[???;??] Loose ends.

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[???;??] Loose ends.

Post by Chief on Mon Jan 21, 2013 6:19 am

Heavily advise you read with the music, I found it to really amplify the atmosphere. And as always, Criticism and Commentary is appreciated.




A sea of dust arises as the heavily customized, battle-worn ship lands in the abandoned desert, only to fade back into the sand a few moments later. Its crimson wings settle on the beige landscape, covering the small welcoming party in shadows. Then, the ship's hatch opens, a trio of armored men emerging from its sanctum. They all seem quite alike, except for the man in the middle. Not only does he lack a rifle in his hands, but his armor is less dull and whiter, his helmet appears modified, and an ancient medal rests on his chestplate. From the few seconds it takes him to walk down the extended stairwell, many things can be said about his body language. He walks with confidence, but not with over-estimation or arrogance. His feet touch the ground not with tenderness, but with responsibility. His voice is no less intriguing.

"Is this her?", he inquires, with a static'd voice, a hint of warmth and strength, surrounded by a shell of a well-educated and charismatic gentleman. While his armor looks scarred and scorched, he appears well-spoken and sophisticated, charming at the very least, indoctrinating at most.

The welcoming party consists of 5 figures. 4 soldiers, merged in some sort of heeding formation around the fifth person: a small child-like shade in between the soldiers. She's hid in a dark-brown cloak, small strings of black hair peeling from beneath her hood. Thick metal cuffs adorn her small, colored and chubby wrists. The soldier up front nods his head once in an answering manner
"Yes sir, Teacher." He takes a few steps aside, giving the arrived figure of authority some space. The 'teacher' takes his turn, calmly and slowly taking a few thoughtful steps forward, stopping once close to the small figure, looking down at her. As the three remaining soldiers take a few steps aside, he kneels to look her in the eye. He asks, with a steel yet chivalrous voice "Do you know who I am?" The child nods, shivering in utter fear. "Then you know what I have come for." Gently, he moves his hand up to her hood, carefully lowering it, revealing the child's face. A violet, dry, scaled reptilian skin, filled with all sorts of ceremonial red paint and tattoos. Her snout trembles in perfect coordination with the rest of her body, as teardrops fall down unto the sand from her magical yellow eyes, creating rivers of sorrow as she fixates on the handgun aimed at her 8 year old face. Just as she opens her mouth for the obligatory final plea, a gunshot fills the air, dampening any other noise that may have attempted to seize the moment. And with that, her small, toddler body collapses, meeting the sand below, hugging the desert. A final caress. "Leave the body, take the sample, apply the marks. You know the rendezvous." He then turns around with his two-man escort, holstering his dark handgun as he marches back up to his ship, indifferent to the morally questionable deed he'd just participated in. And as the hatch closes, and the ship flies off, so does the spirit of the girl, unto bigger endeavors.
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Chief

Cancer Posts : 79
Join date : 2013-01-21
Age : 22

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