The surface of the planet of Empress Teta was quite like any other ecumenopolis in comparison. The cityscape stretched away from one horizon over to the other, its structures and its denizens caught up in an endless web that curved over itself, end after end, until all that was left was just another cycle of life and death.
Whether the corporation and its greed, the thief in the streets, the husband, wife and children united by the viewscreen, it was all ultimately so very meaningless.
It didn’t take a cynic to see it, nor a nihilist. It only took someone who recognized that there had to be more than this, and sooner or later he would find it and squeeze it in his fist, as was promised to him.
Amid the deep sweeping streets of the capital city was a world within this world in the Deep Core. Whether in the shady alleys, in the skyscrapers of tycoons, crime and corruption was not so much restricted by physical location. A Pyke would know.
He had no actual disguise, but he needed to hide from prying eyes that might not take kindly to a Pyke walking the streets. His kind was easy to stereotype. Besides, he didn’t want to be recognized that night.
Rounding a building, cigar smoke curled toward his nose from a passing citizen of the city of Cinnagar. The Pyke walked on, past a drunken moron at a corner, heading for his target.
Garbed in a grey cloak, hood over his head, garment concealing anything and everything on his person, including weapons and armor. He had both. Came in handy for his mission. The Pyke was no assassin, not by trade, but assassination was the name of tonight’s game.
And who are you to hide from me? The Pyke, Cul Laaster, might ask his enemy. The man he had come to kill out of necessity. It wasn’t personal. It was just business. Only a rat who wishes it had wings.
@Mad Dog
Whether the corporation and its greed, the thief in the streets, the husband, wife and children united by the viewscreen, it was all ultimately so very meaningless.
It didn’t take a cynic to see it, nor a nihilist. It only took someone who recognized that there had to be more than this, and sooner or later he would find it and squeeze it in his fist, as was promised to him.
Amid the deep sweeping streets of the capital city was a world within this world in the Deep Core. Whether in the shady alleys, in the skyscrapers of tycoons, crime and corruption was not so much restricted by physical location. A Pyke would know.
He had no actual disguise, but he needed to hide from prying eyes that might not take kindly to a Pyke walking the streets. His kind was easy to stereotype. Besides, he didn’t want to be recognized that night.
Rounding a building, cigar smoke curled toward his nose from a passing citizen of the city of Cinnagar. The Pyke walked on, past a drunken moron at a corner, heading for his target.
Garbed in a grey cloak, hood over his head, garment concealing anything and everything on his person, including weapons and armor. He had both. Came in handy for his mission. The Pyke was no assassin, not by trade, but assassination was the name of tonight’s game.
And who are you to hide from me? The Pyke, Cul Laaster, might ask his enemy. The man he had come to kill out of necessity. It wasn’t personal. It was just business. Only a rat who wishes it had wings.
@Mad Dog
