talking: "talking"
thoughts: 'thoughts'
Somewhere in Remnant...
Deep within the woods.
The scene opens to a skyline above a forest, where dusk falls on the land.
Above, you can feel energy building and heating up the mildly cold environment.
Where wind starts to blowing rapidly, and trees shake, sending leaves up into the sky. This ordeal continues for the next 10 minutes until a loud boom.
A small portion of the sky, bustling with unknown energy, starts cracking up, and a small enigmatic portal rips open the fabric of reality in the sky's atmosphere. Otherworldly lightning shoots through it, hitting the cold grass of the forest, and through the portal falls...
A person? A bloody and tattered body of a person.
That person being none other than the Icon of Sin himself.
Hank J. Wimbleton...
Hank's body lands in a small clearing of the forest.
With another loud boom, the warp gate consumes itself, disappearing with the unknown improbable energy following suit.
Leaving no trace of its existance behind.
Well, except for our protagonist, of course.
Everything went silent and dim.
Hank's lifeless corpse of a body lying on the cold and solid soil of the forest. His combat attire tattered and filled with bullet holes, along with his bloody body twisted and bashed, his face and upper body bearing the marks of multiple cuts and slashes.
With a twisted leg, a bloody stump where his left arm should be, and his right hand clenching onto his guts that were protruding out his stomach, he looked like he escaped hell itself. That's the only right description a person could desribe him as at the very moment.
Mask ripped apart, tired eyes and metalic lower jaw explosed to the cold atmosphere.
The only thing that can be heard, was his labored and heavy breathing, cold carbon dioxide escaping his mouth.
Wanting to die right here on the spot.
On the cold and slightly comforting ground.
But knowing the outcome, the relentless rules of his forsaken inhuman nature and condition, that was not the desirable result that was ever going to happen. No matter how much he hoped for it.
It was a repeating cycle.
A spiral if you will.
He was very well instructed of that...
Blood pouring on the ground an coloring the grass a crimson red color. Eyes staring at the sky, blinking profusely. Calming himself down and forgetting the very familiar yet numb pain, Hank awaited the outcome and the cycle to repeat itself.
But what caught his eyes were...
Stars? He was seeing normal stars? Accompanied by a dark nights sky?
Was he seeing things?
Maybe hallucinating? That did happen to him alot when he's in this state of mind, on the verge of death.
But this was different, this was alot different. Never were his trips this extreme. The delusion was usually predictable to a person like Hank. He became very accustomed to them and it became less exciting every time for him.
But this felt real.
He was never this delirious, was he?
Focusing his shaky eyes a bit more, he saw towering trees full of life green leaves.
He was in a forest? A temperate forest to be exact.
He hasn't seen a normal tree in years. Ever since the sun in Nevada went out and the sky turned bloody crimson.
Every tree after that was either devoid of life and colour, or was some messed-up mutated vegetation made from nuclear waste and bio experiments.
But these were just regular oak trees.
Come to think of it, the atmosphere felt different araund him, and the air araund smelt fresh, well besides the iron scent of his own blood. He could even hear some nightly birds causing noises.
Was he still in Nevada?
Or was this some other trial made by his Employers, just to observe him, and prolong his so-called *progress*. That group of individuals liked to toy and observe, not just him but anything that slightly peeks their cryptic interests. Maybe this was some sick joke made by some other godly being, sending him to some weirdly pleasant wonderland or afterlife, just to rip it away. In order to showcase their otherwordly postion above his. To remind him, that he is just a puny and expendable pawn in all this.
Ha, that was the most fucked up joke imaginable. He does not deserve that type of pleasant retribution.
He knows some peaceful afterlife like this will never graze his fingertips, hopefuly not. He was not capable of comfort like that. He for sure will burn, wether it be today or 100 years from now.
Putting those crazy thoughts aside, he closed his eyes and deeply exhaled, hoping this will either be the end, even though he doubted it. Waiting for the same cycle to take course as it has been for years.
With his whole body shaking and twisting, with another final deep exhale leaving his body, he stopped and fell flat.
