It's been so long since I've updated, but this is really because I've started college and it has really consumed my time and efforts. I'm so sorry I keep neglecting this, to be honest I was little lost with this chapter, and I feel like it's not as good as the others, so if there is some truth to that I am really sorry and I will work harder to make the next one better.
Thanks to all those reading and reviewing I appreciate it, you're all awesome :)
I don't own Storm Hawks
OoO.
16 days before Aerrow finds Dark Ace
Past midnight, and Dark Ace was creeping through the shadows of the night, back to the infirmary, more specifically the doctor's office. This was his fourth trip and now he knew exactly which corridors to take to avoid patrols, exactly how lightly to tread on his feet, and that he had precisely thirty minutes once he was inside to collect information. After 11:00 pm, he gave it an hour for any staff members to finish over time, and for patients to fall unconscious.
He was eager to return tonight, and finally get an important update to Starling.
It was a peculiar feeling, betraying your Terra and queen. Because that is essentially what he was doing. Saving the world was an irrelevant factor, he had not sworn his loyalty and devoted his life to the Atmos, he had done so to the royal family of Cyclonia.
Four nights ago, he almost refused to leave his apartment and begin this deception, because he knew the life of a traitor professionally. It creates a hype of possibilities in your mind, but once you take that first step of disloyalty, it's mentally unnerving.
It feels like you're standing at the edge of a fifty foot cliff, and a few paces behind you is someone you've formed a ten year relationship with. When you take that leap over the edge there's no going back, you've done it, you can't abort when the damage is done. And what's worse is you don't know what's waiting at the bottom, it could be sharp rocks, and with his rotten luck it probably would be.
So he had sat there that fateful night, on the edge of his couch, some programme playing in the background, as he tried to drown out the inner voice of doubt. His legs had been jittering fiercely, and he felt lower than dirt. Despite not really wishing to become a part of this sinful act against Master Cyclonis, what drove him to do so was the sorrowful knowledge, that despite his efforts to be the faithful knight be had once promised to be, she didn't seem to care and no longer wanted him.
And so, the Dark Ace had taken a leap of faith into the dark fall of treachery.
During his first investigation he had almost been captured, because half an hour after skimming through log books and folding up records to take back, footsteps were heard in the ward. The lights in the office suddenly switched on, and a man he had never seen before, wearing a lab coat, strolled in. Hiding under the desk was his only option for remaining undetected, and Dark Ace considered himself a little too lucky that it had worked. The scientist mumbled to himself, and he recognised the voice as one of the men Cyclonis had spoken to, that night when he awoke from his coma.
The scientist had walked directly towards another door, which was on the other side of the office. Dark Ace checked it upon entering, but it was locked. After the scientist disappeared behind that door, the commander hastily seized the opportunity to retreat and hurry home.
Ever since that night, when he returned to the office he tried to get that damn door open, but it always remained impassable, and the key was still a hidden mystery.
During these past few midnight runs he uncovered a lot of distressing discoveries, so disturbing it managed to shoot icy chills down his spine, something rarely done for a man of his gumption.
There was a small bookshelf in the office which held titles that Dark Ace wouldn't dare try to pronounce, a few words he did recognise however; 'crystals', 'anatomy', 'reanimation'. He flicked through a few of them on the first night, and regretted every single one, for they all had a contents of some morbid work, and even worse illustrations. 'The history of medical mutilations' really made him gag, he never did have a stomach for this kind of stuff, somehow he couldn't brave a needle in the body as well as a blade.
These books were like a narrative guide to experiments that crazy bastards had done in the past, and each one was broken down, and explained how it was achieved. Unable to comprehend the majority of it, Dark Ace put the books back in their exact places and searched through the desk next.
He found notes, documents, and formulas, for creating something inhuman, it certainly seemed that way. From what he could decipher, what ever Cyclonis wanted to make involved chemicals that could be fatal to people, and yet her goal seemed to revolve around increasing her army's strength. Crystals were thrown in the mix too, she was researching how exactly certain energies got into the blood stream and effected the body.
