All the shapeshifting of time and light of labs while being strolled by many medicals all around, numbness with unclear vision to the light ceiling, the wheel's bed stops, with many lights across the newly lit room. They are looking at me; the eyes stare into the soul, resting on the bed. The ambient that's not fit for any human is unbearable; it’s painful yet calm and in rivers. speaks of man on the sides, the feelings of penetration on the vein of the arms, with the edge slashing the exposed skins, each cut, each incision, but it feels like cutting the skin of meat, nothing, no pain with just tingle sensation. With another movement, the memories blur, but a giant light appears with it—a sudden sick feeling, the pain that erupts on each nerve. I can’t; I can’t think.
All I saw was light, flickering about, as then, the skin of my arms was pierced by many knives, as additive fluid courses my ways, all the pain was then numb, as well my mind i feel like they can see everything of me with the continual surgery, I can feel every bit of it, yet it was flowing dance of lullaby lucid dreams, vision tripping all colours all corner, all entity, watch about, hand touch me more and more, as then, all went as dark abyss took me in.
Cold and sweats, remind me of the jail room of one hell, flickering light that buzzes all around, with the fan blowing from warm days to cold night, non stops. A safe space for me all for myself all for me, that was it, nothing to bother, nothing to come, just waiting for my awaiting sentence of eternity, as that’s the conviction of a crime against a monster like me. But all the last time I saw, that clouded trenches, all the body of the lost soul filled apart, those eyes, his eyes were similar to that. Things. Now, it is nothing but darkness lullaby.
A man sitting on a bench in a facility, where lying in front of him is a swirling hole in spaces, where matters are on the side as if looking into a black hole, wearing a trenches jacket with darkened hair and a heavily stubbled beard, his eyes were almond brown and he looked tired as all-time with dark skin under the eyes. A buzz was felt on the waist, rummaging through the pockets and a phone in a navy blue case rang, placing the phone to the ears.
“How’s the result of 004?” He questions with a stark, rough throat.
The caller replies to a man behind the phone.
"When 004 entered the portal, the planktonic effects were very minimal upon contact with the mages, it seemed like one of those individuals.”
He sighs.
“Be straight, straight to the point.”
“Well, uh, he doesn’t have any source or affinity towards the founder's aura at all, his eyes were also not affected or changed as this is the 127th one we’ve recruited with this problem; as the command already noted, his designation on the scale is. Charlie, I can’t do anything about it. Sorry, for you to hear it.”
A calm sigh was noted as the wind blasted into his surroundings.
“Yeah, thanks; I’ll keep an eye out for him. Good luck.”
Wake up on the beds, light dimly on what seems to be a green wall barracks of some sort, the floor is dirt with many beds unclaimed in rows, a person armed in black is beside you with a mask and helmet, with an armed rifles string beside it and with body armour clean and tidy. The person moves without your notice.
The person called in the radio across its body armour; it was speaking in a foreign language, possibly weird, strange French of sorts; it sounded mumbled by the gas mask the person wears but sounded feminine. The nodding appears on the black soldiers.
He tries to speak to the remainder of his body, but the mind scrambles as pain strikes the nerves around it, causing the headache that occurs. Nothing can come to mind as to what is happening; all thoughts are free to drift to interpretation.
As the talking of the strange mixed French stops, ending with a nod, before the radio closes in lines with a buzzing end, the person looks into your eyes; all you can see is just a Goggle that stares black or abyss, empty to glimpse. The person unholsters the M4 Nato rifles, looks at you and then speaks in English with a clear and perfect tone of relief.
"You are ready; you might get a headache, but everything else seems clear to go; you are Lite, right?” The way she talks as if we’ve met before, let alone seen. Lite, that name, what happened, why now and why in this moment.
"Yes, I’m Lite.” His response was in a low tone, his face still emotionless, with the headache passing away slowly. With it, she shifted her head to the roofsand as seconds passed, looking back at you, still holding the rifle beside her, forgetting those black goggles, she let out her answers.
“ Well. If you have some headache and pain, that is fine; that always happens in these corner parks. Anyways, you’re now part of the Colonial 7 Division of the 5th regiment of Company 4. Welcome.”
She plays it with an informal demeanour and a warmer tone. Even so, your veins contract, the pressure goes on and with the need for more air and gasping more, the feeling of headache happens once more, slowly as is. Inner thought monologues on with no one to suppress it.
"Company, what, why I'm here, what is going on?” His heart couldn’t keep up as tension rose and he frantically spoke with a slight shiver.
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The person holding your hand feels coarse and rough as the glove is heavily wormed and beaten; even then, the touchdown was gentle as feathers.
"It's fine; make yourself home; this will be dormant for quite some time. Wanna explore a bit? Get some fresh air if you wish.“
As it happens, the response says something about it. His heart was slowing, the headache and thoughts were flushed by fountains and his eyes were staring forward to the walls in front of him before laying his head on the bed and taking deep breaths. His eyes were lowered and swallowed, though the pain continued. The eyes slumber, stopping every thought before the dark abyss eats all within.