He laid there in the midst of the forest clearing, looking like a portrait from the Renaissance age, with his whole body mangled and covered in wounds that tell many curious miss shapes.
Laying there for what seemed like an eternity for him, but just a couple of minutes outside his mind.
A ticking clock playing its tune somewhere.
There he laid, a battered body...
Is denied death.
After his whole corpse starts shaking and begins sporadically generating electricity around it.
The improbable energy emitting from him, starting to burn off his flesh and muscles away, into a rancid black smoke. Exposed guts start bubbling and pulsating until they combust. Skin starts melting away, exposing the muscle tissue and skeletal structure. All the tissue, nerves, and organs melt away into a charred slurry. All the attire and equipment burn away into nothing but ash that gets carried away by the wind.
What was left was a charred skeleton, with still some muscle fibers and cartilage attached to it. The skull still had the metal artificial jaw intact, without a scratch on it.
Somehow there was still one lifeless wilted out eye in the skull's eye socket left, staring at the nights sky, looking like if it were holding onto some unattainable outcome. Maybe some distant dream perhaps?
The skeleton of Hank was emitting and releasing steam.
Alongside the improbability energy in the form of electricity, that was circling the skeletal structure and rushing through the spinal cord.
The one lone eye shinined a bright scarlet red, it exploded with energy engulfing the whole skeleton with electricity.
The joint where his left arm should be starts heating up and generates a crackling cluster of minerals and calcium that form a humerus and a forearm, forming a full skeletal arm in mere seconds.
All the broken bones snap back together as they get engulfed with electricity as well, growing muscles and forming nerves. His body starts regenerating and forming back together. One by one cells start forming new organs back into existence and veins spread araund the body like spider webs that start rushing blood through them. Brain matter explodes and reforms back into existence, bringing Hank's consciousness and memories back.
He jerks up, his eyes open, and...
GET UP
WEAK
INSUFFICIENT PERFORMANCE
GET UP
He felt everything!
His body felt like it was being eaten alive, bit by bit. All the cells in his body were like tiny maggots crawling all over him, laying eggs into any spot and cravis that his boody needed to heal.
He felt like his whole body was engulfed by very familiar hellish flames. Along with those embers laughing at him in a very demonic undertone.
Drowning in acid just by trying to form a coherent thought.
He was uncontrollably breathing, not sure if he can even breath in this state, since he felt empty, like he was without any lungs or a heart inside his chest.
He shots up from the ground, body in a standing position, electricity still crawling araund his body and regenerating all the muscle tissues and skin. His clothes, bandages and attire start manifesting back into existence, wrapping tightly araund his body.
Finally his skin started forming, stitching itself together all from his toes to finally his face.
Hank took a deep uneasy breath.
Exhaling warm air that turned to vapor upon contact with the cold atmosphere. His body instinctively going into a combative stance, ready to pierce someone's throat out.
Neverves and senses perked up, and tunnel vision on high alert.
Throwing punches, kicks and jabs spontaneously every direction.
But after a few seconds of hitting nothing but empty space, he finally let himself loose, the state he was in catching up to him.
He can finally feel his entire self again.
From his lost regenerated left arm to his upper jaw and lower artificial jaw
Huh?
'So much for regeneration.'
He was still a bit distraught from the whole ordeal of his body melting away and somehow forming back from thin air, somehow feeling every last second of it.
But what bothered him the most was the fact that he was still in a forest, with real trees and real soil with grass and other flora, stretching for quite some distance.
'So this wasn't just my mind going overdrive?' Hank somewhat scattered and confused 'Am I even in Nevada?' He thought. His mind still bewildered by him possibly not beeing in the cesspool that he always resided in.
Now he does know the Improbability Drive's effects extended to other Western states and not just Nevada itself. But those areas also lack any real flora and rich soil, well aside from cacti and shrubland.
The only real flora or vegetation he could find was artificially made one, usually found in greenhouses or laboratories, where science teams harvested it for the rich and other aristocrats exploited it for their gain and power.
