It was different . . .
So, so different, and so, so cold. The deafening cries that filled the night's air were loud, clouding his mind. They were crying out to for the Marduks to spare their lives, crying out like children, crying out because they're scared to take their fate as it came at them . . .
Rock felt disgusted at how stupid they could be. Obvious it was that they would die,
obvious . . . The fire blazed in front of his eyes, reflecting off of his glasses. The blood that pooled around his feet flooded the ground, staining the stone red. These were humans dyeing, humans, not robots. Robots were the only beings in Rock's mind that deserved to die. Yet these humans . . . were so stupid, so careless . . . and Rock . . . oh, how he hated them.
He closed his eyes tight and stepped forward, blood leaking from the bottom of his boots, making footprints along the still-dry stone. Zone 1. Zone 1 was burning. Duke Red had ordered the motion, and now it was nearly complete.
Shouts were still heard, and Rock was prepared to stop them . . . stop the screams of these mere, petty humans. His gun was still held tensely in his shaking hand as he slowly walked toward the scene before him, the fire sweltering hot. He felt nothing as his trance-like state led him on.
He stopped mere feet from the burning fire and raised his gun.
Only two seconds after his gun was moved two shots rang through the cry-filled air. One hit his gun, yet he held tightly to it, and one tore fiercely and painfully quick through his right shoulder.
He fell to one knee, bringing his left hand to cover the bleeding hole. His eyes were closed tightly, yet no tears came to him. They opened and he felt an anger boil inside of him.
Who dare shoot at the leader of Marduks, Duke Red's only son?
Rock stood slowly, hearing the Marduks behind him beginning to shout victoriously as the people and few robots of Zone 1 perished in their shooting and burning. Few captives could faintly be heard crying and whimpering behind him, yet he didn't care. He didn't seem to care about anything at the moment, except the careless bastard who had shot at him only moments before.
He stared blankly into the fire, then turned to face the gateway behind him. One man stood there, clad in red, and Rock's eyes widened, his heart skipping a beat as he recognized him . . .
Rock's glasses had slid to the end of his sweaty nose, and they went flying into the air as he fiercely shook his head- afraid of what he was seeing. Were his eyes deceiving him?
He never thought he would do this. He detested Rock, this Rock knew, but what could ever impel him to do such a thing?
The blood was blossoming deeply over Rock's shirt, down his hand and dripping from his gun to the ground. He had taken his hand away from the wound, letting the blood run freely. If he was shooting at Rock, then surely he deserved to die?
Hopefully loss of blood will kill me, was Rock's first savage thought.
He closed his eyes and opened them again as the man said, "Weakling."
Those tears were now threatening to overflow from Rock's pale blue eyes. Was he right? Rock was crying, and this did make him a weakling . . . And what a weakling he was.
Rock felt that it shouldn't matter anymore. He was going to die, let him think he was to go down a weakling. The man already thought he was, why not let him keep thinking this. But Rock still wanted to know why he would hate him enough to shoot him and let him die in misery. Rock looked the man in the eyes.
"Why, father . . . Why?"
Author's Note: Okay, I had to change a few things. I tried to get my mother and a friend to read it and the little people that they really are told me to make some corrections . . . a few of which I kind of agreed on. But tell me what you think and if it should countinue. rockofmarduk and Xalan, thanks to you bunches! *snifflesniffle*
