Heroes Of Blood, Sam (Part VII). November 10, 2020, New York. "I missed you, Jamal ..." "You, too, I miss you, little friend ..." Jamal holds her own and makes a strong so that the back of her press on his broad chest and tight. With his left arm completely encircles the shoulders, dry lips and then slip on her hair to her neck while she can feel the warm breath on human skin. Surrounded by him, seems to disappear into the slight smell of sweat that makes you remember, as in a dream, what it means to stand next to a man of flesh and bone. Vivo. In part, lying in some sitting on the bed, have taken a confused but very natural.
She swallows and keeps his hands wrapped around the man's arm that keeps to himself. The look inhuman, dense black that time had dimmed, he recovered a spark that is hardly Shrew.
"What did I miss?" "A lot of things." "They said you were dead, Ghost ..." "I've been for a while '..." Sam continues to breathe so cautious and controlled, even when his old friend the slips on the lips with a damp cloth. He opens his eyes, but does not see anything that is not the complete darkness in which it is accustomed to sleep. Outside her apartment should be no guards. Perhaps they have heard.
"Do you feel tired?" Now
eyes close them, Jamal's voice she never seemed more enticing, contact with a person ever so hot. Try not to breathe, and shake for a while ', as he gently pressed the cloth on the mouth and nose.
Then she closes her eyes and surrenders to his warm, reassuring hug. It 's a heavy sleep, and without nightmares. A sleep in which he could not go down, now, a year and a half.
Jamal slides his handkerchief soaked in chloroform in his pocket and a knife behind his back, leaving Sam lying on the bed.
went to the window, and then throw it open ends of faces, taking two gestures with his arms wide, coordinated. Attach the handles to the jambs of the window, then threw the rope to the climber's kit BMT, impossible to find on the market and now rare even on the black market. He and his gigantic size are the counterpart, or perhaps towed: slowly but surely pulling on a lowest weight for its strength. It 'an oriental young, tight, which gives a hand and pulling up with a jerk.
She stumbles, slams a foot and grits his teeth not to complain loudly. It takes a torch and lights it, pointing to Sam. The slide on his legs, arms, touching them and then turn the face lifting an eyelid to study the eye. So with a sigh, she steps back and gets back straight, focusing. It becomes more pale, feels a certain discomfort with her bones being slightly shorter and slightly thicker, his face changing, one open already healed scar on his right cheek. The eyes, the most difficult, imperfect in the first two attempts fail, and only the third take on a credible depth.
The man approached the bed and gently picks up Sam, set up and caricandosela him with the same gentleness that you use with a newborn. Ayame Kojima helps him to wear the vest and tie on Sam Creed. He looks at the leader of former rebel mutants, then its copy. Twisted his lips, and murmurs a few words before you dive through the window.
"I do not like her at all, sweetheart." * From: central administration A: Will Fiumevento Subject: leave early Dear mr. Fiumevento, The governments of the new United States of America is grateful for the work he has consistently done in the service of free information and the establishment of the central organ of information. We are pleased to inform you that his services are no longer required, and that the government has decided to give her a residence in New Jersey, where you can enjoy all the benefits of his lavish retirement. The government also advised to keep away from New York to questions about his own safety. Secretariat of the Central * They drugged.
He has complete confidence, otherwise he would not see what you are seeing. He closes his eyes trying to ignore the sounds that touch the ears. Nothing of what I see and hear is real, he thinks. Nothing of what I see and hear is real. I have to think about the reality I have to think rationally, I have to stay focused.
He opens his eyes when suddenly the sound of a slamming door makes her jump. He looks around nervously, with bated breath, while seeking the source of the noise, but closes his eyes again when he hears a laugh and fierce female who knows all too well, or at least knew.
What am I doing here, think again.
I was asleep. I was sleeping and then someone took me from behind. I was asleep, Jamal took me behind, I recognized because I saw a glimpse of his eyes. I was asleep, Jamal took me behind the dark I could not teleport. He took my shoulders and I was asleep. Jamal I was asleep.
Why?
Then a bright light and the eyes are reduced to two pins, a confused look to focus on the silhouette of the man who goes to her. A man from an unusual feature, illuminated by a light that looks natural light, warm. She puts his feet on the ground and, when acknowledged, rushes forward against him, roaring. Stumble before reaching it, realizing only then to have one foot shackled to the floor. The watery eyes, a physiological reaction to all that light, all that anger. Open her mouth but he is far too confused to be able to articulate any sound.
He sits in front of her, looks from top to bottom with an inscrutable gaze, absent. As if not to see her.
"Sam Creed." only says, his voice soft and dull. It almost seems to be inadvertently slipped between his lips and shining light. Looks like the fucking spot a bubble bath, she thinks Sam Creed, and is surprised to be able to formulate a thought as complex in those conditions.
"When I go on. I will kill you all, Stansfield ... " murmurs, and her voice hangs in the throat like sandpaper making them ill.
"I do not think that will go away." "Go to hell, you're more struck me ... what the hell you gave me?" Leon Stansfield says nothing, looks like you watch a curious insect that you do not understand the trajectory, the logic.