Dark Ace scrunched up his face as he read it, he couldn't fathom her thought process. How does using deadly chemicals and forces, result in forming an unstoppable soldier? She was crazy.
As planned, he scanned them all with the messenger crystal, and transmitted it over to Starling. She had sent him brief confirmation that she was receiving his secrets, he just hoped she wasn't keeping it to herself.
During the second night, he continued searching through files, specifically the kind that resembled what a doctor would keep for his patients. Each folder was titled with a name, and Dark Ace would not have realised who all these people were, had he not glanced at one name in particular and vaguely recognised it; Loch. That was the Talon who got that birthday cake in the ward, the one he didn't get a taste of. No he was not bitter about that.
He recalled hearing a complaint in the mess hall about Loch being taken somewhere for an operation, despite already recovering, and as far as Dark Ace was aware he still had yet to return. Loch's file was the most recently dated.
Scanning through them, every patient was given the same 'treatment', although they were given it in different ways. The medicine/drug given was called; formula 33, and Cyclonis' scientists, according to records, dosed the subjects through injections, or directly with a crystal, and a few dates later there seemed to be a demand to create some kind of gas.
He scanned as many of the documents as he could, and even silently apologised as he decided to share the photographic evidence with Starling as well.
The injection was noted as a half success, which was rather discouraging because the photos of the test subjects were nothing to be proud about. The images consisted of Talons lying on a slab, their skin morbidly white, veins bulging through the skin with a worrying black tint, their eyes were open and sickly pale. Cyclonis documented that individual injections was not efficiently quick enough ... what ever that meant.
And spreading formula 33 through the zap of a crystal caused hideous mutations. All over the body the skin broke out in boils, some as big as the palm of a hand, with thick puss spewing out of the tops. Their eyes, noses, mouths, and ears leaked blood, and where there weren't boils, the skin had dried up and cracked.
A cabinet was searched on his third nightly round. Found inside were glass vials, and various operating tools, some of which he already recognised from the documents. Marked on one of the vials was labelled "test subject blood #1" which he assumed was his own, and there was a sudden stab of guilt, as he felt involuntarily involved in this... what ever this crime was. There was more than one bottle of his blood, and he swallowed at the hapless thought of how much they had actually taken from him and altered.
The last thing he found, knotted his stomach and dried up his mouth, because he realised how close Master Cyclonis was to attaining her goals. More experiment files, but for that gas she was trying to create, he had read through them utterly mortified. He wasn't exactly a know it all with chemistry... or any science really, but if he was reading this right, she was going to use the mutations in his blood, concentrate it into formula 33, which the scientists had obviously already achieved, and turn it into a toxic gas.
Toxic in the sense that when inhaled, would pass on the zombie mutation. Although there seemed to be one complication; the gas was too weak, it could not just be cast down onto a Terra from a carrier, it would diffuse into the air and dilute to a safe enough concentration before reaching anyone's lungs. In order to spread his disease, the toxins would have to be released in a contained area, somewhere impossible for the particles to escape through, not only that, the quarantined unit would have to be sealed off for no less than 24 hours in order for the infection to fully take over the body.
Unfortunately he had failed to send this information to Starling, time was up and he had to run, leaving the work in the office.
His fourth night, and he had returned, eager to finally record all of this for Starling. He went straight to that cabinet with the messenger crystal ready in hand. But as he did he noticed something, the mysterious back door, it was slightly ajar. Dark Ace pondered for a moment, weighing his chances. Surely it wasn't occupied, the office lights had been off.
He suspected that the experiments were taking place in there, nervously he shoved his hands in his pockets. He took a breath, held it, then crept towards the door, anxious to gain more of an advantage for... the Sky Knights... dear god what kind of a man had he become?
