore the traditional nun’s habit which, unfortunately for Sylvester, did not accentuate any of her well-sculpted curves. Even her breast size was concealed by her all consuming love of God and her total commitment to Him. “Good evening, Mr. Yagatoni,” she said warmly. “I hope you did not have trouble fi
  7. I strut into the Field Museum of Natural History, metal briefcase in one hand and fedora on my head. I’m dressed in my Sunday best and I’ll admit it, I’m feeling a little bit naked without all the makeup on and sporting my real hair for all to see. I do my best not to let my eyes wander all over the place as I make my way up to the receptionist’s desk. A beautiful, long-haired brunette sat there, typing some itinerary on her computer. She looks up to greet me. “Welcome to the Field Museum. May I assist you?” I see that her nameplate says Brittany. “Well good morning to you, B
  8. Eventually, I’m standing outside the museum. Well, I’m actually crouching in some bushes nearby, given that those pesky museum developers didn’t think to build any nearby buildings for me to use as a vantage point (besides the Shedd Aquarium and the Adler Planetarium, both just as annoying to scale and/or break into as the museum). How very inconsiderate of them. I do my best to survey the surrounding area from my position. Nobody walking in or out. A majority of the lights turned off. Both good signs that the museum is still closed and not put on high alert. There’s a digital board down the r
  9. “Well well, you look lost, sailor. You need me to point you to the nearest submarine? Or are you looking for irreputable bars overly saturated with women, or men, with loose morals?” “Wow, judging by the scathing rating of that opener going through the roof, I can’t see any reason to not think you’re up to something, Dee. How has no one caught you without your fetish gear on yet?” “Aw, Foxy, if this were fetish gear, I think you’d know it,” I reply, gently motioning my hands towards my decidedly not hard crotch. Blue Fox is perhaps the only other man around here who shares my
  10. Okay, the Field Museum of Natural History is still several miles away. My gold-bedazzled Lamborghini is still in the shop getting its tired rotated, so I guess cruising down the S. Lake Shore Drive in style is out of the question. Shame. Guess I’m going to have to hoof it the old fashioned way …with a grappling hook. I take that baby out of its holster and fire it at the nearest building ledge, wait for it to connect, pull on the rope to make sure it’s taut, and then I’m swinging like a circus acrobat. A mile or two could be shaved off my travel time if I’m avoiding corners, street lights, tra
  11. Break out that frothy glass of chocolate milk!  I am BACK, everyone!

  12. In perhaps an anomaly, I'm someone who had an active account many years ago and left it for many years, and now I'm finally coming back to it. So...for those who don't remember me, I'm Young Sage. You can TRY to read my magnum opus Black Star Cross AND its 300+ reviews (if those survived the Great Migration; it's a door-stopper for sure) to get a sense of HOW I write. I hope to see myself on here a little more often now that I feel like I have a project that fits within GA's guidelines better.
  13. Follow the lives of various supervillains as they attempt to live their best life in The Windy City! Disappearance, a ragdoll-like thief who has eyes on jewelry. Sisterly Bond, a demon slaying, dominatrix nun. Cid Cinders, a human matchstick with a chilling demeanor. Malartic, a fiery icicle who considers anytime playtime. You, a serial killer who thinks he's a fictional character. Jacques Hein, the go-to lackey and liaison between metahumans and normal people. Monsieur Mime, an assassin who is just trying to provide for his family.
  14. Chicago, 8:00PM. The museum will have been closed for a couple of hours by now and a changing of the security guards will be implemented in an hour. Security will be at its weakest, and I’ll be set to steal the Nano Wrimo Diamond. Simple, right? And if there’s anything else within arm’s reach while I’m there …why not? I’m feeling frisky tonight. “Mrat.” “Not now, Lokitty. Daddy’s gotta get you a new diamond encrusted litter box.” “Mrat. Mrat? Mrat!” Lokitty mashes his face into my left leg and rubs the right half of his body against it as well. He’s already been fed, so I’m tak
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