B l u e

Chapter One - Recollection

Things can linger or they can vanish.

They can ache or they can cure.

I’ve learned many things in my life …

Yet they somehow all link back to you.

Yesterday, I saw …

Well, really -------, … she reminded me of you.

I haven’t forgotten those long talks of ours;

You know, the ones where we would sit under the old tree?

I also … haven’t forgotten that day.

The day I ------------------------------------ .

I haven’t forgotten it, or that smile you were giving me.

Lately I’ve been wondering what I’m still doing here …

And to be honest, I can’t help but think that …

I don’t deserve to be here, not after what I did to you …

Ø .Ø

“Hey, you planning on laying there all day long?”

In my dreams … it’s always raining …

… Why is that ------- ?

The calm male voice received naught but an elongated silence in response. Apparently it didn’t phase him, apparently he was used to the familiar greeting. Silence. Pure, simple, and common when it came to the man he was speaking with. Thoughtful, desperate, silence.

“Hey Deak … You listening?”

When it rains … I always feel calmer.

… Why is that?

The man in question, Deak, was lying carelessly across a bed roll, hands folded casually behind his head. He didn’t seem to be paying the least bit attention, but he wasn’t asleep. He was thinking, something he often did far too much. … Something he didn’t like doing at all. That was something the other standing in the spacious room knew well, and something Deak dearly wished he didn’t know in the least. The less people knew about him, the better off he, and they, were in the end. It wasn’t a simple unproven theory, it had evidence in his mind to back it. Maybe he was the only one who knew it, but it was evidence all the same …

Despite his standoffish attitude the Nineteen year old was attractive, and the small frown playing his full lips seemed to give him a bit of character in the dull setting. He had light skin, as if he’d only just ventured into the sun over the past few months, and a rusty, burnt orange hair color. It was in an uneven cut, bangs littering his eyes before getting longer to frame his face; in one way or another it stuck out in bits all over as if he‘d been rolling around, it was full and long enough so that if it wasn‘t in bed head mode it would cover his neckline. Both ears were pierced, the right holding two silver hoops in his upper cartilage, while the left held four, starting with his lobe - which was the only to hold a silver ball instead of a hoop - and running up his ear in spacious amounts.

His clothing was dreary, tattered, and looked as if he’d ran through a field of mines or bullets quite a few times. The black t-shirt that hung loosely to his torso looked burned, and revealed light, unsullied, skin through it’s many holes. His jeans were a dusty, dull, blue with rips and tears on various spots; some revealed skin, while others revealed a black silk material. The black, loosely tied, combat boots looked to be the only piece of clothing in tact yet were covered in red clay and sand. It looked as if he’d been in one, or various, fights and this alone appeared to give him justification for his sleepless lazing.

Do I really have the right to that emotion anymore, -------- ?

“Deak, we’re going.”

Instantly, as if a bull horn had been fired in his ear, the Nineteen year old’s eyes shot open and focused on the man standing in the doorway, staring him down with a dull expression. Deak’s eyes were unusual, for he had two different colors; the left was a dull Emerald green, while the right was a pale, and faded, Blue. At first one would think there was no sight in the eye, as if the cells had died and this was the cause of it’s strange coloration. Only he, and the man staring him down, knew the answer to this question; and the answer wasn’t something the rusty headed male liked speaking of in the least. The reason for this was also unknown to all but the two in the beige room. Despite this both eyes held the same look; as if they were searching for something, determined to find it. They held a mix of emotions; thoughtful, distressed, and almost elated from the words his companion had spoken moments before.

“You found them?” Finally he’d broken his thoughtful, distressed, silence. His voice was a rough medium tone that matched his eyes. Both were determined, both were thoughtful, and both held a hint of what one could almost describe as hopelessness; both seemed distant. Despite all this he, Deak, sounded almost more mature than the Twenty-two year old he was speaking to.

“Yeah, they’re out near Area 22 this time. … You coming?” The question was toying, as if the man in the doorway knew the answer and simply wanted to annoy his younger counterpart.

“You know the answer to that, Logan.”

