Navick
22-06-2006, 06:26
[OOC: some blood, especially at the end and violence, nothing you haven't seen in a movie but I am suppossed to warn any who read this anyway. Comments welcome and ect.]
All armies always need new soldiers, so their respective governments send out recruiters to replenish and expand the ranks. There is no special time period for this; armies grow in times of peace as well in times of war, the only difference is the extent and rate the expansion occurs. Most recruiting is done in the open: with posters, signs, phone calls, and commercials inspiring patriotism for ones own government. However, in Ciris Aphalon, recruitment for one army was far less... blatant.
* * *
Light crept in through the half broken window and the many fissures snaking across the front door, washing the rotting wood floor in an artificial radiance of gold. The warping metal walls were covered in dust and a thick coat of some vile dark substance, spreading across like veins on metal skin from some horrible creature. The decrepit building was sparsely furnished; only a single table and a broken refrigeration unit in kitchen, and a broken bed frame cradling a moldy mattress in the single bedroom. The living room had nothing save for a wooden nightstand that had long since collapsed in on itself. The air was thick with the mold that claimed the mattress and a fetid odor emanating from the unknown substance clinging to the walls.
Outside was no different; the mobile unit park had been abandoned since the Wall had been shut down. Thousands of housing units slowly decayed into piles of metal rubble between the dusty footpaths linking each together. Vehicles were strewn about the complex in equally as worse a shape, rusting into nothing, a crusting shadow of their former selves. Life as most knew it had not had a residence in this horrible place in a long time, but still something stirred.
In the middle of the living room floor a young man in nothing but tattered jeans quivered slightly, rattling the chains that bound him to the rotting wood floor stained black by blood and chunks of his flesh. He was shackled at the wrists and ankles with a rusting spiked collar bleeding his neck. The light flooding from the outside agitated his milky green eyes and burned his pale ashen skin. His words were nothing but nonsense, a slurred amalgamation of random syllables and moans wrought by pain and hunger. He fought against his bindings, kicking up dust as floor shook and splintered from his frenzy, but still his bonds held him down, much to his frustration.
At first he called out for help, screaming for days before he forgot how to speak, but no one ever came, no one ever answered. He thought, he knew someone would be looking for him after he had vanished from the streets; his family was wealthy, so news of his disappearance would not be swept aside by the media if they had anything to say about it. However, these thoughts faded away into the chaos of his waning mind.
Suddenly the light from the outside vanished, replaced by a calming darkness; the habitations lights had been shutoff for the night. He was less energetic now, still sullen like a child that failed to get its way, but the menacing light had ceased its torturing burn. He thought about trying again to escape; hungry and tired of laying face first in blood soaked wood he wanted to move, but then he heard footsteps.
For a moment he quieted down, listening intently to the sound of metal chime against metal as heavy boots plodded through the dirt towards the door. Closer and closer, till he could make out the sound of something being drug along the ground. He looked up towards the window with a ghoulish smile contorting his lacerated face as the dim, white hue of the cities lights crept along the pane. For a brief second the blobbed silhouette of a man passed by the window, not breathing or speaking as he dragged something heavy behind him.
The door creaked slowly open, revealing the outline of a tall, slender man as he walked into the house unimpeded by the darkness. He was cold. Everything about him was cold. Even the air around him and the sound of his footsteps was bone chillingly cold. The bound man quickly cowered in his presence, quivering violently as the standing man loomed over him, staring at him in contempt with eyes ablaze in a storm of cyan surrounded by a tumultuous sea of dark violet.
"Put these on, Toran." The standing man said, throwing the heavy sack at the Toran's head, ruffling his greasy, jet-black hair. With the cold man’s utterance, the chains released Toran from the floor. The shackles crashed against the ground in a loud metallic thud.
Toran slowly rose from the ground, his legs almost buckling as they lifted his stiff body. Joints popped as he stretched, extending his arms and twisting his body. His chest was just as lacerated as his face, if not more so. A deep, but neat gash ran from his right nipple almost diagonally through his left thigh. It had by now scabbed over, a sickly black coating of skin glistening whenever touched by light. The rest of his chest and face were cut and torn by his fierce struggling against the rough floor.
