Author's Notes: An intimate look at Rampage, the psychotic, uncaring mass murderer...or is he? Very short, but length means nothing compared to quality.
Warnings: Very dark and twisted. Of course, that's just breaking the ice of my twisted mind. There's alot to feed on when you're insane.
Obligatory Disclaimer: I own no part of Beast Wars, especially the character Rampage.
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Furies Continuum
Around him they whisper, near silent in the darkness, haunting voices of the blackened, decaying masses, empty cries of fallen children, their sparks scattered in the dust as he waits. He drops a hand, and the moon grows stronger, poison residue of a broken heart smattered among the jagged rocks of unforgiving providence.
He shudders in the darkness, sanity a frightened fool taking flight in immaculate perplexity. And, still, he waits, his harsh form fluttering lightly on the brink of self-destruction, crumbled dreams a lovely cushion in the moon's sun-bleached evil.
Psychotic, hypnotic tortuous desire burns within him, maddening lust twining itself in the form of thick, delicious mech fluid, soiled in his fouled hands as it drips and pours continuously like running rivers through his claws. Silky like fine wine, an intoxicating thrill of passion and desire sliding down his throat in executable perfection, an assassin's silent gift for one more day's chilling loss of mind.
Still, he waits for the one to take him home, even if he has none.
Twisted jerk, and the dream is lost once more, searing torture racking through a century's worth of a repulsively sinned soul. The master calls again, twining in his hands the blinding life force the fallen one so cherishes to his bosom. Racked frame prostrating fully upon the unforgiving cold metal, deep metal...
Primus, take him home.
Misguided antipathy stirs within, convulsing structure writhing mercilessly before the master, life a centerfold for perpetual suffering and unending tribulation. Falling again only to rise each daylight, meeting the conquest only to be shattered once more upon the crystal shards of piercing reality, the conquest becoming the game.
A misguided chaos, unseeming denial, he is repentance for a sinner's blasphemy. One transgression given for the other, a lifetime's hatred fueled by scattered dreams thrust upon a barren landscape of twisted calamity.
And still he waits, tyrant over his domain of fallen, a spark's desire hazily torn in a thousand mens' deaths, waiting for the one to bring him home just one last time.
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:sigh: See? This is the result of having to write about Rampage for the first time in your life...Woe is Pitten-chan. Look, I need some serious input from you guys on Rampage because I may be taking up a series that involves him, and I need to speak with an author on his or her perspective and insights into the mind of a "mass murder." Therefore, if anyone's willing to waist their time with me, scooch your e-mails on over to Pitten_5@hotmail.com. (Or ChaoticSerenity3@aol.com, but I'd prefer it if you didn't use that one, unless you want your e-mails to be lost among the yahoo stuff I get. O_0) If anyone's wishes to talk, my AIM is ChaoticSerenity3, YIM is Post_Rapture, MSN is Pitten_5 (Veronica Shields), or ICQ is