11-20-2009, 01:20 AM
The all-too-familiar high pitched beeping that emitted from Alexander’s collar echoed in its shrill melody throughout the small, bare room in which he had confined himself. He had no idea as to why he had chosen this section of the massive bunker to brood; it was a miniscule room that was absent of any furniture or any sign of life whatsoever. The tiny quarters resembled a jail cell in its monochromatic emptiness and its dark, depressing undertones. He sat in the corner with his back resting against the ninety-degree intersection of the two walls and with his legs sprawled loosely across the floor before him.
A shaking hand reached towards his face and, ever so gently and cautiously, wiped at the salty stream of tears that dribbled slowly down his defined cheekbone. In his other extremity, held securely between his fingers, was a picture of two people in front of a coffee shop. Alex was one half of the couple who, in the wrinkled, worn and seemingly crumbled photograph, had his long arm securely around the shoulder of a beautiful blonde whose hand rested lovingly across his chest.
He reached for the bottle inside his jacket, but stopped before his fingers could clutch the flask’s cold steel. Confronting his problems meant addressing them, not covering their shallow grave with gulps of whiskey. His hand trembled and he closed his eyes as he gripped the container and twisted off the top. The golden brown liquor slid down his throat with such ease and, after taking a few more swigs, he wondered if he had the will power and the tenacity to confront his issues.
And then he was whisked away.
A soft breeze descended down from the surrounding mountains and swept through the flat surfaced valley. The air was warm, unlike the frostbitten, howling winds of the arctic tundra, and was comforting as it ran across his fair skin. His hazelnut eyes shrank beneath the encroachment of his furrowing brow and his traditionally calm and collected visage contracted into taut wrinkles and pursed lips. Inhaling deeply through his nose, Trafford basked in the warmth of the mountain air as it filled his lungs. And then he exhaled, it was time to go.
Alexander gripped the cushioned handle of one of his twin gold-plated Desert Eagles. The menacing saiyan was closing in on his position now and had unleashed an enraged war cry, not that the young telekinetic was worried. He had one goal: to eliminate this obstacle as quickly as possible and continue with his soul-searching investigation of Dante. He could not be bothered by such trifle things as adrenaline fueled roars.
Bending his knees, the well-dressed competitor leapt unfathomably high into the air over his opponent. Vad immediately came to a halt and gained his bearings, tracking his opponent as he arched over the saiyan warrior. As he projected himself, Trafford slowly flipped end over end and rotated one hundred and eighty degrees, so that when he landed he would be facing Zulenka’s exposed back.
Alexander landed in a crouch before doing the last thing that Vad expected, he rushed forward towards the saiyan. Zulenka began to spin around, bearing his elbow deep into the young man’s exposed ribcage, but he would not be in time. Trafford latched his hand around his opponent’s throat and pressed his high caliber handgun into the small of his back. He began to squeeze the trigger, but was interrupted by a strange, foreign occurrence.
The flesh on Vad’s neck began to retract and seize violently and the skin grew taut around the bulging muscle. The jugular artery underneath the flesh on the side of his throat began to pulse exponentially faster. Alex recoiled, not understanding what had happened. As he pulled back he could see the vibrant blue aura of the saiyan warrior wrapped around his left hand and arm, before it flashed to gold and receded within his body.
Trafford immediately flashed his gaze towards his enemy, who seemed visibly fatigued after the unexplained event. Alex, on the other hand, felt surprisingly refreshed. He felt so revitalized that he failed to notice the saiyan’s enormous fist closing in on his face.
As the flesh-and-bone hammer crashed violently into his check, the young telekinetic, on instinct and blind reaction alone, finished squeezing the Desert Eagle’s sensitive trigger.
Trafford stumbled backwards from the blow, tripped on a rock, and fell, without any trace of grace, onto his ass. A cut opened on his cheekbone, and began to vehemently cascade blood. Vad, on the hand, took the explosion from the energy augmented slug directly in the stomach and, as the fire and smoke tore away at his clothing and his skin, was sent onto his backside in a very similar manner.
“You punch pretty well for someone whose -,” Alex mocked his opponent as he lifted himself off the ground, but was quickly cut off by his foe . . . or lack of one. Vad had gone and vanished again.
“What were you saying?” The saiyan snarled in Trafford’s ear. Why was it when someone disappeared they were always guaranteed to reappear behind you? And why was it that you never noticed this transition? It defied the laws of physics.
“Shit . . .” Alex whispered. He didn’t even attempt to dodge the attack. Zulenka laced his hands together and rained the meshed bone against the back of the younger man’s neck, consequently causing him to stumble forward and double over.