Dark Ace found his steps slowing, his heartbeat making a nuisance of itself again. But more so because Cyclonis wanted to tamper with him, that was enough to petrify him. What if he got trapped and knocked out? Wake up strapped to a bed, a clean cut doctor standing over him. With those thoughts he almost turned tail and ran, only an annoying righteousness guided him the rest of the way inside. He had to give Aerrow an advantage, and this was the way to do it.
He peeked inside, seemed clear, so he went in, suddenly fearful for what he might find, this type of setting the only thing that truly unsettled his nerves.
As predicted; there was a small laboratory with an operating table, he shuddered, quickly averting his cold eyes from it. Righteousness... to hell with it, and he would have retreated with no regrets, but there was something else, a curtain, with a moving silhouette. Reluctantly, he crept towards it, despite inner protests.
With one quick motion he drew the white sheet back, and revealed a tall, glass, cage.
When he saw what was inside, his heart stopped. In fact he stopped completely. His thoughts. His confidence. His hope. All he could think was, We've lost.
He had. He'd lost. He'd chosen to betray his Queen, and of course she had beaten him. There was no point in continuing or trying to stop it. It was too late. He was staring right it. And it was staring at him. The future.
Master Cyclonis had succeeded.
Dark Ace was staring at of one of his Talons. The man was lost, now a zombie, standing like an incoherent drunk in the glass tank. No air for it to breathe, just a mist of green gas polluting the space around it, poisoning the Cyclonian with the infection... his infection. He was suddenly very conscious of the scar on his shoulder.
He did not feel human. He was a freakish breed. A monstrosity. There was a painful twinge in his chest, something rarely felt, it had been so long, the feeling was almost unrecognisable; a pang of guilt and responsibility.
He hadn't just betrayed Cyclonis, he had betrayed the whole Terra with his disease, doomed them all because he had been careless enough to get bitten. God knows how many Cyclonians the young empress was going to infect.
Disgraced and enduring an intense amount of emotional agony, he blundered away from that plagued creature. As he fled back to his apartment with legs that dragged him down like lead, and a head that wouldn't stop spinning, he was sweating over the fate of the Atmos.
They were doomed.
OoO.
13 days before Aerrow finds Dark Ace
After her desertion, a furious order to search for Ravess had been sent out. But much to the dismay of Cyclonis' blood pressure, no one came close to tracking down the crafty archer, she had masked her escape route perfectly.
Besides that, regular operations continued as planned for the Cyclonians. Nothing out of the ordinary, just the regular duty of marching, doughnut breaks, and night shift duty for who ever pisses off superiors.
None but Dark Ace knew of the experiments, and he was the only one questioning any disturbances. Any missing men used as test subjects were waved off with excuses, if a Talon did stop to think about it, they were strictly advised not to, and if they failed that, they too took a sudden leave of absence...
And as far as Master Cyclonis was aware; no one knew of the unstoppable, successful, zombie soldier locked away in the doctor's office. She would sometimes sit at her work desk and grin, years of developing the blind trust of her fleet, was finally paying off with an actual advantage. There was a few worries about Ravess, but nothing she couldn't handle. That conniving grin twisted deliciously as she pondered more about her schemes, and realised that not even the Sky Knights and their gallant efforts were going to be an issue now that she had succeeded.
All those uninvolved were meeting her typically standard expectations. Well, almost everyone, she scowled when she thought about him, his name now left a bad taste in her mouth. Dark Ace was becoming a problem.
For one thing he was conscious, so her scientists could not tamper with his body and attempt to reanimate it. Second, he was a liar, this she already knew, but having him look her in the eyes and refuse to prove his loyalty was unacceptable. His very being now confused and riled her, while his newly discovered mutation had offered this secret weapon, she didn't know why any of this had happened to him. It infuriated her, she detested a failure to understand.
