S/D: Yeah. You know the drill. Sue me, and you'll get shit.
Prey
Chapter Five Breaking Shit to Look Tough
I tossed and turned all night long. I don't think I got a wink of actual sleep.
My so-called dreams were fitful, outrageous and incredibly strange. They only had one thing in common: the Stranger.
I can't say what it is about the man that implanted itself so deeply into my head. So deep it felt like he'd taken a jackhammer to my memory and imbedded himself in there. There was no way to remove him without ripping my brain out of my head. Preferably by the optic cord or out the nasal passageway, I saw it on some online cartoon with small animals and want to see if it actually works.
Here I am, sidetracked again.
So he's unforgettable. Fuck you Marvin Gaye (or should I say, Marvin GAY). This is not the good kind. This is the type where he's gone and wrapped me around his pinky. Every inch of me wanted him, just to be around him, just to know he was near. I've touched him once, and only once was enough to know the affect he had on me. He'd triggered something deep within me, something hidden: my secret.
And what is my secret, you might ask? I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you. And I would just hate to do that so early in the story. My secret will have to remain just that: a secret. Maybe you can guess. Good luck.
My paranoid visions of the stranger, that's what I was talking about. Yes. They were ridiculously varied. Ranging from outer space travel, circuses, torture, rape, luncheon meetings, and conspiracy theories to small talks by the waterfront, star gazing and even playful spats of physical supremacy. My imagination was on a rampage and was not reluctant to keep me up because of it. Stupid head.
The next night was equally as horrible. I ate nothing the whole day and my strength was draining from my body. It felt as though I'd caught a cold: every muscle was sore without using them. Work was tedious, the hot summer days keeping potential customers out of the sun and in their nice air- conditioned homes. Hot food and heavy soups were not on the brains of wallet carrying yuppies. They were too busy with their new and improved air- wick pants and collared shirts. Stain defender pants are so last week, don't you know.
The pools were overcrowded, water parks shutting their doors in a frantic scramble to cater to the thousands who had snuck in right at opening. It was hot, okay? Wickedly hot. Hell's furnaces trembled in terror at the swelled heat produced on the land.
It made my job so boring, so very mind-numbing boring. As much fun it is to shoot the shit with the co-workers all day, a measly 2.15 an hour was not going to pay my bills. Tipping the bussers was coming out of my pocket. It was costing me money to go to work. Now that sucks.
The rest of the week went much the same: no sleep, no money, more time to lose my sanity to the stranger in my mind. It was a disease, I decided; an infectious agent that corrupted every cell of my body and poisoned my neural nets into doing nothing but day dream and deprive me of my much needed sleep.
I was a zombie and had no reason for it. I was becoming frustrated. Unequivocally upset. Five nights of watching reruns of cartoons that no longer made any sense in my pudding of a mind, five days of nothing but nibbles at food stuffs, five days and nights of wanton and destructive day dreams. Agh. I get mad just thinking about it right now!
I shuffled home and opened the door with the exhausted-shove-your-weight- against-it style and stumbled up the stairs. Dropping my bag gracelessly, I gaped at my couch that once again housed the stranger. His thick arms were crossed over the expanse of Teflon that served as his chest, glaring ominously at me. His gaze was indicative of displeasure and it looked like I was about to get a talking to by a man who's name I didn't even know.
Does 'I'm not in the mood' correctly fit this situation? Yes, yes it does.
"What the fuck do you want? And how the Hell do you keep getting in here?" I stalked to the kitchen and served myself a glass of milk without offering him any. Serve the asshole that is taking away what's left of my marbles and sneaking into my house? No, I think not!
Sure, I could yell and carry on, but I noticed I wasn't demanding that he leave. Oh no, I was more than happy to vent my building pressure upon this man. He was, after all, the cause.
He responded with the typical rush of air from his nose that he was so well known for. That sarcastic mother...
"Pack for two weeks."
Thank you, Mr. Random!
I shot him an incredulous look, thinking he was absolutely mad. "Oh, are we going to Hawaii? Or maybe one of those Caribbean islands I'm so fond of. St. Lucia, is it? I'll need more razors."
"They're coming."
