@effidora
It was dark- dangerously dark. Mitch was scouting, looking for people. People like him and the others in his camp.
He could hear the rebels nearby- too close for comfort. The loud thump of bass from rebel steros vibrated through the hollow buildings, coupled with the ocassional gun fire or yell.
But he knew these streets like the back of his hand- he must only have been a few streets away from his apartment. He didn't go there anymore, not since the camp opened, it held to many ghosts.
He was thinking about turning back maybe grabbing a drink at the pub round the corner. It was a bad idea- inclosed public spaces were a HUGE no no but it was much easier to hid his drinking problems outside of the camp.
That was when he heard it- two people. His hand flew to his gun, rasing it defecivly.
He stood- poised in the darkness, tenced for te rebels.
"Maybe he got taken too?"
"F U C K! He has to be here!"
Those weren't rebels. It was a girl who'd yelled- her voice sounding strained and desperate. These were exactly the sort of people he was looking for.
His feet pounded against the cracked concrete as he rounded the corner to where the voices had come from.
He turned onto the street, crouching back in the corner. He could just make out a talk figure in the distance, standing in the shadows of a doorway.
"F U C K THIS"
It was the girls voice again. He looked into the darkness, streining his eyes to make out what was going on.
It all looked eerily familiar- the way the shadows clung to the crumbling concrete buildings.
Then he realized- this was his street. It hit him like a knife in the back, twisting as each buirried memory resurfaced.
He leant back against the wall, his feet grasing the loose ruble noisily.
The figure in the distance whipped around.
His face knocked the wind out off him- Even in the dark he knew that face. It was Alex. He was here- he was alive.
He let out a startled noise. That was a posibly fatal move- he'd just blown his cover. He'd 'seen' Alex before- the chances of it actually being him were slim to none.
But this was different- it was his appartment- he was looking for him.
"Who's there?!" The figure called back.
Something was wrong- that wasn't Alex's voice.
"I'm not a rebel- are you A..." His voice failed-
The figure stepped out of the shadows, the girl following tentatively in the background- It wasn't Alex. He was far too young- his features to soft- but he did know him.
It was Marlow West- Alex's Nephew.
It was dark- dangerously dark. Mitch was scouting, looking for people. People like him and the others in his camp.
He could hear the rebels nearby- too close for comfort. The loud thump of bass from rebel steros vibrated through the hollow buildings, coupled with the ocassional gun fire or yell.
But he knew these streets like the back of his hand- he must only have been a few streets away from his apartment. He didn't go there anymore, not since the camp opened, it held to many ghosts.
He was thinking about turning back maybe grabbing a drink at the pub round the corner. It was a bad idea- inclosed public spaces were a HUGE no no but it was much easier to hid his drinking problems outside of the camp.
That was when he heard it- two people. His hand flew to his gun, rasing it defecivly.
He stood- poised in the darkness, tenced for te rebels.
"Maybe he got taken too?"
"F U C K! He has to be here!"
Those weren't rebels. It was a girl who'd yelled- her voice sounding strained and desperate. These were exactly the sort of people he was looking for.
His feet pounded against the cracked concrete as he rounded the corner to where the voices had come from.
He turned onto the street, crouching back in the corner. He could just make out a talk figure in the distance, standing in the shadows of a doorway.
"F U C K THIS"
It was the girls voice again. He looked into the darkness, streining his eyes to make out what was going on.
It all looked eerily familiar- the way the shadows clung to the crumbling concrete buildings.
Then he realized- this was his street. It hit him like a knife in the back, twisting as each buirried memory resurfaced.
He leant back against the wall, his feet grasing the loose ruble noisily.
The figure in the distance whipped around.
His face knocked the wind out off him- Even in the dark he knew that face. It was Alex. He was here- he was alive.
He let out a startled noise. That was a posibly fatal move- he'd just blown his cover. He'd 'seen' Alex before- the chances of it actually being him were slim to none.
But this was different- it was his appartment- he was looking for him.
"Who's there?!" The figure called back.
Something was wrong- that wasn't Alex's voice.
"I'm not a rebel- are you A..." His voice failed-
The figure stepped out of the shadows, the girl following tentatively in the background- It wasn't Alex. He was far too young- his features to soft- but he did know him.
It was Marlow West- Alex's Nephew.
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