Ever since his mysterious coma, he had woken up as a different person, not the right hand man she was once upon a time promised. He was late for meetings, and if Snipe sneered at him when he did arrive he didn't even seem to care, his hostility had abandoned him.
It was obvious why; the son of a bitch was drunk.
Dark Ace had heard soldiers whispering about him, saying the exact same thing, that he was wasted.
They knew fuck all, he wasn't drunk, he would be when he got home though, dammit he could not get there quick enough. Cyclonis had held him back again after a meeting, to lecture him for his bad life choices. Which was exactly why he was now hurrying back home to grab another bottle, the only answer to his cry for help. He had to steady his nerves, he still couldn't look at his queen, and it was so hard to kneel before her now. Alcohol was like a crutch, hell it was the only leg he could stand on at the minute, otherwise he looked nervous and suspicious.
Trying to resume duties without intoxication was like an impossible request. When he tried, he would think about the lies they were living, then about the zombie in the infirmary, then about Cyclonis being a cunt, then about Aerrow being the complete fucking opposite. Seriously, how was anyone expected to keep a straight face with all that in their head non stop?
It had been three days since he found the zombie, and he'd been trying to rake it out of his mind ever since. He hadn't told Starling about it, didn't see the point. Even if the council sent someone in to kill it, Cyclonis had the formula and his body pumping all the infected blood she needed, so manufacturing another flesh eater would not be an issue.
In fact, now, he had ceased all contact with the Interceptor. Cyclonis had won. He had no where to run. There was no cure for the undead. Why bother? They were all fucked anyway.
So, he was dealing with it. It was fine. Well it would be, a few more bottles and it all would be good, or at least endurable.
The ambitious drive for domination no longer distracted him, gaining power was no longer his problem, and his morals for humanity were returning after a ten year hiatus. The consequence? He was thinking about his family a lot. Remembering how lost he felt without them, wishing they were alive. He couldn't stop thinking about them when he was like this. Which was why he had worked so hard to eradicate all of his emotional baggage in the first place.
As soon as the front door was behind him, he snatched a half empty bottle from the coffee table in his living room, then staggered over to his bedroom, crimson eyes locked on the photo frames with every shaken step he took.
He sought out his mother first, her warm expression, he sighed and buried his face in his hands, missing the sound of her voice. He still wished that sometimes she could be by his side, guiding him with the reassurance that mistakes are alright. His anti social tendencies never bothering her, she was there despite his failures.
He looked over to the photo of a military man, who was standing to attention in the Cyclonian uniform. His mentor, his father... as good as anyway. Oh how he wished he would come back, and tell him what to do, because he sure as hell couldn't figure it out right now. His hand thoughtfully found the headgear he always wore, he smirked proudly, knowing he would never look as good in it as his mentor did.
Last was the black and white photo, the girl, his sister, he furrowed his brows and felt like shit, swallowing with regret. He couldn't even remember what she sounded like, just remembered that she hadn't wanted him to go with Lightning Strike and the Storm Hawks. It was his fault she had been killed, just like his mother.
His family was gone. He knelt down, rested his chin on the drawers and looked at them all with a longing gaze.
But then Aerrow, his little brother, sprung to mind. That kid was never too far away from his thoughts these days. Although, he didn't really know what to do with those thoughts, didn't know whether to be happy or sad that he was in his life, but he aimlessly carried it with him regardless.
More days passed, and Dark Ace had stopped working completely, he was seen regularly with a bottle in his hand, on occasion spotted lashing empty ones to the floor. The commander wasn't doing any more training with his squadron, and when they tried to approach him with concerns, he made sure they didn't try again.
Recently he had been sent on a mission to retrieve a box of firebolt crystals for Cyclonis, an errand to test if he was still capable. But he barely managed, he took far too long to return with the crate, which had been knocked enough to dint the sides. He was so close to fleeing like Ravess, in fact he would have, had he not, through sheer dumb luck, spotted a night crawler tailing him.
