Prologue: Storm Front
Every ragged breath ripped at him, a sharp stabbing deep within his chest. His heart exploded against his ribs as it struggled to push the blood through his body, attempting to get oxygen to his starved muscles.
He slipped on the rain-soaked pavement, unable to stop his momentum he sprawled hard against the unforgiving ferrocrete, scraping his hands and face, jarring his elbows. He felt the muddy water soak into the leg of his Berman-Wallace suit. The damn thing had cost him a month's pay and unless he got out of here, it wouldn't matter.
The thought drove him to his feet, even as his body protested. Flailing to find and keep his balance, his arms pinwheeling, the acid rain lashed across his face, causing his scrapes to burn as blood oozed out between his fingers. He'd gone down harder then he had realized.
Frantically, he looked around, he had to get off the roof of this parkade. This damn storm wasn't helping but that was Seattle in the fall and that was probably the only reason he still lived.
Something slammed into his back with concussive force, drilling through him, driving back to the ground, his face smashing the unforgiving pavement once more, shattering his jaw in two places and breaking his nose. His glasses had flown from his face and the briefcase he had been clutching sliding and skipping across the roof until it came to a rest.
He felt numb, it was an odd sensation given that mere moments before his body had been wracked to the pain of collapse, death even and now just numbness...no not quite, he felt warm and oddly sticky. It felt nice, he'd just lie here for a moment looking up at the clouds and the lightning, letting the rain revitalize him - only for a moment. Then he had to move, movement was life. One small thought clawed into his brain as he lay there - How'd he get on his back?
He could hear footsteps approaching, he had to move ... but just one more moment surely he had that ... as the shadow of a form fell over him, the last thought the sariman had was What is Project Morningstar and what did Dawkins have to do with it?
The shot was drowned out by the crack of thunder that rolled across Union Bay and Madison Park, the explosive round blew out the back of the target's head, causing an additional pool of blood to begin to form around the body. The man's brain had burst with the shot and leaked out with the blood, at least that which had not come out with the initial shot. It made the man smile, after all it made such a beautiful painting on the canvas that was Seattle.
Walking over to the briefcase he quickly jimmied the locks, popping it open. He let out a string of curses as he discovered that the case was empty. He did not know what Project Morningstar was and he wasn't paid to ask questions, he was paid to hunt...the information was not here, which meant his hunt continued.
For a moment the hunter paused wondering if the last words of his prey was relevant, he filed it away to look into but the hunter had never heard of any person, organization or team known as Dawkins.
As lightning sheeted across the sky, the hunter rose from his crouch.
The hunt continues!
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:28, Thu 07 Oct 2010.