"Who's coming, you twit?" It never occurred to me at the time that it was a bad idea to taunt a man who looked like he could bend titanium with his pinky finger.
"Red Ribbon."
I don't know about you, but I've never, in all my life, been horrified to see red ribbons. I've never run, screaming bloody murder from a crimson or satin lined, folded or looped, textured or shiny ribbon. This 'red ribbon' made me laugh. "Oh, so Christmas presents have been possessed and they're about to attack?"
He looked insulted for some reason. I didn't know how important wrapping was to him, I guess.
"You don't know who the Red Ribbon Army is. You really are an ignorant wretch." A sneer wrought its way across the uneven level of his lips, curling like smoke from a chimney, mirthless and malevolent. It sent a shiver down my spine as the room seemed to drop to a chilly ambience.
My shoulders instantly drew back as I stood my ground defensively. "What, is it some world-wide organization that's responsible for terrorist actions against us?"
He gave me a guarded look, his feelings hidden from me on purpose. "You could say that," he offered.
"Wait a second. You think this ...whatever, is coming after me?" He gave me no reply, but the answer was in plain sight.
What was he getting at? Some secret world organization whose sole purpose was to wreak havoc and chaos across undeserving nations was after me. Me. Little stupid me. I wasn't sure who was crazier, him for suggesting it, or me for actually thinking he was being honest for a hundredth of a second.
My weight shifted onto one leg and I sighed in controlled irritation. "I don't have the patience for this. I'm going to take a bath and try to forget you exist." I walked away from him, still shaking my head, "You let yourself in. You can let yourself out."
I didn't hear him leave. I didn't know if he had, in fact, obeyed and abandoned me as I had ordered. I didn't know if he was still in the living room, sitting in silent vigil in front of the blank television screen. I don't think I cared much either way. This man was attempting to be the death of me.
Steam filled the small bathroom as I drew the hottest bath the water heater would allow. It was just shy of scalding and caused goosebumps to riddle my skin. It was perfect. As I sank into the half-filled tub, the hot water burned my skin. It felt delicious. I shivered, my sore muscles rippling, causing an agonizing tremor to wrack my body. I winced before I became accustomed to the temperature and settled comfortably in the porcelain bowl.
I closed my eyes and willed my brain empty. I didn't notice how hard I was concentrating on becoming quiet until I heard the beating of my heart. My eyes opened to watch the water echo the thrumming sound.
It was most unusual to see your own heartbeats become ripples of water. I could hear the muscle clench in my chest and could feel the pounding rhythm constricting in my back. I do not know why I could feel it in my back. The closest feeling I could recall is sometimes feeling your pulse in your thumb or fingers. It was odd, knowing the organ was located deep in my chest, and to feel it in my back. It's like a ventriloquist of the heart.
I paid no attention to the world outside of my little tub. I was blissfully unaware that downstairs, my door was being burned through. Not the lock, the entire door.
Because I had left the bedroom door ajar, I could see the light from the kitchen. It lit up my bedroom with the normal and anticipated weakness. I watched, without much reaction because of my sluggish state, as the light increased in intensity. If fact, it was so bright, I could smell the heat. It was the foul odor of an item burning in the microwave. Something was getting toasted beyond well done. Haha, it was my door.
There was a small crash, not too loud as to alert the neighbors (like they'd respond with anything but a bang on the wall and a shout of "Shut the Hell up!") and red streaks filled the kitchen.
Now I've seen enough action movies to know what red beams mean: it means someone's going to get shot.
Let's recap this situation. I've just been told by a nameless and decidedly infuriating man that a world-wide terrorist organization was after me, then my door gets treated like a piece of balsa wood, and now little red pinpointing lights are surveying my kitchen while I sit in a pool of hot water, naked as the day I was born. It appeared to me that perhaps he was right, someone was after me.
My options of escape seemed laughably limited and not a one of them would leave me a shred of dignity or clothes. However, escape was the only thing on my mind. Stepping from the tub, I shook each leg and arm vigorously to rid myself of excess water that would only prove as a trail to my new location. Silent footfalls accompanied me to the bathroom door.
Every muscle in my body was quivering and shaking in absolute terror. I did not know the reason why these people were here, and my imagination was not telling me it was for a tea party. Maybe the rent was late?
