03-02-2010, 03:44 AM
It was eerie, sometimes, how bright the moon was. This was the half-Saiyan’s first thought as the elevator doors opened on the top floor of the parking garage, allowing full view of the night sky and the fluorescently luminous full moon above. He gazed up at it for a minute; no matter whether or not the doctor sent his cretin nurses or security guards after him now, he’d be able to escape—he was in a medium that he could control that they had no power over. He could defy gravity, he could fly forth and escape… they had no such talent.
It would eventually become apparent that scrub-wearing lackeys and taser-wielding brutes were the least of his worries.
For the moment, though, he enjoyed the view. He leaned up against the railing, gazing first up at the fully rounded silhouette of the moon which lit up the sky, and then down at the millions of lights that traveled below, in the streets of Central City. They enchanted him, the headlights and taillights of cars, the streetlights, the lamps hanging just inside apartment windows—every form of light on this crystalline night mystified him, hypnotized him. He felt his body grow numb, and suddenly realized that these distracting thoughts were destroying him from the inside out. He collected himself, leaning against the rail now for support instead of comfort, and clutched his forehead, fighting back unconsciousness.
If he was dying, he was not going to let it overtake him so easily. He would fight, and he would win. If there was one thing that Juno was, it was spiteful, and he would not let this thing just walk over him like a rag doll. He wasn’t the most tenacious person, but he was a Saiyan, and he was a warrior, and he would grapple with this illness until it forced him beneath the earth into his own grave. And he would find a way to defeat it once and for all—there was no other way. There was so much that he had unfinished, so much time he had left—he wasn’t about to waste it dying.
He regained his composure, finally being able to stand up straight but still clutching his head. He blinked, saw a flurry of movement, and then blinked again, attempting to get back what little focus he’d been able to hold on to—wait. What had that movement been?
He looked up, finally finding something else to distract him. Something had been there, just now, in front of him, but he had missed it. He moved forward to where the thing had been, swiping the air, attempting to see if it had activated some sort of cloaking device—no such luck, unfortunately, but as the half-Saiyan spun around dizzily, he caught something else, crouching on the railing opposite him. Slowly, the moon’s light illuminated the newcomer, which wasn’t, in fact, that human at all, from what Juno could tell.
His vision faded in and out of focus—damn it. Why couldn’t he get his head on straight, for Shenlong’s sakes? He squinted, faltering in his step, attempting to catch a clear picture of the gargoyle-like creature that crouched in front of him, staring intently, not letting its blood red eyes move from the half-Saiyan’s countenance.
The two stared at one another for over a minute, Juno finally regaining some semblance of vision but still breathing heavily from a strange sense of exhaustion. The robotic creation, as he’d surmised that it was, indeed, mechanical, from the blood-red eyes and sleek, silver skin, cocked its head after a little while, the first movement that the machine had done since the quick flurry past his vision a few minutes before. Juno caught his breath, slowly lowering himself into a wobbly fighting stance, just in case the creature was hostile and it just hadn’t revealed its hostile tendencies as of yet. Juno gazed at the thing; it seemed to be studying him, as if it was relating his appearance to some codex of information, confirming that this was, in fact, what he was looking for.
This reminded him eerily of Friend or Foe 3; he just hoped, for the love of God, that this thing didn’t try to stuff his head in a bag. If it did, there would be some problems.
Ha, Friend or Foe 3—good times. That had been the last time that he’d slept with a random Earth woman. Well, not the last time, but most definitely the last time he’d let one of them shove wine that could possibly be poisoned down his throat. Never again, he chuckled inwardly, never again. His thoughts returned to the moment at hand—this thing was here, to do something with him, he supposed, but what, he didn’t know, and at the moment, he didn’t really care. As long as it didn’t expect to carry him off to some other freaky game show, he was perfectly content at letting it stare luridly at him.
That was, however, before it began to sprint toward him. It happened suddenly; one of its feet lifted from the rail and landed solidly on the ground, and as it did, the robot began to run forward, stretching its arms outwards. Juno dove out of the way, rolling behind a sedan as the robot continued to run past its target, like a bull in a bullfight.
“Is that the best you’ve got, you hunk of junk?” Juno yelled, laughing. Suddenly, however, a robotic hand was coming at his face, and he moved away a split second before it collided with his face; the fist instead dented the metal of the sedan, and the car alarm went blaring. Juno stood up, raising his hands and backing up as not one, but two humanoid robots now approached him, one shaking a kink out of its wrist from the impact. “Come on, now, guys, we can talk this out, can’t we? I’m a smooth talker, you guys are—uh, smooth armored… we can work something out, I’m sure of it.”
