☣ OOC: Dream ☣
He saw the world in its entirety. And then only half.
Shrill shrieks beat with a throbbing force against his eardrums. Beyond the darkness, his mind only focused on that. His sensors delayed, and he didn't immediately notice the harsh raw scratches in his throat. That's when he realized that it was he who was screaming, and those cries rose in a crescendo as the pain exploded through his hand into the back of his eye socket.
His eyelids fluttered, but only one opened. Blood flowed from his face, gushing through his fingers in thick streams and spilling into ever expanding pools onto the ground beneath him.
His screams ceased, throat too dry and tight to utter so much as a whimper.
With his palm glued to his useless socket, he lifted his head. Through his single green eye, his could make out another in the distance. Crimson dominated the scene. The hair, smattering of he-didn't-want-to-know lay everywhere - the lack of clarity nothing less than a blessing.
He squinted, the effort futile as the more he tried to see, the less he could. The muscles running down his neck tensed, and all he wanted to do was scream, shout, call out, but he couldn't make a sound. And then the figure slipped away.
Smoke rose from the ground, waving and curling in thick tendrils, until gray overshadowed his line of sight. The tainted air filled his lungs, but rather than coughing or gagging, a rush of euphoria overtook his senses, washing away any lingering pain and momentarily settling his mind in a calm state of serenity.
The gray expanded and thickened until the scene deepened into pure black. He could hear his own voice, once again screaming, though this particular line of obscenities shooting past his lips had nothing to do with the former incident.
His eye opened. His jacket and hair beat loudly against the wind he created, breaking through the air by pushing his legs as hard as he could. His muscles strained and ached, but he knew that he couldn't very well stop. No matter what.
A shower of bullets had him leaping, and he could only count it as sheer luck (because it sure as hell wasn't skill) that they all whipped past him without touching him. Turning his head so that his chin touched his shoulder, he saw a car full of older men, half hanging out the windows with guns aimed at him.
"Leave me alone, you old bastards! Give peace a chance! Go on vacation and relax! RETIRE FOR FUCK'S SAKE!" Lifting his free hand, the redhead flashed the overstuffed car his first two fingers, to which the men responded with another automatic round of bullets.
"Oh, Jesus mother fucking Christ!" His other hand clenched around... something. He had no idea what, and considering he refused to slow down, he didn't really care to give it much thought either. All he knew was that the item he grasped was extremely important, more than likely the reason he had an entire gang on his ass and shooting at him at that moment. Just as he couldn't stop running, he couldn't let go of whatever the hell it was either.
Heaving breath after breath, he forced his feet to sprint at top speed. A slight chuckle escaped his lips, but there was no humor lacing his tone.
Approaching a corner, he snapped around it as swiftly as possible, his long jacket shuffling behind him. As he shot down the alley, he glanced over his shoulder again, laughing a little louder under the assumption he actually turned too quickly for them. However, the sudden screech of wheels and the subsequent trail of bullets ricocheting off the walls around him soon proved just how wrong he was.
"Ah, fuck me." His features slumped. At this rate, it appeared he would be losing fuel long before the car did.
But as he burst out of the opposite end of the alley, a bright figure off in the distance caught his attention. At the rate he ran, he couldn't make out anymore details than a white blur, but just seeing the person gave him a renewed vigor. "Hey! You!"
The other turned toward him, and he could make out bright red eyes. "What is it now?"
"DON'T 'WHAT-IS-IT-NOW' ME, YOU UNKILLABLE ALABASTER ZOMBIE DICK!" Approaching the pale figure, the redhead snatched him by the shoulders, thrusting him toward the pursuing car and crouching low behind him. "SAVE ME!"
Squeezing his one eye shut, a series of gunshots and explosions rattled around him. He could tell from the way his self-proclaimed human shield jerked that he had been hit a few times, though that didn't worry the redhead in the least.
A loud boom shook the area around them, followed only by the sizzles of exuding smoke. Slowly, his eye opened, peeking over his pale savior's shoulder. The car lay on its side, smog waving from the engine, all the occupants dead or fleeing.
With a much more bemused laugh than the previous, he took a step back, pulling his jacket open and stuffing away the precious unidentified item, a pack of cigarettes replacing its position against his palm instead. Removing one with his lips, he grinned and patted his pockets for his lighter. "Woo! That was fucking close."
With a flick of metal, the lid of his lighter snapped open. His thumb rotated once, but before the flame met the end of his cigarette...
BAM!
The smoker was on the ground, a boot on his face planting his head to the concrete, with much greater strength than someone who had just been shot should have displayed.
He flailed wildly. "What the hell, man?!"
The other figure dislodged his foot. "Dammit, Eyepatch. I am so sick of cleaning up your messes!"
"Hey, hey! You shut up! I'm the one that risked my mortal fucking ass getting the damn thing." Sitting up, he pulled out another cigarette (the previous destroyed by the kick) and shoved it into his mouth, muttering various complaints through gritted teeth as he cupped one hand in front of him to block the wind and light it.
"And it was your job. Not mine."
Flipping the lighter shut, he slipped it away. The redhead inhaled the fumes deep into his lungs, smiling as he removed the cigarette with two fingers to ash to the side and blowing the smoke at his rescuer. His eye remained shut, and despite just running from a carload of gunners only to get kicked in the face, he felt light, like he hadn't a care in the world. "Teamwork, man. Teamwork."
