AlphaZero
Dracula's not an Avenger? That lying fuck!
- Joined
- Aug 4, 2013
The daily drudgery had come to an end for another week. For the next couple of days Mike could pretend his life was more enjoyable than it really was. The headphones nestled over his ears filtered the rumbeling of the bus's engine to nothing more the a muttered against the wailing of electric guitars. Without looking up from his book Mike tugged the stop cord and once the bus had settled down he stepped off into the street.
At 28 Mike Hoffman was a fairly unremarkable guy, a head of brown hair shaved close down to his head, dark blue eyes that looked out from behind a pair of narrow, rectangular glasses and a thin build that no one paid much attention to. The only real thing that made him to distinct was that he surpassed six feet by a few inches, but he normally switched so it was hard to tell. His attire was what one would expect from a lowly IT worker, khakis and a button down shirt, his usual work shoes he kept in his desk and wore sneakers when traveling back and forth.
He ducked down an alleyway next to a hair salon and let himself into the door at the end of it before mounting the stairs slowly to the apartment on the floor and letting himself in to the cramped, one bedroom unit, the front door opening right into the kitchen. His cat met him at the door, affectionately shouldering checking him in the thigh before wondering over to his food dish.
Mike dropped his bag by the door and dragged himself across the living room, snapping on the bedroom light and moving inwards.
At 28 Mike Hoffman was a fairly unremarkable guy, a head of brown hair shaved close down to his head, dark blue eyes that looked out from behind a pair of narrow, rectangular glasses and a thin build that no one paid much attention to. The only real thing that made him to distinct was that he surpassed six feet by a few inches, but he normally switched so it was hard to tell. His attire was what one would expect from a lowly IT worker, khakis and a button down shirt, his usual work shoes he kept in his desk and wore sneakers when traveling back and forth.
He ducked down an alleyway next to a hair salon and let himself into the door at the end of it before mounting the stairs slowly to the apartment on the floor and letting himself in to the cramped, one bedroom unit, the front door opening right into the kitchen. His cat met him at the door, affectionately shouldering checking him in the thigh before wondering over to his food dish.
Mike dropped his bag by the door and dragged himself across the living room, snapping on the bedroom light and moving inwards.