AUTHOR: Special thanks to Reinbeicher and Dierdre for being the beta-readers of this chapter.
On a side note, I've just found this awesome cool game called Advent Rising, a Sci-fi/third person shooter. The storyline, the characters, the world, the music is all AWESOME! Of course, the game has a few bugs in it and its graphic is…almost out-dated. But trust me, Advent Rising, which is suppose to be a part of a trilogy, once you start playing you'll see pass that. Just be sure to buy the PC version of it.
But, before showing you all what I wrote for this chapter, I feel obligated to tell you that at the moment, the trilogy seems to be on…uncertain terms. The company that gaved it out seems to be going through some financial issues and the guys behind the idea of the trilogy have left they're company and are working on something else. Maybe they will return back to the trilogy, maybe they're just getting more money so they can continue it. I don't know. Like I said, its all looking very uncertain.
I love Advent Rising.
T-M-N-T T-M-N-T T-M-N-T
T-M-N-T T-M-N-T T-M-N-T
It was coming. He could feel it.
But if it came now, while he still clung for dear life on the train, he would fall off. He just knew it. He needed to stall for just a little while longer, until the train slowed down to make a turn. As for how to stall it... he had a small theory. Time to see if it was true.
His right hand gripped harder on the handle, and he closed his eyes to prepare himself.
Then he tried to make his left hand curl into a fist. The best he got was a slight twist of his fingers, but it was enough to create a pain as if it were burning again.
M.J. almost blacked out, but managed to stay conscious through sheer force of will. It had worked. The pain stalled the seizure, or whatever it was, but it only stalled, not stopped it.Through the chaos of his mind, he could almost picture it; a dam made of pain, but already the water was slowly rising, and it would only be a matter of time before it overflowed.
The harsh wind that blowing into his face relented slightly, and he could feel the train gradually slow down. Opening his eyes, he saw a turn up ahead. Now was the chance. The area on his left only offered a plunge down to the street, but on his right there appeared to be some kind of a construction zone. Taking a deep breath, M.J. got to his knees and crouched, then let go of the handle and jumped off.
Just as it looked like he would land on a stack of boxes, his shoe tangled in the fence. He pivoted abruptly and slammed into it, and then crumbled to the ground like a sack of potatoes. His vision obstructed by a red haze, he got to his feet and staggered slowly like a drunk towards one of the houses under construction. Stumbling inside, he found a small box that had been placed against the wall. He collapsed heavily atop it, breathing like he had been running away from the train instead of riding on it.
The dam flooded.
"Mr. Mortu! We have a signal!"
"Let me see," Mr. Mortu said calmly as he leaned closer to the computer screen. He nodded to himself as he saw the young man's location, but when the data started flooding in, he grimaced. "There are times when I wish I was wrong."
"Sir?"
"See these readings? They are the result of nano-probes being placed in the wrong places and sending the wrong commands and information to each other. They are not correctly aligned with each other and...are doing more harm than good. What's more, it looks like he has somehow activated more of the nano-probes. Whether this was intentional or not, I do not know. We need to bring this under control." Mr. Mortu pressed one of the buttons and leaned closer to the controls. "Guardian, we have found him. I am transmitting his location. Find him and bring him here as fast as you can."
"It shall be done, Mr. Mortu."
"There is a matter of urgency in this, Guardian. If my calculations are correct," Mr. Mortu suddenly stopped and looked around, as if searching for someone, and then turned back to the controls, "...each time the probes are activated, it is creating a backlash that is even stronger than the one before. This is the third time it has happened, and there's a good chance his heart may not be able to handle another recurrence."
"...I understand, Mr. Mortu. I shall find him as quickly as possible. Guardian out."
Mr. Mortu raised himself up, and then turned to his assistant. "Has anyone seen Leatherhead?"
Deep in the sewers, Leatherhead used his laptop to check a map of the surrounding tunnels, in order to find the quickest route to where he was.