The doorknob was the type that locked if you pushed it in and turned it a bit counterclockwise. Cheap, because all you needed was a q-tip to insert into the hole on the opposite handle to release the locking mechanism. However, it served my purposes as I engaged the lock and shut the door behind me.
Taking one deep breath and stifling the urge to squeal, I dashed across my bedroom, hoping a white streak of ass did not light up the hallway like greased lightening. I ducked into my own closet, feeling much like a sixteen year old caught in the act at her boyfriend's place. If only I was having sex right about now. Things could be better.
The red beams made it into my bedroom and zeroed in on the closed bathroom door. I buried myself in a heap of clothes, now thankful that my less than perfect housekeeping was saving my life. I considered it further incentive to never clean again. By managing to create an eyehole to look through, I watched as half a dozen men dressed like SWAT units banged and poured over the hinges of my bathroom door. Each one was hefting a gun of some kind, and by the looks of things, they were well trained and could make some real damage.
Two more figures entered the room, their hips swaggering in a way that indicated their relaxed state. They seemed cocky, assured, and the gun- toting hooligans stepped completely out of their way. Unarmed and dressed much like teenage civilians, these two looked out of place. Well, compared to the rest of my uninvited company.
This was my chance! Everyone was so focused on the bathroom, I had only seconds before they opened it much like my main door and discovered I wasn't in there. I crawled more than walked to the window on the far side of my bed, praying each second that I would remain undiscovered. A gentle groan sounded like Niagara Falls to my ears as I eased the window open bit by bit, my gaze fixed on the men who surrounded my bathroom, poised to attack whatever they found behind the door.
I inched my way out of the window, feet first, scrambling madly for some kind of foothold or ledge. I found purchase on the metal rungs of the drain pipe (the very one that groaned in the wind and kept me up and night) that was ever so conveniently installed so close to my window. Lowering myself from the window ledge to the drain pipe, I held my breath and prayed silently to the god whom I disbelieved in, just let me get down.
That was when the pipe started to give way. The metal shrieked and howled beneath my weight, the supporting screws popping from the synthetic siding of the apartment complex. With my hands still on the ledge, my head still in view, I saw her turn.
She was like nothing I've ever seen before. She was beautiful, yes, but unearthly so. Her structure was so unique, so different, she appeared almost too perfect, too alien. Then her eyes chilled me to the bone. Everything about the woman seemed alive, the way her hair fanned as her head snapped in my direction. The way her face took on vague surprise and dislike her features settled upon me. But her eyes... They were dead.
You know how some people say that eyes are a view to the soul? I buy into such philosophy, and found this woman to be an empty shell. Certainly she was alive, a living breathing organism, alive as you or me. But her eyes were an ice blue, an ice so cold, it froze the life it touched instantly, offering no quarter, no mercy. I felt so cold in her gaze.
I pretty much fell the rest of the way down right about then. The pipe gave way and ripped from the wall and I tumbled most beautifully into the unforgiving ground.
I don't know about you, but any time I've ever heard of people falling from a second story window, they don't manage to walk away. There's usually an ambulance and broken bones accompanied by a gang of onlookers and rubber necks. But this time, I don't even think I bat an eye. I climbed to my feet, brushed myself off and ran.
I was a fucking action movie star! Okay, a naked action movie star.
Running full tilt into my car, I was suddenly struck with the worst truth of my life. You're a naked action movie star with no fucking keys, you absolute MORON! What good is your car, if you can't fucking get into it!? You're a fucktard! What were you thinking?!
I barely had time to smack the car in outrage when something rather unexpected caught my attention. The woman was back. She was approaching me. The odd thing was how she was managing to do it. She was floating through the air, completely unharnessed or wired, flying without aid in my direction.
Okay. People don't fly. They just don't. It's not physically possible. So why in the Hell was she landing in front of me, a cold smirk filling her face? I couldn't explain it. She stretched a hand out at me.
Wait, why was she smirking?
I'm getting a little sick of people seeing me naked, you know.
A/N: To all those Halo fans out there, Breaking Stuff to Look Tough is a subchapter on Assault of the Control Room. And yeah, the No Enemies cheat works.