That pissed him off, fuck Cyclonis for not trusting him. Bitch was right of course, but still, fuck her, insulting him. He was so sick of this shit. Upon his return after that dismal mission, the first Talon he spotted he thundered towards, and struck with his fists over and over, only stopping when Snipe grabbed him from behind and flung him off.
OoOo.
9 days before Aerrow finds Dark Ace
His apartment was out of booze. He rubbed the stubble on his face with a sweaty palm, as he tried to remember where in this hell hole he could get more of that stuff. His glossy eyes widened ever so slightly when he came up with a solution, and immediately he rose, almost tripping over his own legs as he did so.
He left his apartment and wandered over to the Cyclonian tavern, which was built out of the way of all the serious matters and regulations. It wasn't too far from the apartment levels, just a neat little local on the Terra, for a quick and easy place to relax after a long day.
The Dark Ace was at the bar, perched on the edge of a wooden stool, eyes fixed on nothing, but fall of resentment. There was a deserted space around him, where everyone had vacated their seats. Anyone who had the gall to refuse to leave the tavern itself should have been awarded a medal for bravery.
He downed another drink, slamming the glass on the bar, silently demanding another with a wave. He groaned like a disturbed dragon, rubbing his temple, black brows furrowed. He was growing tired of the whole situation, not the zombie thing, just him, his life. He glanced around him, everyone out of his way and on edge, nervously glimpsing to check his state, panicking when their eyes met.
He growled and clenched his fists. He was so fucking done. Would anyone even notice if he disappeared? Well they would, but no one would care. He could imagine the news being announced in the mess hall, there would be a silence throughout as it sunk in, and then everyone would jump to their feet and cheer crazily. Bastards.
But he couldn't blame them, he was so fucked up, he'd brought it all on himself, alienated himself through all these years. Argh, it didn't help to dwell on it, he couldn't stop himself though.
He took one more drink then stumbled out, almost crashing into a table as his feet struggled to function alongside his double vision.
The zombies had ruined everything, fuck he hated them, detested them, they had destroyed his stable little lifestyle. Ever since the new war his life had been turned upside down, the views he dedicated his life to, now corrupted.
Well, it wasn't over. He was the Dark Ace, he was the greatest pilot, a champion fighter, excellent fucker. He could do something about it. Hell he was gonna. It was going to be glorious.
Where was the infirmary again?
An hour or so later and he found it, banging his body against the door as he did so, a few patients coughing as they woke up. Didn't matter to him, too drunk to notice, he struggled over to the office. Stealth was forgotten, he barged through the door, the lights were off and it was empty, luckily. He hurried forward, like a man on a mission, then yelped as his crotch hit the desk.
"Ffffuck you!" He slurred and smacked the surface with his hand.
Eventually he was through the secret door, having bashed it in with something blunt. Needless to say, some patients did get out of bed to investigate, but upon seeing their commander, they whispered "fuck that" and returned to bed.
The zombie grew wild at his boisterous entrance, batting against the glass, craving it's first kill. Dark Ace glared at it, face twisted into a horrible grimace, he staggered towards it, arms swinging. He was going to kill this thing. Fucking kill it. It was his fault it was here, so it seemed appropriate that he be the one to take it out.
He slammed his hands against the glass, and began thumping on it with fury fuelling him. Desperate to smash the container, wrestle with the flesh eater, crush it's skull with his own hands. His rage was dangerously fervent, and his bawling grew louder as he failed to get through the glass.
He whipped his head around to look for another blunt object, they were so trustworthy. Fingers twitching as he wished for his sword to appear. Actually, he had been wishing for that to happen for a few days now, because Cyclonis had confiscated his beautiful weapon for safety reasons, although he wasn't sure who's safety she was worried about. So he lunged for the first thing he spotted, a swivel chair. He grabbed it, dragged it haphazardly over to the glass and swung it as hard as he could. The tank remained in tact.
Why did nothing ever go right for him?!