Well he could not possibly be in any other state or country.
This must have been caused by some warpgate or teleportation travel. Him beeing familiar with those concepts, having faced them every once in a while, since Nevada's improbability was so unpredictable and vast.
Even got caught in the temporal anomalies a few times himself, experiencing what teleportation and dimensional travel felt like.
But those situations end up beeing a *blink and you'll miss it* type of experience. Considering, unbeknownst to him, he ends up in another wretched allyway of Nevada, not really making any sense on how he got pulled back.
Nevada is like a birdcage.
It doesn't just let you go.
It's like a curse.
Anyone that trys to leave it, ends up dead or somehow has an unreasonable desire to go back by any means necessary, losing themselves if they don't. Like puppets on a string...
Even trying to bend the laws of physics, those same physics beeing broken on a daily basis by Nevada itself mind you. You still get unsatisfying and usless results, getting pulled right back into it, like a plot of some senseless sci-fi book.
It's like gravity binds everyone that got or gets exposed to the drives. You just don't get out without a price to pay, there is no escape to it's influence and the sick fucks that harness it.
That aside, he was mesmerized by the natural beauty of the nightly forest. He was not sure if this was still some illusion, his own denial or the lack of sleep and insomnia catching up to him again.
He reached out to touch the leaves, feeling the texture beneath his fingertips. 'So, this is what it felt like back then?.'
It was a moment of reflection, a respite from the endless madness that had defined him.
Rubbing his eyes from tiredness, feeling the skin on his face, well at least what's left of it. But he slowly realized he was missing his signature red goggles.
He swore he was keeping a hold of them while falling. Nonethelesse, he did not want his tired and baggy eyes to be exposed to the world, that is a sign of weakness.
A weakness that anyone can easily exploit. He knows that feeling and despair far too well.
He does not want to show any kind of weakness, he will not show any kind of instability. He will not be precived as someone that has any type of fragility or some weak point to exploit.
He is not a stepping stone to be used as leverage for someone to get the upper hand on him. He is a full-on avalanche...
His internal monologue feels so tiring at times. Nevada really fucked his instinct and how he precives things, but in spite, it works for him. That's the type of person he is. He wouldn't have it any other way, survival if you will...
*sigh*
He observed the area, captivated by the beauty of the forest that surrounded him. The vibrant greenery, the leaves, and the rustle of the wind through the trees painted a face of true nature that was now foreign to him...
For the first time in ages, Hank took a moment to pause and absorb the sights and sounds of a unique environment that was long gone and forgotten from his life. He could really appreciate it.
As our protagonist ventured deeper into the clearing of the forest to look for his goggles, the thing that caught his attention was the soft glow of the moonlight. However, as his eyes capped upward.
He was take out of it. High in the sky, there was what looked like a fractured sphere, illuminating light on his face.
'What.'
'Bull shit, did the Improbability Drives do this? This can't possibly be Earth. If it was, gravity and the ocean would be in madness.'
He pondered to himself in disbelief and mustering out in confusion. Recalling his textbook knowledge on the celestial body.
'this day cannot get any more unbearable, I'm getting a migraine.'
Hank started rubbing his eyes in frustration, not getting sleep in months is hell if you want to think through bullshit like this. He doesn't know if he was mad at himself for being unable to sleep, or at these peculiar circumstances.
'What kind of joke is this?'
'If it is, I would like to schedule an appointment for my blistering headache, so I can show them what a real strike to the frontal lobe feels like.' Hank rasped out. This type of reaction is unlikely of him.
Staring at the nightly sky, the shattered Moon illuminating on his uncovered peculiar appearance.
*sigh*
'This complicates things.'
Hank raging at the fact that this was another temporal bull shit situation he will have to deal with. He wanted to rip his eyes out, feeling like shit, he felt like his brain was getting melted again.
He needed to cover his face, some type of comfort, so he could calm down and think clearly.
His face being exposed and showing signs of frustration. That by his own words and definition was a sign of weakness. And he hated it.
Just drown into obscurity.
"I need... my fucking... gla...glasses."
