MASS EFFECT
JUDGEMENT
BOOK ONE
WARDEN
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DISCLAIMER: This story contains DARK HUMOR, INTENTIONALLY EXCESSIVLY DESCRIPTIVE GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, SEXUAL CONTENT, ALCOHOL and DRUG ABUSE CONTENT. It is not intended for immature readers.
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STORY SYNOPSIS: This story opens in an original Universe, and tale takes place in the Mass Effect universe. This story follows that life of Jack Carmine, a psychotic empathetic anti-hero dedicated to the preservation of life, of law, and the administration of righteous justice by any means necessary.
Mostly murder.
CHAPTER 1
PROMETHEUS
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It's well past midnight, far enough North of Orlando that the buildings have disappeared and are replaced by thick irradiated growth. The humidity of the June weather is nearly unbearable. It's 2231. As if that mattered at all.
Justice.
Righteous, glamorous, proper Justice.
Is it about Vengeance? Righteous vengeance?
Is about just… righting the wrongs?
Who's to say?
Who's to say that this man deserves to live more than the raider just down the road? He's next, oh trust me, he's definitely next. But this man first.
I've hunted him. Day and night for about three weeks now. If I'm right, they'll be here to stop me soon, it's happened before but I think I've got just enough headway to avoid them.
In this world of chaos, maybe I can create a small circle of peace, if only for a moment.
I approach the home. It's a modest place, built up from some cleared out ruins of, what I believe used to be a rest stop, maybe. It's remote enough for me to assume that at least. He's used car wreckage and the remains left of the Great War to fill in the holes.
Windows: boarded over with gun slots in case of raider attacks. The door is properly solid: tempered steel, makeshift but sturdy, with a slot to look through. A guard platform up high, with a guard posted as I stand here, in plain sight, if not for the darkness of the night shrouding me.
I shrug off my modest pack, lowing it to the ground. I've always believed in travelling lightly. I open it and retrieve what tools I will need that I don't already have on my person.
First, about 330 feet of coiled synthetic rope. I don't like the natural line. It rots over time and doesn't feel as nice on the wrists and ankles. I want their pain to be focused. I don't want them to think about the gnawing burning pain in their wrists and their ankles.
I put my arm and head through the coils and wear the rope across my body so that it doesn't get in the way. I take the small blowtorch out and give it a little shake, listening. It's almost empty. Shame.
I take the hammer and four of my six inch titanium nails out as well. I place the hammer in my belt and stab the nails through the rope. Finally I dig around my pack to find my hypodermic needles, taking three. I fill one with painkillers, and the other two with a nasty narcotic concoction. I cap the needles and place them gingerly in a pouch on my belt.
Some of the things I need, I carry on my person. My gun: A .45 caliber pre-war handgun, about 50% original parts, model 1911, Springfield. Heavily modified, with detachable silencer stowed in a pouch along the holster that I keep at crossdraw on my tactical vest. Lucky find, the vest. Year 2213, police station in the supply cage, near Vancouver. Kept it in good shape these past years. It's needed more than a little patch work but it's still holding together. Back to my weapon: I've had her since… well… since this started. Heavily modified and I keep extended magazines out of preference, each carrying 14 rounds. Her name is Catherine. She is my weapon, even if I don't use her every time.
I also have with me my knife. An eight inch blade, four inch grip combat knife, wicked edge for such a large heavy thing. It's singled edged but the back of the blade is semi serrated. I keep him clean, shining silver steel it almost looks white. His name is the Vagabond. He is my weapon, even if I don't use him on every kill.
And I don't justify every kill.
But most don't. Some just deserve death more than others.
Do I?
I take a breath and continue towards the building. I reach the wall, about two floors below the guard platform which occupies most of the ruined third floor. I look around, my eyes long accustomed to the darkness.
Ah, a way up. I approach a dumpster. This is going to be quite a jump. I sprint at the dumpster, leaping onto it, planting one leg onto it firmly but quietly. I push with all my might and jump for the window on the second floor, catching onto the window sill with ease. I pull myself up, placing my feet on it, posed like a pre-war cat in the moonlight. I ease myself up and reach to the edge of the guard platform, the rusted sheet metal used as the floor cutting into my palms slightly. I ignore this and pull myself up to the railing, pulling up again and over it, onto the guard platform.
I approach the guard who lazily watches the landscape, though he isn't doing a great job seeing as how I just walked right up to the building.
Does this man deserve death?
I don't know this. But I don't have to kill him, so I won't.
I reach under his gun arm, wrapping my arm up and placing my hand behind his neck to immobilize that arm, which holds the .308 caliber rifle. I simultaneously wrap my other arm around his neck putting him into a chokehold.
I backpedal a few steps and drop to a knee, applying pressure and flexing my arm. I hear him make a small noise, a whimper and then exhale slowly, his thrashing legs ceasing their struggle. A quick thinking man would've fired off a shot, potentially warning the inhabitants of the building. He is not a quick thinking man.
Rest, slow brained man. Do not give me a reason to hunt you like I have your employer.
I take his rifle, unload it and drop it to the ground off the edge of the building, dropping the magazine and the formally chambered round to the ground near the guard's feet. I open the door to the rest of the home. The first floor is what they use as the shop. Definitely locked beyond all measure. What I want is the second floor. No need to clear the first floor, it won't have anybody in it.
I head down the stairs into the second floor of the home/shop. This is the living quarters. There must be another guard who lives here if they can have a night guard, they need a day guard. I will find him or her first and keep them from interrupting me.
Death if need be.
I'm in a hallway. Two doors on either side of me, stairs at the end. I open the first door on my left slowly and carefully. It creaks slightly, but that's okay. The child's room. I'll return momentarily.
I open the door to my right. Latrine. I move to the next door on my left. The guard's room. Two beds and two chests of drawers and cabinets. One current occupant. Sound asleep. I enter the room quietly and shut the door behind me. I approach the bed, slowly being as silent as I can. Every step creaks the floor however. I see the guard stir and I move fast, throwing myself under their bed, not hitting anything and sliding absolutely silently into darkness. I see their feet swing over the edge of the bed and onto the floor. I hear the guard yawn and stand. He exits the room.
I wait. And wait.
He comes back a few minutes later, the telltale sounds of a toilet flushing announcing his return. He shuts the door behind him and lays back in his bed.
I wait for just a few moments before shifting myself out from under his bed. I use my shoulders to walk myself out and I stand slowly. I stand at the edge of his bed and stare down at him, my eyes bleak. He's sleeping open mouthed, facing the ceiling.
Death? Not today for you.
I reach down and grasp his throat with my left hand, my forefinger pinching down on his carotid and my thumb on his jugular. He instantly thrashes, trying to bring his chin to his chest and makes a groaning noise, grabbing my arm with both his hands. I squeeze, hard, and he exhales, his breath rattling, eyes rolling into the back of his head.
