A sharp pain resonates through my skull, forcing me to my knees. I clutched my head, as if that would help. Blackness took me.
I was walking down the hallway, the lights flickering. Everything was white, like it was completely sterilized of everything. The possibilities of this place were most likely a research facility, hospital, or an insane asylum. However, the lights were completely out, but there was light coming from my immediate area. I realized a light sensation on my hand, one I was totally used it. My hand was on fire, but I didn't mind it, I just kept trudging on. Through the silence a sound began to echo, in between giggling and crying. I began to slow down and pushed my had out, the flame becoming bigger strong, my energy dropping a bit. I looked around. Blood and some purple substance were intertwined across the floors and wall, like the den of some horrible beast. Against every warning for survival in my body, I advanced.
The purple substance was squishy and almost not wanting me to move my foot again. It was like trying to walk through mud, but harder. The sounds got louder as I walked by, dark shapes were moving behind the doors that lined either side of corridor, things that definitely didn't look human.
After what felt like hours I came to a stop to the end of the hall. A girl was sitting there, facing the walls her face in her hands. Her hair was brown, almost the exact same shade as my own, except for the fact that she had dyed a strip of her hair red. The purple substance seemed to have coated itself over the girl. It was stuck across her back and shoulders, plaster some of her hair down. I reach my non-flaming hand out, my right hand, toward her, saying something I couldn't quite hear outside of the memory. Was I trying to comfort her? I didn't know. She stood up, still seeming like she was crying. The realization had hit me, she was making this sound. Something was wrong with her. At the time I wasn't thinking straight. I was just happy to see her alive. Then the girl turned around. Her face would have been very similar to mine, except for the gruesome scene of the contorted face of anguish and giddiness, her face also touched by the purple substance, and a mandible protruded from the one side of her face, half covering her mouth. One of her eyes were differently coloured, it was an orange. The beginning of her hair and her eyebrows seemed to be spiked bristles that seemed to swirl, like a mix between antennae and thorns on the backs of porcupines. Was she my daughter? No, she would have been too old for that. My sister probably. The girl opened her mouth as if she were talking. I couldn't hear her, and the mandible made it impossible for me to read her lips. Then she lunged. If it weren't for my battle instincts she would have taken me down, likely have killed me. I had pulled my blade from my sheath, and as it came out in its swift motion, cleaved into the girl, nearly into two pieces, and sent her into the wall. Whoever it was died due to whatever this was. The dark shapes behind doors seemed to start moving to them, to me. I wanted to leave this place. But I couldn't. I had to do something.
I would burn away whatever this infection was, and euthanize anybody effected by it.
I came to, sprawled across the grass, slowly I pushed myself up, completely forgetting about the man that stood there, that had asked for access for a place to stay. I opened up my palm. Flames... I could... No, I can summon flames. Using some of my willpower, a flame sputtered to life in my hand, well under control, but highly dangerous if I were to let it leave my command.
I look towards the man, having remembered him by now, finding him dazed. "I apologize about my weariness, but who are you?" I felt as if he were in the same position as me. Lost and very much human.
= = = = = = = =
Oswald muttered under his breath as the man disappeared from the tree. "Well, oh !@#$." Slowly, but warily Oswald moved to put the revolver away, but still very tense. His hand was half way there when his muscles involuntarily relaxed, and his vision blacked. Crumpling to the ground like a sack of potatoes, Oswald was motionless and helpless. The only sign of my being alive was the sound of his strained cold breath, as he had fallen face first into the snow, it would be impossible to see the rise and fall of his chest.
"Harris, hurry your %^- up!" From his observing mind, he realized that the man was calling to him, he hadn't even realized he had forgotten his name, or really anything for that matter.
"Yes, sir." Oswald grumbled, his commanding officer being quite hard on him. Oswald was a very strong shot, a great soldier in that respect. But the physical athleticism did not really come to Oswald. He was very scrawny, not too tough, but he didn't really need it. He just needed to be able to aim, stay stealthy, and take quick small movements due to his position as a sniper. However, still he had to go through the pain in the *!@ training exercises to 'stay fit', It was stupid. Why couldn't he get a single day of break from this? In his mind, he was fit enough. He ran with the others, muttering under his breath about how much he hated it.
Harris shifts into his eyes while in some sort of desert, positioned on top of a sandstone building, a canister rifle of some sort set out in front of him. He was watching through the scope, in front of a large group of men donned in red CMC armour, his eyepieces identifying them as friendlies. Oswald sighs, moving his eye away briefly to rub his eye, and in those mere moments his squad begins yelling into their radios for sniper support. Oswald eyes widen and he moves towards the scope to begin firing. He zooms into an enemy behind some cover, firing blindly into the squad. The marksman pulls the trigger, the bullet having to be fired off to the side slightly, the wind blowng the bullet off into the cowering rebel's head, blowing apart his face. Harris was going to fire again when something grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him to the ground. A man in the some lighter CMC armour, if he had been in anything heavier, Oswald would have heard him coming. Quickly jumping to his feet, the marksman prepares himself for the fight that was about to break out. The hostile takes the first swing and Oswald ducks off to the side, grabbing the man's arm and trying to pull him off the edge. Before the man stumbles off he catches his balance and lunges at Oswald with a heavy fist, slamming into the marksman's chest before he could get out of the way, he slides across the roof, struggling to catch his breath. The punch had winded him.
The man walked over, about to shove the nearly dead marksman off the edge, grabbing onto the shoulders of his helpless prey, it strikes back. Oswald managed to get his breath back, and using the roof of the building as a base, he was able to launch the man holding him over the edge, even if it pulled his shoulder against the building in pain a fair amount. Harris sighed, laying there for another moment before getting up and checking through his scope, ready to disperse anybody down there, save what he could of his squad. Except nobody was there. Eight bodies, over half of his squad and two hostiles. The rest must have been taken prisoner. #$%^... I need to get out of here... I... I won't be able to go back after this, besides, the dropship is probably not gonna be able to pick me up anyways... Sighing, Oswald packed up his rifle and ran. He would find another way off world, a way to survive. He always had.
The marksman woke up, breathing heavily into the snow. His face was wet and covered in snow, the paining burning. "GOD DAMN THAT HURTS!" He yells as he shoves himself up, He yells towards the man hidden in the trees as his eyes scan around for his revolver. "Who are you?"
Edited by ShadowFury on 1/29/2014 8:23 PM PST