He mustered out, breathing heavily.
He wanted to disfigure someone or something, punch into a sandbag. But he couldn't, he doesn't know where in the fucking world he is right now.
Covering his face with his hand, he tried to concentrate
'I can not even remember what happened before I landed here. This is so ironic, sooo fucking ironic'
'Witnessing some greenery once again is...'
'Why is somthing so common and unimportant making me feel so sick? It's like this shit was building up in my brain for a while now. Why do I even care?'
'Here I am, spazzing the fuck out, having a headache in the middle of the woods, with a hypothetical chain stuck up my ass!'
Hank pulled his fist back ready to strike. With the headache ringing in his mind and a familiar glint of madness in his eyes.
He punches the thick tall tree, with unrestrained power, blowing a hole right though it.
He finally takes a deep breath and collects himself, while the leaves fall araund, circling him.
"Do what comes natural."
He whispered out those words. Sounding like they have deep and heavy meaning behinde them.
Forcing his lodged hand sideways through the tree. Making such a motion that his hand looked like a hot knife ravaging through butter.
Finally ripping his hand out the tree trunk, with the bark and wooden chips scattering araund. The tree looked like someone struck a chainsaw through it
The once healthy and sturdy tree, unable to withstand the sheer strength behind the punch, began to creak and and tear away. As the echoes of the strike faded away, the tree succumbed to the overwhelming force, crashing down with a reassuring thud, with the leaves scattered, and the ground trembling beneath.
Hank stood amidst that aftermath, his expression unchanged and his blistering headache under control.
He turned away finally spotting a glimps of somthing familiar.
He rushed towards the thing that captivated his eyes. Moonglow and the foliage parting to reveal his anticipated belonging.
The red lens goggles that kept him going through so many trials and harsh encounters, the only item that made him see everything and every being for what they are.
A dark and crimson red color.
That was always the primary color of what he saw before and after encountering or interacting with anyone. He made sure things stayed that color for as long as he's standing.
He did enjoy it that way after all.
Quickly picking up the goggles off the cold ground and cleaning them as much as possible to put them back into primary shape. With a sense of familiarity settling over him, Hank affixed the goggles to his head, their lenses reflecting the ambient moonlight.
Finally beeing able to calm himself down and beeing able to grasp on some little familiarity that's left in this tiring and boring life of his.
His tunnel vision flaring up once he attached the eye accessory onto his face. Feeling like he retreaved a missing puzzle piece for himself.
Through his vision, the world fell into a color of crimson and red once again, finally getting some reassurance back.
But what caught his attention once again was his most prized possession.
Its blade and engraved letters glinting in the dim forest surroundings...
The Dragon Sword
The blade, a symbol of his prowess and his will. Its handle's end loosely resembling the shape of a dragon's head.
Having Thai writting engraved in it.
บดขยี้, ทำลาย, ฆ่า.
Those words meaning
Crush.
Destroy.
Kill.
Such a unique and fitting weapon to describe its wielder in such simple detail.
No need for talk or exchange of viewpoints and desires. The blade pretty much did that for him. When it is used, it shows more emotion then he ever does. Kinda poetic really.
He is a demon, dissolving in his own acidic boredome and delirium. But he will never show or admit that...
But besides that, Hank finds the sword loged inside the thick trunk of a tree, it's bark darker in color then most. Not needing to tell him twice, he swiftly grabs the Dragon sword, pulling it out the tree with such elegance that it split the near air currents. As Hank held the Dragon sword once more, the moonlight shining on its polished surface, casting a twisted glow.
The reunion with his cherished blade felt intoxicating.
It did save his ass so many times after all. Not that he needed saving...
He quickly sheathed the Dragon sword on his back, and took a deep breath.
Carved in the tree's skin were very familiar and enchanting words for him. He couldn't mistaken them for anything else in the whole world, even if he wanted to...
...Just Do What Comes Natural...
A shiver ran down Hank's spine as he read that. The simplicity of the phrase masked a malevolent undertone that resonated with him ever since.