The Twenty-two year old chuckled, yeah he knew the answer alright; his cobalt eyes lit up, fully amused for the moment. Logan, like Deak, was attractive however had a more open, and casual attitude. His skin was darker, tanned as if he’d lived in the sun all his life and ventured into it’s bright rays as often as possible. He was tall and muscular, around six foot two and looked to weigh around 150 pounds. With his attitude he would appear to be the typical, dirty-blonde and blue-eyed stereotype that one would either find on a beach or lazing around an apartment in a city. His hair was short, just long enough to stick out in tuffs on the top of his head, and his squared jaw held what looked to be day-old stubble. The cigarette in his mouth smoldered, and seemed to contradict his appearance of a beach boy; maybe that was the purpose, or maybe it was pure coincidence.

He wore tattered blue jeans, dark as if they’d recently been bought, yet they looked lived in and used already. His white t-shirt was dirty, and covered in what looked like clay and oil stains. This gave him more the look of a mechanic, thought whether he was one or not was left undetermined. He was dirty, sweaty, however compared to the rusty headed male appeared to have simply rolled around in a dust bath. “Yeah, yeah. Come on already.” His calm voice was slightly peppy, however sounded as laid back as the air that seemed to follow him. Either he just didn’t care about certain things, or he simply had no opinion; probably it was a mix of both.

Deak stood finally, almost stumbling as his left knee caught a moment; he was slightly shorter than his companion and appeared to be an even six foot. Actually, he looked slightly smaller than Logan. He was muscular, however it was more lean and subtle, and appeared to be around 130 pounds. If Logan was a Football player, then he’d be what one would consider a Soccer player. Finally he followed after the man, sighing softly as if wishing to leave something behind in the empty room.

Logan laughed, eyes glancing back charismatically, “Do me a favor, and let me kill a few this time, eh?”

“Depends on how badly they piss me off …”

Logan laughed whole-heartedly and started to speak, however he was cut off by a long crackling that poured through an old speaker mounted on the wall. Finally a smooth, naïve sounding male voice poured through the old wires. “They’re on the move, I’d hurry up.”

Logan fished out a small black earpiece, slipping it on his right ear and adjusted the microphone that extended outwards. “Which way?” His voice had picked up an air of urgency, this was something he cared about. He waited a moment, the rusty headed male picking up pace on his right as they continued down the corridor. “Louis!”

The small meow of a kitten crackled through the speakers, finally followed by the voice from before. “They’re headed North East, away from 22 and presumably towards Area 36.”

“They’re heading for the plant in June …” Deak was the one to speak this time, eyebrows pressing together in annoyance. He started forward, pace quickening with every step he took; he wasn’t about to loose them again - not this time. His hand slipped into his pocket, pulling out a small communicator that resembled Logan’s before he slipped it beneath his hair, and onto his left ear. “Louis, send the map of the area to my phone and I’ll go ahead.” His eyes turned to focus behind him, suddenly more desperate than they had been. “You fixed my bike right?” He was speaking to Logan, who’d broke into a run after him, and who’s pace was just as desperate.

“Yeah it’s in the shop.” Logan was distracted, looking over a small computer no larger than the size of his palm, and furiously tapping on the keys. “Open the garage door.” This time his voice was directed at Louis, the faceless voice which was no longer speaking over the large speakers on the walls, but via the small devices in either of the men’s ears. “Don’t forget your stuff, it’s in the second locker near your bike, Deak. I don’t feel like making you a bath with oatmeal cause you got sunburned again.”

“Yeah, yeah, enough with the jokes you ass.” Deak growled, laughing sarcastically before bolting off and down another corridor on his left. He didn’t have time for jokes, and he didn’t fairly care for ones at his expense anyway. … It wasn’t his fault that he was - his mental thought process cut off, Logan’s voice cutting into the communicator in his ear.

“Don’t forget the pills either; I’d rather not shoot you again.”

Deak didn’t respond, eyes fixated on something far off and unseen. He didn’t have time for this, and he sure as hell didn’t have time to speak to Logan about that. Besides …

“Deak, they’re picking up pace. I think they moved the railroad out farther.” Louis’ voice cut through his thoughts, the tapping of keys and a soft meow following after it as background noise. “I’m sending you the map now, you should be getting it momentarily, but there’s a void zone near the plant in June. I don’t know what it is, but I’m pretty sure the people living there didn’t make it.”