He looked at the sack with child like fascination; drool dripping from his swollen purple lips. He dove into the sack, tearing into the thick leather of the sack as if it has been nothing more than tissue paper, groaning in hunger.
"You'll get to eat tonight, now put on your cloths and be quick about it." The standing man said, his voice cold and impatient.
For several minutes the only sounds resonating from the building were the cold man's impatient foot tapping against the floor, and that of Toran pawing through the sack of assorted clothing and haphazardly dressing into them: a green overcoat fitting loosely over a plain white T-shirt tucked into tight, camo colored jeans.
When that was done the standing man lead the stumbling Toran outside. Toran gawked in amazement at the city lights breaking the horizon in the distance; it had been what seemed like an eternity since last he had last laid eyes upon it, amongst the loud music and bustling citizens of that very city, Ciris Aphalon.
Ciris Aphalon used to be a center of large-scale economic and military activity before the peace treaty, now just a conglomeration of empty garages and barracks huddled around abandoned ammunition plants and military grade vehicle factories at the cities center. Outside was typical urban sprawl, thousands of neighborhoods strewn about the landscape all the way to the edge of the dome. Anyone who remained when the economy collapsed either did not have the means to leave, or tried to stick it out until the good times came back, only to be disappointed when they never did. The only thing that generated any revenue was the multitude of nightclubs the mayor paraded as tourist attractions. The media campaign met some success, but still, Ciric Aphalon was simply a giant slum run primarily by criminal organizations that pushed the drug trade through the nightclubs and corrupt politicians profiting from looking the other way.
Toran did not remember who he was, or what he did amongst the other ravers and the club lights dancing to the rhythm of fast paced electronic music under the influence of the multitude of drug induced hallucinations they frequently indulged, he just knew it was familiar. And the sight made him hungry.
They left the park quickly; taking a long forgotten path that cut an almost straight line through the factories and disheveled neighborhoods where the rich once lived. Roofs folded in on themselves. Oak verandas warped and collapsed into the ground covered by dry grass and blighted foliage that had escaped from the confines of long forgotten gardens. Shutters were crooked and broken. Their Windows were glassless; shattered by pillagers to gain access to whatever riches the former occupants may have left behind, while the thick steel doors remained remarkably intact despite the onslaught of rust that befell them. Toran didn’t have much time to observe these dim surroundings; he stumbled behind the cold man, trying to be never more than a footstep behind, mumbling and grumbling as he struggled to match pace.
They arrived at the outskirts of human activity a few minutes later. People could be heard, but not seen conversing and laughing in the nearby streets as they walked along cracking sidewalks into the clubs that lined the streets.
“Now Toran, you are free now to do as you please.” The cold man turned to Toran, “I know you cannot understand, of course, most of the words I am saying to you now, but please be sure never to come back to that park, and please keep from getting yourself caught, killed, or whatever a worm like you would do to cause me any headaches.” He continued in a pensive tone, staring the ghost of a man over with the same contempt as before.
Toran did not reply, only groaning with his tongue, fat and purple from hunger and thirst, hanging out his mouth over his serrated and broken teeth. He could see their warmth even through several concrete buildings, his eyes glowing with excitement as his face contorted into another grizzly smile. Thousands and thousands of warm souls moving and dancing in front of him, taunting him with their vigorous movements.
“Well, go on you stupid little beast.” Screamed the cold man, pushing Toran away. “I’ve got some things I need to do tonight, and I don’t have time to waste dealing with you, now go!”
With that, Toran left, sprinting almost down the alleyways parallel to the crowds. He watched them all in hungered agony, hoping to find one away from the larger sea of red so as to be unhindered by meddlers when he started his meal.
At last he found one, just one about a hundred meters away from all the other warm souls. A young woman walking briskly through the alleys pressing a thick coat firmly against her body, trying to fend off the night air’s cold bite.
In the beginning he kept his distance, following from parallel alleys and the rooftops of small buildings, being sure to move slowly and quietly. Soon, she had entered an old park, still populated by living trees and home to a pristine lake. The rippling water scattered the city light that shone on it, reflecting it back towards to its source. Toran bobbed and weaved through the maze of trees and fallen branches; keeping his long shadow just behind the shrubbery away from the woman's view if she had ever turned around, heels clacking on the cobblestone path that cut around the lake and through the trees.