I release his neck and slowly massage the points of pressure I applied with my fingers, to assist in blood flow. I do this for only a few seconds before leaving his room and going back to the child's room. It's the smallest room, but more spacious than the guard's due to only one occupant. I look down at the slumbering child. Ten, maybe twelve years old. Innocent, as innocent can be. He'll become damned, turn to evil and seek my wrath if I do what I'm considering doing. He'll live a damned life if I force him to watch. Join the hunters even. Best leave you to your sleep, young one.
I exit the child's room and shut it behind me. I uncoil a length of rope and cut it off with Vagabond. I tie the rope to the doorknobs of the bathroom and the child's room together, ensuring that they're taught. He won't be able to leave until somebody unties the doors.
I enter the last room, the one I've yet to enter. I walk in, man and woman asleep on a large king sized bed. Dirty mattress but they sleep soundly all the same. The man is the one I want. I walk over and sit in an arm chair, removing my tools from my person: my hammer, my rope with the nails, my blow torch and my knife. I draw my pistol and hold it lazily in my hand, staring at it. I place it on the ground in front of me and remove the needles from my pouch. I walk over to the woman's side first and inject her with one of the ones filled with the narcotics cocktail. She won't wake anytime soon. I pick her up gingerly and walk her into the guard's room and lay her on the vacant bed. I return to the Master bedroom.
I shut the door and lock it.
Just you and me. Judge and perpetrator.
I retrieve my knife and my pistol and walk over to his side. I gently shake his arm and I level the pistol to his forehead, between his eyes.
His eyes open and they widen.
I cock the gun for good measure and take a step away, keeping the gun pointed at him.
"Up." I say.
He rises from his bed and stands there next to it, facing me. He doesn't raises his hands in the air.
Different.
"Take your mattress off of your bed. Put it by the door."
The man does as I instruct him with some effort. He turns back to me, sweating profusely.
"Lift the bedframe and arrange it vertically, the foot of the bed on the ground, and move it against the wall." I say, moving to the arm chair and sitting. I turn on a light.
He looks around the room, not doing as I tell him immediately.
Typical.
"Where's my wife?" He asks.
"In the other room. Asleep. She won't wake up soon, but she's not harmed." I say. "Your child: the same. Your guards: Unconscious. Do as I told you."
He swallows, a reflex. The human body excretes an excess of fluids when their adrenaline is activating. Sweat, saliva, urine, semen, tears. Everything. It's a natural response. It doesn't necessarily mean that he's nervous or frightened, just that his blood is pumping. He moves to the edge of the bed and stands it upright with some difficulty. He scoots it against the wall and turns to look at me.
"Back up, against the bed frame." I say, standing from the chair.
He does so. I take a few steps towards him and place the narcotic needle on the ground before returning to the chair.
"Pick up the needle. Uncap it. Inject yourself. I know you know how." I say. I wait patiently.
He picks up the needle and uncaps it. "What's in it?"
I do not respond. I just gesture with my knife in my left hand.
He swallows a few times and injects himself. He drops the needle and looks up at me.
"Back against the frame." I say. He does so.
His heart is beginning to palpitate, his sweat glands going into overdrive, his eyes dilate and his limbs are becoming shaky. I holster my gun and pick up the rope. My narcotic concoction will keep him in a semi-lethargic state for about five minutes before his world becomes strange and overly intense. Every sensation will send shockwaves of information to his brain. This will be an eye opening experience for him.
I tie him to the bedframe, taking my time to make sure his bindings are tight and secure. His legs are wide and his arms stretched to the corners of the bedframe. In addition, his right arm is secured at the shoulder to the bedframe in addition to his wrist. It will be difficult for him to move.
I return to my chair and sit to wait out the remainder of the five minutes. While I wait, I consider his crimes. Four counts of homicide. Theft. Arson. Rape. He is in for a particularly painful punishment.
But justice must be done.
I approach him as his head stops lolling about and he begins to look around.
"Who… What's going on? Why are you doing this?" He asks, his speech slurred terribly.
"My name has changed many, many times. But people have taken to calling me Prometheus, Justice, Vengeance, Death, The Executioner, The Judge, Peacekeeper, The Vigilante, Reaper and the Devil. I'm taken with the first one out of those to be honest. Those are but a few of many. Those are just more common. You have committed atrocities that have impacted many people, and caused many deaths both directly and indirectly. I am doing this because justice demands it." I retrieve my blow torch, my nails and my hammer. "This is going to hurt. A lot. Your first crime that we will punish you for is rape."
"Please!" He cries, tears rolling down his face. "I didn't mean to hurt her! I didn't know!"
"Didn't you?!" I shout at him, slamming my fist across his face, blood spraying from his mouth. "Didn't you?! She was impregnated by your filth! Shamed, she left her home and was eaten alive by wild dogs! Is this justified?!"
"That wasn't my fault!" He cries. "Don't…"
"Her death was caused by you. Her brother searched for her. Found her mangled remains. She was only 19, you trash." I hiss at him. "Rape is a crime I have severe consequences for."
I level my pistol with his groin, before he can speak I fire. He howls and his underwear is stained with blood.
"Next!" I shout over his cries. "Theft! You robbed a caravan while you were with your band of raiders. The caravan was razed, no survivors. Can I legitimately without a doubt convict you of those crimes? No I cannot, but I know that that caravan carried food and ammunition for a nearby settlement. I know that they were soon wiped off of the map because of the shortages. The elderly, men, women, children all dead or gone because of your actions. There were 30 people in that settlement. I could charge you for the deaths of every one of them but I'm being merciful."
"I have a kid…" He whimpers. "A wife. I'm a good man."
"No, you're not." I hiss back. I holster my gun and draw my knife. "For theft, I'm taking your right arm."
"STOP!" He cries as I stab my knife into his armpit, making him cry out, severing his tendon with a twist of my knife. I work the blade into the socket of his shoulder and wrench his arm out of it. I hack with my knife three times, removing his arm from the rest of him. He was screaming the whole time. He's sweating profusely and it looks like he's going to faint. Can't have that.
I light my torch and cauterize his arm so that he doesn't bleed out. "Come on. Stay awake, we aren't nearly done yet."
He shakes his head. "Just kill me dammit."
"We're getting to that." I respond, shutting off the torch. "I'm feeling merciful today. I'll count that cauterization as your arson punishment, though you deserve more severe."
I find my nails and feel my way down his ribcage, I find his fourth rib and place a nail just above it and tap it into his chest cavity about halfway. He shrieks. I repeat that four times, each nail about a quarter inch from the other. Those wounds will be quite painful. His lungs and heart aren't punctured, in fact he won't even bleed much from the nails and it doesn't hurt much more than your typical stab wound. But as he takes in these ragged breaths, the holes in his chest cavity will take in air as his lungs expand said chest cavity. The nails will prevent air from leaving as easily. It will feel like somebody is turning your chest into a balloon. His breathing will quite ironically suffocate him as pressure outside his lungs compresses them, reducing their volume with every breath. A sinister way to die. A slow way to die. Murder begets death.
"That's one for each direct murder. Death is the punishment for murder, just for your information, but hell, I'm going to be honest; I've killed for less." I draw my knife across his stomach, disemboweling him. The smell that follows is sickening, watching his entrails dangle out of him like rope from a ship's sails, his legs shaking violently, no longer holding his weight, and blood pooling at his feet. I set about on his face now, slicing away at his lips and part of his cheeks, exposing his teeth, giving him a perverse, macabre grin.