"SAY WHAT!" "The same thing that the MCU used for the massacre of the School Blast." The voice comes from behind Leon, Sam Creed, but finds it difficult to recognize, at least until you notice how her face is illuminated by two dark-green eyes glaring and unnatural.
Jamal Williams, straight from hell, he sits and watches from top to bottom, with a martial toughness in every gesture. He was a soldier once, and was also a human. Now those days seem so far away that the change can hardly remember them.
"Soon we will open our shapeshifting, Blast, so I'll make you the questions once. Then I need to get the answers. I guess you already know Leon Stansfield - is serious, his voice did not rush -
Stansfield he has learned to control the energy in a way. To move it, store it in certain places. And to take it. " Jamal moves and the look on Leon nods. Leon slams eyelids, turns his head towards Sam Creed. That tight young body writhes and moans from the pain of weakness, so unexpected, so brutal.
Jamal makes another nod to Leon. Leon blinked, Sam Creed feels vague though his forces to return.
"The question is this: we intercepted communications you have with the laboratories of the New Government, we know that all resources are concentrated on a single project, which is called in your files 'SafePORT'" Sam Creed smiles and pointed out in that state of malaise atavistic even when it meant SafePORT Safe Harbor, and was pronounced by his people with the hope that one day become the refuge of every mutant free.
"What does 'SafePORT,' Blast? Why are all your resources are going to end up there? " Sam Creed smiles, a smile that comes from feeling ripped from his lips to die for a few seconds, then returns to normal by Leon notes with interest that the with which you look at a scientific guinea pig. He wonders how he died, Stansfield, now one thousand miles away from the perception of himself that he once had.
"It will be a long night, Jamal." promises her voice hoarse and pained, ready to feel on their skin all the pain that no one has ever dared to return.
* Anja looks Blast, Blast looks at the floor, on the threshold of a door that opened with difficulty, to look out after numerous entreaties of his companion.
"Soul, are you okay? They told me that you deleted all your commitments today ... " " Yes ... yes ... - Ayame fixing the tiles, the tiles remain in place -
nothing serious, but today I feel like doing I sent a lot ... ... " the searches by Anja head to foot, looking for signs of disease. E 'paler than usual, perhaps, and his accent, his accent has become more sweet.
"Okay. Do you want me company? You need something? " " No, no ... thank you. " " I'll leave you alone then ... " " Okay, thanks. " Ayame began to close the door, Anja but firmly, ask a faint smile and encouraging.
"Hey Soul. Next year ... " and stops, waiting for her reply.
Ayame emulates the same smile, opens his lips and repeated, showing signs of having understood:
"yes, next year, Anja." 's face Anja Jarldottir back seriously grim. Her every muscle strains, and the hand that held the first door is pushed forward, displacing Ayame who stays behind, bewildered. Anja does not recognize that look, shakes his fist and arm the charge, a crashing blow on the face of the one person who has sworn to remain faithful until death. The eastern collapses, stunned, not knowing to be the expendable element of a plan at a huge cost.
Anja looks from top to bottom, with contempt.
"I do not like her at all, sweetheart. " * * *" I will stand by looking, you know? " " Nobody knows you're here, but us. Nor do you know where you are. " " How did you do? " " To do what? " " To survive. How did you do? " Her voice is uncertain, bitter as ever full of sorrow at this loss and not uttered curses. Confused under the watchful eyes away from Leon and Stansfield, slowly trying to focus in a way that can make them feel so close to dying, and a moment later to give her relief, breath. Carries the energy in his body, a different type of energy that normally is able to perceive and manipulate her, he plays with his vital energy. With his energy, and that's it, tore out suddenly to make you feel weak, so weak as to have eyes too dry to cry.
In one of the rare moments of relief, however, say it. Talk knowing that they will be able to repeat those questions. Talk to the spontaneity of a person sentenced to death will not have time to repent, he speaks. It asks.
"How did you did survive, Jamal? " " I survived, I told you. I've been dead for a while '. Then I was alive again. I do not know how. " " ... What was it like to die? " effort in speech that is more sensitive in that husky voice and dragged like never before.
"I do not remember. But I remember how it was back to life. " "How ...?" "Duro. Painful even in the slightest movement: breathing, the heart that pumps blood into the veins. It hurt all a terrible evil. But at least I did not remember anything. Remember it was the worst part. And all the memories, Sam, the most terrible was yours. " "..." "Do not you understand? It 'was like reliving it all over again. The dream of Kahiwa. The desire to have a home, a home, just government. And then gradually start to remember what had changed all that. " " In ... in ... what? " " In a regime, Sam. You took the dream where you were led to believe all of us, you've changed and you made us believe again it was the same thing. And we have believed you, because you taught us to do so. Because we trusted you. But when Marv is dead ... " She moans angrily, almost shouting not to listen. He raises his voice, obstinate, and his words are binding as the hands of an assailant.
"Since Marv is dead you are no longer the same. You've become a cruel and ruthless, you have forgotten the promises that we had done. Have you forgotten us, yourself. You have taken away the only person who remained, who has seen you grow, that made you grow ... " " had betrayed us all! " "He understood where you were going before anyone else." "was weak. I did not need him! ", roars with all the force of anger.