Vad moved again, this time manifesting himself in front of the injured competitor, and drove the tip of his knee into Trafford’s exposed face, landing directly on the previous wound. Alex ignored the immediate consequences of the attack – specifically the immense amount of pain that raced through his damaged skull – and leapt backwards, the ground beneath his feet providing a minute explosion that shot him into a safe retreat.
The saiyan didn’t advance, but instead remained in a combative stance, his glare locked on the smug grin of his bleeding opponent, the young telekinetic. Trafford’s eyes met his foe’s unblinking stare. He noticed the warmth of the breeze once more, but he didn’t let it distract him. He was beginning to respect the ability of his enemy to seemingly warp from place to place, leaving holograms of his former self behind as a diversion. If he let his attention divert from this saiyan for a moment, he allowed this foreign warrior the opportunity to strike – and that was something he could not allow.
He had to win. He did not understand why, and he did not understand how, but, in his gut, he knew that there was something on this island; some presence that would help him confront the darkest depths of his soul.
Trafford dropped his gaze from Vad Zulenka, the menacing saiyan warrior, to the ground before him. Slowly, he raised his hands and, as they became parallel with the ground, with his palms facing the sky, every loose object within the battlefield radius rose in accordance with his command. His opponent rushed forward, but was met halfway with an exploding boulder that, as it struck him, dropped him immediately. He leapt to his feet, but opted to not try the same tactic twice. Instead, he vanished once more, but, as he reappeared and found there to be no safe ground, he vanished again, and continued to flash around Trafford’s peripheral vision.
Every pebble, every grain of sand, and rock, and boulder that had once lay strewn uselessly across the mountainous regions sole flat surface now began to hum and glow a bright shade of gold. Random segments of earth began to glimmer as well; faint orange circles seemed to appear across the spectrum of the battlefield.
“Dodge this!” Alexander shouted, and, as if on command, everything exploded. The risen pieces of earth began to jet around the innards of the stasis dome, searching illogically and continually for their target. The ground beneath their feet erupted like a thousand miniature geysers, sending billows of smoke to the roof of the energetically charged and protected stadium. Fiery tongues of red, orange and yellow leapt up around the arena, trying desperately to reach the clever saiyan.
And Trafford stood still, letting chaos violently consume the world around him. He brought a Marlboro to the corner of his lips and lit the tip with a wink of his eye. As the smoke filled his lungs he could only think of two things. First, that he must win this battle with the blood lusting saiyan, and, second, that this situation, this circumstance, it was beautiful in a poetically tragic way – all this destruction, all this violence, and for what? Did it accomplish anything? Was it necessary? He could not be sure, but he knew one thing . . .
It felt damned good.
A shaking hand reached towards his face and, ever so gently and cautiously, wiped at the salty stream of tears that dribbled slowly down his defined cheekbone. In his other extremity, held securely between his fingers, was a picture of two people in front of a coffee shop. Alex was one half of the couple who, in the wrinkled, worn and seemingly crumbled photograph, had his long arm securely around the shoulder of a beautiful blonde whose hand rested lovingly across his chest.
He reached for the bottle inside his jacket, but stopped before his fingers could clutch the flask’s cold steel. Confronting his problems meant addressing them, not covering their shallow grave with gulps of whiskey. His hand trembled and he closed his eyes as he gripped the container and twisted off the top. The golden brown liquor slid down his throat with such ease and, after taking a few more swigs, he wondered if he had the will power and the tenacity to confront his issues.
And then he was whisked away.
~~~*~~~
A soft breeze descended down from the surrounding mountains and swept through the flat surfaced valley. The air was warm, unlike the frostbitten, howling winds of the arctic tundra, and was comforting as it ran across his fair skin. His hazelnut eyes shrank beneath the encroachment of his furrowing brow and his traditionally calm and collected visage contracted into taut wrinkles and pursed lips. Inhaling deeply through his nose, Trafford basked in the warmth of the mountain air as it filled his lungs. And then he exhaled, it was time to go.
Alexander gripped the cushioned handle of one of his twin gold-plated Desert Eagles. The menacing saiyan was closing in on his position now and had unleashed an enraged war cry, not that the young telekinetic was worried. He had one goal: to eliminate this obstacle as quickly as possible and continue with his soul-searching investigation of Dante. He could not be bothered by such trifle things as adrenaline fueled roars.
Bending his knees, the well-dressed competitor leapt unfathomably high into the air over his opponent. Vad immediately came to a halt and gained his bearings, tracking his opponent as he arched over the saiyan warrior. As he projected himself, Trafford slowly flipped end over end and rotated one hundred and eighty degrees, so that when he landed he would be facing Zulenka’s exposed back.