“We are programmed to seek out the specimen and capture it,” one of the robots said in an almost creepy, mechanical monotone. Juno bit his lip.
“I’m guessing that means no negotiations?” Juno asked, and without waiting for a response, he turned, tripping over his own two feet as he went, and sprinted as fast as his crippled body could toward the railing, meaning to launch himself off of it and into the air. He could move faster in flight, he knew. The robots were too fast, however, and just as his hands began to vault him over the rail, he felt a cold syringe sink into his neck, and then slip out of the wound it had created.
Instead of being enveloped in a violet aura and flying away, he tumbled over the side of the building, falling headlong down towards the traffic of Central City below. He looked up to see the two robots looking over the side of the balcony, and laughed as he saw what he looked to be the biggest expression of disappointment they could muster cross their faces—he had escaped them, even though he was going to die to do it. Well, he supposed, this was definitely the way to go out—in the heat of battle, fighting for his life with an unknown enemy. His Saiyan ancestry would be proud, he thought. Not the most glorious battle, but hey, someone thought him important enough to kidnap, right? Dying escaping those people would be honorable—he knew it.
He’d see them all in the Afterlife—mom, dad, Sophia, Ares, maybe even that taxi driver that’d killed himself just to hurt Juno earlier in the evening. He cocked his head back and caught the time on the clock tower—seven minutes to midnight. Eleven fifty-three, on a day like any other, Juno Profeta fought for his life and died trying. That’s how they would tell it.
No such luck.
A cold, metal hand encroached upon his wrist, and slowly he felt himself jerk to a stop. Another hand grasped his leg, and he felt himself being pulled up onto a nearby floor of the parking garage. Juno cursed, looking up at the robots. He supposed he would have to be content with living another day, and if this was anything like when he’d been captured by the Friend or Foe people, fighting for his life in some weird game of chance designed by some even weirder evil mastermind. This was going to be some rollercoaster, he thought, chuckling. Ouch, it hurt to laugh. The robots stood over him, recording information into some mini-computer on their wrists.
“Hey,” Juno muttered, “Whatever you do, just don’t put some freaking bag on my head, alright?” Those were the last words he got out before he blacked out completely.
It would eventually become apparent that scrub-wearing lackeys and taser-wielding brutes were the least of his worries.
For the moment, though, he enjoyed the view. He leaned up against the railing, gazing first up at the fully rounded silhouette of the moon which lit up the sky, and then down at the millions of lights that traveled below, in the streets of Central City. They enchanted him, the headlights and taillights of cars, the streetlights, the lamps hanging just inside apartment windows—every form of light on this crystalline night mystified him, hypnotized him. He felt his body grow numb, and suddenly realized that these distracting thoughts were destroying him from the inside out. He collected himself, leaning against the rail now for support instead of comfort, and clutched his forehead, fighting back unconsciousness.
If he was dying, he was not going to let it overtake him so easily. He would fight, and he would win. If there was one thing that Juno was, it was spiteful, and he would not let this thing just walk over him like a rag doll. He wasn’t the most tenacious person, but he was a Saiyan, and he was a warrior, and he would grapple with this illness until it forced him beneath the earth into his own grave. And he would find a way to defeat it once and for all—there was no other way. There was so much that he had unfinished, so much time he had left—he wasn’t about to waste it dying.
He regained his composure, finally being able to stand up straight but still clutching his head. He blinked, saw a flurry of movement, and then blinked again, attempting to get back what little focus he’d been able to hold on to—wait. What had that movement been?
He looked up, finally finding something else to distract him. Something had been there, just now, in front of him, but he had missed it. He moved forward to where the thing had been, swiping the air, attempting to see if it had activated some sort of cloaking device—no such luck, unfortunately, but as the half-Saiyan spun around dizzily, he caught something else, crouching on the railing opposite him. Slowly, the moon’s light illuminated the newcomer, which wasn’t, in fact, that human at all, from what Juno could tell.
His vision faded in and out of focus—damn it. Why couldn’t he get his head on straight, for Shenlong’s sakes? He squinted, faltering in his step, attempting to catch a clear picture of the gargoyle-like creature that crouched in front of him, staring intently, not letting its blood red eyes move from the half-Saiyan’s countenance.