She did several laps around the park before stopping on an old wooden arch bridge that extended over the middle of the lake. The wind weaved her hair into an electrifying dance of black silken threads whipping through the air before collapsing onto the light honey skin of her face cut by tears streaming from hazel eyes. Toran did not ponder her sadness; he did not wonder what caused someone so beautiful to be so sad, he only thought about distance, the distance between himself, the woman, and the potential for meddlers if they heard her scream.
She finally left the park, forcing Toran to hide and remain motionless for an entire agonizing hour. He almost didn’t notice when she left the bridge and entered another abandoned manufacturing district dominated by sealed factories and empty employee housing units. At first, she thought she was alone in the narrow alleys amongst broken glass and empty boxes. However, as she proceeded further in she noticed signs of somewhat recent habitation; moldy beds and tattered sleeping bags covered in alcohol and moldy food crumbs near scorched concrete where fires were lit to keep whoever occupied the area warm during the oft-cold nights. She was nervous, but she just kept going, Well… whoever was here isn’t here now.
Toran had gotten closer to her now, closing the distance inch by inch with each heavy step. His eyes burned in desire, in the pale lamp light that kept the district from being a pitch-black maze.
She thought she heard something, something walking with heavy uneven steps behind her enshrouded in the steam that fumed from the vents lining the walls. She began walking faster, not running or jogging, but faster than her previous pace; deciding to cut her walk short and head directly back to the city as soon as an alley appeared.
He almost panicked when she abruptly started walking faster and breathing harder. He knew he had little time before she found a way back to the city and his efforts would be in vain.
The steps she thought she heard were more prominent now; they moved faster and hit the ground harder. Still she wasn’t sure, till she heard a loud *crunch* glass being stepped on.
Toran had trouble running at first; he joints were still stiff and his muscles sluggish, but his will drove him faster. He was catching up to her now as she sprinted, even as he slammed into walls and tripped onto the ground.
She was overcome by fear, sprinting through the steam between the buildings that felt like they were closing in. She turned to the left, into a cramped space between two old factories hoping to loose her pursuer.
He could see her heat running down a cramped alley. Her heel broke and she stumped as he rounded the corner, falling into a collection of old barrels and wooden crates. He struggled back to his feet, only to fall over and over again.
When she heard the crash, she knew someone or something was chasing her, with no one around to help her. She had sprained her ankle when she fell, limping now into an empty lot where trucks picked up and dropped off shipments of raw materials and manufactured goods. The lights were out and the air was clear. She couldn’t see anything, but she could hear everything.
Toran rushed into the lot towards the warm, succulent heat. The girl had made it up a loading dock and was trying to force a door open, but it was too late for that. He jumped across the lot onto the doc only a few feet away from her. She heard him, begging and pleading to be spared, screaming for someone to help her, someone to save her as he edged closer and close, till she could feel his slimy hands wrapping around her screaming throat.
She saw her life flash before her eyes: family, friends; happy times and regrets for roads still left untravelled. She pleaded and gagged at the same time, hysterical tears running down her killers hands as he tightened his grip… *snap* she went limp, her last breath asked, “why?” before her vision faded into a blackness darker than a moonless night when the stars hide behind thick storm clouds and the lights of the civilization are obscured by a vast horizon. The Father would let him keep this one.
He was covered in her blood by the time he finished her arms, strings of spasming muscle hung from his mouth as he bit through her rib cage greedily. The sound of teeth crunching bone reverberated through the lot and the empty alleys. He looked around, seeing no warmth anywhere around, he continued feeding. The district echoed the sound of bones cracking and breaking as Toran dismantled her rip cage, ripping out the heart, raising it in the air like a ghoulish prize and observing it with a peculiar fascination before sinking his teeth into the warm muscle, creating a macabre piece of abstract art on the canvas of metal as blood fountained from the heart and onto the factory walls.
Toran stopped feeding when the warmth was gone; the cold soured his tongue and no longer sated his hunger. He stomped off in frustration; he had to find another one straying from the pack before he could eat again, and as far as he could see that was not going to happen again, at least not tonight. He left shattered bone and torn flesh to cluster around half-eaten organs swimming in a pool of coagulating blood, her face locked in an expression of sheer horror and hysteria as her empty hazel eyes starred off into the horizon, still calling for someone to save her.
