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Chapter 1: The Beginning
If you don't make waves, no one will know you exist.
He had remembered tales of the old days. The days when they rode with their heads held high on large war horses, with swords and daggers, each of them covered in a thick coating of blood, and each of them being looked up with great respect. The horses, the men, the screams they heard each night bellowing across the skies. He called them tales because they were so muddled into his head that he couldn't tell whose tales they were, or if they were real or a story he had thought up and made real.
They were respected back then; they were known as the rightful rulers of the Earth. The humans knew their place. They knew they were lower, inferior, and not one of them stepped out to revolt against such beings holding power a hundred times greater than their own. However, over time, it seemed the superior species had de-evolved back into the inferior, weak homo sapien race. Their centers had folded in, but those who watched this change grew disgusted; so disgusted with their own race diving back into what they had become greater than that they killed themselves to show their scorn. Their scorn showed some, and others followed like lemmings, diving off of one cliff to the next with no clue as to what they were doing, whether it would help or harm.
Things were more modernized this time around. The once honored races were smothered into the vast pool of humanity and asphyxiated on human ways, and human looks; what was right and what was wrong, which way to look. The homo sapiens themselves knew not of what sat and waited just beneath their own humanity; they thought of the forty-six and two, the next reach of evolution, but they had not known it already occurred. Others, on the other hand, small groups of humans knew about these superior creatures, but never embraced them to be part of their evolutionary chain. Instead, they hunted them, and combined efforts to bring their differences into light: to inspire a great racism across the globe. That is what they wanted, but they had no idea there were also groups of these creatures not willing to comply to the pacifist ideals most held. Some fought back, but they were always silent, invisible wars; barely anyone but the creatures knew of these wars, these fights, even when bodies showed up in the newspapers and television broadcasts.
Some of the cities were bare. People left in the middle of the night for safer homes, safer places to live without having to be interrupted by hunting groups sought after their children, or their husbands or wives. The Kae had been around for a while; a few centuries had passed since its creation, but it did not promise one-hundred percent pure cities, or protection from invasions. The Kae itself was a ring; a selection of cities designated to be superior species safe, where most of them could live out their lives in perfect peace. The Kae was run underground, as a society, and lists were sent to certain governmental groups; mayors of sorts, varieties of places designated to be safe. Lists of cities were made, but it was not just the safe places that were noted, the most terrifying cities were also listed, color coded, given a percentage on who would be killed or hunted if they so much as stepped into the city. These streets, however, were still full.
He could see them from the sidewalk, teeming at night, moving in groups and generally having a good time using the darkness to their advantage. Just across the street they were gathering around a night club, some getting in while others held their ground outside and spoke to others. They looked strange to the human eye, but the human eye would have most likely also believed them to be costumed. The city was alive at this time of night, and it was beautiful to see such spectacles happening where one could walk on the sidewalk without being jabbed in the side with a rifle's head.
They seemed genuinely happy, chattering away as some of them passed him on the street, ignoring everything but their inside comfort felt with their friends. Some of them were young, maybe no older than fifteen or sixteen, prowling the streets with glee. Most of the shops were open late; they got the most business during these times; after all, during the day the streets were almost completely empty and the vast majority of inhabitants slept through the day.
Some cars passed on the street, just doing their normal routine maybe a little above the speed limit, but the aura of this place was of a positive degree. It seemed everyone in his view was having generally a good time. The bar in front of him was packed, and as he walked forward, people pushed the door open and flooded out, each excusing themselves for cutting him off. Cars were parked up on the sidewalks where they shouldn't have been, but no one cared enough to tow them. Even the alleys were hot spots for some kids to hang in, and as he passed one, he caught glimpse of a pair of children signing their names with a spray can onto the brickwork of one building.
This city was definitely a hot spot for activity. They loved it here. They had everything they needed protected by their barriers of stone fencing, with barbed wires on top. Of course, it was no real security, but it gave them the feeling of seclusion, like a medieval castle having its own city inside its walls. They felt protected by the force that didn't move, so they flocked here, and the companies loved it even more. They built everything for these people; they built malls and taverns for them, clubs and apartments and parks coming out of the pure amount of spent cash in this one place. Billboards were hitched to the taller buildings, every once and a while advertising something new, and posters, although only hanging on halfly, were attached to the walls with tape, staples, and glue. Some fliers littered the ground, but no one seemed to notice even if their city was a little dirty.
Another car rolled its way into the street, stopping a few feet ahead of him to roll down its windows. Whoever it was must have been lost and required directions to get out of this place before some children jumped out in front of the car and began tagging it. That was not so, however, and he had to stop walking to watch this unfold. The car stopped, and the driver's side door opened quickly, the door flying out and a darkened figure stepping out with something in his or her hands. Holding a long object.
Now was the time to run. He could see it before he could hear it; flashes of light emerging from the object the person held, illuminating the face of the figure momentarily as they pivoted, people that were once happy and careless now scattering in all directions, but some not so lucky as to be able to escape fast enough, their bodies jumping back and shaking against the walls of the buildings. Doors closed fast, and screams shook his ears, along with the loud but sputtering plosive sound of the machine gun the figure had brought into this city. They hurt so much, the screams. The shook his head and drilled into his skull until it felt as if his eyes would burst forth from his face and escape out onto the asphalt. He needed to get away from this screaming, and turning fast to jump into the alley he had seen the graffiti teens in earlier. He had seen the fire escape clinging off the side of the building, and now thought of this as a good escape. He would go off the tops of the buildings, as far away from the screaming as he could get, despite how inviting the new aroma of blood was.
The screaming would not cease. The eerie screeching sound continued just as the bullets did, exploding one after the other, always overlapping with more than one. He had glanced in back of him momentarily to see others wanted to follow, also rounding the corner with horrified expressions. Another gunman also followed, different from the one he had seen before, shorter, maybe, plowing down each person as they tried to exit in a hurry. The entire alley was sprayed, and he felt the familiar feeling of hurt in his back. He had been hit, but he hadn't fallen like the rest. Most of the screaming had ceased, but it had still persisted in his mind; that drilling, that goddamned drilling echoing in his mind. He could hear the squeal, and he wanted it to end.
So he stopped running and turned on his heel to meet his pursuer, still emptying round after round into those who had fallen, maybe five or six of them, still having metal pieces ground into them hard enough that blood sprayed back onto their murderer. They hadn't seemed to notice, however, that they had missed one. Now the stench of blood was so ripe on his tongue, dancing in his mouth that he wanted nothing more but to taste it; to feel the warmth on his tongue. This man would deliver it, whether he wanted to or not.
He gravely stepped forward, the murderer raising the gun to his chest, letting a sloppy grin of what they thought was finalization slip off of their lips, then pulled back on the trigger, pumping one bullet into the next into his living flesh. He felt it, digging deeply into his organs and burning his insides with friction, and he felt his body leaking, and some of the metal pieces ripping out of his back to make slight sounds as they projected onward and hit metal or asphalt. It felt good to have his body ripped into pieces, and it did not deter him from coming closer; closer so he could feel the pieces shatter his insides with more force, until the pursuer was empty of bullets and full of fear. This one looked ripe.
But they could not run, they had turned to, but could not find themselves to move. Another nameless and faceless, another one he leaped from ground to throat, ripping at flesh and bone and tissue with his fingers and teeth, tearing pieces and hearing a much better cry fill his ears. The drilling would stop, soon, with the silence of the men.
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