Prey
Chapter Five Breaking Shit to Look Tough
I tossed and turned all night long. I don't think I got a wink of actual sleep.
My so-called dreams were fitful, outrageous and incredibly strange. They only had one thing in common: the Stranger.
I can't say what it is about the man that implanted itself so deeply into my head. So deep it felt like he'd taken a jackhammer to my memory and imbedded himself in there. There was no way to remove him without ripping my brain out of my head. Preferably by the optic cord or out the nasal passageway, I saw it on some online cartoon with small animals and want to see if it actually works.
Here I am, sidetracked again.
So he's unforgettable. Fuck you Marvin Gaye (or should I say, Marvin GAY). This is not the good kind. This is the type where he's gone and wrapped me around his pinky. Every inch of me wanted him, just to be around him, just to know he was near. I've touched him once, and only once was enough to know the affect he had on me. He'd triggered something deep within me, something hidden: my secret.
And what is my secret, you might ask? I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you. And I would just hate to do that so early in the story. My secret will have to remain just that: a secret. Maybe you can guess. Good luck.
My paranoid visions of the stranger, that's what I was talking about. Yes. They were ridiculously varied. Ranging from outer space travel, circuses, torture, rape, luncheon meetings, and conspiracy theories to small talks by the waterfront, star gazing and even playful spats of physical supremacy. My imagination was on a rampage and was not reluctant to keep me up because of it. Stupid head.
The next night was equally as horrible. I ate nothing the whole day and my strength was draining from my body. It felt as though I'd caught a cold: every muscle was sore without using them. Work was tedious, the hot summer days keeping potential customers out of the sun and in their nice air- conditioned homes. Hot food and heavy soups were not on the brains of wallet carrying yuppies. They were too busy with their new and improved air- wick pants and collared shirts. Stain defender pants are so last week, don't you know.
The pools were overcrowded, water parks shutting their doors in a frantic scramble to cater to the thousands who had snuck in right at opening. It was hot, okay? Wickedly hot. Hell's furnaces trembled in terror at the swelled heat produced on the land.
It made my job so boring, so very mind-numbing boring. As much fun it is to shoot the shit with the co-workers all day, a measly 2.15 an hour was not going to pay my bills. Tipping the bussers was coming out of my pocket. It was costing me money to go to work. Now that sucks.
The rest of the week went much the same: no sleep, no money, more time to lose my sanity to the stranger in my mind. It was a disease, I decided; an infectious agent that corrupted every cell of my body and poisoned my neural nets into doing nothing but day dream and deprive me of my much needed sleep.
I was a zombie and had no reason for it. I was becoming frustrated. Unequivocally upset. Five nights of watching reruns of cartoons that no longer made any sense in my pudding of a mind, five days of nothing but nibbles at food stuffs, five days and nights of wanton and destructive day dreams. Agh. I get mad just thinking about it right now!
I shuffled home and opened the door with the exhausted-shove-your-weight- against-it style and stumbled up the stairs. Dropping my bag gracelessly, I gaped at my couch that once again housed the stranger. His thick arms were crossed over the expanse of Teflon that served as his chest, glaring ominously at me. His gaze was indicative of displeasure and it looked like I was about to get a talking to by a man who's name I didn't even know.
Does 'I'm not in the mood' correctly fit this situation? Yes, yes it does.
"What the fuck do you want? And how the Hell do you keep getting in here?" I stalked to the kitchen and served myself a glass of milk without offering him any. Serve the asshole that is taking away what's left of my marbles and sneaking into my house? No, I think not!
Sure, I could yell and carry on, but I noticed I wasn't demanding that he leave. Oh no, I was more than happy to vent my building pressure upon this man. He was, after all, the cause.
He responded with the typical rush of air from his nose that he was so well known for. That sarcastic mother...
"Pack for two weeks."
Thank you, Mr. Random!
I shot him an incredulous look, thinking he was absolutely mad. "Oh, are we going to Hawaii? Or maybe one of those Caribbean islands I'm so fond of. St. Lucia, is it? I'll need more razors."
"They're coming."