All armies always need new soldiers, so their respective governments send out recruiters to replenish and expand the ranks. There is no special time period for this; armies grow in times of peace as well in times of war, the only difference is the extent and rate the expansion occurs. Most recruiting is done in the open: with posters, signs, phone calls, and commercials inspiring patriotism for ones own government. However, in Ciris Aphalon, recruitment for one army was far less... blatant.
* * *
Light crept in through the half broken window and the many fissures snaking across the front door, washing the rotting wood floor in an artificial radiance of gold. The warping metal walls were covered in dust and a thick coat of some vile dark substance, spreading across like veins on metal skin from some horrible creature. The decrepit building was sparsely furnished; only a single table and a broken refrigeration unit in kitchen, and a broken bed frame cradling a moldy mattress in the single bedroom. The living room had nothing save for a wooden nightstand that had long since collapsed in on itself. The air was thick with the mold that claimed the mattress and a fetid odor emanating from the unknown substance clinging to the walls.
Outside was no different; the mobile unit park had been abandoned since the Wall had been shut down. Thousands of housing units slowly decayed into piles of metal rubble between the dusty footpaths linking each together. Vehicles were strewn about the complex in equally as worse a shape, rusting into nothing, a crusting shadow of their former selves. Life as most knew it had not had a residence in this horrible place in a long time, but still something stirred.
In the middle of the living room floor a young man in nothing but tattered jeans quivered slightly, rattling the chains that bound him to the rotting wood floor stained black by blood and chunks of his flesh. He was shackled at the wrists and ankles with a rusting spiked collar bleeding his neck. The light flooding from the outside agitated his milky green eyes and burned his pale ashen skin. His words were nothing but nonsense, a slurred amalgamation of random syllables and moans wrought by pain and hunger. He fought against his bindings, kicking up dust as floor shook and splintered from his frenzy, but still his bonds held him down, much to his frustration.
At first he called out for help, screaming for days before he forgot how to speak, but no one ever came, no one ever answered. He thought, he knew someone would be looking for him after he had vanished from the streets; his family was wealthy, so news of his disappearance would not be swept aside by the media if they had anything to say about it. However, these thoughts faded away into the chaos of his waning mind.
Suddenly the light from the outside vanished, replaced by a calming darkness; the habitations lights had been shutoff for the night. He was less energetic now, still sullen like a child that failed to get its way, but the menacing light had ceased its torturing burn. He thought about trying again to escape; hungry and tired of laying face first in blood soaked wood he wanted to move, but then he heard footsteps.
For a moment he quieted down, listening intently to the sound of metal chime against metal as heavy boots plodded through the dirt towards the door. Closer and closer, till he could make out the sound of something being drug along the ground. He looked up towards the window with a ghoulish smile contorting his lacerated face as the dim, white hue of the cities lights crept along the pane. For a brief second the blobbed silhouette of a man passed by the window, not breathing or speaking as he dragged something heavy behind him.
The door creaked slowly open, revealing the outline of a tall, slender man as he walked into the house unimpeded by the darkness. He was cold. Everything about him was cold. Even the air around him and the sound of his footsteps was bone chillingly cold. The bound man quickly cowered in his presence, quivering violently as the standing man loomed over him, staring at him in contempt with eyes ablaze in a storm of cyan surrounded by a tumultuous sea of dark violet.
"Put these on, Toran." The standing man said, throwing the heavy sack at the Toran's head, ruffling his greasy, jet-black hair. With the cold man’s utterance, the chains released Toran from the floor. The shackles crashed against the ground in a loud metallic thud.
Toran slowly rose from the ground, his legs almost buckling as they lifted his stiff body. Joints popped as he stretched, extending his arms and twisting his body. His chest was just as lacerated as his face, if not more so. A deep, but neat gash ran from his right nipple almost diagonally through his left thigh. It had by now scabbed over, a sickly black coating of skin glistening whenever touched by light. The rest of his chest and face were cut and torn by his fierce struggling against the rough floor.
He looked at the sack with child like fascination; drool dripping from his swollen purple lips. He dove into the sack, tearing into the thick leather of the sack as if it has been nothing more than tissue paper, groaning in hunger.
