johnny making a comment about "that hot chick over there" and v walking over to pay her a compliment or buy her a drink... johnny trying to get a better look at some poster on a lamppost and v approaches to make it easier for him... johnny sitting in the passenger seat, absentmindedly hanging his hand out the window and v rolls down her window to do the same so he can feel the breeze... johnny liking a song on the radio and even though v hates it, turns up the volume...
every time we played an extraordinary thing happened. the performance turned us into something we weren't offstage, which was the monkees. peter calls it the "fifth thing." it was the audience. they were there to bring this thing into reality ... it was really about them. - mike nesmith
the last ᴠɪsɪʙʟᴇ moments of his life are in stuttered breaks .
noise , so 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃 .
𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈.
𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐏.
like the ɢʀᴇʏɪɴɢ skies themselves had been ripped at the seams and all of the ᴛʜᴜɴᴅᴇʀ spat out at once .
𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈.
𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐏.
fluorescent tongues of orange , licking and sweeping , ᴅᴀɴᴄɪɴɢ with chaos across everything in sight .
𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈.
𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐏.
a pulse , a second explosion , hot ᴡᴀᴠᴇs and dazzling light , s o pale, as if the world was ceasing to ᴇxɪsᴛ in a brilliant yet terrifying supernova .
𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈.
𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐏.
spiking heart-rate. air, strong enough to push an ᴀʀᴍʏ down . dust, debris, c h u n k s of ceiling .
𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈.
𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐏.
ᴾᴬᴵᴺ. pain. ᴘᴀɪɴ.
𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈.
𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐏.
a ғᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀ in flight , backwards he fell . slow motion. unconscious before the ground was even ghosted upon .
𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈.
𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐏.
r e a l i t y fading in and out . ringing sounds . he was somewhere else; but he wasn’t . ʜᴇ ғᴇʟᴛ ᴄᴀʟᴍ.
wake up
wake up
wake up
𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈.
𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐏.
...
he awoke.
nothing.
n̶o̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶.. ?
𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 .
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fighting came first .
it was hard . it was blood & sweat and gritted teeth; but so was he.
he started with a punching bag . every misplaced swing of bruised knuckles that collided with nothing but air only pushed him further . he was determined. he’d been through ᴡᴀʀs . he’d watched the reign and fall of overwatch . he’d helped lead people towards greatness . he’d helped SAVE THE WORLD . jack morrison wasn’t going to let something so tiny in comparison as blindness stop him.
he spent hours upon hours , punch after punch after day after day . the marks on his hands growing darker , the array of colours switching from red to blue to purple to green to yellow and then starting again , blood permanently crusted around his fingers . nails battered to stubs as he dragged them around the walls of his safehouse .
he fell down.
he struggled.
he kept going.
he got better.
he could HEAR the swing of the bag , could feel the air movement flush against his skin after a success , metallic rattling of the steel chain working as a way to pinpoint the exact location . his eyes were useless , but he had his ears.
he kept going .
he only missed every other throw . he knew where 50% of the walls were. food wasn’t only available in cans . when he walked into something , he would grunt but remain otherwise unaffected .
a ᴍᴀsᴋ was made ; every single piece of tech involved stolen . it used a form of ᴱᶜᴴᴼᴸᴼᶜᴬᵀᴵᴼᴺ , creating a auditory map of his surroundings . blind navigation became a second nature .
on the rise , he was in control once again . no longer depending on his sight ; nobody could stop him now . he had a mission : seek justice for overwatch.