Shrill shrieks beat with a throbbing force against his eardrums. Beyond the darkness, his mind only focused on that. His sensors delayed, and he didn't immediately notice the harsh raw scratches in his throat. That's when he realized that it was he who was screaming, and those cries rose in a crescendo as the pain exploded through his hand into the back of his eye socket.
His eyelids fluttered, but only one opened. Blood flowed from his face, gushing through his fingers in thick streams and spilling into ever expanding pools onto the ground beneath him.
His screams ceased, throat too dry and tight to utter so much as a whimper.
With his palm glued to his useless socket, he lifted his head. Through his single green eye, his could make out another in the distance. Crimson dominated the scene. The hair, smattering of he-didn't-want-to-know lay everywhere - the lack of clarity nothing less than a blessing.
He squinted, the effort futile as the more he tried to see, the less he could. The muscles running down his neck tensed, and all he wanted to do was scream, shout, call out, but he couldn't make a sound. And then the figure slipped away.
Smoke rose from the ground, waving and curling in thick tendrils, until gray overshadowed his line of sight. The tainted air filled his lungs, but rather than coughing or gagging, a rush of euphoria overtook his senses, washing away any lingering pain and momentarily settling his mind in a calm state of serenity.
The gray expanded and thickened until the scene deepened into pure black. He could hear his own voice, once again screaming, though this particular line of obscenities shooting past his lips had nothing to do with the former incident.
His eye opened. His jacket and hair beat loudly against the wind he created, breaking through the air by pushing his legs as hard as he could. His muscles strained and ached, but he knew that he couldn't very well stop. No matter what.
A shower of bullets had him leaping, and he could only count it as sheer luck (because it sure as hell wasn't skill) that they all whipped past him without touching him. Turning his head so that his chin touched his shoulder, he saw a car full of older men, half hanging out the windows with guns aimed at him.
"Leave me alone, you old bastards! Give peace a chance! Go on vacation and relax! RETIRE FOR FUCK'S SAKE!" Lifting his free hand, the redhead flashed the overstuffed car his first two fingers, to which the men responded with another automatic round of bullets.
"Oh, Jesus mother fucking Christ!" His other hand clenched around... something. He had no idea what, and considering he refused to slow down, he didn't really care to give it much thought either. All he knew was that the item he grasped was extremely important, more than likely the reason he had an entire gang on his ass and shooting at him at that moment. Just as he couldn't stop running, he couldn't let go of whatever the hell it was either.
Heaving breath after breath, he forced his feet to sprint at top speed. A slight chuckle escaped his lips, but there was no humor lacing his tone.
Approaching a corner, he snapped around it as swiftly as possible, his long jacket shuffling behind him. As he shot down the alley, he glanced over his shoulder again, laughing a little louder under the assumption he actually turned too quickly for them. However, the sudden screech of wheels and the subsequent trail of bullets ricocheting off the walls around him soon proved just how wrong he was.
"Ah, fuck me." His features slumped. At this rate, it appeared he would be losing fuel long before the car did.
But as he burst out of the opposite end of the alley, a bright figure off in the distance caught his attention. At the rate he ran, he couldn't make out anymore details than a white blur, but just seeing the person gave him a renewed vigor. "Hey! You!"
The other turned toward him, and he could make out bright red eyes. "What is it now?"
"DON'T 'WHAT-IS-IT-NOW' ME, YOU UNKILLABLE ALABASTER ZOMBIE DICK!" Approaching the pale figure, the redhead snatched him by the shoulders, thrusting him toward the pursuing car and crouching low behind him. "SAVE ME!"
Squeezing his one eye shut, a series of gunshots and explosions rattled around him. He could tell from the way his self-proclaimed human shield jerked that he had been hit a few times, though that didn't worry the redhead in the least.
A loud boom shook the area around them, followed only by the sizzles of exuding smoke. Slowly, his eye opened, peeking over his pale savior's shoulder. The car lay on its side, smog waving from the engine, all the occupants dead or fleeing.
With a much more bemused laugh than the previous, he took a step back, pulling his jacket open and stuffing away the precious unidentified item, a pack of cigarettes replacing its position against his palm instead. Removing one with his lips, he grinned and patted his pockets for his lighter. "Woo! That was fucking close."
With a flick of metal, the lid of his lighter snapped open. His thumb rotated once, but before the flame met the end of his cigarette...
BAM!
The smoker was on the ground, a boot on his face planting his head to the concrete, with much greater strength than someone who had just been shot should have displayed.
He flailed wildly. "What the hell, man?!"
The other figure dislodged his foot. "Dammit, Eyepatch. I am so sick of cleaning up your messes!"
"Hey, hey! You shut up! I'm the one that risked my mortal fucking ass getting the damn thing." Sitting up, he pulled out another cigarette (the previous destroyed by the kick) and shoved it into his mouth, muttering various complaints through gritted teeth as he cupped one hand in front of him to block the wind and light it.
"And it was your job. Not mine."
Flipping the lighter shut, he slipped it away. The redhead inhaled the fumes deep into his lungs, smiling as he removed the cigarette with two fingers to ash to the side and blowing the smoke at his rescuer. His eye remained shut, and despite just running from a carload of gunners only to get kicked in the face, he felt light, like he hadn't a care in the world. "Teamwork, man. Teamwork."