Hey all 3 ovo Just figured i'd write a little Protocreed before I went to bed. Took me about 45 minutes, nothing long, and its just a little...snippette. 3 Ah, lesse, heavily implied Alex/Desmond. Rated M, for language. And this takes place after Prototype 2. Thank you~
Kari (AC2ezio)
~3~
Desmond Miles stood at the large over-hanging windows of their newest base. The safety glass was incredibly thick, and yet it was the clearest glass he had ever seen. Or maybe, just maybe, that was the tears. It would explain the blurry effect it had on the rim.
Everyone had tried to help. Everyone that wanted to help, that was. But sometimes emotions just run so deep, even the people around you can't help. Gifts were passed, hugs and handshakes from the little group of assassins. But nothing really stuck.
And now, here he was, alone. It was the one shot at something special, and he blew it like you would a new paycheck.
Alex Mercer was dead. His body was sprawled across the pavement like some sort of sick nightmare. Blood covered his jacket and jeans. It was an inhuman display; the way his face was contorted and in a pained expression.
But you know what. Desmond knew who killed him. Desmond knew the person that had brutally murdered the one person he could talk to.
Desmond Miles was going to kill James Heller for what he did to Mercer.
He was going to take his life in he worst possible way he could think of.
So it was, now, that Desmond pushed himself off and away from the transparent crystal, and turned on his heel in a lavish movement. Irrelevant thoughts were non existent. Nothing else mattered. Alex would have liked that.
Desmond scooped up a little vial on the far table with a red concoction within it. Amber eyes examined it with wonder. How something so small could do so much. And be as dangerous as it was.
He ran a thumb over the label marked 'Blacklight', feeling his lip trembling as he set it down and took a syringe from the sterile plastic next to him. No one was safe anymore.
The liquid flowed thick and heavy into the syringe, and it was dotted with black in places. The origin of Blacklight itself was Gentek. Alex was head researcher of his division, and the primary person to talk to about it. He understood what made it. He knew what made it tick, and how fucking lethal it was.
This could be his last breath on Earth. Blacklight could reject him like it did with everyone else. Not even the maker himself knew the possibilities. Or it could grant him the mockery of a God. Able to evade even the most secure situations.
Subject 17 clenched his teeth together so hard he felt they were to crack. He would have to do it over with before he shimmied out of the idea like a dress a woman wore.
The man yanked up his sleeve, taking a sleek and valuable moment to stare at his skin. Smooth, without a flaw.. Tan. What if Blacklight changed this? Oh well. No matter. Desmond filled the syringe with the thick, soupy red liquid, glaring at it and praying to whatever fucking god that existed he actually had a chance at killing Heller.
The sharp point of the needle dug into his skin instantly; Desmond knowing he would have run if he stopped. And it ran into him with such a force, his knees buckled and he was thrown to the ground. It was like a dull burn in his arm. Like that of anesthesia when you get surgery. But...something was off. His muscles twitched erratically, and a sudden excruciatingly painful charge of agony made its way up his spine. The bones within Desmond's very body cracked and convulsed, and made him new.
The man lay curled in a ball with his hands firmly against the back of his head. Oh god oh god oh god... It was the worse pain he had ever felt in his lifetime. Ever. Like being run over, snapped in half, and drowned all at the same time. Desmond whined and howled in pain, feeling a strong urge to tear his eyeballs clean from their sockets. But no matter how bad it hurt...it was being done for someone special. Alex was special...and now he was dead. Heller had killed him, remember?
And then it was gone. The pain left. And all it left behind was increased aggression that could never be avoided. It was pure on rage, directed at only one man. Desmond felt newborn, but older than time. When he uncurled from that little ball of a pain-stricken man, everything about him just radiated power. Under that skin tight hoodie was a machine. Years of precise training and perfect oiling. Only it was done in a matter of seconds. The physical changes were nice, but the transformation on the inside was even greater. The potential this...creature could reach was four times regular human abilities. The capacity of Desmond's brain was faster than four human brains put together.
Miles stood shakily at first, curious about his new body. It was all so foreign. The way he handled himself now was off. Like he wasn't balanced with himself. What was good was the fact that everything was still...everything. He recognized it.
Desmond cracked his neck to the side, then pulled off the hoodie that he seemed to care for more than what he actually felt. It was time to pay the piper. There was someone out there he had to kill. Desmond couldn't wait to stare at the blood all over his hands.
Back to the glass he went. He pushed his palm against it, then his cheek, caressing it in an almost intimate manner. Last human seconds of his life. Remember it and cherish it.
He did.
With that, Desmond growled; deep, animalistic in his throat. His arms riveted, causing them to bend at the elbow. When they did so, a black and red matter swirled about them wildly. Fabric was torn carelessly when spikes erupted from underneath the cotton. The glass from which he admired not moments before was shattered by the claws that inhabited his hands and fingers, splintering off into different directions. Some even caught his cheek, to which the cut was healed immediately.
Desmond Miles stretched his lethal body, then shot through the open beyond and down five stories.
There is going to be death, and Heller doesn't even know it yet.