He screamed, and kicked the stupid thing, still nothing. He gave it the finger, "BITCH!"
One wobbly step back. Eyes suddenly falling shut. He began to lose his balance, worse than usual. Falling backwards. Crashing to the floor unconscious. Alcohol had finally caught up with his head and vanquished the absurd, slurring, beast.
Dark Ace groggily woke up the next morning, hissing as artificial light beamed down on his blood shot eyes. His head was pounding like someone was bashing it with a hammer, and he could feel something hard tapping against his sides repetitively. A voice started working it's way into his head, it was too damn loud, his face creased with discomfort.
"Get up asshole," a woman's voice, she sounded pissed off, well he could play that game, in fact he was the ruler of that game. So with an overworked groan and a strong sensation of throwing up, he sat up on the floor, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the pain in his head. Craning his neck to glare at who ever this bitch was, she was young and wearing a pinstripe suit, with straight brown hair draped down to her chest.
He worked hard to get on his feet, resisting the urge to massage his temple, trying to maintain some strong demeanour. She didn't seem impressed, in fact she looked pretty stressed out and nervous that he was here. He could relate.
She opened her mouth to speak, but as soon as he was standing tall he roughly shoved her out of the way, burst through the door, and dashed out of the ward.
As the hungover commander hurried to return to the apartment, his situation was beginning to sink in; he had been found in the office where the zombie was hidden, and where all of Cyclonis' secrets were. It was one of the new scientists who had woken him up, and she would report this to the Master, if she hadn't already.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
He came to an abrupt halt, then turned and bolted in the opposite direction, straight to the throne room, where his malicious empress would be. Planning to do some seriously pathetic grovelling, get down on his knees and spin out some excuse as to why he was there and that nothing would be said, anything to make that witch believe he was harmless to her. He would do anything to avoid her wrath.
But when he barged through the grand doors, Dark Ace was greeted by an empty throne, no signs of life in there at all.
His black brows furrowed, she was always on her throne in the morning. He began to back out, tying to imagine where she would be. A Talon gingerly passed him in the hallway and, after checking his hands for a bottle, said, "Uh... Cyclonis has gone, she left yesterday, Sir..."
"What!?" He barked, but the guy merely whimpered in response and immediately scurried off without another word.
OoO.
7 days before Aerrow finds Dark Ace
It was time to run. Dark Ace wasn't sure where to, or who would help him, he didn't know if approaching Aerrow would be safe for either of them. But he needed to put distance between himself and the black Terra.
He took a few deep breaths as he tried to wrap his head around the fact that this was actually happening. Everything had changed. He couldn't trust his Queen. He was actually having to flee from somewhere that had promised him a rewarded life for his deeds.
He had to swallow and accept it. Twiddling his thumbs was going to get him killed, they were in a war after all. So he pulled a leather travel bag from the closet and began filling it with the essentials. All the while feeling ridiculous, like a kid running away from home because he couldn't handle his problems. It was the worst kind of admitting defeat. What the hell was he doing?
He rummaged through his drawers for some clothes, he wasn't going to get very far in his uniform any more, which was a scary thought. From the bathroom he packed his hairspray, because that shit was Cyclonian manufactured and at this point his good looks were all he had.
It really sunk in that he was actually leaving when he picked up the three photos in his room, placing them all carefully in his bag. Holding the picture of his mother, suddenly seeing the resemblance between herself and Aerrow, it somehow gave him a foreign sense of security, and he was vaguely thankful for such a sensation.
Out of the apartment again, running through the halls, desperate to put this damned place behind him. Ignoring what the Cyclonians were probably thinking, as they watched the Dark Ace in civilian clothes, hurrying through Cyclonia with a suitcase. The time for fretting over things like that was over, but he couldn't hold back scowling at them for getting too interested in his business.
