Night Terrors 5 - Tempus Fugit
A day where the skies are poison orange forever and cloud covers the heights of the city well filled with domed buildings with belts of light. The tallest building in town is The Invinidine Complex, where the radio station plays what the wind will carry through the twisted transistor. The broadcast is to the world, or the known world as what is by a domineering government, a demographic planned from inception with clandestine sponsorship between every home and every propaganda school. For the year is forever capitulation and the time is information for only the privileged, and when your ambitions get in the way of your practical life a government friend will tell you what your best option will be, especially if you haven't planned. The enemy however is the mass hysteria, for the society that has planned itself to the teeth, will even rid you if the situation warrants or for the proper price. On this day, probably blinded by what she believes or just comfortable with simple ways and endless days, a digital correspondent working in broadcasting rounds the final messages to the general public as no other can, as the best of her grade. A font of information stately different then the envious derisively set on taking her job, another child born with a silver spoon and gluttonous envy seeking perdition, when convenient over populous accident sells her short. For the strong edge of integrity, another in the family of deceitful happenstance wants her dead to claim only then her career and with paid bond, had their wishes granted, before she could know.
The girl in the broadcast finishes and promptly departs. Her locality bracelet lights a bright green and moments later a red, blind haste more than panic she rushes through the floor to the elevator, her exploits of investigations and prying interments had taught her evasive maneuvers, taking leave of shrewd lagging objects she grabs her knife only pocketing it before running to the elevator. She pulls apart the doors with instinct to make it to the bottom floor while letting the cables sleep, oblivious to the lights indicating the level of the lift the doors open with a squad of police state hunters halfway to the floor. After a word, she kicks one in the face and flights through the room with guns protruding from the elevator doors firing at anything they can hit. Tones sound when elevators arrive to level, several in fact to hear as she checks the ammunition in her pistol, and she reloads the clip, cursing the day. Through the halls, the demons crawl as through the skies the devil flies, to lynch her are the monsters of science. Hot on her trail, the hounds of hell hunt the traveling beacon and the smell of fear, maniacal beasts with gods and sins of their debt they were once human. One of the creatures slides a corner without traction while crashing through anything mounted to the floor, haunting her with fear as she loads her last ammo clip. Over a wall a rifle points to her chest, firelight exits the gun and concussion beam disables her.
She awakens on the roof as they shake her contemptuously, guards, guns, and machine conveyances only a short distance beneath the flying traffic. To her they read last rites, reading litigious charges and other political words of obscurity. This is primarily the treatment for press that press, how she goes without screaming would escape unexplained for they throw her over the edge in parity. A media center was surely infatuated with the internal conflict and rest assured was recording her penalty, lifeless and silent sequestered as if an angel sifting the winds of plague, she falls to the ground covered in countless doldrum denizens smashing magnificently horrendous into their many numbers. The shredded viscera, torn sinew and broken bones, fly as the many citizens in every fashion drop their focus and run to consume the wasted lives, but she is stricken not. Covered in blood, red soaking wet with diamond eyes suffering a life once lost, sanctimonious she fends ought as she endures the wrought hands and starved image of the invisible. Dazed and confused the hunting demon hellions begin to crawl over the building ledge and down the wall.
Intension whispers in every shadow, she turns and gazes at the crowds who gasp in some exultant insipid horror. "Immortal! Immortal!" they cry to the cameras, severe panic causes dissolution of the horde, with every mention of the word that was once dry in the back of her mind, each unto the other the crowd ignites in strife and lawlessness as dangerous animals in caustic effort to flee from dread and carnage consumed. With palpable anxiety, she runs in a perfect circle, emphatically consumed in hubris and time marked by violence committed by those in power that produce widespread terror. From a vanished nowhere, a transport comes forth with two men of much weaponry. The driver shouts a name and the second empties from the back seat and takes a knee behind the vehicle. The driver shoots as does the second individual, but the passenger than looks to the driver, to her, and back again as he takes many bullets to his body and the door waits wide open for her as the driver shouts, beckoning her to come with them. With the guards upon them all, she complies and takes the escort with new inimical allies.