Closing my eyes I glimpse tangents of atrocities past, the end result of the dogfights, the massacres at stargates and the blood that seemingly flows and tells a story in every asteroid belt I ever visited. I see the manufactured skulls of my enemies gazing straight back at me, these wild visions are haunting me. I see beautiful arch-like displays stacked like glorious trophies brought back from the battlefield.
The Angel of Death flies overhead, descends and kills, and then he goes. But he craves more and now his addiction to death and destruction is a mind-killer. No, a poison, of which the only remedy is more killing, more fuel for the machine.This is what violence does. This is what violence is. Give me more violence!
The room stank heavily of cigarettes. Dark figures moved against the pale unseen background, the darkness broken occasionally by the dark-green flicker of the monitors and the ends of lit cigarettes that glowed like little fireflies buzzing around the room. A loud boom and what sounded like a thunder roll echoed and then cracked outside. One of the Rebels rose from his seat, the light from his cigarette lighter bringing him into existence for a short moment before again he disappeared back into the darkness that snapped around him.
I broke away from my lazy daydreaming for a moment. It was time to get out of the office and execute retribution upon my enemy. Or at least die trying.
MB.
Nice!
ReplyDeleteActually MB I've been meaning to talk to you about the amount of smoking that goes on in the corp offices.
ReplyDeleteI mean I like a good cigar as much as the next quasi-psychotic leather clad pirate with an autocannon chain for a belt.
But......these constant clouds of stale smoke just make everything reek & the inability to smell if I've picked up a glass of quality single malt or some of Judge's paint stripper is seriously hazardous to a capsuleers current clone I'm telling you!
Saw Miura in local. Felt cool.
ReplyDelete