"Liars lose their lips, bare their words for all to see." I say. "Finally, before you die. I'll open your eyes, show you that justice is blind, that she never sleeps."
I make a small cut on his lower eyelid and insert my knife just a tad. I pop that eye out, letting it drop to the ground and I do the other one. I drag my knife down both of his eyes, leaving cuts over them, perpendicular to his eyesfrom about an inch above each brow to about an inch below each eye. I take a step back.
"See?" I say, taking a shirt from a drawer and wiping off my hands, face and knife with it. "Quick. Now you get to die."
He's quivering like a mad man. "Hhhuck you…. Hhhuck you… Do… It."
"One last thing." I say, taking the painkillers out of my pouch. "Are you truly repentant? Did you learn from your punishment? If so, I will give you these painkillers. Your pain will disappear in seconds, your heart will stop and I won't leave you here to die of your injuries. Just say, I'm sorry and I'll make it go away."
He looks up at me, or he would if his eyes weren't gone. "Go… hhuck… yoursel…"
I place the painkillers back in my pouch and collect my affects. "May God have mercy on your soul."
"See… you… in hell…" He mumbles, his breath rattling away as he passes out, slowly dying.
Just then the door bursts open and a round rips through my throat before I can react quickly enough. They've gotten better. How about that?
"Oh, hell…" Hunter mumbles, sounding distraught. "I'm too late. You mother fucker… You fucking mother fucker…"
He begins to drag me outside, down stairs and out the door. I can't feel anything below my neck but at the rate I'm bleeding it won't matter in a moment or two.
"You fucking mother fucker. God dammit. God fucking dammit." Hunter says as he drags me. He stops dragging me, dropping my legs and kneeling next to my head. "You're a monster, Jack. A monster. I'd burn you if I could, give you as painful a death as possible but I can't right now so I'm leaving you here for the crows and the beasts. I hear a pack of dogs nearby. Enjoy your death while they eat you alive, Prometheus. I hope it was worth it this time. My duty is done. Rest in peace, for whatever good it'll do."
I grin and choke on my blood. "Pointless… Paralyzed… Fucking idiot…"
I start to laugh through my blood as he curses and starts kicking me in the head. I die a moment or so later as my blood stops flowing.
Dying is really hot. That's all I have to say about it really. It's hot, it hurts and it takes a long time. What do I see when I'm on the other side? Nothing really. Mostly just blackness. It's kind of like my eyes are closed, I feel the world and my body but I'm not there.
I can't in all honesty call it dying. I never really die. I always get really close but never quite there. It's like I jumped out of a plane at 10,000 feet and fell 9,999 feet before a bungee cord pulls me back.
I take a deep breath and open my eyes. It's morning now. I sit up and clear my throat which feels quite hoarse this time. Definitely because of the bullet through the neck. I take a look at myself real quick, looks like some dogs were munching at my arms but they ran off and it healed up. Other than that I'm no worse for wear. I get up and dust myself off, retrieving my things.
Alright Hunter, you did it this time. See you next year.
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Under the Ruins of San Diego, California, half a century later, I have found my answer.
People always are surprised when I tell them my age. They always say the same thing too. 'You don't look a day over 20!'
I laugh. Not a day over 20 eh? Well actually, 23. Yeah that's about right, I think. It's been so long, I hardly remember.
My name is Jack Carmine. That was the name my parents gave me as they birthed me. I was born in the aftermath of the Great War of 2017, in the year 2044. The year now is 2283… making me… a measure more than 200 years old. 239, if I got my math right. To any untrained eye, I'm a human man, looking, like I said, no older than 23.
When I was 23 years old, in 2067, I died. I fell down a hill side, breaking my arm and both my legs as well as several ribs, cracked my skull open too. I survived the fall itself, barely, but happened to roll into a river at the end. I drowned because I couldn't swim. At the time, I didn't actually know how to either, so even if I had come out of the fall unscathed, I still would have drowned.
I woke up, eight hours later, wounds healed with no scars on the shore of the lake, a few dozen miles downriver of my home.
Don't ask me how, but for some reason, I cannot die.
Well… I do die. Sort of. I just come back to life exactly eight hours after the moment of my death. But that's just half of it.
And I'm also a little more resilient than most people. My skin, my bones, and my muscle are far denser than a normal human beings'. Somebody my height and build shouldn't weigh more than 210 pounds, maybe at the most, but I weigh 415. As a result of my density, I'm far less buoyant than normal people, and swimming is a horrible and terrifying struggle. But I still can swim, just not very well. On the bright side, I am to some extent death resistant. Blunt objects at worst will rupture organs, never really break bones unless applied with incredible force. Very sharp blades can break the skin and muscle, but need some considerable force to do so. Finally I'm bullet resistant. Small arms don't do much. They break the skin and pierce somewhat deep but stop short of the vital stuff. Larger caliber firearms like powerful rifles will do it though. Or if you eviscerate me with a lot of rounds that'd do it too. I'm just as susceptible to flamesas any other person. In fact it takes longer for me to burn because of how dense my body is. So it's more painful, on some level, hence that being the Hunters' favorite disposal method of me.
Also, on top of my resiliency, I have a terribly accelerated healing factor. My body heals almost as quickly as it is harmed. Chop off an arm, my body will grow it back in less than a minute. Pump me full of bullets, they'll pop right back out within seconds. My body can't expel foreign objects larger than bullets and shrapnel on its own though. Not while I'm alive at least. Knives, blades, rebar, any sort of objects impaling me, those will stay until I remove them. But yes, I heal, very, very quickly. If I'm dead I heal even better. I'll look like corpse, wounds from my death and everything for about eight hours before my body goes into healing overdrive and kick starts me back to life, no matter what killed me. If something's stuck in me and I died from it or something else, my body will spit that thing out. Only if I'm dead though. Once I got a piece of shrapnel stuck in my spine, paralyzed me. It hurt for weeks so I slit my throat and wouldn't you know it, the shrapnel came right out.
Because of my healing, I have a few benefits that most people don't have. My muscles recuperate from exercise almost immediately, meaning that my body can grow muscle much easier than other people. As a result of my power, and my age, I am in peak human physical condition, my strength and physical form bordering on superhuman. I also have supreme hearing, sight and smell. But not touch. That actually seems dulled due to my thick skin. On the flipside of my power, I cannot get intoxicated and for whatever reason, my metabolism runs at a million miles an hour so I'm nearly always hungry and it's very easy for me to starve to death. This has proven drastically inconvenient especially in our current apocalyptic wasteland state. And that is by far my most hated method of death. Because I'll come back to life only to starve to death again within the hour. Once I spent three days lost in a constant cycle of dying of hunger and reincarnating just as hungry, if not hungrier.
There is just one thing that for whatever reason negates my healing ability and my resiliency. Platinum. Platinum anything. Platinum knives, platinum bullets, platinum spoons. Anything. If it's platinum and you're deadly enough with it, you can kill me with it like I was just any normal human being. I don't know why. Like always though, I come back to life, no problem.
