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 The wanderer of worlds

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Entrak
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PostSubject: The wanderer of worlds   Wed Aug 21, 2013 3:01 pm

Arrival. (Rough draft.)

In the beginning, it was chattering, some louder than others. Some paid attention to the row of five, clad in black robes and white wigs, sitting arced out on an elevated, wooden podium, as old crows, perched high on the branches of the tree of justice, shelling out their verdicts, each caw a sentence of treacherous doom upon the downtrodden, weary and ironclad peasantry below.

Others, paid no heed to the verdicts themselves, nor the souls of the damned. Cameras, forbidden of streaming as they were, permitted only for one verdict, were idly monitoring the ongoing grim ritual of enacted justice over traitors of the land, the country, the nation.
Few were the words of mercy heeded, spare a child, demented, feral, with legs trembling under the weight of the gravitational forcefield keeping shackled, twice her size, in check with ease.

Whom she was, noone willed an thought of knowledge, a street rat, not right in the head. Bit three cops in an alley, ripped five fingers off, one heavily wounded in the groin, with extensive surgery needed, only to pee from a tube. Why she was in the alley was none of interest, nor that the force of the beating had derived her of what mental strength she once, perhaps extraordinary, possessed. She was alone, the justice three, none bashing an eyelid to her sentence of five years behind bars.

The vultures interest, circling high above the crows, on balconies, in the perimeter of the central circle of justice, called for an beastial wrath, one that made the floor around the girl wet, with a heavy laden stream of bloodied pee, as trembling legs buckled and sent the small frame down onto the floor, only to be forced up onto bloodied knees by force, the tattered shirt tearing around her neck from the pull.

She looked a man in the eyes, the target of the shrieking, hissing and curses from the masses, the embodiment of justice seeking laymen. Within moments, it was streamed live, idle cameras diligently focusing, recording every pulsating vein, each droplet of sweat, each and every sign of one who was deemed to be terrified of what would come next.

Nothing. Eyes steady, the heart-rate sensors barely flickering above what one would expect of one going to a dull, corporate meeting at 4:30 pm on a slow friday, after an even slower week of dreary work.
Standing with a straight back, shoulders low, hands resting in a comfortable fold, the gaze remained on the crows, an expression of boredom, a lack of interest and, as it would seem, a total lack of respect of the enforcement of justice erupting from the lowest corner of the crows, dark, dark bowels.

Murderer, slaughterer, rapist, the list grew in line with the vultures hoarse shrieks of ways of prolonged torment against the soulless one. Counting the numbers, this man, if he could be called such, reached three figures with ease. In a time of a global war, such as it was, this was not uncommon for soldiers, where the push of a button and willed guidance of heavy ordinance could level playing fields of combat with ease, especially when every non-allied humanoid was deemed valid targets.

To the dismay of the crows, the vultures and the rest of the onlookers, the actions described, the crimes, the horrors, the onslaught of innocents, was towards allies of his own. Them.

The ground shook. First once, silencing the least vocal. The second made the crows lose focus for a moment, tossing nervous glances towards the ceiling. There was no third and as the verdict was to be spoken, a flash of deafening proportions, glistening heat and white light erupted somewhere up around a pillar and before the split second it took for it to end, one of the balconies in the center arch, exploded into blood, cybernetics, clothes, chairs and screams.


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