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The massive, metal security door hissed to a close behind him, bolts shooting back into place. He walked on, back into the city - pinpricks of blood dappling the dust behind him.
At the slight disturbance in the taste of night, twin guns spun effortlessly from their straps at his side. He pushed forwards, wide barrels ringing the eyes of the girl standing in the shadows - pinning her head back against the concrete.
“Mika.” He nodded a greeting, did not remove the guns.
“Talan, please,” she squirmed against the warm metal. Talan pressed further into her eye sockets - something, blood or tear in the darkness, crept out under the barrel. She stilled.
“Tell me, Mika, where is he?”
“I-I don’t know. Please, let me-”
His laugh cut her off - bitter, lifeless sarcasm razing the night.
He tightened his grip on the guns.
She sighed, “I just wanted to see ...”
“See what, exactly? And for who?”
Her gaze burned past the weapons holding her in place, her mouth an angry line.
“For who? What the füçk happened to you, Talan? You think I’d just sell you out - just like that?” She put hand against his chest, disturbed by its total stillness.
He said nothing - the words unable reach through.
“For me,” Mika said, “That’s who. I needed to know what happened, the truth. I needed to see for myself. But you won’t let me.”
He twisted the guns slightly around her precious eyes.
“No, I won’t.”
The foreign blood, running cold through his veins; the deep, unhealed wounds across face and chest; the harsh glint of new metal. She was not supposed to see this.
“Wait for me, Mika. I won’t be long.”
Two red-tinged bullets hit the wall.
*
In the dull moonglow Talan’s back shone pale, his spine ridged up between the rips in his clothes. Blackened blood dripped down onto the rooftop from tiny round holes; half-formed clots swung from the tattered material of his jacket. His guns stayed at his side
He felt the eyes on him, watching, willing him onwards into the deal.
“This is it,” Talan whispered into the darkness, “Then you let me go.”
From the buildings behind him, a nod spun through the silence.
Talan dropped to the street, the fall nothing, landing in front of his old friend. The man, beyond rank or title, looked briefly surprised.
“Talan? My my, I thought you were ...”
Dead eyes stared out at him, dry and faded.
“ ... I see, very well.”
He pulled on a pair of gloves. Talan shook his head
Small metal spikes crept out of the small, ever-bleeding holes along his back. They curved around his back slowly, unseen. With a small hiss, Talan’s spine unravelled itself.
The spiked metal lines shot through the buildings at either side, arching round inside, towards the target.
The man looked not at Talan but the buildings around, searching the darkness for a familiar shape. He growled through gritted teeth, spotting the shine from an amused set of eyes and a small, glass container he’d held too many times before.
A thousand lines raped the man’s flesh, piercing deep inside every inch of fatty tissue, deeper still to the core. He closed his eyes in the second of peace, then was ripped apart from the inside. Muscle, bone, tendon and tissue streamed out from the silent explosion within, lacing the walls and Talan with envied life.
In the centre, where the lines had gathered, a undefined glow was held. Tinged black at the edges, with a dot of pure white in the middle, the man’s soul hovered above the street.
Talan turned to the footstep above him, on the roof he’d stood on seconds before.
Leytch smiled, nodded his thanks. He held the glass container out towards the lost soul, drawing it tentatively in. He clamped the lid on, tucked the container safely inside his long coat.
“Good.” Talan said, “Now, let me free, let me rest.”
Silent arrogance rained down on him from above.
“Our deal is done, Leytch, let me go.”
Silence again. Leytch again reached inside his coat, pulled out another glass container. Inside, a warm orange glow dimly lit his blank features.
With a massive hand he reached down, dragged something up from beside feet.
He held Mika’s body out over the street by her shattered skull and shook the container slightly, mockingly at Talan.
Dead blood fell from her empty eye sockets.
She stirred slightly, screamed blind agony to the sky.
At the slight disturbance in the taste of night, twin guns spun effortlessly from their straps at his side. He pushed forwards, wide barrels ringing the eyes of the girl standing in the shadows - pinning her head back against the concrete.
“Mika.” He nodded a greeting, did not remove the guns.
“Talan, please,” she squirmed against the warm metal. Talan pressed further into her eye sockets - something, blood or tear in the darkness, crept out under the barrel. She stilled.
“Tell me, Mika, where is he?”
“I-I don’t know. Please, let me-”
His laugh cut her off - bitter, lifeless sarcasm razing the night.
He tightened his grip on the guns.
She sighed, “I just wanted to see ...”
“See what, exactly? And for who?”
Her gaze burned past the weapons holding her in place, her mouth an angry line.
“For who? What the füçk happened to you, Talan? You think I’d just sell you out - just like that?” She put hand against his chest, disturbed by its total stillness.
He said nothing - the words unable reach through.
“For me,” Mika said, “That’s who. I needed to know what happened, the truth. I needed to see for myself. But you won’t let me.”
He twisted the guns slightly around her precious eyes.