And thus, due to my healing, I also have longevity.
But, if you're curious, I do age. And it's something I don't entirely understand. When things first started, after a few decades of reincarnation on a nearly daily basis, I got sick of my lifestyle; back in the day, when I first learned of my talents I was an adventurer of sorts, doing jobs for people and what not. So I settled down, married and had some kids. I actually managed to die of old age, some 50 years later. But guess what happened? According to an eyewitness my age reversed while I lay in my grave and eight hours later, I came back to life. Of course, this sort of put people off and I had to leave.
That happens more often than not believe me. People get scared, force me to leave. It's been that way for centuries. People want to use me too, use my talent for their gain. I don't like that either.
But I have what you could call a… moral compass. After living so long, I got sick of living. And I realized after multiple suicide attempts that I shouldn't have to be sick of living. Am I right? The reason I got tired of living was because I live in such a god awful world. So I started trying to right some wrongs. Help people, you know? That became a vigilante killing spree in which I tortured viscous criminals to death regardless of how long ago they had committed their crimes. Why? Because justice deserves a place in this world and she never sleeps.
I did that for a long time until I met one criminal, an old, old man who had killed more men than he had years to his name. I had prepared quite a sentence for him but he looked at me, grinned and told me he knew who I was and why I was there.
Perplexed I let him talk. He said to me that he was just a tired old man; that he was so sorry for what he did in the past and regrets it every day. The things he did, he did in the name of survival, he said. He talked about how he killed to feed his family, to pay the bills, that it was all he was good at. He told me that if he could go back in time to shoot himself in the face, stop what he was doing, he would. So all he could do was take a gun put it to his head, apologize for his crimes and punish himself for all his crimes.
I learned of mercy. So I stopped torturing people and put a bullet in every one of their heads for their crimes. Theft I didn't think deserved a bullet unless it was very serious so I usually broke their hands or something.
The years went on, and to this day, I still hunt men and women down for their crimes against humanity.
And if you're out of the loop, maybe, seeing as how history has long since faded into mythology, I'll fill you in.
In the year 2015, a technological boom of sorts began to arise. Science fiction became reality. 3D printing, cybernetic prosthesis, artificial intelligence, magnetic weapon technology, energy weapon technology, but most dooming of all: genetic research.
Researchers managed to map much of the human genome. Not only did they map it but over the next year they perfected a virus of sorts that was injected into fetuses that shaped the way the fetus grew, that tailor made each babe. They isolated the genes that distinguished left handedness from right handedness, height, hair color, eye color. They isolated and eradicated genetic diseases. It was fought at first, but the benefits were too miraculous. It was astounding groundbreaking research.
And then they discovered what they called the God's Gene. It was the gene that held the hidden human potential that we all have. It was the gene that they believed would unlock the human potential and create perfect humans, intelligent, athletic, healthy, prosperous humans. They tested it and a baby that learned to speak and walk within a few weeks was born. They knew they had succeeded. And they created the God's Gene Virus. It was the genetic tailoring virus that all fetuses would receive. To make them perfect.
It wasn't long before they realized that they had made a mistake.
It turns out that the untapped human potential isn't the same, person to person, genome to genome. They unlocked human potential in a large number of infants born in the year 2016 and early 2017, but it wasn't what they believed it to be.
As their mistakes were soon discovered, the world began to fall apart. And the Great War, a great power struggle erupted in 2017. Nuclear war soon followed and the world burned.
All because there were babies born who could influence thought, who could grow scales to avoid vaccinations, who could serve as living batteries and absorb electricity and expel it again, who could create energy discharges from their bodies, who could fly, who could turn invisible, who could create thermal reactions in their skin and create fire or ice, who could teleport… who could never die.
Only a small number of the children were born this way but as the world ended, it seemed the meta-humans were more resilient that the normal ones who outnumbered them, for their newly unlocked genes lived through the apocalypse. 27 years after the Great War, I was born to a human father and a meta-human mother. My mother had limited foresight. She could see, according to her, 14 seconds exactly into the future.
She died of sickness a few years after my birth. It wasn't until I was 23 that I discovered my abilities. I left home the second that I did. I can't remember why.
That is the story so far. I fight for justice now and I've travelled all over the world, searching for a way to right the wrongs the world over, all at once, forever and always. But I've yet to find anything like that…
Maybe until now. I'm standing in a bunker deep beneath the ruins of San Diego, California and I'm looking at one hell of an innovation by a group of meta-humans that formed a group of sorts in the years after the Great War. I don't know what happened to them, but I think that this device may be a time machine. If I can go backwards in time and prevent the researchers from creating the God's Gene Virus, maybe the world will be a better place? Maybe I can cease to exist and really truly die.
If only I knew how the damn thing worked. Lucky for me, years are a fickle thing, and as such I've spent two of my years here in this sanctuary, trying to figure out how to work this damn thing. I think I got it, but there's a problem…
I need more than just me to operate it. Now this is quite a dilemma. I'm going to be honest. I don't know anybody. Well I mean, I do, but they don't like me.
I at this point in time, have one friend in this world that I might be able to call on to help, but I still need at least two more hands. And I think I have an idea on how to make that happen.
See, over my many years in this world, I've righted many wrongs. But to some, this isn't the case. There is a family by the name of Hunter that have followed and well… hunted me with a frightening amount of determination for several generations. By tradition, every son of the Hunter family must dedicate his life from age 20 to age 32 searching for me and killing me. They know I can't die and their motivation alludes me truly, but at this point I think it's more of a family rite of passage than anything. They stalk me nonstop year round and move in for the kill once a year, usually at the most inconvenient of times. They also kill any meta-humans they find. But only in the process of hunting me. They never stray off to hunt them, just me. If they find one along the way they kill it. Shame.
I was a mayor once. They fucked that up for me. I've had multiple families and they've killed all of my family members. I guess they're afraid of me? Maybe.
I'm a dangerous guy, don't get me wrong. In all my time, in all of my travels I've met plenty of meta-humans, with plenty of interesting traits, but nothing similar to mine. You learn a lot of tricks in a lifetime and I've had more lifetimes than a small city.
At any rate, I'm hoping that I can trick them into helping me. You know, tell them I'm trying to send myself to another time or dimension or something; get rid of myself forever. Total bullshit but who gives a damn?
They haven't bothered me in two years, not since I got dragged out of the Colorado River and made my way here. Maybe they lost me? Well, now I want them to find me so I'm going to pay an old friend up north a visit. Hopefully, he can help me with this time dilemma.
##########################################################
It takes me several weeks traveling up the coast to reach Oregon, despite the relative 'safety' of the Californian Domain territory. This trip better be worth it.
I walk over the crest of a hill, finally spotting the place I've been looking for. A small cabin on the beach, fenced in, a radio and water tower within the boundaries of the fences as well as solar panels.
A survivor, like no other.