“Damn it!” The rusty headed male pushed his legs harder, grabbing a door and wrenching it open roughly as he stepped from a stairwell. He entered a large, dully lit, grey room littered with small tinted windows near it’s roof. It was the basement, Logan’s shop, and the place he’d been aiming for, for the past five minutes of winding turns and stairs. His hands fumbled over a combination lock, reciting the numbers in his mind silently before yanking the old piece of hardware from the locker. His eyes focused on the things lying within it’s depths, Logan had gotten him a new jacket; it wasn’t a surprise, the other had been destroyed beyond repair last time. He grabbed the red fabric, feeling it momentarily before letting a half smile slip over his lips. It was quilted, the lines running up and down the length of the jacket and had a collar with a large black zipper.

Good, Logan had gotten him something he liked for once. Deak pulled the jacket on over his tattered shirt, zipping it up completely before slipping on a pair of worn black gloves. His hands flew over, grasping a pair of large, darkly tinted, Aviators. Finally he paused, lifting the two guns carefully from the bottom of the locker. His eyes flitted over them, taking in every scratch that had been placed in their metal bodies. One was a Mauser, a C96 model, and was as black as night. The other, residing in his left hand, was a Desert Eagle - so silver it was almost white. He’d known them a while, they’d been his friends for as long as he could remember … they’d been one of the only reasons he’d survived this long. … Well them and … He pushed the thoughts from his mind, shoving both guns into either of his pockets before turning on his heel. “Open the hatch.”

The rough grate of metal and groaning of bolts filled the room, loud and almost comforting. Deak listened, silently taking in the familiar sound as he tossed a leg leisurely over the bike in the center of the floor. It looked to be similar in model to a Hyper Sport Bike, and was black with a chrome finish; yet unlike the Hyper Sport had a sleeker design that looked more aerodynamic. His left heel kicked at the stand, hands grasping the familiar handlebars as the engine roared to life. He’d missed this … these sounds, this smell; his eyes closed, lungs dragging in a slow and steady breath as the outside air whipped through the opening door above him. Sand slipped past, brushing his cheeks roughly; … he really had missed this.

Be careful …

His eyes flew open, startled and desperate as they searched about the empty basement. Not again … not now …

“Be careful, they’ve got ground troops out now.” Louis’ voice cracked through the speaker in his ear, barely audible over the dull roar of the engine.

The Nineteen year old stared, eyes fixated on the bright blue sky above him. … Maybe he was just imagining things again … that couldn’t have been … “Rodger.” His voice was even, empty, as he focused on the task at hand and angled the large motorcycle upwards and onto the ramp that had been lowered in front of him. Finally he shot forward, the familiar feel of sand and gravel under the speeding wheels taking place of the smooth iron from moments before. He glanced down, eyes fixed on a small screen placed beneath the small shield at the front of the bike. It was synced with his phone, touch screen, and had been something that Louis had outfitted both his bike, and Logan’s jeep with a year ago. On screen was the map he’d requested, and the small dots moving forward were accelerating - not something he liked seeing.

“They’re moving faster, hurry your ass up Logan.”

“I’m coming now, damn brat.” The calm voice shot back, and shortly after the roar of four wheel drive picked up on the rusty headed male’s left. “I’ll head for the main entrance to the plant, you head for the back.”

“Got it.” Deak answered back, green eye glancing to his left to stare down his companion. The two exchanged a glance before the Jeep broke off, heading in a different direction towards the front of their target complex.

“Deak, four enemies approaching. Speed 110 miles per hour, you’ll be meeting them in one minute, and seventeen seconds.” Louis’ voice suddenly sounded more mature, and the words were pouring through his microphone at an ever increasing pace.

There they were. Gunshots filled his ears before the actual men entered his line of sight, but he knew where they were - he could see them just as well as they could see him from this distance. Deak wrenched his bike to the left, dodging the incoming fire before reaching for the Mauser in his right pocket and lifting it to aim. He waited, counting down to five in his head before pulling the trigger. A sharp cry, followed by the sound of an engine crashing into the sand filled his ears; and then … more gunshots. He swerved, shoulder wrenching back from a bullet piercing through the new quilted jacket; his engine cut, the bike sliding on the sand as it’s rider released the machine and landed shakily on his feet. The Desert Eagle flew out then, joining it’s brother’s gunshots shortly. Deak gritted his teeth, eyes narrowing in annoyance.