Memorizing the way, he then jumped into the sewer water and swam as fast as he could.
Oh, hell, I'm not passing out.
M.J. fell to the dusty ground, blood pouring from his nose and wide eyes as he shook violently.
Can't even close my eyes. Feels like they're being held open by rusty chains.
Through his open mouth came something that resembled a pained moan as his trembling hands moved instinctively to his now shaking legs.
Oh Jesus, oh fuck, feels like the meat is being ripped off, glued back on and then ripped off again. What the fuck is-
His left shoulder was unexpectedly jolted with a wave of pain. M.J. didn't know why, yet he had a vague memory flash of a police officer shooting at him.
Every nerve in his body felt like it had a will on of its own, each one twisting painfully as something that felt like explosions erupted beneath his chest. It was his heart, beating so hard it was as if it couldn't take the pain and wanted to get out.
And then it was over.
He didn't know when it had stopped, nor for how long it had been going on. It might have been an hour, a day or a minute, but he was suddenly aware that his body had stopped rebelling against him. When it felt like he could move again, he slowly crawled back to the box and shakily sat on it, taking deep breaths.
M.J. suddenly started, his spine snapping straight as he confusedly blinked his aching eyes. He must have dozed off. For how long, he didn't know, but it was still dark outside so it couldn't have been much. Probably ten to twenty minutes. He closed his eyes again, planning on resting for just five more minutes before moving on.
He heard the faint sound of something leathery rasping against concrete and his nose suddenly picked up a distinctive smell, sharp and somewhat musky, yet oddly familiar.Opening his eyes, they drifted towards the nearest door, and M.J. was greeted by a vision of a towering figure emerging from the shadows, the faint light from outside flickering off its sharp teeth and yellow eyes.
A crocodile over seven feet tall and standing on two feet.
Wearing a purple belt.
M.J. blinked.
The giant crocodile was still there.
M.J. blinked again.
The giant crocodile was still there.
M.J. blinked again.
The giant crocodile was still there, but for some unexplainable reason, M.J. could see that he seemed uncomfortable, even nervous, although by all rights it should have been the other way around.
M.J. opened his mouth. Whether it was to say something, curse or scream, even he forgot why, for M.J. suddenly felt a dawning sense of recognition.
"...you..." he breathed, almost whispering, "...I ...I know you..."
The memory came out of nowhere, and yet it felt like it had always been there, hidden in the depths of his mind. Thankfully, it didn't cause physical pain.
Seven months ago...
In one of New York's derelict warehouse districts, several shots were fired. A few seconds later, a young man in his early twenties ran out of a warehouse, an old gun in his hand and a terrified expression on his face. Hot on his heels were eight Purple Dragons, seven of them packing heat. They yelled something as they fired at the man, but were too angry to aim properly.
The man, dressed in green gang colors, had a head start, and the fear mixed with adrenalin gave him a boost of speed. That alone wouldn't last long, and the blood loss was only burning it up more quickly.
Taking a sharp turn to the left, he almost fell down a half-opened manhole. Without thinking, he started climbing down, almost losing his grip in his haste. The stench was almost unbearable, making his eyes tear as he ran through the brown sewer water. At the end of the tunnel was a large area, with big pipes in the walls and ceiling, and a small platform at the center with some valves and controls. A waste control facility of some kind.
The only exit was the way he had entered.
Voices from behind made him run towards one of the walls, where he hid behind a large pipe. Breathing hard, only now did he see the four gunshot wounds in his chest. A slight gasp escaped his lips, and his hands scrabbled at his chest, trying to decide whether they should press at the wounds or leave them alone.
"The fucker went through here, he must have!"
He pressed himself harder behind the pipe as the Purple Dragons waded through the water, gradually spreading out as they searched. His grip on the outdated gun tightened as one of them slowly made his way towards his hiding spot. He didn't even dare to breathe as he tried to remember how many times he had fired back in that warehouse, if the gun was out of bullets or how many were left.