Was he feeling paranoid?
The words echoed in his mind, twisting his perception of the serene surroundings. He was uncertain what he was feeling, but he was shaking profusely.
Feeling unfamiliar shadows twist and surround.
'I feel like a damn schizo, God damn it.'
Hank lost in thoughts as he tried to power through these cryptic bullshit words. This shit felt surreal.
The instinct and the madness that lingered within, made him slowly press on as he tried to forget those words.
"I fucking hate clowns."
He said with the most straightforward face imaginable. As if that train of thought wasn't completely ridiculous and laughable. But not to him, he knew what that ludicrous shit meant.
He finally stood up straight, after slashing that single tree and those carved letter into wood chips and sawdust with his sword. Another sign in the forest, to show some unstable chaos roaming araund in the woods. Sheating his sword once again.
*sigh*
What felt like the 50th sigh of the day, he was not feeling like a happy explorer anytime soon. He was in bum-fuck nowhere after all. The fact of him beeing lost was very unfamilair to him though, so this was very different. He always relied on his memorization on any street and district in Nevada but this was unfamiliar territory.
Well, he still had to find out where he was.
Staring at the slit Moon in the nights sky, he spoke his mind "Any survivalist with common sense would tell you to stay in one spot. Construct a makeshfit shelter. And signal people."
"But from the looks of all the clearings stretching araund this area. My safest bet is that im not that far from civilization, judging from the lighter and disruptive atmosphere as well."
Havin no type of contact device on him or anything to check the cellular reception. And the fact that common and sense aren't things that are present in his life anymore.
Not after you witness whales and buildings falling from the sky, alongisde having to face againts freaks of nature and demigods.
Not that he would mind of course, that shit is what drives him.
With a flex of arms and and crack of his neck and fingers, he was ready to unravel this unusual occurance that he got lost in.
With a final escape of vapor through his mouth, he was ready to get this shit over with, hoping he will find anything interesting in this long-stretching, overgrown wasteland.
TO BE CONTINUED...
NAME : Hank J. Wimbleton
APPERANCE:
Age: 25 (does not remember date of birth.)
Gender: Male
Height: 6'2
Eye color: They shift from a dull black to a crimson red from time to time. On rare occasions, the irises become fully black, devoided of light, and the pupils are full on bloodshot.
Hair color: Used to be raven-haired, but later, all the hair became white from all the stress and unnatural battle wounds. Currently, he is bald, with a few strands here and there. It's usually covered with bandages and a bandana.
Other: Hank has a very tall and imposing figure. His build is muscular and well-defined (imagine Toji from JJK). Also, very lean and sometimes appears to be malnourished, considering the harsh environments of Nevada and being hunted by organizations and bounty hunters doesn't help in that case. He also has a pale and grey-ish skin tone. His body is littered with bullet wounds, scars, and stitches, some in very unusual and peculiar places. Some wrap around his fingers and wrists, looking like they were hacked off and then just reattached and stitched back together, same applies to his feet and toes. One even stretches around his neck, appearing like he got decapitated. Burn marks and puncture wounds are also no exception. His most prominent and iconic injury is his missing lower jaw, replaced with a cold and metal artificial one. His other distinct features he carries are his tired, baggy, and unkempt eyes, carrying wearied intensity within them. Sometimes, it looks like he wears eyeliner, but it's just his lack of sleep that gives it that appearance. His other strange features are his jet black-colored nails and toenails. According to Hank, they are not polished or painted. Marked all around his left arm and back is a large abstract serpent-like tattoo. Additionally, Hank has three piercings on his right ear.
ATTIRE:
Hank sports a combination of combat gear and protective clothing, featuring a black combat trench coat (very stretchy) with a tactical or military-inspired design. He has a bandana wrapped around his mangled-up mouth and head to make him as masked and anonymous as possible. Red lens goggles sit comfortably on his eyes, and fingerless gloves adorn both his hands. Underneath, he dons a tight tank-top. However, beneath all that fancy tactical attire, his skin and wounds are tightly wrapped in bandages.