11-14-2017, 02:45 PM
(This post was last modified: 11-14-2017, 02:49 PM by Alex Mercer.)
The world was dark. Compared to the pure innocence of the Nexus, this felt more like home. The clouds overhead and the dingy light that spread across everything reminded him of Manhattan smog. In the distance, he could see the signs of a small civilization. The roar of the beast between his legs quieted as he released the throttle, coasting for a few moments of extra thought.
No one waited on him at the gate. No one seemed to expect his arrival, which meant he still had an element of surprise. He was hardly ever afforded such a luxury where he was from, not without wearing the skin of someone else. Mercer needed information. He did not remember this place, that city, this road – none of it. It did not feel like a case of amnesia either, he knew that sensation of forgetfulness all too well. This place was brand new to him. If it was not obvious by the previous ungodly innocent world, then maybe the transition drove it home. This was not Manhattan. This was probably not even the United States – or Earth – or anything that he once knew.
He could have gone in, guns blazing, claws slashing, and consume one of the townsmen. He considered it, his hand almost throttling up. No. That would cause a panic. The last thing I need is to ruin my cover. The Prototype wanted to go in and consume everyone, but that would do nothing. Memories would end up muddled and confusing, fragmented as he tried to absorb the consciousness of so many. Then again, he knew he could not just kill one, if that one was seen then the panic would blow his cover. For the moment, Mercer had no idea what kind of military force this world had. For all he knew, it was a hundred fold worse than Black Watch.
There was a fork in the road. One path led to this gloomy city, while another veered off into the woodlands. It was less maintained, probably leading to a small, less important hamlet in bumfuck nowhere. His gaze lingered on it as he approached. There were no road signs, not even a stop sign for the road. It was discreet.
He dropped his wrist, bringing back the full force of the stolen motorcycle’s roar. With a sharp lean, nearly touching his knee to the ground, he veered off the beaten path. The new road was less stable, its cobbled path almost crumbling away until there was nothing left but gravel.
With one hand steering the vessel, the other reached back, clicking open one of the hard covered saddlebags. He reached in till he found something soft. Tugging it out, he found it to be a lunch bag. Hmm. As the engine roared and gravel crunched under the tires, he tore into the dead man’s would-be last meal. He tossed the tuna sandwich, but kept the apple. The sweet, juicy goodness was a much needed break from the taste of human flesh – a taste he never really felt on his tongue, but one that was always there after absorbing someone. Unlike his more carnivorous diet, this meal would not leave him with foul memories of a wife and unborn child, and thoughts of their life alone.
Fuck. He growled at the empty air. His most recent kill resurfaced, his voice becoming more dominant over the crowd. It was so distracting, the Prototype almost veered off the path. Reeling back towards the center of the gravel road, his back tire spun, noisily kicking up a handful of stones and pinging them against a few trees. He could hear the caw of birds as they fluttered away. Memories of the crow stirred. So many foul memories today.
No one waited on him at the gate. No one seemed to expect his arrival, which meant he still had an element of surprise. He was hardly ever afforded such a luxury where he was from, not without wearing the skin of someone else. Mercer needed information. He did not remember this place, that city, this road – none of it. It did not feel like a case of amnesia either, he knew that sensation of forgetfulness all too well. This place was brand new to him. If it was not obvious by the previous ungodly innocent world, then maybe the transition drove it home. This was not Manhattan. This was probably not even the United States – or Earth – or anything that he once knew.
He could have gone in, guns blazing, claws slashing, and consume one of the townsmen. He considered it, his hand almost throttling up. No. That would cause a panic. The last thing I need is to ruin my cover. The Prototype wanted to go in and consume everyone, but that would do nothing. Memories would end up muddled and confusing, fragmented as he tried to absorb the consciousness of so many. Then again, he knew he could not just kill one, if that one was seen then the panic would blow his cover. For the moment, Mercer had no idea what kind of military force this world had. For all he knew, it was a hundred fold worse than Black Watch.
There was a fork in the road. One path led to this gloomy city, while another veered off into the woodlands. It was less maintained, probably leading to a small, less important hamlet in bumfuck nowhere. His gaze lingered on it as he approached. There were no road signs, not even a stop sign for the road. It was discreet.
He dropped his wrist, bringing back the full force of the stolen motorcycle’s roar. With a sharp lean, nearly touching his knee to the ground, he veered off the beaten path. The new road was less stable, its cobbled path almost crumbling away until there was nothing left but gravel.
With one hand steering the vessel, the other reached back, clicking open one of the hard covered saddlebags. He reached in till he found something soft. Tugging it out, he found it to be a lunch bag. Hmm. As the engine roared and gravel crunched under the tires, he tore into the dead man’s would-be last meal. He tossed the tuna sandwich, but kept the apple. The sweet, juicy goodness was a much needed break from the taste of human flesh – a taste he never really felt on his tongue, but one that was always there after absorbing someone. Unlike his more carnivorous diet, this meal would not leave him with foul memories of a wife and unborn child, and thoughts of their life alone.
Fuck. He growled at the empty air. His most recent kill resurfaced, his voice becoming more dominant over the crowd. It was so distracting, the Prototype almost veered off the path. Reeling back towards the center of the gravel road, his back tire spun, noisily kicking up a handful of stones and pinging them against a few trees. He could hear the caw of birds as they fluttered away. Memories of the crow stirred. So many foul memories today.
[img=0x0]http://omniverse-rpg.com/attachment.php?aid=39[/img]