My name is Seraph, and this is my story.
The blind man suddenly dropped his cane and started running. He didn't fear hitting anything; he didn't need sight to tell him where he was. He heard the unrelenting footsteps behind him, and his pace got that much quicker.
Seraph burst around the corner, his glasses askew, throwing himself into local Chinatown. The day was still bright; he could feel the sun's rays on his head even if he couldn't see them. Unusually for a Friday afternoon the main street was eerily empty; everybody had ended up inside the various restaurants and stores as if it were raining. Seraph counted his steps, then stopped abruptly and threw himself to his left, into the nook where he often hid from drunks who tried to start fights.
Seraph hastened to regulate his breathing, and listened intently for any more footsteps. There were none. Allowing himself a sigh of relief, his senses slammed into alarm when he felt some of his breath bounce back into his face. There was someone right in front of him, and they had no heartbeat or breathing to hear. Seraph's eyes widened instinctually as he scrambled back, hand scrabbling for the doorknob which would let him into the underground carpark. He heard a single footstep, deafeningly loud, one single step in his direction from the lifeless body that was walking towards him slowly. As Seraph's hands searched, searched for the doorknob that was one of two ways he could escape this undead, this machine, whatever this thing was with no heartbeat and no breath, his ears heard the agent in front of him draw a single breath.
Seraph analysed that breath as he did most things. The breath was unnatural, too carefully done, as if someone had studied how to breathe, had prepared their entire life for it, and it had been executed perfectly. A perfect breath for a machine that didn't need it. And with that breath, one word was uttered, and it induced such terror that it was burned into Seraph's mind.
"Inevitable..." hissed the agent, drawing back his palm to stab Seraph in the chest.
Several things happened then. Seraphs hand found the elusive door, which turned out to be locked. The agent called Smith plunged his hand towards Seraph. Seraph's other arm moved of its own accord... and caught the wrist of Smith.
Time froze for a split second.
Then in one swift motion Seraph took his jacket off and spread his wings.
Despite himself, Smith was surprised, and stepped back. Seraph's 12 foot wingspan unfurled slowly at first, then snapped out. Taking off his glasses, Seraph concentrated, and the world appeared to him as his eyes lost their milky veil and glowed electric green.
It wasn't Sight, exactly, not in its strictest sense. Seraph was perceiving the world as rushing lines of green code, outlines of structures constantly changing. And Smith was full of the code; so much condensed into his body that it seemed as if he were a pulsating green person. The only part of him that wasn't glowing were his sunglasses; those were deepest, darkest black.
To Seraph, this was as close to sight as he had ever experienced, and the only two colours he knew of was this glowing green and the black that lay beyond it. And it scared him.
Looking up at the green-flecked sky, Seraph spread his wings to fly.