Post by dissenter on Nov 5, 2009 23:31:14 GMT -5
He was there, as he always was. The Shadow Man; Asher's personal boogeyman since childhood. An indistinct, cloaked figure, of shadow and chimerical nightmare. He had no face or hands, nothing that could be seen, save for the tattered shawl of cloth wrapped around his gaunt body.
Asher met him, as usual, on a barren, wasted plain, devoid of any sign of life. He was wearing his usual clothes, although his hair(and presumably his eyes; he'd never had the chance to observe his subconscious avatar's reflection) was as it had been before the Human Weapon Project.
His voice was a poison whisper, carried on a wind of void.
"Your father is dead. Your friends are dead. Everyone you've ever known. Everything you've ever seen, or heard, or loved. All gone. All except...that." Despite his lack of digits, The Shadow Man somehow managed to make an indicative gesture vaguely reminiscent of a point towards Asher's right hand; glancing down, he observed that he now held his USP Match competition pistol tightly in it.
"You are all that remains..." Asher opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out; his vocal cords were frozen. "You are all that's left of the clean world. The sane world. And yet, you hide in this filthy, stinking hole. Pathetic..."
And the last word was not spoken in the vile tone of The Shadow Man, but in his father's gruff Yankee accent. "Useless."
Asher's lips curled in a silent scream as he raised the gun and fired...
Awaking from sleep in a maddened frenzy, Asher swept the blankets off of the naval cot bolted to his bunker's wall, raising his handgun towards the massive blast door dominating one wall of the shelter and pulling the trigger repeatedly. Of course, he'd had the foresight to engage the weapon's safety before falling asleep; the likelihood of it accidentally going off and causing a lethal recoil in his enclosed confines was far greater than the shelter being found and broken into, by anyone, ever.
Scratching his forehead, Asher laid the gun across the small crate that served as his table and stood. The bunker was as spartan as any could come; it was never meant to be used for any extended period of time, and only then with the cryopods exclusively. Asher had jury-rigged a rivet gun and built the small cot bolted to the wall himself. The small electrical fridge in the corner was looted from an abandoned apartment complex, and his fold-out worktable was from a mechanic's shop. Gas for his generator was taken from the gas station, the only source of petrol left in the city.
His stomach growled lowly in hunger, and he opened the fridge's door, finding nothing. Time to go on another raid.
Grabbing his gun belt, he strapped it on and holstered Black Kite. pulling his jacket on, he straightened his hair into recognizable shape and grabbed his spare clips, one each of special and peedestrian ammunition for each of his gun. These went into easily-reached spots on his holster straps. Reaching into his handy-dandy Giant Box O' Junk for a suitable bludgeon, he came out with a twisted rod that might have been a rebar in a past life, or perhaps a crowbar. Slipping it through a belt loop, Asher punched the open command on the blast door, and it creaked open.
Slipping out quietly, his rod upraised, Asher looked around cautiously. Without warning, a hideous shriek sounded from down the corridor; a horrifically mutated vampire, well on its way to becoming a full Outsider, charged towards him. It was covered in oozing boils and warts, and the entire left side of its face appeared to have melted.
Unwilling to waste valuable anti-immortal ammunition on it, Asher hurled the bar, impaling the creature on the metal length with a sickening, hollow CRACK. It collapsed, writhed once, and ceased moving.
Asher strode up the tunnel, towards the surface. "Looks like it's shaping up to be a fun time..."
Asher met him, as usual, on a barren, wasted plain, devoid of any sign of life. He was wearing his usual clothes, although his hair(and presumably his eyes; he'd never had the chance to observe his subconscious avatar's reflection) was as it had been before the Human Weapon Project.
His voice was a poison whisper, carried on a wind of void.
"Your father is dead. Your friends are dead. Everyone you've ever known. Everything you've ever seen, or heard, or loved. All gone. All except...that." Despite his lack of digits, The Shadow Man somehow managed to make an indicative gesture vaguely reminiscent of a point towards Asher's right hand; glancing down, he observed that he now held his USP Match competition pistol tightly in it.
"You are all that remains..." Asher opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out; his vocal cords were frozen. "You are all that's left of the clean world. The sane world. And yet, you hide in this filthy, stinking hole. Pathetic..."
And the last word was not spoken in the vile tone of The Shadow Man, but in his father's gruff Yankee accent. "Useless."
Asher's lips curled in a silent scream as he raised the gun and fired...
Awaking from sleep in a maddened frenzy, Asher swept the blankets off of the naval cot bolted to his bunker's wall, raising his handgun towards the massive blast door dominating one wall of the shelter and pulling the trigger repeatedly. Of course, he'd had the foresight to engage the weapon's safety before falling asleep; the likelihood of it accidentally going off and causing a lethal recoil in his enclosed confines was far greater than the shelter being found and broken into, by anyone, ever.
Scratching his forehead, Asher laid the gun across the small crate that served as his table and stood. The bunker was as spartan as any could come; it was never meant to be used for any extended period of time, and only then with the cryopods exclusively. Asher had jury-rigged a rivet gun and built the small cot bolted to the wall himself. The small electrical fridge in the corner was looted from an abandoned apartment complex, and his fold-out worktable was from a mechanic's shop. Gas for his generator was taken from the gas station, the only source of petrol left in the city.
His stomach growled lowly in hunger, and he opened the fridge's door, finding nothing. Time to go on another raid.
Grabbing his gun belt, he strapped it on and holstered Black Kite. pulling his jacket on, he straightened his hair into recognizable shape and grabbed his spare clips, one each of special and peedestrian ammunition for each of his gun. These went into easily-reached spots on his holster straps. Reaching into his handy-dandy Giant Box O' Junk for a suitable bludgeon, he came out with a twisted rod that might have been a rebar in a past life, or perhaps a crowbar. Slipping it through a belt loop, Asher punched the open command on the blast door, and it creaked open.
Slipping out quietly, his rod upraised, Asher looked around cautiously. Without warning, a hideous shriek sounded from down the corridor; a horrifically mutated vampire, well on its way to becoming a full Outsider, charged towards him. It was covered in oozing boils and warts, and the entire left side of its face appeared to have melted.
Unwilling to waste valuable anti-immortal ammunition on it, Asher hurled the bar, impaling the creature on the metal length with a sickening, hollow CRACK. It collapsed, writhed once, and ceased moving.
Asher strode up the tunnel, towards the surface. "Looks like it's shaping up to be a fun time..."