balance67

Neo Earth, Spectra Region, 27th century. Blue skies gape as mist floors the roads. Buildings loom over the public like ancient pillars drenched in silver. It is recorded as one of man's greatest assets....architecture.

But it is tied to a circle of redundancy, when it comes to mankind and the superficial desires of wealth, fame, and total conquest. This marks an ongoing period of a corporate deadlock between multiple firms, big military weapons, and the advancements in cybernetics. All of this, created by people, to serve the people as they bow down to the behemoths of yesterday and tomorrow. In regards of business and pleasure, their private existence was forcefully consolidated into a joint quest for supremacy because of the very construct and security the people yearned for from their own kind running nations and such.

Not all agreed with this silly and costly 'game'. However, they were destined to lose everything including life-long possessions, property, friends/family relations, and their wills. Within the downfall of those who cling to shards of morality and compassion for themselves and all that lay around them, battlefields raged with the march of man's secondary metamorphosis. Skinned to raw flesh and remodeled as machinations, they retained a partial segment of their humanity, but at the basest primal instinct: to maim others without any long-term fears.

Such bestiality had only one name repeatedly recognized by the weighted winds that flow in dire pain. They were Darknoids.

Random rampages resulted in mutilation, ligaments grazed like boomerangs and comets ignited by the red plasma. Howls of dead became dead and alive as new morbid dolls in contorted figures and hanged lullabies in the dusk. Earth below was bursting from its concrete seams and spires that tunnel amuck with energies aimed at destruction through epicenters of these transcendental columns, those that emit blood and sweat of people who have managed and interpreted their worth for generations. Finally, curtains of fire splashed over the latter of societal fortresses once impregnable and secure in travels and culture, embers roaring and claws of volcanic wrath burying those sacred, war-abiding, peace-preaching shadows in flesh, bone, and fallen reason. Desperate prayers were muted by the crush of balance, the gray that blends black and white together is lost, and two sides collide in battles and beliefs.

As it always was and will be, reality is the worst harbinger for news to people across the globe and throughout time. Humanity has divided due to its inability to acknowledge others, their views, but be able to properly defend themselves with evidence and physical logic. The pangs of war tend to make sense; the hope is that through extreme suffering, learning can take place for everyone, including those who hold on to their words and souls.

"Doesn't it suck to be you." a razor-edged, medium-toned voice muttered, the single ounce of undaunted humanity standing in the middle of unstable mounds of light and darkness.

The words belong to a man only known as Lyger. A third bounty hunter, a third detective, and a third snazzy speaker of iron-clad truth, he inspects and lessens the daily chaos. Even as he looks outside to the ruins through a halfway open window. A gentle zephyr twirled into the room, riveting the spike strands of his short, rusty azure hair. He was 6'2 and weighed 170 lbs., Lyger lumbering past his recliner where he once admired a festive nap. Brisk yawns layered out of his lips, the strong ridges of his fingers scratching the right oblique and creaky forehead. His tempered peach skin began to squirm quietly in its folds, a gaze shot in fluorescent beams with a hand stretched to a can of soda. And then, the phone rang its dull siren, incessantly buzzing off the metallic interface.

"Hmmm.....Sehsaul. Friggin' scumbag. Time to see what the little pansy wants!" growled Lyger.

He tapped a few of the frontal buttons and crossed his arms, a transmission portrayed with clarity in seconds. The face of an orange haired young man appeared, many flat strands lounging down to his neck to glisten in the light of his smile and aqua pupils. Lyger cracked the can, pressing his irritation inward to sigh.

"Hello there, Lyger!!! How's my friend doing?" wondered Sehsaul, his voice high and somewhat ethereal.

"I'm not your damn friend!" Lyger countered nonchalantly.

Sehsaul blinked his eyes and laughed.

"Ah, Lyger. You say those things to be tough. Ha! Ha! Ha! I fully understand." he said while nodding.

"Yeah, here! The testament of our little friendship..." the solemn man shouted, raising one middle finger to the screen for his 'friend' to see.