"Who's coming, you twit?" It never occurred to me at the time that it was a bad idea to taunt a man who looked like he could bend titanium with his pinky finger.
"Red Ribbon."
I don't know about you, but I've never, in all my life, been horrified to see red ribbons. I've never run, screaming bloody murder from a crimson or satin lined, folded or looped, textured or shiny ribbon. This 'red ribbon' made me laugh. "Oh, so Christmas presents have been possessed and they're about to attack?"
He looked insulted for some reason. I didn't know how important wrapping was to him, I guess.
"You don't know who the Red Ribbon Army is. You really are an ignorant wretch." A sneer wrought its way across the uneven level of his lips, curling like smoke from a chimney, mirthless and malevolent. It sent a shiver down my spine as the room seemed to drop to a chilly ambience.
My shoulders instantly drew back as I stood my ground defensively. "What, is it some world-wide organization that's responsible for terrorist actions against us?"
He gave me a guarded look, his feelings hidden from me on purpose. "You could say that," he offered.
"Wait a second. You think this ...whatever, is coming after me?" He gave me no reply, but the answer was in plain sight.
What was he getting at? Some secret world organization whose sole purpose was to wreak havoc and chaos across undeserving nations was after me. Me. Little stupid me. I wasn't sure who was crazier, him for suggesting it, or me for actually thinking he was being honest for a hundredth of a second.
My weight shifted onto one leg and I sighed in controlled irritation. "I don't have the patience for this. I'm going to take a bath and try to forget you exist." I walked away from him, still shaking my head, "You let yourself in. You can let yourself out."
I didn't hear him leave. I didn't know if he had, in fact, obeyed and abandoned me as I had ordered. I didn't know if he was still in the living room, sitting in silent vigil in front of the blank television screen. I don't think I cared much either way. This man was attempting to be the death of me.
Steam filled the small bathroom as I drew the hottest bath the water heater would allow. It was just shy of scalding and caused goosebumps to riddle my skin. It was perfect. As I sank into the half-filled tub, the hot water burned my skin. It felt delicious. I shivered, my sore muscles rippling, causing an agonizing tremor to wrack my body. I winced before I became accustomed to the temperature and settled comfortably in the porcelain bowl.
I closed my eyes and willed my brain empty. I didn't notice how hard I was concentrating on becoming quiet until I heard the beating of my heart. My eyes opened to watch the water echo the thrumming sound.
It was most unusual to see your own heartbeats become ripples of water. I could hear the muscle clench in my chest and could feel the pounding rhythm constricting in my back. I do not know why I could feel it in my back. The closest feeling I could recall is sometimes feeling your pulse in your thumb or fingers. It was odd, knowing the organ was located deep in my chest, and to feel it in my back. It's like a ventriloquist of the heart.
I paid no attention to the world outside of my little tub. I was blissfully unaware that downstairs, my door was being burned through. Not the lock, the entire door.
Because I had left the bedroom door ajar, I could see the light from the kitchen. It lit up my bedroom with the normal and anticipated weakness. I watched, without much reaction because of my sluggish state, as the light increased in intensity. If fact, it was so bright, I could smell the heat. It was the foul odor of an item burning in the microwave. Something was getting toasted beyond well done. Haha, it was my door.
There was a small crash, not too loud as to alert the neighbors (like they'd respond with anything but a bang on the wall and a shout of "Shut the Hell up!") and red streaks filled the kitchen.
Now I've seen enough action movies to know what red beams mean: it means someone's going to get shot.
Let's recap this situation. I've just been told by a nameless and decidedly infuriating man that a world-wide terrorist organization was after me, then my door gets treated like a piece of balsa wood, and now little red pinpointing lights are surveying my kitchen while I sit in a pool of hot water, naked as the day I was born. It appeared to me that perhaps he was right, someone was after me.
My options of escape seemed laughably limited and not a one of them would leave me a shred of dignity or clothes. However, escape was the only thing on my mind. Stepping from the tub, I shook each leg and arm vigorously to rid myself of excess water that would only prove as a trail to my new location. Silent footfalls accompanied me to the bathroom door.
Every muscle in my body was quivering and shaking in absolute terror. I did not know the reason why these people were here, and my imagination was not telling me it was for a tea party. Maybe the rent was late?
