I vomited. Everything was a blur. My consciousness was slipping. I was a murderer. My mother was dead. I had killed four, mercilessly. I had fought two professional killers, and won. I had survived 3 gunshots and a blade wound. How did all of this happen? How was I alive? Continue reading
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I sat in the kitchen. My own blood had puddled. I attached my newly acquired sleevegun to my wrist. It was a dull, faded black. Designed to dwell in the long sleeves of a man, its camoflauge minimizing the chance of perceiving the deadly creature coiled inside. A viper. Hiding away, waiting to strike, suddenly. To pounce on its victim, a killer in wait. Continue reading
She was bleeding out fast. Her skin was pale, her body cold. I was helplessly watching the life flooding from her eyes, vaporizing away, slipping between my fingers. My mother lay in my arms dying, and I was powerless next to Death. Continue reading
I was hurrying home. It is unwise to linger anywhere in District E3. Dangerously. I knew that a couple of gangs would be roaming the streets now that Institution was out, and it was only a matter of time before the Guards would begin appearing in the streets, on rooftops, poking their long-snouted rifles from the battlements capping the tall walls surrounding our district. The gunshots would follow.