Please forgive the radio silence, everyone!
ive been doing absolutely nothing, yep no excuses, no reasons, no nothing, ive just been very lazy.
ive decided to knuckle down and start writing more, ill be releasing a new chapter tonight and a new cover art for my fic very soon, not sure how itll look in that tiny box, but perhaps i could post it elsewhere.
also i intend to start writing a deus ex fan fic, well Deus Ex The Namless Mod fan fic.
TNM was a mod made for deus ex 1 adding custom weapons, a story with fully voiced and optional dialogs that debatably ran as long if not longer than the original story. i intend to do a lot of writing.
Chapter 4: But Still Here
*eighteen dayz later.*
The glass door let out a silent 'swish'. The room, was eerily quiet, all lights where out and glass lay shattered all throughout the house.
I made my way through the countless shards of glass and a maze of broken furniture, it was difficult moving anywhere without bumping into something or
having glass crack under your feet, the house looked like it had been raided and left to the elements.
Careful not to drop any food, I surveyed the room till I found a foot hanging over the end of a couch in what was once a living room.
Despite several days of this horror my heart began to race and I could feel my adrenalin pumping .I silently made my way over; easing around.
In the couch laid an untrimmed man, in filthy clothes and disheveled jet black hair, he was almost a foot shorter and five years younger than himself.
I began slowly and quietly pulling a bottle from his hand, because I swear if this guy bottle whips me over the head again I'm not sure that I could keep myself
from putting a bullet in one of his legs, of course I know that's not where he wants me to put one.
It must have been two weeks now, two weeks a go my friend lost his entire family and Iv been left to pick up the pieces.
I quit drinking just as he picked it up, I just wished he was a happy drunk, hell I would settle for a depressed one.
How does someone recover from something like that, an AA meeting? Therapists? Hmp, or perhaps some grilled sea food.
I sighed as I began clearing the table of cans, newspapers and.. the newspaper had caught my eye, Grimes' Family, Dead. Nice and dramatic.
The highlights read something along the lines of 'family of officer killed in tragic vehicle collision.'
Apparently the man Leon shot was a meth runner, distributing some new higher grade form of the stuff. The guys from the department believe that they have
traced the stuff back to some German drug lord in Albuquerque. Sounds like a bad plot from a TV show.
Images of Carl's bloody face began to permeate my thoughts. Flashes of blood, brain matter and ultimately his expression of horror, all slowly
leaking into my mind, a memory so profound that they give me headaches now. I crumpled the paper in one hand and forcefully brush the table clear, leaving it
to its new wresting place amongst the other garbage that encompass the floor. Rick began to stir, I place the bowl of food on the table and removed the box of
aluminum from under my arm and started making plates. All the plates in the house where on the floor, in pieces.
Rick stood up and left the room. Despite everything I cant help but want to yell at him, throw him a beating, tell him 'he wasn't the only one who lost a family, to
tell him at least he had one that cared'. For me, Rick, Carl and Lori, they where family, my only family..
I heard shuffling and turned around to see Rick walking back into the room with two recently rinsed plastic cups.
So lost in thought, I didnt even hear the water running. He had a look that I could have sworn said 'I'm sorry'.
We sat in silence, enjoying the food and even the company of a friend.