"You'll get to eat tonight, now put on your cloths and be quick about it." The standing man said, his voice cold and impatient.
For several minutes the only sounds resonating from the building were the cold man's impatient foot tapping against the floor, and that of Toran pawing through the sack of assorted clothing and haphazardly dressing into them: a green overcoat fitting loosely over a plain white T-shirt tucked into tight, camo colored jeans.
When that was done the standing man lead the stumbling Toran outside. Toran gawked in amazement at the city lights breaking the horizon in the distance; it had been what seemed like an eternity since last he had last laid eyes upon it, amongst the loud music and bustling citizens of that very city, Ciris Aphalon.
Ciris Aphalon used to be a center of large-scale economic and military activity before the peace treaty, now just a conglomeration of empty garages and barracks huddled around abandoned ammunition plants and military grade vehicle factories at the cities center. Outside was typical urban sprawl, thousands of neighborhoods strewn about the landscape all the way to the edge of the dome. Anyone who remained when the economy collapsed either did not have the means to leave, or tried to stick it out until the good times came back, only to be disappointed when they never did. The only thing that generated any revenue was the multitude of nightclubs the mayor paraded as tourist attractions. The media campaign met some success, but still, Ciric Aphalon was simply a giant slum run primarily by criminal organizations that pushed the drug trade through the nightclubs and corrupt politicians profiting from looking the other way.
Toran did not remember who he was, or what he did amongst the other ravers and the club lights dancing to the rhythm of fast paced electronic music under the influence of the multitude of drug induced hallucinations they frequently indulged, he just knew it was familiar. And the sight made him hungry.
They left the park quickly; taking a long forgotten path that cut an almost straight line through the factories and disheveled neighborhoods where the rich once lived. Roofs folded in on themselves. Oak verandas warped and collapsed into the ground covered by dry grass and blighted foliage that had escaped from the confines of long forgotten gardens. Shutters were crooked and broken. Their Windows were glassless; shattered by pillagers to gain access to whatever riches the former occupants may have left behind, while the thick steel doors remained remarkably intact despite the onslaught of rust that befell them. Toran didn’t have much time to observe these dim surroundings; he stumbled behind the cold man, trying to be never more than a footstep behind, mumbling and grumbling as he struggled to match pace.
They arrived at the outskirts of human activity a few minutes later. People could be heard, but not seen conversing and laughing in the nearby streets as they walked along cracking sidewalks into the clubs that lined the streets.
“Now Toran, you are free now to do as you please.” The cold man turned to Toran, “I know you cannot understand, of course, most of the words I am saying to you now, but please be sure never to come back to that park, and please keep from getting yourself caught, killed, or whatever a worm like you would do to cause me any headaches.” He continued in a pensive tone, staring the ghost of a man over with the same contempt as before.
Toran did not reply, only groaning with his tongue, fat and purple from hunger and thirst, hanging out his mouth over his serrated and broken teeth. He could see their warmth even through several concrete buildings, his eyes glowing with excitement as his face contorted into another grizzly smile. Thousands and thousands of warm souls moving and dancing in front of him, taunting him with their vigorous movements.
“Well, go on you stupid little beast.” Screamed the cold man, pushing Toran away. “I’ve got some things I need to do tonight, and I don’t have time to waste dealing with you, now go!”
With that, Toran left, sprinting almost down the alleyways parallel to the crowds. He watched them all in hungered agony, hoping to find one away from the larger sea of red so as to be unhindered by meddlers when he started his meal.
At last he found one, just one about a hundred meters away from all the other warm souls. A young woman walking briskly through the alleys pressing a thick coat firmly against her body, trying to fend off the night air’s cold bite.
In the beginning he kept his distance, following from parallel alleys and the rooftops of small buildings, being sure to move slowly and quietly. Soon, she had entered an old park, still populated by living trees and home to a pristine lake. The rippling water scattered the city light that shone on it, reflecting it back towards to its source. Toran bobbed and weaved through the maze of trees and fallen branches; keeping his long shadow just behind the shrubbery away from the woman's view if she had ever turned around, heels clacking on the cobblestone path that cut around the lake and through the trees.