The two stared at one another for over a minute, Juno finally regaining some semblance of vision but still breathing heavily from a strange sense of exhaustion. The robotic creation, as he’d surmised that it was, indeed, mechanical, from the blood-red eyes and sleek, silver skin, cocked its head after a little while, the first movement that the machine had done since the quick flurry past his vision a few minutes before. Juno caught his breath, slowly lowering himself into a wobbly fighting stance, just in case the creature was hostile and it just hadn’t revealed its hostile tendencies as of yet. Juno gazed at the thing; it seemed to be studying him, as if it was relating his appearance to some codex of information, confirming that this was, in fact, what he was looking for.
This reminded him eerily of Friend or Foe 3; he just hoped, for the love of God, that this thing didn’t try to stuff his head in a bag. If it did, there would be some problems.
Ha, Friend or Foe 3—good times. That had been the last time that he’d slept with a random Earth woman. Well, not the last time, but most definitely the last time he’d let one of them shove wine that could possibly be poisoned down his throat. Never again, he chuckled inwardly, never again. His thoughts returned to the moment at hand—this thing was here, to do something with him, he supposed, but what, he didn’t know, and at the moment, he didn’t really care. As long as it didn’t expect to carry him off to some other freaky game show, he was perfectly content at letting it stare luridly at him.
That was, however, before it began to sprint toward him. It happened suddenly; one of its feet lifted from the rail and landed solidly on the ground, and as it did, the robot began to run forward, stretching its arms outwards. Juno dove out of the way, rolling behind a sedan as the robot continued to run past its target, like a bull in a bullfight.
“Is that the best you’ve got, you hunk of junk?” Juno yelled, laughing. Suddenly, however, a robotic hand was coming at his face, and he moved away a split second before it collided with his face; the fist instead dented the metal of the sedan, and the car alarm went blaring. Juno stood up, raising his hands and backing up as not one, but two humanoid robots now approached him, one shaking a kink out of its wrist from the impact. “Come on, now, guys, we can talk this out, can’t we? I’m a smooth talker, you guys are—uh, smooth armored… we can work something out, I’m sure of it.”
“We are programmed to seek out the specimen and capture it,” one of the robots said in an almost creepy, mechanical monotone. Juno bit his lip.
“I’m guessing that means no negotiations?” Juno asked, and without waiting for a response, he turned, tripping over his own two feet as he went, and sprinted as fast as his crippled body could toward the railing, meaning to launch himself off of it and into the air. He could move faster in flight, he knew. The robots were too fast, however, and just as his hands began to vault him over the rail, he felt a cold syringe sink into his neck, and then slip out of the wound it had created.
Instead of being enveloped in a violet aura and flying away, he tumbled over the side of the building, falling headlong down towards the traffic of Central City below. He looked up to see the two robots looking over the side of the balcony, and laughed as he saw what he looked to be the biggest expression of disappointment they could muster cross their faces—he had escaped them, even though he was going to die to do it. Well, he supposed, this was definitely the way to go out—in the heat of battle, fighting for his life with an unknown enemy. His Saiyan ancestry would be proud, he thought. Not the most glorious battle, but hey, someone thought him important enough to kidnap, right? Dying escaping those people would be honorable—he knew it.
He’d see them all in the Afterlife—mom, dad, Sophia, Ares, maybe even that taxi driver that’d killed himself just to hurt Juno earlier in the evening. He cocked his head back and caught the time on the clock tower—seven minutes to midnight. Eleven fifty-three, on a day like any other, Juno Profeta fought for his life and died trying. That’s how they would tell it.
No such luck.
A cold, metal hand encroached upon his wrist, and slowly he felt himself jerk to a stop. Another hand grasped his leg, and he felt himself being pulled up onto a nearby floor of the parking garage. Juno cursed, looking up at the robots. He supposed he would have to be content with living another day, and if this was anything like when he’d been captured by the Friend or Foe people, fighting for his life in some weird game of chance designed by some even weirder evil mastermind. This was going to be some rollercoaster, he thought, chuckling. Ouch, it hurt to laugh. The robots stood over him, recording information into some mini-computer on their wrists.
“Hey,” Juno muttered, “Whatever you do, just don’t put some freaking bag on my head, alright?” Those were the last words he got out before he blacked out completely.