The touch of your hand brings me to the brink of my last breath. The promises of the Shadow King, slick words that linger on your lips, never verified as authentic, come across as cosmic lies; abbreviated testament to his lack of a purpose beyond serving himself. And yet I breathe, reminding myself of how, but not why.
The length of the building remained intact despite the blast from the asteroid impact. Due to plenty of advanced warning, the building had already been evacuated, although that worked out for the best for Antonio. The spry youngster enjoyed defying the odds, primarily since he wasn’t old enough to grasp the consequences of his actions. Sure, sneaking around and collecting valuable items like laptops and jewelry could be profitable, and the likelihood of being discovered was near zero, Antonio found the freedom to move about as he liked more enjoyable than the prospect of stealing property.
She spread her wings, tipping her golden feathers in the light of the rising sun. “I promised,” she screeched. “You shall see my name writ across the sky in fire.”
A great push from craggy talons and a strong downing of golden wings launched her from the peak of the mountain, out into the cold morning air. Murder in her eye and ice in her heart.
Some said that she was predisposed to an affinity for the dead because her own mother had died shortly after birthing her. Others thought it had to do with the museum her grandfather started, filled with dead things. Some said it was her name. For her part, Tourmaline, a name for the color of night, didn’t believe any of it. She’d been too young when her mother died for her to remember her, and the museum burned down before she was even born. Still, her affinity for those who’ve passed beyond the pale couldn’t be denied. Nor would she want to disavow those she considered her closest friends.
He stepped into the sphere. When the opening irised shut behind him, the sphere pressurized which made him yawn to unstop his ears. Hate that. Once in the lotus position, he donned touched the dark control panel in front of him. The board lit up with a series of colored lights that coalesced into a single white circle, just the right size for his thumb. His print scanned, Marcus relaxed. He’d learned the hard way not to tense up, to resist. The transition from meat space to virtual on his first transit had given him a wicked headache. Better to let the sphere do its thing: projecting the immersive images on the inner shell, pumping in ambient noises from the 3-D speakers that surrounded him, convincing himself he was someplace other than where his body sat.
“Game on,” he said.