Post by muffles on Jun 16, 2017 21:18:54 GMT -8
Out of gas in the middle of the Mojave Desert.What the fuck could possibly go wrong now? The fugitive mused while pushing his motorcycle down the expanse of highway. Yeah, he probably should have gassed up miles back. But when one is on the run from forces the earth cannot muster, you feel like your next stop could be the last. How long had he been running? It’d probably be about three years now. His once close cropped hair now an untamable dark mane. Clean shaven face now cloaked in an unbridled beard. At least he found himself able to stop at a motel here and there to bathe and get a warm bed. A fleeting pleasure these days. He finally decided to take a break. He pulled a bottle of water from his saddle bags and gazed up at the sky. He’s been all over North America. Hell even central and south just to circle through north america all over again. Sadly, he never had the opportunity take in all the landscapes he explored. His eyes remained in the sky.
Silver began to drift across the endless blue canvas, it caused the fugitive to pause. No, he’s over heated, it ‘s just a mirage. Maybe it’s a distant helicopter. Let it be anything besides what filled the fugitive with dread. It wasn’t a mirage. He quickly discovered that when he found the silver dot to shift in shape. It was almost like a darting, zipping fluid.
“Oh fuck my horse!”
He does not own a horse. Give him a break, he’s been having a rough time. The silver dot offered no break. A red light from the orb caused the fugitive to leap out of the highway and into the dunes. His movement was the right one. His motorcycle exploded a mere split second later. He flailed his arms in dismay.
“Fuck it! In the nostril! No lube!...oh shit!”
During his tirade he noticed another red light. No rest for the wicked, or some shitty cliche like that. He darted again, the spot he stood turned the sand to glass. He couldn’t keep this up. They were fucking with him. They just want to wear him down until he was too tired to fight. Like a fucking cat would. He did have one trick up his sleeve. One he learned from a woman. Friend or enemy...well, that was complicated. Just like the woman herself. But he so detested the ability. It was knowledge not meant for mere mortals. He ceased being one a few years ago. But recently there was something up with the ability. No time to worry about it now. The fugitive turned to the speck and raised both of his tattooed arms. A double serving of the one finger salute. As his state of matter shifted. From solid to vapor? He dematerialized in thin air as a laser fired upon him. Shot missed its mark. He just...vanished
One is normally supposed to have a place in mind when teleporting. But he didn’t. He needed to be anywhere but there. He’d sort it out later. And he certainly found himself in a drastically different landscape than the desert. He’d take it in-in due time. But for now he has to retch. His lunch violently found an exit and splashed onto the road below him. Once he got done making an orange-red puddle he exhaled loud. Everytime he teleported these days, every time. And the wave of dizziness after was worse each time. He slowly scanned the landscape while regaining his facilities. Lush greenery surrounded the road. Before he could really take in the rest. Another wave of nausea hit him. Not from the teleportation, but from the scent of rotting carrion. It was never great to be greeted by the scent of death after teleporting. But he shrugged it off as some roadkill until he looked behind him. A stone bridge. One that has probably seen several decades, maybe even a century. Cords dangled from the arch of the bridge...at the ends were rabbits.
“Well, that’s fucking ominous!”
Silver began to drift across the endless blue canvas, it caused the fugitive to pause. No, he’s over heated, it ‘s just a mirage. Maybe it’s a distant helicopter. Let it be anything besides what filled the fugitive with dread. It wasn’t a mirage. He quickly discovered that when he found the silver dot to shift in shape. It was almost like a darting, zipping fluid.
“Oh fuck my horse!”
He does not own a horse. Give him a break, he’s been having a rough time. The silver dot offered no break. A red light from the orb caused the fugitive to leap out of the highway and into the dunes. His movement was the right one. His motorcycle exploded a mere split second later. He flailed his arms in dismay.
“Fuck it! In the nostril! No lube!...oh shit!”
During his tirade he noticed another red light. No rest for the wicked, or some shitty cliche like that. He darted again, the spot he stood turned the sand to glass. He couldn’t keep this up. They were fucking with him. They just want to wear him down until he was too tired to fight. Like a fucking cat would. He did have one trick up his sleeve. One he learned from a woman. Friend or enemy...well, that was complicated. Just like the woman herself. But he so detested the ability. It was knowledge not meant for mere mortals. He ceased being one a few years ago. But recently there was something up with the ability. No time to worry about it now. The fugitive turned to the speck and raised both of his tattooed arms. A double serving of the one finger salute. As his state of matter shifted. From solid to vapor? He dematerialized in thin air as a laser fired upon him. Shot missed its mark. He just...vanished
One is normally supposed to have a place in mind when teleporting. But he didn’t. He needed to be anywhere but there. He’d sort it out later. And he certainly found himself in a drastically different landscape than the desert. He’d take it in-in due time. But for now he has to retch. His lunch violently found an exit and splashed onto the road below him. Once he got done making an orange-red puddle he exhaled loud. Everytime he teleported these days, every time. And the wave of dizziness after was worse each time. He slowly scanned the landscape while regaining his facilities. Lush greenery surrounded the road. Before he could really take in the rest. Another wave of nausea hit him. Not from the teleportation, but from the scent of rotting carrion. It was never great to be greeted by the scent of death after teleporting. But he shrugged it off as some roadkill until he looked behind him. A stone bridge. One that has probably seen several decades, maybe even a century. Cords dangled from the arch of the bridge...at the ends were rabbits.
“Well, that’s fucking ominous!”