… Damn he hated these guys.

Three were left, all dressed in a strange blue and white armor that had an almost translucent glow. The men seemed almost robotic, taking the shots being fired as if they weren‘t affected by them in the least. Each were armed with chrome accented M16s, something the rusty head was familiar with enough to know the bullet trajectory. In many ways it was sad how they advanced, as if they felt no compassion and their only objective was to find and eliminate the threat that was pressing in upon them. Deak’s eyes closed momentarily; no that’s exactly what they were like - they didn’t feel anything, just like they didn’t care for anything other than the one who sent them. They were like dogs, loyal only to the one who filled their scrap bowl. … It was ironic … he used to …

“Get a move on it, I can only hold them off at the front for so long!”

Logan’s voice tore through his ear, causing the Nineteen year old to cringe as he fired once more. He’d been knocked out of thoughts again, something he was equally annoyed and thankful for. “I’ll be finished in a few seconds, their lines are starting to malfunction.” As if on cue the man farthest left turned and started firing on his comrades. Deak ignored the sharp screams, picking his bike up and straddling it roughly. He swerved around the limp corpses, glancing down only to notice the sharp sparks shooting from one man’s neck. They were pathetic …

“Louis, give me an update of the back entrance.”

The naïve voice crackled through, thoughtful as his words left his lips, “There are two guards outside the door but other than that it looks pretty clear. The majority of LIVE troops are located at the main entrance and working their way up towards the upper levels of the plant.”

Deak revved the engine, forcing the motor to it’s limit as he raced forward. He didn’t have time for this, he never had time for this. “How far up have they advanced?” He was almost scared of this answer, he didn’t want to know how far he’d fallen behind. He didn’t want to know how far he had to go to find them, to hunt them down and …

“I think they’ve only just made it to the twelfth floor.”

“Alright.” The Nineteen year old yanked the bars of the motorcycle, ignoring the sliding of the wheels on the sand as he stepped off and left the bike to rest on it’s stand. His hands grasped the familiar triggers, readying themselves to fire off a barrage of bullets at their master’s command. It was strange, he was so used to this kind of action that it didn’t phase him anymore … then again it never phased him much to begin with. Life, and death - innocent, and tainted - human, or otherwise … none of it mattered. All that mattered was …

Be careful.

He froze, both eyes locked on the softly sinking sand beneath his feet. He was sure he’d heard it this time, completely positive that those words had been spoken, even if only in the back of his mind. He’d heard them just as clearly now, as he’d heard them before - as he’d heard them years ago. They sounded the same … but then … His green eye lifted, slowly creeping to his left as if not wanting to see what was there. If he looked now, if he saw what he knew he would … he’d loose his mind. Every time he saw that, every time he relived that scene … he sunk lower. One day he’d sink so low even those pills wouldn’t be able to reach him.

He cringed, stumbling back as he attempted to wrench his eyes away. They wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t move an inch. Only his feet would - only one thing driving them. Get away.

I’ve been wondering …

What am I still doing here?

I don’t deserve to be here, not after what I did to you …

“Deak?!” Louis’ voice barked, once more going unanswered by the voice of the Nineteen year old. “Damn it, Logan! He’s gone again!”

Would that annoying whine shut up, he’d heard the low buzzing in his ear followed by a few distressed meows too long. Deak lifted his hand, yanking the communicator from his ear and shoved it in his pocket roughly. Did Louis ever … His mental thought process cut once again, sending the rusty headed male stumbling forward, hands griping either side of his cranium in anguish. Damn it, he hated this feeling; he hated these sharp spasms in his brain, the ones that made his head feel as if it would explode. He hated the tingling sensation that coursed through his veins, pushed down his spine as if trying to take control of his nerves.

Deak … just relax … it’ll be over soon.

He hated that voice, sickly sweet and controlling. It wasn’t the same one, wasn’t the voice that sent him into frozen terror - it was one he hated, one he wanted to claw from his mind. He hated that voice, hated all it meant, and he hated how his body reacted to it so willingly. It jerked, hungering to answer it - hungering to do what it wanted - and that’s exactly why he had these spells. He didn’t want to hear that voice, didn’t want to listen to it, and that’s why it hurt so damn much … that’s why he had flashes of consciousness.

That’s why his vision blurred in one eye, and appeared again in the other.