The longer he ran the more he began to worry that Cyclonis might find out and stop him from fleeing. Despite the awareness of her absence, he imagined reaching the hangar bay and there being a blockage, or Cyclonis herself miraculously appearing, ready to stop him with a brutal force. He gulped and yet he couldn't stop, couldn't think of any other options.
But when he got to the docks there was no one about, the extreme opposite of what he expected. This was frightfully peculiar because this was one of the busiest sectors, people always coming and going from missions or deliveries, even in the dead of night, which is what it was right now.
The only explanation was that the schedules and orders had been cancelled, but only the Master could do that, and what could she possibly gain from cutting everything off? It befuddled him, and erected the hairs on his arms.
Never the less, this was great? After all, now he could fly out undetected with mock-worthy ease. So he marched over to where all the skimmers were parked, panting heavily from his race through the vast Terra, eyes darting around as he still expected an ambush.
But when he sat on his beloved switch blade, suitcase behind him, the engine failed to come to life, only a meek rumbling, and then dead silence. That alone was bizarre because mechanics always ensured that, his skimmer specifically, was in top condition, but no matter how much he tried and cursed, the blasted thing wouldn't start.
He checked the crystal tank; empty.
"What the fuck? How can I need more fuel?" He snorted irritably, what was it coming to when a commander needed to refill his own tank? He grunted, and moodily dismounted his ride, making his way to a storage room where the crystals were brought to from the vault. He scratched the back of his neck, as that conspiring ambush theory of his was becoming more likely with every development.
OK, now he was concerned, and felt distressed, as he was greeted by a whole load of nothing in the storage room. There was nobody around, at all, not even an echoed footstep. Generally, at the very least there was one Talon available to retrieve a requested crystal quickly. But overall there were usually people working forklifts, or strolling around the shelves with clipboards.
With a face lined with concern, he took matters into his own hands, at least this way he could snatch as many as he wanted with no one to question his motives.
By order of Master Cyclonis, crates of crystals were towered high in this storage room, so the Talons were never subjected to a one-box-left problem, it simply wasn't allowed. Tonight however, there were boxes, but they were all empty, every single one, not a crystal in sight, not even the back up supply for emergencies. Dark Ace was standing in a chilled, gloomy, room, without the surrounding warm glow of their precious stock.
The colour was starting to drain from his face, and he was stiffening with worry. What the hell was going on? Why was Cyclonis letting her Talons fall into disorder? What about missions? What if their airspace was breached? What was that arrogant witch thinking?
Despite life continuing to give him nothing but disappointment, he left the storage room, still determined to escape. So he picked up his suitcase with a tense fist, and began to walk to the edge of the loading docks, leaving his cold skimmer behind. He groaned with the weight of a heavy burden, if he couldn't fly out of here, he would just have to hike. He could handle it, he had done it before, he was going to climb down the Terra, and trek through the wastelands... again.
As he continued to march onward to the end of the Terra, the very idea roused him, adrenaline triggering him to start running, the exciting notion that he was close to being free spurring him on.
But when he reached the edge of the Terra, there was an electrifying flash of purple, then he was being rapidly flung backwards by a fierce force of energy. He screamed as he flew across the docks, the fall to the floor winding him, the zap draining him.
Body jolting with pain, head all fuzzy, he groaned and grinded his teeth. Struggling to get back to his feet, why did the world insist on constantly throwing this shit at him? Fucking karma never took a damn vacation for him these days.
With cautious curiousity, he returned to the edge, far more slowly this time, his hands out in front of him, crimson eyes wide. When the tips of his fingers brushed against the strong, pulsing magic, it scorched his skin. Instantly he hissed curses through gritted teeth, and jumped away from the shield, whining as he looked at his fingers to find the skin already peeling.
Dark Ace stood before the purple force field for ages, lost for words, lost overall, he didn't what to do.
"We're trapped?"
OoO.
I hope that wasn't as crap as I thought it was, anyway, if you've got time leave a review that would be awesome
