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2:00AM February 13th, 2010
London, United Kingdom
London, United Kingdom
"Wake up!" The voice cut through the din of several computer fans. It cut to the core of a sleeping form, who remembered not too long ago a night where waking up had been waking up to a loved-ones death. Good god, the night was the worst.
"I'm up..." Colby replies, not as sleepy as his body truly was. After all, it hadn't been but an hour ago that he had laid his head down to rest. "Whats wrong Papa?" Several years removed from the streets of Boston, had replaced that oh so durable accent with one more suited to his environment.
The light remained off, and the moment Colby's hand reached out to turn on his lamp, he'd find the stony fingers of his Papa grasping them. "No light.. they'll know we know..." However many years the older man had spent amongst the Brits, he had remained wholly American, not struggling at all to hold tight to the roots that held him stead-fast against adopting the dialect of the UK.
Those words stirred fear up in Colby's heart, and what little sleep remained in his body was cast away. A million questions rang through his head. Who was it? Where they after them because of something he had done? Who the hell did he owe pounds to? Not enough that they'd come knocking on his door at two am. Not enough to scare his papa. And surely not enough that it couldn't have been settled at a decent hour. "
"Get up...get dressed..." in the blue-lit haze of his room, where routers and monitors sent color-cast shadows to the far corners of the room, emerald occulars could make out the shape of a shotgun leaning against his dresser... a pistol in his Papas hand. It was hard to keep a look of disgust from creeping along his visage. "Move quickly Colbs or we're in trouble..."
Getting up quickly, he grabbed at the nearest pair of jeans that littered his floor, tugging a t-shirt over his head and mussing his own hair up. Not that it seemed to matter to him. Try as he might to stay calm, a part of him was starting to ring bells of panic. There was danger. Danger enough to get the Old Man riled up, so riled up that he had produced weapons Colby didn't even think existed in this house-hold. Danger to himself. Possibly mortal danger, his throat tightened and he raised a finger as if to say something, decided against it and curled his finger again. Wallet...phone.. he could tell his papa was getting agitated.
"Well tell me something damnit... soddin' hell what twit is in our home?" He hadn't realized that his papa was muttering something in a tight-lipped whisper. And when he stood, Colby felt like he was staring at the deepest-darkest part of a man's soul. His tongue licked over his lips and he moved to speak again, before he felt a heavy hand rest on his shoulder.
"Those things, that you never knew about me...about the world.... those things that go bump in the night... they're real." And for a second Colby was caught between trying to stifle a laugh, and consider wholeheartedly whether his Papa had finally had his walnut cracked and then he was staring at the barrel of a shot-gun. And there was no laughing, there was only wide-eyed and true fear that seeped into his bones. "Duck."
There was no hesitation as he dropped to his knees, his hands going right to the back of his head, like he had been mugged more than once. And not a second later, the Shot-gun boomed fire. The door shattered. And flung into the far wall was a dark-skinned male. "My god! Bloody murder!" Colby hollared his jaw slackened and he turned hurriedly trying to get to the fallen man. Only to find the old man's hand grasping his shoulder and quickly moving through the door. The dead man sat up.
Deadly black eyes looked across the thin space that separated them. But Colby wasn't going to ever forget that face, forget the way the folds overlapped, the way the brow was too big and large teeth jutted from the mouth. A demon. A sodding demon. BOOM
One without a head. For long moments, Colby stared in silence at the headless corpse, as he felt a rough-hand lifting him up. Papa's cane...where the fuck was Papa's cane. "Move it Colby, the basement... now.." He heard the cocking of the shot-gun behind him, and a dull throb as he was hustled forward. Into the cramped hallways of their flat, where he was thrown side-long into the wall by his Papa. Where with a single hand a shot-gun was raised and fired at another one of those demons. The recoil that should have kicked back that sturdy arm of the old man seemed to never come. Was this real? Gods help him this was an intense dream. Better than any flick he had seen in months.
Again he was being throttled forward, and again and again some evil thing would find itself the target of that shot-gun. Whether it was being swung like a bat, or shot like it was a pistol. The entire event was a blur. And when finally they got to the basement, when finally his Papa had locked the door, throwing whatever pieces of furniture there were against the door... Colby finally said something...
"And you had me move your entire living room set... all by my lonesome."
This finally caused a smile to crackle over his grandfathers lips. "I don't have much time..." The old man said, and the moment the lights came flickering on, Colby understood why. During the movement down, several dozen wounds had been inflicted. Colby's eyes burned red. He was crying. As the old-timer fell into a chair, groaning angrily. "A lot to cover, a lot you need to know... we don't got that kinda time though... so heres a crash course."
It was not half-an-hour later that the rumblings no the door got more vicious, that the steely-gray eyes of the old man, whose balding head and taut face cast into a frown. "I got one more in me kiddo..." He stood, shambled over to a wall, and Just like that there was an uncovered door.. "Go..run far, run fast. Hide. Like I said...there are hunters out there, find 'em... they'll find a way to keep you safe..." The door shattered, and Colby found himself being thrown through the doorway Found the thing collapsing beyond him, and found his fists striking the dirt to try and get back in. Several shot-gun blasts later...there was nothing.
Nothing but pavement beneath his feet, fear cluttering in his heart. The dead were walking. They littered the shadows, they lived in the darkness... beyond that, they were in the dark of peoples hearts.
Colby couldn't tell where he was going, or how long he'd go till he knew he was safe. A part of him was sure there wasn't a place to be safe. A part of him was rebelling against his own legs, be damned if he could live a life without some semblance of feeling safe. Be damned, if he couldn't find a way to... to... get revenge? The idea caused a tight-lipped frown to clasp at his face. Revenge was hardly the best solution. Was hardly his style.
It was some time later, that he found himself in a bar. Eyes heavy, head throbbing. He ached. No ached was right. He felt like fire was moving through his veins. And no matter how hard he bit down, it felt like it might seep from his very pores. Sweat licked his brow... matting brown hair to his forehead. At least here and now, with several drinks spread across the table infront of him, he could shunt aside worries about who and what was around him. About what dark devils might dance from the shadows to slay him... Or how in the world he'd survive without his family.
- Domain : Transmutation
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