They call him The Giant. Why? I couldn't tell you. I reach the front gate of the fence and peer through a gap in the steel wall fence. I see a garden, growing fresh fruits and vegetables. The place is eerily quiet. All I can hear is the wind and the ocean.
I find a call box and dial in. "It's Jack Carmine."
The gate buzzes and I walk inside. I approach the cabin and knock on the door. It opens and Lucas Young 'The Giant' answers. I really couldn't tell you why they call him The Giant.
Standing before me is a 5'6" man with lightly tanned skin from time spent fishing, most likely. His eyes are a pale blue, his head is shaved though I remember his hair was a dark brown. He's clearly not of any pure descent, too many strange differentiating features. He's short that's one. But he's built thicker and wirier than an ox and he's likely stronger than one as well. His face has a regal, powerful and triangular bone structure with high cheekbones a low prominent brow, tall forehead, strong masculine jaw, wide nose and pointed chin. His face has creases and lines demonstrating that he frowns and furrows his brow a lot. Sort of like he's doing now. He's still quite young, mid-twenties I believe. He's wearing a pair of light blue denim jeans, fitted well for his build, a pair of black, white and red athletic shoes that are quite stylish, a black t-shirt that's maybe a little too tight that has white lettering reading 'Go Fuck Yourself.' He's also got a wrist mounted computer, clearly modified to hell. He has a large caliber handgun holstered on his right leg and a machete sheathed on his back.
Lucas is a meta-human, like me. I don't know what his power is. He has never told me. But I do know that supposedly, his parents were both meta-humans and one had the ability to open one way wormholes into the future. Supposedly, they brought him along from some point in the past. I was around when his parents were both killed. I took care of him for about a year. He ran off one day and I let him go. He got a letter to me a few years ago, told me where he ways.
He eyes me up and down, frowning. "Prometheus. You haven't aged a day."
"Very funny. You look different. How have the years treated you?" I ask.
He shrugs. "A lot changes in a decade, Jack."
"You're what now, 26?" I ask.
"23." He corrects.
"Were you really 13, last we saw each other?" I ask baffled.
He nods. "It's been a while, Jack."
"What are you up to now?" I ask.
"Surviving." He replies.
I nod. "So I see. I need to ask you a favor."
"The god asks a favor of the mortal." He continues to frown despite the quip. "How far you have fallen."
I roll my eyes. "I don't have time for your games. I need your help."
"What would that be, Prometheus?" He asks, sounding sarcastic.
"Well… I found a time machine. Well, I think it's a time machine. It opens wormholes through space and time. To me that means time travel." I let him take in that information. "I know you're… not from around here. I need your help to operate it."
He blinks at me. "What's in it for me?"
"I'm sure it could send you to your own time." I shrug. "I'm sure it could."
Lucas looks down and away from me. He turns, heading into his home. I follow him inside and watch as he begins packing his things.
"How far?" He asks, still packing.
"San Diego." I respond examining the space curiously.
He pauses and gives me a look. "Damn far, Jack."
I shrug. "Meh. The roads are safe thanks to the CD."
"Are they?" The Giant asks.
"Safe enough. The odd band of raiders here or there, careful with their targets. Discreet." I think. "It's been a while since I've killed a band of murderous thugs, you know."
The Giant looks up at me still scowling. He's a man who smiles with his eyes. That's enough for me.
##########################################################
This trip was far quicker, 19 days to return to the long abandoned meta-human sanctuary beneath San Diego. Murderers did die along the way. My journey is almost complete.
I type into the console, showing The Giant the information that he requested. He examines it carefully, studying it. He shakes his head.
"Different?" I ask.
He just nods.
"It was a long shot I suppose." I say with a sigh. "It's true? All of it?"
"Why would I lie about that? Of all things?" The Giant asks.
I shrug. "I've heard strange things."
He shrugs in response and continues his examination of the screen. His frown deepens, if that's even possible.
"We need at least three just to start the thing." He says matteroffactly. "Not including the guy getting sent through time."
I nod. "I know. The other two I need should be here in… well… They'll be here soon. I don't know where they are to be honest."
There is the sounds of a gun cocking behind me.
"Oh, there they are." I say.
"You called us this time." The elder Hunter brother says. "That's new. It's been a long time, old man."
I look at him over my shoulder, he's definitely older. Wiser. They both are. "I'm glad it's still you two. You two have good heads on your shoulders."
"Why call us?" The younger of the Hunter brothers asks, only junior to the other brother by about two years. His weapon, a nice antique lever action shotgun leveled at The Giant's chest but his attention on me. "Missed having your head blown to bits? We haven't seen you in almost three years."
"And why is that?" I ask. There is a delayed response. Before they can I turn to look at them, leaning back against the railing of the catwalk we're standing on. "Hm? Don't ask me what changed. Ask yourselves that? Getting rusty in your old age?"
"I still have half a decade of hunting you. My brother three." The younger hisses.
"We didn't stop looking for you, you know." The elder says, his voice somewhat melancholic. "Nearly three years, two years 8 months to be exact that we've been looking for you… Now here you are. Calling us. Are you trying to mock us?"
"No." I say, almost humorously. "Actually I'm trying to put an end to this. Once and for all."
A blatant lie, but I've become increasingly good at those as the years have gone by. I inwardly laugh at the past. Born practically retarded, didn't learn to walk or talk until I was four, couldn't form a complete sentence until eight, could barely tie my shoes when I was 14 and didn't know my dick from my ass when I died that first time around. Now look at me? Reciting Othello and Howl by memory and composing symphonies in the time it takes for others to think up the words they ought to retort at me with. I'm a late bloomer, I'll admit that, but fortunately for me, I have all the time in the world. Maybe more time than the world.
I'm also just a tad bit over the edge towards insane but at least I've got my foot caught on the fence and I'm willing to admit it.
The brothers have been gawking at me for at least 17 seconds. 17 dreadfully long seconds. If I'm right The Giant is going to kick into survival mode in the next two to three seconds, utilizing their bewilderment of my statement to disarm the junior there. Better prevent that.
I raise my hand casually and push the Giant back just as he flinches to go for the younger's shotgun. He looks at me and I grin at him.
"Not necessary friend." I say to him. "I'm patiently awaiting your responses, gentlemen."
"After all these years…" The elder says understanding the situation and lowing his pistol. "What changed, old man? Tired of dying? Tired of seeing your loved ones killed? Did all those generations of hunting you finally work?"
I sigh, thinking quickly of a reasonable lie. "You know. I'm not sure, old friend. It's been coming on for a long time, I think. And I lost time about two years ago. And when I woke up, I didn't really remember anything. Not the powers, not the 230 years of living, none of it. I think my head got creamed maybe. And when I died of a snakebite later that month, I came back and remembered everything. And it bummed me out. So I'm just going to say that… I'm tired. I'm a tired… old man."
The younger brother lowers his weapon as well. "You need our help to end this?"
I nod. "Yes, you know I've tried practically everything but I'm hoping that this'll do it."
"What is 'this' exactly?" The elder brother asks, holstering his pistol and examining the room.