Alexander landed in a crouch before doing the last thing that Vad expected, he rushed forward towards the saiyan. Zulenka began to spin around, bearing his elbow deep into the young man’s exposed ribcage, but he would not be in time. Trafford latched his hand around his opponent’s throat and pressed his high caliber handgun into the small of his back. He began to squeeze the trigger, but was interrupted by a strange, foreign occurrence.
The flesh on Vad’s neck began to retract and seize violently and the skin grew taut around the bulging muscle. The jugular artery underneath the flesh on the side of his throat began to pulse exponentially faster. Alex recoiled, not understanding what had happened. As he pulled back he could see the vibrant blue aura of the saiyan warrior wrapped around his left hand and arm, before it flashed to gold and receded within his body.
Trafford immediately flashed his gaze towards his enemy, who seemed visibly fatigued after the unexplained event. Alex, on the other hand, felt surprisingly refreshed. He felt so revitalized that he failed to notice the saiyan’s enormous fist closing in on his face.
As the flesh-and-bone hammer crashed violently into his check, the young telekinetic, on instinct and blind reaction alone, finished squeezing the Desert Eagle’s sensitive trigger.
Trafford stumbled backwards from the blow, tripped on a rock, and fell, without any trace of grace, onto his ass. A cut opened on his cheekbone, and began to vehemently cascade blood. Vad, on the hand, took the explosion from the energy augmented slug directly in the stomach and, as the fire and smoke tore away at his clothing and his skin, was sent onto his backside in a very similar manner.
“You punch pretty well for someone whose -,” Alex mocked his opponent as he lifted himself off the ground, but was quickly cut off by his foe . . . or lack of one. Vad had gone and vanished again.
“What were you saying?” The saiyan snarled in Trafford’s ear. Why was it when someone disappeared they were always guaranteed to reappear behind you? And why was it that you never noticed this transition? It defied the laws of physics.
“Shit . . .” Alex whispered. He didn’t even attempt to dodge the attack. Zulenka laced his hands together and rained the meshed bone against the back of the younger man’s neck, consequently causing him to stumble forward and double over.
Vad moved again, this time manifesting himself in front of the injured competitor, and drove the tip of his knee into Trafford’s exposed face, landing directly on the previous wound. Alex ignored the immediate consequences of the attack – specifically the immense amount of pain that raced through his damaged skull – and leapt backwards, the ground beneath his feet providing a minute explosion that shot him into a safe retreat.
The saiyan didn’t advance, but instead remained in a combative stance, his glare locked on the smug grin of his bleeding opponent, the young telekinetic. Trafford’s eyes met his foe’s unblinking stare. He noticed the warmth of the breeze once more, but he didn’t let it distract him. He was beginning to respect the ability of his enemy to seemingly warp from place to place, leaving holograms of his former self behind as a diversion. If he let his attention divert from this saiyan for a moment, he allowed this foreign warrior the opportunity to strike – and that was something he could not allow.
He had to win. He did not understand why, and he did not understand how, but, in his gut, he knew that there was something on this island; some presence that would help him confront the darkest depths of his soul.
Trafford dropped his gaze from Vad Zulenka, the menacing saiyan warrior, to the ground before him. Slowly, he raised his hands and, as they became parallel with the ground, with his palms facing the sky, every loose object within the battlefield radius rose in accordance with his command. His opponent rushed forward, but was met halfway with an exploding boulder that, as it struck him, dropped him immediately. He leapt to his feet, but opted to not try the same tactic twice. Instead, he vanished once more, but, as he reappeared and found there to be no safe ground, he vanished again, and continued to flash around Trafford’s peripheral vision.
Every pebble, every grain of sand, and rock, and boulder that had once lay strewn uselessly across the mountainous regions sole flat surface now began to hum and glow a bright shade of gold. Random segments of earth began to glimmer as well; faint orange circles seemed to appear across the spectrum of the battlefield.
“Dodge this!” Alexander shouted, and, as if on command, everything exploded. The risen pieces of earth began to jet around the innards of the stasis dome, searching illogically and continually for their target. The ground beneath their feet erupted like a thousand miniature geysers, sending billows of smoke to the roof of the energetically charged and protected stadium. Fiery tongues of red, orange and yellow leapt up around the arena, trying desperately to reach the clever saiyan.
And Trafford stood still, letting chaos violently consume the world around him. He brought a Marlboro to the corner of his lips and lit the tip with a wink of his eye. As the smoke filled his lungs he could only think of two things. First, that he must win this battle with the blood lusting saiyan, and, second, that this situation, this circumstance, it was beautiful in a poetically tragic way – all this destruction, all this violence, and for what? Did it accomplish anything? Was it necessary? He could not be sure, but he knew one thing . . .
It felt damned good.
![[Image: alext.jpg]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v234/waffuru/alext.jpg)