He had to get away from this.

His body bolted, ignoring the instant gunfire that filled his crackling ears. He hated this feeling, hated as if he were a machine malfunctioning. … He hated these images that flashed, and he hated those men firing at him. His hands found the once forgotten triggers, lifting them to gun down those men - to stop their constant gunfire. Bullets tore through his shoulders, another through his arm, and another through his left thigh. It didn’t matter, that wouldn’t slow him down … that wouldn’t even phase him. He’d been through worse than this.

A moment passed, silent and still except for the low breeze that kicked up the blood stained sand. His mind took a breather, still and blank, before kicking into another spasm.

Run. Hunt. Shoot. Kill.

Fine, he’d run. He’d hunt. He’d shoot. … He’d kill. … Oh he’d kill.

The Nineteen year old bolted, rushing up the winding stairwell as fast as his legs would carry him. His left thigh throbbed, but he ignored it - it would stop soon … he’d have just another scar shortly. Ten floors, that was all till he got to lay his teeth into them - till he got to tear them apart. He didn’t know this because of something someone had told him, he could tell where they were. He could smell the blood on their hands, feel the throbbing in his muscles to smash their heads together. He just knew, he always just knew in this state … no it had been worse before.

“Intruder!”

Run. Hunt. Shoot. Kill.

“Intru-!”

That shut up that bastard, didn’t it?

Deak lingered momentarily, eyes wide and wild as he stared down at the headless corpse twitching at his feet. Blood - it had a lovely color - but had a terrible smell. It smelled of rust, of salt, and you could never get the stain out of anything. It was like syrup, thick and disgusting if you spilled it. It was impossible to clean, impossible to get rid of. It didn’t matter if you couldn’t see it anymore, didn’t matter if you didn’t smell it anymore. Blood was there, and everyone knew it. Everyone remembered where blood was.

Hey!

He didn’t have time to react to that voice, didn’t have the desire to. He needed to spill more blood, needed to rip flesh apart. It was a throbbing need, a longing to see that disgusting syrup - to see life spilling out and ending. The shuffling of feet caught his attention, wrenching the male’s head round roughly to the stairs leading upwards. More were coming down, planning to meet him half-way and take him out. Heh … take him out? They weren’t qualified, weren’t advanced enough, to even think of taking him out. A bullet pierced his skin once more, dragging his thoughts away and restoring the lust for blood. Only nine more floors to go.

Run. Hunt. Shoot. Kill.

Only five more floors to go.

Deak lunged, racing up the stairs, dodging the fallen corpses in his wake and reaching out to dispose of the living ones in front of him. And then, he froze, gun pointed to the back of a man’s neck as he struggled in his grasp. … Something was up there. Something he hadn’t noticed before. … Something up there had a different feel about it, had a strange presence.

… He wondered what it would be like to tear that presence apart.

“Please don-!”

Silence, nothing moved or spoke, and that’s how he liked it. Completely silent save for the tapping of his boots against the steel stairwell. That presence was beyond the rift, past the drop off - he could feel it.

One more floor to go.

That’s when he smelled it, pungent and sickening. Death had already been this way - had already come and gone here. True, there were some still alive - some still fighting for their pathetic existence - but they’d be gone soon. They’d be disposed of by either himself or this other presence, this other reaper. His eyes darted, spotting a man running from a room in terror. So … it was in there, huh? Another man rushed out, following the first.

… They were like dogs, fleeing to their master with their tails between their legs when they’d gone too far. Begging, whining, pleading to be saved from this thing they’d brought upon themselves.

Like hell he’d let them off that easy. Like hell they’d get away with that blood on their hands.

Deak rushed, guns firing as he tore through them and sent them falling limp. He ignored the blood spilling from his own body, mixing with the blood that had been spurted across him from his excursion upwards. He stopped, right eye locked on the room merely five feet away. That’s where the rift was - where the drop off began. This plant was gone, they’d already started to decompose it from the inside out. … That also, however, was where that presence was.

It was stained, covered in blood of itself and others alike. He could smell it, could feel it … and it excited him. His feet moved before his mind processed the thought - he wanted to see this thing, but he wanted more to put an end to it. It smelled the same as he did … and that’s why it disgusted him so.