Eyes open up in the slumbers, the air now chilled, the headache long gone by. Then, looking around, the person is gone, empty and quiet, alone in the barracks, as chilled air runs through the rooms, standing up on the single beds. The rooms are quite spacious for an average barracks, with each having a blinder that covers three-sixty views. The bed is very well made, with drawers on each of the beds, putting the body to the right side, some combat shoes were already there and his socks were already fitted in. His breath was calm and cold, with his heart still in question. Putting on the black tactical boots,
It fits perfectly, with the size neither too big nor too small on some parts. Standing up from the beds and squatting to see the small drawers, you can see some papers with unknown language that can’t be interpreted or recognized. Leaving it be, with him standing up, the concrete floors are clean enough. Looking around the barracks, it is quite spacious and has 10 beds all around and a double door on both ends.
Walking towards the doors, a sudden sound of creaking with a swing behind, the sounds of heavy boots stepping between, but the air suddenly moved at a fast pace, the steps that bypassed sounds, the hint of air that travels at an inhuman speed. Looking back, a person was standing there, wearing a white snow camouflage hoodie and cargo pants, black boots and a red glove. The air stopped moving as the person was in the middle of the room. The eyes glow within, casting a white highlight light glowing with unnatural allusion. The man stood there, his hair was black and dark, short and messy, his face looked like it was from eastern culture.
“Your eyes,” his face was uncertain about the inhuman nature of itself.
“You are new here. It seems as if they put a new bed in as well. Welcome to the camp. Codename Lite, right?” His eyes half down while standing in the middle of the rooms, the air now warms as the doors close behind him.
“Yeah. I’m Lite, Gregory.”
His tone roughened up as the two stood. His eyes opened a little before he smiled a bit and crooked his head with it.
“Right, welcome to Camp Beta on the southeast side of Rajjyuk. Do you want to try to move around on campus?” His demeanour warms up the now-stable air.
“Who are you.?” You asked while walking together to the front door of the barracks.
He slightly chuckles and replies with
“I’m Kyoroi Ganto, codename ‘Lizard’. I'm a beta fire team leader. It seems like you are still on static; no worries; they will probably move around; we have two new cadets and you are one of them; let’s meet them; they will be back.”
The silent barracks are now filled with sounds other than air that bypass the silence; the inside now feels as if it were at home.
As the doors open by him, the outside is now slimmed down, as the sunsets settle between to change to the nightly skies of the universe of mystery. The barracks were more of a bunker shelter as they were dug deep into the grounds, with a catwalk on the front and a side-deep ditch that led to left trenches and rights.
The sky was yellow and the clouds were thin compared to the vast outcast of the blue-to-yellow gradient that crossed the skies. Looking around, there was a small bunker beside a trench with an ammo box and shooting point, facing the sun, where a road of gravel traversed the semi-hilly horizon. Far away, in a spacious area, there are many single hangers and barracks, but it’s shallow with silence and windy air that breeze around.
Continue walking in front of the barracks. A shooting range, empty but still capable, walks up towards the gun range with little buildups of snow all around, the air freezing the skin to dust.
He looks behind him.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot that you don’t have a jacket, they will get back soon with your new ones, for one, you have to wear that white fatigue.” I walk to a small range, maybe as far as thirty metres, as the counting of snow continues, coming close to the table of ranges. After stepping in the standing gun post, a table up front with a metal target far away looks a similar number of times to come across a noise of memories that speaks spark of flames.
Kyoroi pointed a rifle holster at him at all times. AR-style rifles are made of man-made machines. Kyoroi handed the rifle to Lite, pointing to a particular red-painted head far from him.
"Can you shoot that target over there? There is a four-scope scope on it, already calibrated; just follow the dots." You look at him as if I know how to hold the weapons of the other country. As the wind rises, you take an aiming shot, resting the gun on the table. The wood is quality to the touch and feels heavy and sturdy from the bolt-well lubricant.
Taking a shot, the dot, the metal head and the red surface that was painted were aimed with the help of magnifications.
You take a shot.
As the bolt rushed in, the dense metal interior of the machine flipped and the sound cracked before and before, the spring actions to the small but important hammers, releasing it to the impending explosion of hellfire pressure, the hammer came in contact with the sensitive delighted primes, smacking the springs, firing up the inside, the controlled explosion occurs, with the silver case marking on chemical touch bright with magma reds, the bullet with the marking of hell fire upon to the exit with the enchanted circles sprung into the directions of the barrels, marking of alchemical gods, reaching and aiding you spring into actions the bullet runs through the airs, burning the oxygen that runs around igniting anything around it, the molten bullet rush by and hit the redheads, a small explosion occurs with the smack of metal sounds as a fiery explosion and littered places raining metals all around the still cold snow pileups.
With the echo ripples in the air to the land and mountains not far away, you look beside you. A smug was concluded from him, unbothered.
"Wow, nice shot."
What, was that