I turn around. The room we occupy is high ceilinged and fairly open. We're standing on a walkway, barely a dozen feet across with a pair of terminals on it. In the center, leading down is a metal stair well which leads into a large square room with bright shiny metal panels covering the walls, floors and ceiling. In the middle of the room is a cylindrical tube of sorts and above it is a nasty looking spire, sort of looking like some kind of humongous tesla coil with spines jutting out of it and into the ceiling, pointing straight down at the cylinder.
"This gentlemen is what I believe to be a device that manipulates time and space." I say, leaning on the railing. "Now, it's not exactly going to kill me, per se. But I'm finally convinced that I really can't die. So I'm going to need your help to send me into a different time and to a different place so that I can't bother you two ever again."
The brothers look at each other, clearly struggling with this decision. "We kind of need you to die, though."
"Hell, for all you know, I might get split into tiny macro molecules with each one sent into different dimensions, eradicating me entirely forever." I shrug. "I'm not totally disputing that either to be honest."
And I was being honest.
They look at each other again then back at me. The elder boy nods.
"We'll do it." He says.
I grin. "Excellent. Your job, elder is simple. You're just going to activate the machine down there at that console near the machine itself. You, younger lad, you're going to initiate and maintain the power levels: They can't go into the red. Got that? Divert power to different reactors and manifolds when necessary. Trust me it's not hard. It's like a video game, actually. My friend here… Oh how rude of me, Hunters, this is my good friend Lucas Young. Or as he is more fondly known: The Giant. Lucas, these are the Hunter brothers."
"I'm Gambit." The elder hunter, apparently named Gambit says. "And my hot headed younger brother here is Marro."
The Giant just nods. That's why I like him.
"Excellent. I did legitimately forget your names. Sorry, gents. Giant, you're going to be my navigator." I say. "The machine operates by opening a chronological wormhole, quite literally a portal. In addition, there is no chance of you getting pulled through either because I'll be in that containment chamber there. And on top of that, the system has my genome mapped, so unless that chamber gets opened and any of us have any similar genes, we'll be ok. The problem lies in that sometimes the wormhole doesn't follow the efficient path, but the one of least resistance through the 'time-space continuum,' as put by the head researcher at this facility. What I need you to do is maintain this coordinate." I hand him a slip of paper with some numbers and letters on it. "It'll try to scramble bits and pieces as the wormhole hits roadblocks but you need to just change it back to make sure that the wormhole just pushes on through. If you don't, I get blasted into who knows where?"
"Wouldn't be the worst thing in the world." The younger brother Marro Hunter says sarcastically walking over to the terminal he is to man.
The Giant meanwhile nods and sets about his work on the navigation terminal. Gambit Hunter and I begin to descend towards the machine.
"It's going to be strange." Gambit says after a second or two of quiet. "Not hunting you anymore. No more family tradition. Do you think that'll end the family bloodline?"
"To be honest, I think it ended a long time ago. I'm sure radiation and incest muddled up your precious pure genetic bloodline." I quip.
"Fuck off." Gambit says laughing. Good to know he has a sense of humor.
Huh.
Never thought I'd joke with the Hunters.
Gambit goes straight to the operations terminal and I step up to the chamber.
"Just pull that lever to open the chamber." I say and he does so. I step inside and he shuts it. An intercom within will allow me to communicate with them.
"Comfy in there?" Marro asks from his work station.
I shrug. "It's no harlot's bed but it's fine I suppose. Cozy. Quant. Go ahead and start the reactors, all of them but keep the power isolated for now. I don't want to take any chances."
"Roger." Marro responds as I watch him work diligently on his terminal I hear the telltale hum of numerous reactors powering. There were only three in working order when I got here, had to fix the other 17. Did I forget to mention that this takes a lot of power to work?
"Coordinates are in and ready to go." The Giant says. "I'm prepared to unscramble the code when necessary. Standing by."
I look at Gambit who stares at me through the window in the chamber. I nod at him to start the machine. I take a deep breath. Here goes nothing.
Gambit uncovers the activation button and hits it. Waves of electricity flow into the spines above and the spire begins to glow with a blue light, ion beams shooting through its core, going brighter by the second.
"Goddamn!" Marro curses, typing furiously on the console. "The power draw if fucking astronomical! Rerouting to reactors two and three. One can't take it on its own."
"Keep the draw isolated dammit!" I shout. "The manifolds aren't equipped to funnel that much damn power!"
"Wormhole is up!" The Giant says, frantically. "Goddamn! It's scrambling the coordinates like crazy!"
"Wormhole is at 8% percent density and rising fast as hell!" Gambit informs me, monitoring the processes from his terminal. "13%. 20%. 29%."
Is this it? Will this be over after I change the past?
"Goddamn these coordinates!" The Giant shouts.
"Fuck! One of the manifolds just went dark!" Marro curses.
"Wormhole density is stalled!" Gambit shouts. "Come on Brother, we need more power!"
"There! Reactor 19 and 20 are active, drawing through manifold 10! Diverting reactors 1 to 3 through manifold four!" Marro announces. "We good bro?!"
Gambit gives a thumbs up in response, too focused on the levels. "Lucas! Even out that pathway!"
"I'm working on it!" The Giant responds. "It's scrambling slower. I'm caught up! Keeping her steady!"
When I change the world… Will I cease to exist? My chronological pathway… erased. Is this death? Is it undeath? Is it birth? Rebirth? What is going to happen?
"Wormhole at 68% density and climbing quick!" Gambit shouts. "71%, seventy… Wait… Why were you concerned about the coordinates?"
Is this justice?
"Why would it matter if you get sent to any damn time any damn place?! Why do you need to go to this coordinate?" Gambit shouts at me, staring at me through the glass. I look up at the spire above, its light so bright the blue is turning to white.
Perhaps this is fate?
"Oh God… You're not sending yourself somewhere to get us out of your hair… you're going into the past aren't you? You're going to change something, aren't you?! What are you doing?! What are you doing?!" Gambit roars at me. Suddenly he pulls the lever, opening the chamber. "Marro! Shut it down!"
Gambit charges at me. I grab a strong hold of the hand rails inside this small cylindrical chamber.
Or is this destiny? It is everyone's fate to die.
"I can't shut it down!" Marro shouts. "It's too late we can't stop it!"
Gambit grabs me, tries to drag me out of the chamber. "Then stop him from unscrambling the coordinates! We can't let him go to where he's trying to go!"
This must be fate. I knee Gambit in the diaphragm, knocking the wind out of him. I grab his collar, punch him across the face, hard. I look up and see Marro struggling with Lucas. Lucas is trying to throw Marro off. Marro is fiercely trying to keep Lucas from his terminal. I look at Marro's vacant terminal. The system if unmonitored… it'll diver power to all reactors drawing at once. They'll overload, one by one. But all at once… it'll over charge the system. Maybe this will be it.
There is a dull explosion and the room shakes. The room lights with red emergency lights that flash and alternate with the normal lights. The white blue ion beam and bolts of electricity drown out these lights.