The doorknob was the type that locked if you pushed it in and turned it a bit counterclockwise. Cheap, because all you needed was a q-tip to insert into the hole on the opposite handle to release the locking mechanism. However, it served my purposes as I engaged the lock and shut the door behind me.
Taking one deep breath and stifling the urge to squeal, I dashed across my bedroom, hoping a white streak of ass did not light up the hallway like greased lightening. I ducked into my own closet, feeling much like a sixteen year old caught in the act at her boyfriend's place. If only I was having sex right about now. Things could be better.
The red beams made it into my bedroom and zeroed in on the closed bathroom door. I buried myself in a heap of clothes, now thankful that my less than perfect housekeeping was saving my life. I considered it further incentive to never clean again. By managing to create an eyehole to look through, I watched as half a dozen men dressed like SWAT units banged and poured over the hinges of my bathroom door. Each one was hefting a gun of some kind, and by the looks of things, they were well trained and could make some real damage.
Two more figures entered the room, their hips swaggering in a way that indicated their relaxed state. They seemed cocky, assured, and the gun- toting hooligans stepped completely out of their way. Unarmed and dressed much like teenage civilians, these two looked out of place. Well, compared to the rest of my uninvited company.
This was my chance! Everyone was so focused on the bathroom, I had only seconds before they opened it much like my main door and discovered I wasn't in there. I crawled more than walked to the window on the far side of my bed, praying each second that I would remain undiscovered. A gentle groan sounded like Niagara Falls to my ears as I eased the window open bit by bit, my gaze fixed on the men who surrounded my bathroom, poised to attack whatever they found behind the door.
I inched my way out of the window, feet first, scrambling madly for some kind of foothold or ledge. I found purchase on the metal rungs of the drain pipe (the very one that groaned in the wind and kept me up and night) that was ever so conveniently installed so close to my window. Lowering myself from the window ledge to the drain pipe, I held my breath and prayed silently to the god whom I disbelieved in, just let me get down.
That was when the pipe started to give way. The metal shrieked and howled beneath my weight, the supporting screws popping from the synthetic siding of the apartment complex. With my hands still on the ledge, my head still in view, I saw her turn.
She was like nothing I've ever seen before. She was beautiful, yes, but unearthly so. Her structure was so unique, so different, she appeared almost too perfect, too alien. Then her eyes chilled me to the bone. Everything about the woman seemed alive, the way her hair fanned as her head snapped in my direction. The way her face took on vague surprise and dislike her features settled upon me. But her eyes... They were dead.
You know how some people say that eyes are a view to the soul? I buy into such philosophy, and found this woman to be an empty shell. Certainly she was alive, a living breathing organism, alive as you or me. But her eyes were an ice blue, an ice so cold, it froze the life it touched instantly, offering no quarter, no mercy. I felt so cold in her gaze.
I pretty much fell the rest of the way down right about then. The pipe gave way and ripped from the wall and I tumbled most beautifully into the unforgiving ground.
I don't know about you, but any time I've ever heard of people falling from a second story window, they don't manage to walk away. There's usually an ambulance and broken bones accompanied by a gang of onlookers and rubber necks. But this time, I don't even think I bat an eye. I climbed to my feet, brushed myself off and ran.
I was a fucking action movie star! Okay, a naked action movie star.
Running full tilt into my car, I was suddenly struck with the worst truth of my life. You're a naked action movie star with no fucking keys, you absolute MORON! What good is your car, if you can't fucking get into it!? You're a fucktard! What were you thinking?!
I barely had time to smack the car in outrage when something rather unexpected caught my attention. The woman was back. She was approaching me. The odd thing was how she was managing to do it. She was floating through the air, completely unharnessed or wired, flying without aid in my direction.
Okay. People don't fly. They just don't. It's not physically possible. So why in the Hell was she landing in front of me, a cold smirk filling her face? I couldn't explain it. She stretched a hand out at me.
Wait, why was she smirking?
I'm getting a little sick of people seeing me naked, you know.
A/N: To all those Halo fans out there, Breaking Stuff to Look Tough is a subchapter on Assault of the Control Room. And yeah, the No Enemies cheat works.