“No, I won’t.”
The foreign blood, running cold through his veins; the deep, unhealed wounds across face and chest; the harsh glint of new metal. She was not supposed to see this.
“Wait for me, Mika. I won’t be long.”
Two red-tinged bullets hit the wall.
*
In the dull moonglow Talan’s back shone pale, his spine ridged up between the rips in his clothes. Blackened blood dripped down onto the rooftop from tiny round holes; half-formed clots swung from the tattered material of his jacket. His guns stayed at his side
He felt the eyes on him, watching, willing him onwards into the deal.
“This is it,” Talan whispered into the darkness, “Then you let me go.”
From the buildings behind him, a nod spun through the silence.
Talan dropped to the street, the fall nothing, landing in front of his old friend. The man, beyond rank or title, looked briefly surprised.
“Talan? My my, I thought you were ...”
Dead eyes stared out at him, dry and faded.
“ ... I see, very well.”
He pulled on a pair of gloves. Talan shook his head
Small metal spikes crept out of the small, ever-bleeding holes along his back. They curved around his back slowly, unseen. With a small hiss, Talan’s spine unravelled itself.
The spiked metal lines shot through the buildings at either side, arching round inside, towards the target.
The man looked not at Talan but the buildings around, searching the darkness for a familiar shape. He growled through gritted teeth, spotting the shine from an amused set of eyes and a small, glass container he’d held too many times before.
A thousand lines raped the man’s flesh, piercing deep inside every inch of fatty tissue, deeper still to the core. He closed his eyes in the second of peace, then was ripped apart from the inside. Muscle, bone, tendon and tissue streamed out from the silent explosion within, lacing the walls and Talan with envied life.
In the centre, where the lines had gathered, a undefined glow was held. Tinged black at the edges, with a dot of pure white in the middle, the man’s soul hovered above the street.
Talan turned to the footstep above him, on the roof he’d stood on seconds before.
Leytch smiled, nodded his thanks. He held the glass container out towards the lost soul, drawing it tentatively in. He clamped the lid on, tucked the container safely inside his long coat.
“Good.” Talan said, “Now, let me free, let me rest.”
Silent arrogance rained down on him from above.
“Our deal is done, Leytch, let me go.”
Silence again. Leytch again reached inside his coat, pulled out another glass container. Inside, a warm orange glow dimly lit his blank features.
With a massive hand he reached down, dragged something up from beside feet.
He held Mika’s body out over the street by her shattered skull and shook the container slightly, mockingly at Talan.
Dead blood fell from her empty eye sockets.
She stirred slightly, screamed blind agony to the sky.
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Heheh.
Try again tomorrow.
It was pretty short, but that was by laziness, not design.
Try again tomorrow.
It was pretty short, but that was by laziness, not design.
I couldn't visualise most of it. Perhaps I am too tired though.
The word use was very nice and simple, yet effective - which makes it very accessible.
I felt perhaps it moved too quickly and you left me wondering what happened.
The way I read it he met a woman who he thought betrayed him, then someone shot him, then metal grew out of his back, and something about a container.
Urgh I give up.
The word use was very nice and simple, yet effective - which makes it very accessible.
I felt perhaps it moved too quickly and you left me wondering what happened.
The way I read it he met a woman who he thought betrayed him, then someone shot him, then metal grew out of his back, and something about a container.
Urgh I give up.
Very nice, atmospheric story. For some reason it reminded me of the Black suit Spiderman stuff, even though it was nothing like that. Go figure.
Brilliant, painted such wonderful pictures in your mind and had a truly amazing atmosphere. I love FFF stories. :-D
FinalFantasyFanatic wrote:
> But don't I deserve a little more?
Of course you do
* hands over a little more *
You need to bear in mind that not all the 'views' on the other threads are necessarily from potential readers though.
[EDIT] I've never won a GAD :(
> But don't I deserve a little more?
Of course you do
* hands over a little more *
You need to bear in mind that not all the 'views' on the other threads are necessarily from potential readers though.
[EDIT] I've never won a GAD :(
I fancy your chances as well.
*eyes up*
[I]nice
*eyes up*
[I]nice
Mav wrote:
> then you picked Rickoss over Ashman for Dust and Flame.
*sob*
You monster! How could you do such a thing!?
Anyway, without being cocky, I fancy my chances for a first ever top three placing this time.
> then you picked Rickoss over Ashman for Dust and Flame.
*sob*
You monster! How could you do such a thing!?
Anyway, without being cocky, I fancy my chances for a first ever top three placing this time.
Ah, so it's all my fault.
*sob*
I'm so sorry.
No-one's won the comp twice yet either, which just shows how much talent there is here abouts.
*sob*
I'm so sorry.
No-one's won the comp twice yet either, which just shows how much talent there is here abouts.
Ah, nah - you won that particular competition, if I remember - and then you picked Rickoss over Ashman for Dust and Flame.
Sorry, win GAD and win the actual competition as well.
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