There are loud noises. Gunshots, 9mm. I stumble back as three rounds pierce my abdomen, my back hitting the inside of the chamber. Internal bleeding, punctured stomach, leaking acid into my intestines. I'll die soon. Slowly and painfully. But within the hour as my stomach acids eat away my internal organs and my fetid fecal matter leaks from my melting bowels. Silver bullets. Son of a bitch. I look behind Gambit as he stands, his gun in hand and pointed at me. The fighting pair, Marro and Lucas are rolling down the stairs at us.
Another dull explosion. Overloading reactors, no doubt. The long term effects of such large nuclear reactors overloading and exploding is unimaginable. Nice work, Hunters. Was the cost worth the result? Will the ends justify the means?
Justice. Oh yes. That's what it's all about, isn't it?
"You tricked us." Gambit hisses.
Will the ends, the result, the verdict justify what you did along the way?
"Yes." I say, breathing heavily trying to think past the searing pain spreading very slowly through my gut.
"Why?" He asks.
"I wanted to end it." I say. "End… all of it. All of it."
"What do you mean?" He asks, shaking the gun at me to try and emphasize the point. Pointless waste of calories, that little gesture.
"I was… going to keep the Great War from happening… I was… going to end it… All. No you. No me. No wastelands. No war. No meta-humans. A different… future." I clutch at my stomach, the pain paralyzing me.
Gambit is speechless for a second. "That's wrong. It's playing God. It's not right. You can't change the past."
"Oh? It's… not right? Would God… condemn me to Hell, for preventing the deaths… of 98% of the Earth's population? Preventing the human race's greatest mistake, turning His green… Earth brown and black, glowing with nuclear fire? Preventing horrors like… raiders, tribes of killers, cannibals, rapists, thugs, thieves, and drug abusing psychopaths from ever existing? They cause death, destruction and chaos, no matter what they may try to make you… believe. They kill, they maim, they murder, they rape, they enslave in the name of themselves. And who are you to judge me? Your family has hunted me for generations. You mercilessly kill meta-humans, no matter how innocent, in cold blood. It's wrong. You're nothing but… murderers. And here I was, trying to change it all. Keep meta-humans, me, from ever existing. Do your damn jobs for you! Fools! Is my cause… not righteous? Is this not justice? Is this wrong?" I ask, rhetorically.
He doesn't answer, as he shouldn't. He just looks at me with sad pitiful eyes.
"I would've never existed." I laugh, wheezing and lurching from the literally gut-wrenching agony as my intestines are slowly eaten by my own stomach acids. "I would in a sense… really die. Did I lie to you… Gambit? Hunter? Did I?"
Suddenly the light above us gets really, really bright.
I smile as the light flashes.
##########################################################
The light is blinding and I squeeze my eyes shut. The dusty electrified air of the time chamber is replaced by a cooler, cleaner air that feels stranger to breathe. I smell a cacophony of scents, most notably: Fresh trash. Perhaps my journey has just begun.
I open my eyes and look at a grey metal dumpster filled with trash, piles of trash bags next to it. I'm sitting in a puddle of rank water that smells like rust and exposure. I hear people, talking, walking and laughing. There must be a lot of them to be making this much noise. A city?
Did it work? I hear faint zipping noises above. My back is to a wall, I'm in the exact same pose as I was in the chamber. Did it work?
I want to look around, examine my surroundings but I can't move. The pain is too severe. What I do know is that Gambit is not here in front of me, with a gun pointed at my head.
I move my hand shakily to the cargo pocket on my right leg of my BDUs. I open it and remove a stiletto. I look down at my stomach and switch open the blade. I make small cuts over the bullet wounds. Hissing and wincing as I dig the blade into my body, popping the silver bullets one by one out of my body. As each mangled piece of metal is ripped out of my body, the holed closes up, leaving a scar. Until I get a new torso as a result of some freak accident, these scars will remain. I examine my stomach, observing the three small bullet wound scars, two near my navel one off of my abdomen, high up, a few inches below my ribcage. This was the painful one.
I sigh. Normally I'd just let myself die and come back in a few hours but I'm in a different place. My corpse would likely have been found and maybe dissected. What would happen then? I wonder? Post mortem mutilation always made me curious. I just heal as fast as a mouse copulates I assume. But I'm dead and I've never had the opportunity to observe it firsthand.
I'm getting off topic here. Ok, let's see where I am.
I get to my feet and look to my left where the majority of the sounds are coming from. Curiouser and curious, sir. This isn't where I expected I would be.
There are people to be sure. It's obvious I'm not in a ruined post nuclear wasteland anymore. I'm in some sort of utopian city that's definitely clear. But there are rather strange creatures here and there comingling with the few humans I see. My, these humans sure are clean, and well groomed.
I should get accustomed to that. But I think I'll try and accustom myself to these creatures. Here is a woman who appears mostly human but has blue skin, no eyebrows strange white tattoos all about her skin and tentacles flopping out from her head rather than hair.
Odd in the slightest.
But there is stranger I see here. There is a rather tall gentleman who looks like he resembles some kind of reptile. He is humanoid in shape with a long lithe body, thin limbs aside from thick forearms and calves which end in what I think are hooves. Not sure at the moment. Atop his head are horns bisected by a slit that appears to be a potential vulnerable exploit I can use if I need to kill one of these things. He has huge dark eyes and a thin mouth. He moves quickly. Appearing rushed.
Weirder still is this digitigrade naturally armored avian or maybe raptor-like creature. His jaw's mandibles are separate from his face, he has small beady eyes and a forked upper lip with strange shiny armored plates on his face. He has three fingers and two toes with a large spine coming up out of his calf. His limbs are long and thin, clearly this beast was made to chase down prey. Though his clunky torso suggests maybe otherwise. Perhaps they devolved their wings? At any rate he also has a strange row of blade-like roughly feather shaped spines jutting out across the top of his head.
The other two creatures I see are easier to describe at least. One is what I believe is a jelly fish or maybe a squid or octopus. It has a jelly like body and appears to sport a kind of bioluminescence. His shape is roughly fish like aside from the long tentacles shooting down to the ground to support his or her pink jiggly body.
Finally I see what appears to be in its simplest description a grey hairless gorilla with a pointed brow ridge and… layers of labia (?) instead of a mouth and nose?
Gross. Let's hope that that is in fact their mouth.
And for the record, I'm only assuming the genders of these creatures. For all I know the blue woman could've been just an amorphous homogenous androgynous blob of sentient goo that has psychic or pheromonal capabilities that fooled my brain.
Task at hand: Process new information. Focus, Jack.
I look up at the zipping noises above. Flying cars eh? Was I sent to the future not the past? Maybe I'm actually in the same year in the exact same place just in an alternate timeline where there was no nuclear war…
Just aliens.
Why do you believe them to be aliens, Jack? Why not genespliced atrocities? The civility of these potential aliens/atrocities supports the former hypothesis.
Aliens, eh?
I walk out of the dirty alley I'm standing in. A small creature, a new face bumps into me and waddles on by. In its simplest description, this one was a fat, round shaped armored dwarf with respiratory issues.
