Spyrl-9
[08] Mercenary
It's always the same. Darkness. No light. But by no means does that imply nothingness. I feel myself almost floating, feeling not so much like a piece of driftwood on the water as the water itself. Flowing, fluid, nothing can contain me. The lack of sight is my only obstacle, and I am not afraid. I have perceptions that no eye could rival. I "feel" the world. Expanding, contracting, I can ooze around one object and shoot myself to the next. I can tighten myself rock hard then release so that the bluntest stone could fall right through me. I feel my strength and speed increase ten fold. The awareness, the limitless potential, the power -it's ...intoxicating. But this is just a dream. The same one I've had for years now. Such power I wield in my mind while I sleep, yet upon the morning, as the sun passes it's rays across my face and my eyes open the dream dies, and the sickly feeling of mundane reality fills me as I am doomed to walk another eventless day...
I opened my eyes. Something was different, very different. The stained stucco ceiling of my apartment that usually greeted my sight each morning was instead replaced with... someplace else. Someplace darker and colder than my apartment. Someplace metal and concrete, splattered with rust colored spots and streaks. Where the hell am I? A musty smell filled this place. I then realize that this scent is very subtle compared to another. A pungent stench, like a pile of old pennies, and eerily familiar. Blood, and a lot of it. I rolled onto my side -and my heart almost stopped. Death. In a puddle of blood, a terror-stricken face lying inches from my own. I sat up very quickly and realized I was wrong. Not a face, only part of one, as if cut diagonally from the middle of the jaw to above the ear, removed and thrown to the ground. But what could be so sharp and strong to make a slice such as this so cleanly. I found myself amazed at how well I was taking all of this. Staring at a severed piece a of human head, and I'm impressed with the killing blow. I suppose the media really does desensitize us, or maybe realization just hadn't fully taken hold yet.
Regardless, my gaze left the cooled face and scanned the rest of my unfamiliar waking point. I felt my newfound numbness start to dull. Around me seemed to be the rest of the half-faced man, as well as what may once have been about a dozen of his companions. It was hard to tell. Most of them had been sliced into pieces about as awkward and cleanly cut as the piece of face I had awoken to. Even the larger parts, like a full torso with one leg and half an arm still attached had slashes and holes in it. I stood up. What is going on? I felt slightly nauseous. Is this still a dream? Who did this? How did I get here? A thought occurred to me. Why was I the only one not only alive, but fully intact and sleeping in the middle of this horror. Did I do this? How could I? A lot of people secretly hold fear of losing control, but this just seemed impossible. No slasher film could contain the carnage and gore starting to rot in this room here -which I still didn't know where "here" was. But how seemed the bigger question. Maybe it was me, maybe it wasn't, either way, what kind of weapon could decimate a dozen or so full grown men so viciously and fast. It could be assumed that they wouldn't just wait their turn as their companions were hacked up. Again, I was amazed at my clear head in such a situation. I looked around for a weapon. Admittedly, I half expected and almost half hoped to see some fantasy inspiring katana -I saw no such weapon. Of course, it was kind of hard to see anything amidst the meat and blood covering the floor.
A glint of silver caught my eye, my unique nature once again hoped for a blade. It was a gun, a slightly larger handgun, ironically enough still held by a hand, but little else. Most of it was covered in dark red, but it's outline was unmistakable. I looked around again, the outlines and still shining parts of many guns could be found. For the first time since my awakening I became aware of myself. I looked down at what I was wearing. My jeans were shredded and my shirt was almost non-existent. Both were almost completely soaked with blood. I grabbed a piece of my tattered shirt that still showed it's original green-tan color. There was a couple holes in it, pencil thin punctures. Could these be bullet holes? I took what was left of the shirt off searched what I could of it's remains, finding more holes. Were these men shooting at me? I tossed the rag at the half-face. I had blood on me, but not as much as I should have. Other than some smudges from parts of my former shirt, the only blood on me was from me lying on the ground. So my back and one side were covered, but large portions of my chest and stomach were completely blood-free. Which may not seem like much, but considering the carnage sprayed floor, walls, and ceiling this fact struck me as odd. Not to say that I found the rest of the situation normal. I still didn't know where I was, how I got there, or why the hell I was so accepting of waking up in the middle of what looked like one of Lucifer's wet dreams.