"Yes Sam, I needed it. Shit, what you needed. " " I ... I trusted you ... " " Not me. Not anymore, anyway. " Those eyes green lights appear on the skin black coal.
Stansfield Leon looks at her, she knows that is going to blink and groan, and retired pushing against the wall with knees pressing on his chest, trying to disappear inside herself.
"No, no, please, stop ... ... I'll tell you one thing, I'll say ..." Jamal raises his hand, Stansfield looks away, obviously distracted by other thoughts.
"Tell me." Creed Sam hesitates, looks at him wanting more than anything not to feel that feeling again. It keeps him close to his energy with his arms collected in the chest, as if time just grab between your fingers to prevent being stolen. Wait until you can, until you see the two green lights aimed at her, but when run on Stansfield spits the only words that should not have said.
"I have a chip." Two green lights that become wider.
"I have a chip localizing the base of the neck, I've made implant after Cameron ran away." noises are heard from behind the door, screams. Jamal turns with eyes wide open, caught out. If there was something I never thought were possible, is that Sam Creed did localizing a chip implanted in his head.
Leon Stansfield for a moment seems not to understand, then once he's head towards the door. Then back to Sam Creed.
Jamal growls, standing up like a fury and a thin tear accumulated corner of the left eye of Sam Creed slips on the cheek, the scar that marks the passing.
"You're fucked, assholes." *
November 14, 2020, Venice Beach, California.
Bloody hell, Ian Baldwin would pay not to die while in Venice Beach. Anywhere, any place: at the heart of New York in a hopeless battle in Atlanta on a suicide mission in a remote village in South Africa, in the Iraqi desert, a ship to the Australian coast, in a sewer in Athens ... everything, every damn place would be better to die there in, Venice Beach. Venice Beach, damn the world, the Venice Beach once full of old hippies, radical-chic, anarcho-capitalist, homosexual-libertines, surfers, for trans liberation, lesbians as a hobby, post-feminist, vegetarian moralists, baywatchers, Salvationists sly, celebrities bored, cyclists.
Cyclists. He had always hated the damn cyclists Venice Beach, pedalanti into the future, pirates of the road with the salt in my nostrils stuck no matter how "pure sea air" breathing.
could not, could not die and be thrown together with hundreds the thousands of cyclists died of Venice Beach. In a sense, enjoys thinking now all piled up together to the rats on the street corners, with their good lung full of salt and their healthy and balanced lifestyle, a bowl of cereal in the morning with coffee and a fruit, a light lunch and a dinner in the name of some weird ethnic food. A past life to avoid biting into a sandwich as Christ commands, and now they stood there, dead, neither more nor less than everyone else, because of the virus, the virus that had not spared anyone since the planes of the New Government had covered the city to clear the snow and light. SafePORT, Ian had read on their wings, and a few days after the Safe Harbor's death had already received half of the Sapiens of California. Perhaps the entire U.S., who knows. But there were more.
were exterminating them. Ian Baldwin was aware of being a witness and victim of the greatest genocide in history, and could not do anything. He could only cough, vomit blood, feel the fever rising, wondering if he would have died strangled by his own vomit as Malakian. Reese also wondered why he could not die, even to get sick half as much as they were ill. Coughing, but rarely, pretending not to see what was going on around two hundred and fifty million human beings among recent deaths and deaths in the future. And he alive, thanks to the "gene recessive mutant, "someone said. The virus did not affect the mutants. SafePORT was just for humans: a gift, the capital of Kahiwa, in exchange for America. A big, huge America soon empty except for corpses.
Ian Baldwin did not lower his eyes when his bionic eyes stopped seeing him. He stood with his eyes wide open to the sky, while other aircraft carrying the cold comfort of a safe harbor.
*
November 14, 2020, Ryker's Island. The firing squad, armed with guns and still pointing straight toward heaven, standing in front of Jamal, but the mutant seem to be enough to override, despite having his hands tied behind his back and a wrist bracelet inhibitor. But it was a military man, so keep your chest out and look at his performers with pride, while Sam's Creed is approaching the last time.
The time is approaching and you tend to touch him on his toes to bring her face to his ear.
"SafePORT is a virus designed to attack only genezero. If estimates are correct my men and destroy two thirds of the human population in the U.S. within six months. " The plan says, whispering, and green eyes peering Jamal who, while wanting to remain indifferent, shaking a moment thinking about the magnitude of the disaster.
"You're crazy" shocked murmurs, staring ahead of him.
"I am lucid. I sped up the evolutionary process, only this. What sense would have had to wait four ... five generations, to achieve the same result? " " You're crazy, Sam. You're a monster. " She sighs and moves his face following the trajectory of the black of the offender. Her soft mouth settles the extreme corner of his lips, a kiss posandovi heard but incomplete. He stiffens, remaining motionless as a statue.
"Farewell Ghost." It dodges back side of the firing squad. She sighs and makes a gesture with his head.
Jamal Williams's chest is filled with red stars.
(Continued ...)