The Dragon was almost upon him. He took a deep breath and suppressed the urge to cough up blood, determined to take out at least one more of them before they got him.
A huge splash and an animal roar that shook the walls erupted from the center of the room. The echo was so loud that his ears range and, as it slowly subsided, he could hear screams of fright and the sound of gunshots. Over the tumult, he could barely hear a yell of "Let's get the hell outta here!" followed by smaller splashes of water that slowly faded away.
The only sound left was of something big taking deep, slow breaths. Without thinking, he cautiously stepped away from his hiding spot.
And that's when he saw it.
It was at the entrance, it's back facing him, breathing like it had run for miles. It was huge, probably over seven feet tall, and heavily muscled. It didn't have skin or fur, but light brown scales that contained the slightest hint of yellow, with a tail that swished back and forth in an almost irritating fashion.
Maybe he had made some sort of noise, or maybe it had smelled his blood. Whatever the reason, the thing suddenly spun around and growled; its piss-yellow eyes filled with primal rage and hatred, all directed at him.
Somewhere at the back of his petrified brain, he was surprised to see that the thing was a crocodile, walking on two legs and wearing a purple belt.
And, before he could wonder why a crocodile would be wearing a belt in the first place, it charged at him.
It was fast, impossibly fast given its size. It was almost upon him when it unleashed another roar, and the terrifying sound snapped him from his frozen state. He clumsily brought up his gun to shoot it, but the thing simply slapped his hand away, the gun flying between two pipes in the wall. He opened his mouth to cry out in pain, feeling like his wrist had snapped, but it charged at him again. Its big, meaty hands enveloped his arms in a tight, painful grip as it slammed him against the wall.
His head smacked hard against the concrete, and his vision darkened. As his sight slowly faded into nothingness, he looked up at the creature, which was more than head and shoulders taller than he was. Fury was still brimming in its merciless eyes.
The last thing he saw before passing out was its jaws opening wide, drool dribbling from between its sharp teeth. It was about to swallow him whole.
"...I …I thought I had dreamt that..." M.J. whispered to himself. He slowly rubbed at his temple, an almost distant look in his eyes. "...I mean... that... creature... I've been having nightmares about it for months, but I always thought it was... I mean, that it was just something in my head, or..."
Guilt given form? A demon that would take me to Hell when I died, where it would toy with me until the end of all things?
And yet, despite the new memory and the fact that the very same crocodile was now standing only a few feet away, M.J. wasn't afraid. He didn't even feel intimidated. He should have, he had every right to be, and yet he just...wasn't. It was the... aura around the croc, his stance and total lack of animal fury. His eyes were now almost... human.
...and why am I thinking of him as a he?
"N-no doubt you have many questions..." the croc hesitantly said, his voice deep and yet ridiculously gentle given his size.
M.J.'s eyebrows shot all the way up to his hairline. "...yeah, I do..."
After bumping into four mutated talking turtles and a four-foot tall cane-swinging rat, the list of surprises gets drastically cut.
Before the big croc could do or say anything else, M.J. suddenly blinked in remembrance and looked down at his chest, his right hand pressing against it. "T-those spots, they're... from bullet wounds. I... I was... shot."
It was then that he finally noticed the blood stains on his left shoulder.
"Oh, shit! I've been shot!"
His right hand instinctively reached for his shoulder, but stopped before it could touch. M.J. blinked repeatedly, trying to remember when he had been shot, and his breathing slowly increased as shock began entering his system. The croc took a step forward, about to say something, but M.J.'s eyes looked sharply at him when he spotted the movement. It was probably just instinct on M.J.'s part, but a hurt expression passed over the croc's face before he carefully took a step backwards.
"It does not look mortal," a voice calmly said, as a figure tranquilly walked out of the shadows from the far left of the room, "although it should be treated quickly, in order to avoid any infection."
What the...