She did several laps around the park before stopping on an old wooden arch bridge that extended over the middle of the lake. The wind weaved her hair into an electrifying dance of black silken threads whipping through the air before collapsing onto the light honey skin of her face cut by tears streaming from hazel eyes. Toran did not ponder her sadness; he did not wonder what caused someone so beautiful to be so sad, he only thought about distance, the distance between himself, the woman, and the potential for meddlers if they heard her scream.
She finally left the park, forcing Toran to hide and remain motionless for an entire agonizing hour. He almost didn’t notice when she left the bridge and entered another abandoned manufacturing district dominated by sealed factories and empty employee housing units. At first, she thought she was alone in the narrow alleys amongst broken glass and empty boxes. However, as she proceeded further in she noticed signs of somewhat recent habitation; moldy beds and tattered sleeping bags covered in alcohol and moldy food crumbs near scorched concrete where fires were lit to keep whoever occupied the area warm during the oft-cold nights. She was nervous, but she just kept going, Well… whoever was here isn’t here now.
Toran had gotten closer to her now, closing the distance inch by inch with each heavy step. His eyes burned in desire, in the pale lamp light that kept the district from being a pitch-black maze.
She thought she heard something, something walking with heavy uneven steps behind her enshrouded in the steam that fumed from the vents lining the walls. She began walking faster, not running or jogging, but faster than her previous pace; deciding to cut her walk short and head directly back to the city as soon as an alley appeared.
He almost panicked when she abruptly started walking faster and breathing harder. He knew he had little time before she found a way back to the city and his efforts would be in vain.
The steps she thought she heard were more prominent now; they moved faster and hit the ground harder. Still she wasn’t sure, till she heard a loud *crunch* glass being stepped on.
Toran had trouble running at first; he joints were still stiff and his muscles sluggish, but his will drove him faster. He was catching up to her now as she sprinted, even as he slammed into walls and tripped onto the ground.
She was overcome by fear, sprinting through the steam between the buildings that felt like they were closing in. She turned to the left, into a cramped space between two old factories hoping to loose her pursuer.
He could see her heat running down a cramped alley. Her heel broke and she stumped as he rounded the corner, falling into a collection of old barrels and wooden crates. He struggled back to his feet, only to fall over and over again.
When she heard the crash, she knew someone or something was chasing her, with no one around to help her. She had sprained her ankle when she fell, limping now into an empty lot where trucks picked up and dropped off shipments of raw materials and manufactured goods. The lights were out and the air was clear. She couldn’t see anything, but she could hear everything.
Toran rushed into the lot towards the warm, succulent heat. The girl had made it up a loading dock and was trying to force a door open, but it was too late for that. He jumped across the lot onto the doc only a few feet away from her. She heard him, begging and pleading to be spared, screaming for someone to help her, someone to save her as he edged closer and close, till she could feel his slimy hands wrapping around her screaming throat.
She saw her life flash before her eyes: family, friends; happy times and regrets for roads still left untravelled. She pleaded and gagged at the same time, hysterical tears running down her killers hands as he tightened his grip… *snap* she went limp, her last breath asked, “why?” before her vision faded into a blackness darker than a moonless night when the stars hide behind thick storm clouds and the lights of the civilization are obscured by a vast horizon. The Father would let him keep this one.
He was covered in her blood by the time he finished her arms, strings of spasming muscle hung from his mouth as he bit through her rib cage greedily. The sound of teeth crunching bone reverberated through the lot and the empty alleys. He looked around, seeing no warmth anywhere around, he continued feeding. The district echoed the sound of bones cracking and breaking as Toran dismantled her rip cage, ripping out the heart, raising it in the air like a ghoulish prize and observing it with a peculiar fascination before sinking his teeth into the warm muscle, creating a macabre piece of abstract art on the canvas of metal as blood fountained from the heart and onto the factory walls.
Toran stopped feeding when the warmth was gone; the cold soured his tongue and no longer sated his hunger. He stomped off in frustration; he had to find another one straying from the pack before he could eat again, and as far as he could see that was not going to happen again, at least not tonight. He left shattered bone and torn flesh to cluster around half-eaten organs swimming in a pool of coagulating blood, her face locked in an expression of sheer horror and hysteria as her empty hazel eyes starred off into the horizon, still calling for someone to save her.