I strained to recall the previous night...
I opened my eyes. Something was different, very different. The stained stucco ceiling of my apartment that usually greeted my sight each morning was instead replaced with... someplace else. Someplace darker and colder than my apartment. Someplace metal and concrete, splattered with rust colored spots and streaks. Where the hell am I? A musty smell filled this place. I then realize that this scent is very subtle compared to another. A pungent stench, like a pile of old pennies, and eerily familiar. Blood, and a lot of it. I rolled onto my side -and my heart almost stopped. Death. In a puddle of blood, a terror-stricken face lying inches from my own. I sat up very quickly and realized I was wrong. Not a face, only part of one, as if cut diagonally from the middle of the jaw to above the ear, removed and thrown to the ground. But what could be so sharp and strong to make a slice such as this so cleanly. I found myself amazed at how well I was taking all of this. Staring at a severed piece a of human head, and I'm impressed with the killing blow. I suppose the media really does desensitize us, or maybe realization just hadn't fully taken hold yet.
Regardless, my gaze left the cooled face and scanned the rest of my unfamiliar waking point. I felt my newfound numbness start to dull. Around me seemed to be the rest of the half-faced man, as well as what may once have been about a dozen of his companions. It was hard to tell. Most of them had been sliced into pieces about as awkward and cleanly cut as the piece of face I had awoken to. Even the larger parts, like a full torso with one leg and half an arm still attached had slashes and holes in it. I stood up. What is going on? I felt slightly nauseous. Is this still a dream? Who did this? How did I get here? A thought occurred to me. Why was I the only one not only alive, but fully intact and sleeping in the middle of this horror. Did I do this? How could I? A lot of people secretly hold fear of losing control, but this just seemed impossible. No slasher film could contain the carnage and gore starting to rot in this room here -which I still didn't know where "here" was. But how seemed the bigger question. Maybe it was me, maybe it wasn't, either way, what kind of weapon could decimate a dozen or so full grown men so viciously and fast. It could be assumed that they wouldn't just wait their turn as their companions were hacked up. Again, I was amazed at my clear head in such a situation. I looked around for a weapon. Admittedly, I half expected and almost half hoped to see some fantasy inspiring katana -I saw no such weapon. Of course, it was kind of hard to see anything amidst the meat and blood covering the floor.
A glint of silver caught my eye, my unique nature once again hoped for a blade. It was a gun, a slightly larger handgun, ironically enough still held by a hand, but little else. Most of it was covered in dark red, but it's outline was unmistakable. I looked around again, the outlines and still shining parts of many guns could be found. For the first time since my awakening I became aware of myself. I looked down at what I was wearing. My jeans were shredded and my shirt was almost non-existent. Both were almost completely soaked with blood. I grabbed a piece of my tattered shirt that still showed it's original green-tan color. There was a couple holes in it, pencil thin punctures. Could these be bullet holes? I took what was left of the shirt off searched what I could of it's remains, finding more holes. Were these men shooting at me? I tossed the rag at the half-face. I had blood on me, but not as much as I should have. Other than some smudges from parts of my former shirt, the only blood on me was from me lying on the ground. So my back and one side were covered, but large portions of my chest and stomach were completely blood-free. Which may not seem like much, but considering the carnage sprayed floor, walls, and ceiling this fact struck me as odd. Not to say that I found the rest of the situation normal. I still didn't know where I was, how I got there, or why the hell I was so accepting of waking up in the middle of what looked like one of Lucifer's wet dreams.
I strained to recall the previous night...