The guy looked to be in his late thirties, wearing a buttoned-up grey trench coat that concealed whatever he was wearing underneath. His eyes were obscured by a pair of sunglasses, and a thin gold necklace was looped around his neck, its pendant hidden beneath the coat. His most distinguishing feature, however, was his shock of dark blue hair, tied up in a severe ponytail.
Unnoticed by M.J., the big croc's expression had changed into one of guilty surprise, like he had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
"Who the hell are you?" asked M.J., his gunshot wound momentarily forgotten.
"The answer to that would take too long, and time is not on our side. Suffice it to say, I am merely a guardian, and fate has decreed that you are to be an innocent bystander, caught in the middle of a struggle that has lasted for almost a millennia."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"What the fuck are you on?"
The corner of the weirdo's mouth curved slightly upward, but a second later his calm demeanor had returned. "No doubt the same thing you yourself are on," he replied, calmly removing his sunglasses.
At that moment, M.J. understood the concept of having your breath stick in your throat.
"Y-your eyes! Th-they're-they're-"
"Like yours," the guardian replied, his calmness reflected in his bright blue, glowing eyes.
"But... but..." M.J. looked back and forth between the man and the croc, his mind trying to wrestle with this new development. When he saw the guilt on the croc's face, however, it all clicked into place. "...you know what is... happening to me. The eyes, the... the blackouts, the pain and... o-other stuff. You... you did something to me."
His body tensed up as he spoke those words, ready to act at the slightest provocation, and his reaction seemed to strike the big croc like a physical blow. "P-please understand that I never meant you any ill! The nano-probes were meant to heal your wounds, nothing more! I didn't-" The croc stopped abruptly as the guardian gave him a look, and he realized at the same moment that he might have said too much.
"Woah, wait a minute. Did you just say nan- probes? Is that what's causing all this... this... nasty shit to happen to me?" M.J. glanced back and forth between the croc and the man, until the man slowly nodded.
"...yes, that is what has happened to you. I have taken an oath to not reveal any information regarding my masters, but I am allowed to tell you this: Either the nano-probes are activating by themselves or you have unknowingly found a way. We have been examining the data sent to us each time they are activated, and I have been told that should it happen again, you will die."
A gasp escaped from the croc, while M.J. didn't so much as blink.
I dunno why, but somehow I suspected it.
"And you are here to...?"
"Take you to my masters, where they hope to prevent your death."
Now isn't that nice of them.
"How?"
"They hope there is still time to remove the nano probes from your body."
Remove? Aw, crap.
"...when you say remove..."
The guy put his sunglasses back on, and a serious frown appeared on his face. "I can understand your reluctance, since this no doubt is a lot for you to take in, but I give you my word of honor that you will not be harmed by my masters. Above all else, they respect life more than anything. You will be safe with us, this I promise you."
Okay, this guy is offering to take me to his masters, who apparently can fix... whatever it is that's happening to me, my left hand is completely useless and starting to smell funny, the police have taken a sudden interest in me and... there's a giant crocodile standing in the same room with me.
"...doesn't sound like I've got much of a choice," M.J. said, watching the guy carefully for any subtle reactions to his words, but he gave nothing away but a nod.
"I shall meet you there," the big croc quickly said. He left the room in a hurry, as if to avoid getting scolded or something.
As M.J. shakily climbed to his feet, the Guardian slowly walked up to him, his empty hands exposed as if to assure M.J. that he meant no harm. "I have already informed my masters that you have been found and a transport is on its way. However, the location of my masters has to be kept hidden above all else. And so..." The guy let the word trail off as he reached into his pocket, but instead of pulling out a tranq gun, he instead brought out a white handkerchief.
"'kay..." M.J. said, raising an eyebrow. He gave no other reaction, as the guy walked closer and seemed about to blindfold him… only to be stop by the sight of M.J.'s hand.
"What happened to your hand?"
M.J. looked down at it, noticing that most of the toilet paper had been ripped to shreds, partially exposing the serious burn and scorched bits of bone.
"I let someone I knew drown."