I don’t deserve to be here, not after what I did to you …

Metal, sharp and scraping met him and stopped one gun in it’s tracks. The other was pressed to a head, his eyes not taking the time to process the face of the one he wanted to get rid of. He felt cold steel against his head, smelled gun smoke in his nostrils. So, they’d managed to press a gun to his temple as well? … This would be a fun fight. This would be a fun slaughter.

“Hey!”

Deak froze, the voice stopping he and his mental process in it’s tracks. It was calm, clear, and sounded like wind chimes tinkering in a soft breeze. That was the first thing that threw him off guard, that kicked his mind out of that state for a moment. It made his thoughts clear, the vision return to his left eye as it searched for the face of the voice’s owner. … That’s when he froze, muscles locking and feet planting themselves firmly in place on the bloody floor. His mind was flashing, as if he were a machine having memory loss and relapse all at once.

Her eyes were boring into him - staring him down without fear or concern for the predicament she was in. They were a mix of Cobalt and Emerald, bright and thoughtful all at once. That wasn’t what bothered him the most, he watched them change and take on a new edge. They went from surprise, to confusion, and finally concern in a mere instant. Deak shuttered.

She stared, large eyes trying to understand something as they looked up at the man in front of her. She looked no more than Eighteen, young, yet had the eyes of one who’d lived for Forty years or more. She was small, looking to be around 5’7” and 110 pounds, yet looked to be sturdy - she could take care of herself. Unlike the male hovering over her, her attitude was more open - motherly - but she had the same look of determination that he did. Only her being wasn’t clouded by wavering hopelessness, she looked certain - like she knew exactly what she wanted in her life. Her full bottom lip was pressed to her thin top one, not in a line of distress but of confusion. Her hair was long, a mix of dark and light brown; it looked messy, simply falling around her shoulders before stopping around the end of her rib cage.

Her clothing wasn’t ratty, however was covered in blood stains that seemed to dull the mix of white and brown. She wore a white shirt, it’s straps barely an inch wide that revealed her tiny arms and dipped down in a scoop neck fashion. It held faded brown tribal designs extending down it’s left side, mixing with the dark red stains that were scattered about the cotton fabric. Her skirt was faded jean, and looked baggy on her small frame; it looked to be held in place on her hips simply by the brown belts crossing in either direction. However the thing that looked almost out of place was the white bucket hat that sat perched on her head, it bore the same design as her top and it’s exact purpose was unknown. It drew attention to her squared facial features, making her jaw line look softer; maybe this was it’s purpose.

By her feet lay an unsheathed, red, Wakizashi; one that was identical to the one in her left hand, holding the rusty headed male’s black Mauser captive. In her right had was a silver Desert Eagle, pressed to the male’s head, and looked identical to the one aimed at her own temple.

“There’s more coming, move!”

Deak shuttered, both eyes staring the girl down. He ignored her words, and focused on the flashing in his mind. Her hair went from brown to an almost white blonde - but the eyes remained the same, held the same emotions. Finally his knees unlocked themselves, pulling his body back and away from her. There it was again - that simple rule flaring in his mind that he always remembered. Get away. He had to get away from her, as far and as fast as possible.

Be careful.

More men spilled in, their shuffling feet drowning out the words that left her lips. He didn’t care, it didn’t matter what she said. Deak turned, stumbling a moment before breaking into a run. He didn’t pay attention to where he was running, it didn’t matter. He had to get away from her - she looked just like … Metal clanging, followed by gunshots forced him to turn around, searching for the girl once again. His head throbbed, eyes landing on her as she ridded herself of the men surrounding her and started forward - trying to reach him. Her eyes were different, hand reaching out as if she were trying to say something.

“Hey! Be careful!”

Deak!

The Nineteen year old stumbled backwards, ignoring the drop off that was slowly coming up behind him. He saw it again - the flashing, the constant reminder of why he had to get away from her. She looked just like …

“You’re going to fall!”

Too late, he’d fallen backwards already. It didn’t matter, he liked the feeling of falling; he liked the gap that was growing between he and the girl hovering over the edge of the drop off, reaching out her hand as if she could reach him. Her eyes had changed, they held something he couldn’t quite understand. All that he knew was the thing his mind kept telling him, the thing his chest kept lurching at the thought of as if he would throw up. She …

She looked just like ------.