A/n: My first shot at a DA fic and written on a boring Sunday afternoon. Senselessness is bound to ensue.
Disclaimer: We all know who created (and owns) DA.
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Germs
The weather was cold as usual…no, wait—double, for winter was fast approaching. People walked about the streets wearing wind-breakers upon sweaters upon t-shirts upon undergarments, and, as one bespectacled man noticed, nearly half of the population that passed below were free, undaunted, respected transgenics. At the thought a wistful sigh escaped his throat, and he turned his gaze away to look at his own reflection. Three years have passed since the transgenic-struggle had ended, and still here he was, no Max in sight or hearing range. To put it bluntly, he was alone and miserable.
"Alone…"
He whispered, turning away from the window. Away from the reflection of the weak Logan Cale. Away from the very person that was him.
"Alone…"
The word was rapidly becoming like a mantra to him—like a part of a song that you can't kick out of your head, and people start to remember you by it. And it was just like that to Logan Cale. A word that once, is, and will always describe who he is—a mental freak with no one to comfort him, to smile for him…no one to exist for him. All he had was his money, his car, his weekly—if not daily—upgraded wheelchair (and so called 'power legs'). He had a home, a fairly comfortable bed, food that anyone would just die to taste let alone look at, and the most recent and one of the best computer systems that have come to existence. He had all those, and he also had something any of us would hold precious. He too, like all of us, had a heart...
But his heart was throbbing with pain—a soreness that echoed throughout the empty chambers of his heart.
"Alone,"
He quietly repeated, this time looking down at his bare hands in wistful silence. A minute passed, and still he remained gazing down at his palms, at his unmoving fingers. Not even when a thump and the sound of boots resounded in his hall did he look up.
The doors slid open, then, "Hey buddy—watcha doin' there?"
It was Alec, back from his Canadian vacation.
Silence.
A cough.
Silence.
Sniff.
Silence.
Sniff. Cough.
Silence.
"Hey…Logan?"
Silence.
"Logan, buddy, do you have any lozenges? My throat's all sore; I think I caught a bug or somethin—" [1]
At that moment Logan looked up, his eyes ablaze with something akin to sheer loathing. Though the look of anger wasn't for him, it was more than enough to send a shiver down anyone's spine, and Alec, seeing such hatred in his friend's eyes for the first time, blinked in amazement and curiosity at the same time. He stared at his bespectacled friend, and though the latter stood in front of him, the man looked through him—he was physically present and mentally absent.
"Lo—gan?" Alec called.
"No!" At this the man snapped, his eyes widening again with the same dark expression.
Alec instinctively took a step back, holding his hands up. "Whoa, Logan! No need to shout, buddy. I'll just buy myself some then."
But Logan was far away.
"I'm never alone. No, never, never alone."
And his glasses momentarily flashed an eerie gleam under the fluorescent light…and he cackled a horrible laugh.
To be continued…
Please don't flame me…wait until the second chapter, before deciding on what to do to me (flame, torture, or kill—whatever suits you)…but please be kind enough to leave a review and tell me what you think. Please? Thanks a thousand and Happy Christmas to all you DA fans out there! May we all remember the splendid glory and kick-ass prettiness of The Great X-5 Species!
[1]—I know catching a cold is something rare for an X-5, but for the sake of the story…hehe…