"Apologies." I mumble as he waddles away. My words fall on deaf ears as he ignores me. Urban decorum is not something that I have had experience with even with 200 years' worth of living under my belt. I've been in 'cities' sure: Montreal, Las Vegas, New York, Hong Kong, what have you but this… this completely dwarfs everything I've come to understand. Those were all ruins that people pieced roughly back together in some places, leading to something that vaguely resembled former human civilization but this is… it's different. It's foreign. I might go so far as to call it alien.
"Excuse me." I say to a passerby, one of the avian creatures. He continues to walk but looks at me. "Where am I?"
His beady eyes narrow, these two armored plates above his eyes which I assume represent his brown lower and his mandibles things lower and angle outwards, slightly showing sharp teeth. "Fuck off druggy."
"Alright then." I mumble to myself. Well. These aliens speak English at least.
I feel a hand on my shoulder as somebody drags me back into the alley. Multiple hands in fact, throw me backwards, deeper into the alley.
Caught by surprise, all I can do I stumble back and throw my weight forwards after a bit, stopping to kneel and face my attackers.
Three people. One is a human man, the other is one of those avian creatures and the third is a reptilian man, vastly dissimilar from the first reptilian man I saw earlier. This one is more chameleon like as the other was more feeder lizard like and this one appears more human. His eyes are large and mostly black but I can see red rings indicating an iris. His scales are red and there are ridges by his cheeks that show ribbed flesh beneath. He has a spiny ridge on top of his head and his body shape is that of a lithe man. He looks very nervous compared to the other two men.
I think they're men at least.
The human approaches me. He's tall, gruff, angry looking and more like what I'm generally accustomed to in a human being. His head is shaved but his face isn't, covered in several days' worth of stubble growth. He has a long knife in his hand. The avian creature has a length of pipe. The reptilian man doesn't have a weapon visible and he isn't looking at me directly.
He won't be as much of a problem as these other two will be.
I know how to fight people. The avian creature will be a different story. How can I handle this? I have my gun, my Catherine, though I don't know if the wormhole had an effect on its ability to operate. I have my knife, my Vagabond.
"Duke." The avian creature says to the human, his voice carries and sounds as if he has two sets of vocal chords or larynxes. "He's got a gun."
Duke the human scoffs. "Calm the fuck down. That thing is ancient I guarantee it's for show. Listen buddy."
I turn around and bolt in the opposite direction. I hear them shout after me. I'm rapidly approaching a ten foot high fence. There's a dumpster near it. I leap up, planting one leg on the edge of the dumpster and jump again, grabbing the edge of the fence and throwing myself over it. I land and I roll to soften my landing and I continue running. I see a straight away and a left turn. I choose left, trying to mentally picture the layout of these alleyways. And by the way, I'm not running because I'm scared or anything, I'm running so that I can potentially shoot these guys without attracting too much attention.
If it comes to that.
Who am I talking to? Who have I been talking to this entire time? Am I narrating to myself? My inner monologue even has a European accent.
You are insane Jack.
I follow the alleyway as it turns sharply right and then left again about a hundred feet later. A dead end. I look for another method of escape. The windows are too high, the metal walls too sheer and there's nothing to boost myself on. I need to double back.
I turn around to run back. Too late.
The reptilian man finds me first. He slows and stops, staring at me nervously.
He looks over his shoulder. "Hey guys! Here!"
He looks back at me and we stare at each other quietly. I take a few steps forwards. He backs away.
"Stay back guy." He hisses at me, his voice carrying a pleasant baritone vibrato to it.
I stop for about four seconds before stepping forwards again. He backs away but trips over a pile of trash. I'm about to move for him but I see the other two men round the corner. I take a step back.
"Get the fuck up, Uren." Duke hisses at him.
Duke approaches me, knife in hand. The avian creature sways his length of pipe back and forth.
I quickly draw my weapon and point the gun at Duke, switching between targets. "Back off. You two are simple thieves. It doesn't need to go this way."
"Duke." The avian mumbles staring at my gun nervously, his body position somewhat defensive.
Duke raises a hand to quiet him. "It's a fake, don't worry about it. Right buddy? A fake, right?" He laughs. "So, you got it all wrong. No, we're killers mate. When we don't get what we want from the people we stop, we kill them. Understand me?"
"Completely." I respond, pulling back the hammer and planting a round square in the avian's throat. His natural plating seems useless against .45 hollowpoint bullets. Duke stumbles back and his eyes go wide.
"Death begets death." I mumble before firing off three rounds into his chest. He gasps, stumbling away.
I approach the last man of this sad little street gang, the reptilian fellow. I level my weapon with his head.
He whimpers and closes his eyes, turning his head away from me.
"Your name." I say. "What is it?"
He looks at me. "Uren."
"Sounds like Urine. Alright Urine." I say, smiling. "How many crimes have you committed?"
He frowns at me. "What?"
"How many crimes have you committed?" I ask again, sounding annoyed by the notion of repeating myself.
"One… Well… I guess. This was going to be my first crime." He responds. "Are you going to kill me?"
"Why did you try to mug me?" I ask.
"Money." He responds. "I need money."
"Why?" I ask, still pointing the gun at him.
"I owe a debt. I need money to pay him back. He has my family. My… my wife." Urine says sounding scared.
"Oh? What is this man's name?" I ask, kneeling, my gun still pointed at him. "Where is he?"
"His name is Dex. He owns the Corner Club here on Aroch."
"Aroch?" I ask.
"Yeah, we're on the Aroch Ward. Are you new to the Citadel too?" He asks.
I don't respond, just looking up at the sky. Above the flying cars I see two massive walls that have cities. What's strange is that they're above me, those cities are hanging from the sky? Artificial gravity perhaps? There is a gap between the two walls where I see purplish white light pouring through.
What is this place?
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About the Author:
Bear with me here, I don't often write about myself, nor will I do so often. Don't expect to see many author's comments, but I will do them every now and again.
My pseudonym is ComaKilledAKing413. You can call me ComaKill for short, or just Coma, if it pleases you. I am currently a college student with former military experience. I write because I have a very active imagination and a temper that tends to get off kilter a bit. Anger management classes suggested creative writing as a method of its subject matter. I started with simple things. I would just barf my brains onto a piece of paper. It sort of became a hobby that stuck with me. I spend a lot of free time writing because I enjoy doing it. I like video games but I don't play them much at all. I'll try my damnedest to make this interesting for you to read.
I'm an ambitious fellow and as a result of my military life (Which is way behind me these days) I'm a team player. I enjoy collaborative projects, so if you like this story and you'd like a feature yourself to help contribute to this story, or even your own, please contact me and we can collaborate. I am currently collaborating with a handful of authors in Mass Effect FF and a few have agreed to let me utilize OCs to a limited extent. I will not abuse this privilege but I most definitely won't be wasting it either. They will appear later on.
I proofread all of my chapters a few times, but grammatical errors or tiny spelling mistakes may be looked over. I apologize for this. I'm a business and accounting major, not an English major (even though I probably would've enjoyed that more.)
Inspiration for this story is contributed to the Mass Effect series mostly, and fanfiction authors here on
If you have any questions, feel free to contact me.