3 Stories (Unfinished)
Includes three stories written in chronological order: The Orange Globe written recently, Orbital Sanctuary written months ago, Lunatic written a year ago
The Orange Globe Version 2.0
School was just something to do; something that's part of a daily routine. School meant absolutely nothing Gordon, perhaps even less to his "friends" Todd and James. He hung out with some of the worst kids (not even kids anymore; they had legally turned eighteen six moths ago) out there ever since junior high. Todd and James were trouble makers. Perhaps I'm using the term too lightly. They were criminals. That's what they were. Jordan was about to find out why.
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The soles of Jordan's shoes slid across the gravel, kicking up tiny stones as he looked over his shoulder, a backpack slung over the other side. He'd forgotten to tell his parents he was coming home early. There was a rusted black pickup truck slowly cruising by him. He took no notice and looked at the traffic lights up ahead. Red. Green. Yellow. Red. Green.
He turned back to see that the truck was still strolling at his pace, its speed unwavering even for a split second. This wasn't the first time he'd seen the truck. It was James's. He paid someone a couple hundred dollars to forge his license; he was never able to finish his driving test successfully, passing it off as "a [s****y] waste of money."
He casually turned back to the truck. He couldn't see Todd nor could he see James; the window was tinted. He could, however, see his reflection as the window rolled down to reveal--you've got to be [s*******g] me--Todd was sitting in the passenger seat, his mirrored sunglasses shining brightly with a wooden baseball bat slung over his right shoulder and a smoldering cigar in his left hand. To Jordan, everything had simply stopped. The birds quit singing, the trees were frozen, and the world stopped spinning. He must've stood there like a fool for about four minutes before the world resumed and Todd finally said, "Aren't you gonna run?"
Now things weren't always like this. They've always been friends; just not very good ones. Things had definitely changed from last year. James had started smoking and Todd quickly picked up on the habit. Jordan had been asked repeatedly if he wanted a quick smoke but turned down their offer every time.
Then things started to get real nasty; they started destroying school property, vandalizing just about anything they could get their hands on and started the use of illegal drugs. That was just about the time Jordan had it with them. He quit being their friend; and what a serious mistake he had made.
He ducked as the bat swished where his head had been a heartbeat before. He wasn't sure what, but they were definitely high on something.
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Orbital Sanctuary
The recliner flexed back as Stephen craned his neck backwards to see a meteor flash by his window. He looked over at the table beside him and fumbled for a piece of white chalk. He turned to the wall beside the window and drew a diagonal over four vertical lines. That was twelve. "Hey Joyce!" he called, his voice ringing throughout the ship. "How long we been up here?" After a moments silence, he heard, "Nine days, two hours, and seventy two minutes. Seventy three now." He placed the chalk back onto the desk and wiped his hands on his pants. Damn. He'd forgotten that you can't wash out chalk on these kinds of pants.
"I've got twelve; how many have you got?" He sat upright, the back of the recliner following in suit. "I've got one," was the reply. He chuckled, "You know you're losing the bet right?" He stood up and set his arms on the edge of the window. "Really? I didn't think there'd be that many-" Stephen watched a bright light flash across the window. "Hey, hold on a second; I think I just saw something!"
He slid out a panel on the side of the window. "Me too! Isn't it just another meteor?" A small metal block slid out of the panel, much like a CD ROM drive. He gently selected a small black computer chip from the drive and slid it back into the panel. He inserted the chip into a much larger plasma screen television that lies mounted above the foot of his bed.
He turned the television on and sat back. He touched slid around a few holographic panels that displayed themselves on-screen.
Accept? Yes. C://Edit/Play/Focus---Edit---Confirm-///
The screen sparked into life as he a single frame of outer space was displayed. He moved the scroll bar across the screen, back and forth, watching the flash move forward and backward. He set the bar at the middle. He hit the Advanced Options button on the bottom right corner.
//-A/O---Reduce Lighting---Set: 1-2-3-4-5--->100--65--Set Confirmed-///
The brightness of the object was drastically reduced and he could make out the object clearly. It was dark, camouflage green. It was modeled into the shape of a winged serpent, almost looked like a Kraus space fighter..."Joyce! Turn on all the deployables; we're going home!" He found himself staring into space again, his face pressed against the cold glass of his window.
"What's wrong? Does it have to do with the meteor?"
He hurried to the main room, his feet skidding across the metal floor as he did so. "It's not a meteor! It's a Kraus Model-996; have you got those deployables turned on yet?" The deployable map in the middle of the main room turned on. He set the course back home as he traced his finger from current location to destination.
"On it!"
Something crashed into the side of the ship, causing it to rock on one side. Stephen lost his balance slammed into the airlock, causing it to unlatch. He grabbed the handle as the outside struggled to pull him into space. He used his free hand to reach for the oxygen mask placed beside the door.
His finger hooked on the strap as he pulled it towards him. He accidentally tried to breathe and he lost his grip on the mask. He felt as if his lungs were going to burst as he held on the door. The freezing cold was already having an effect on his body, his brow forming ice.
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Lunatic
Chapter 1: The Winged Assassin
The plush feathers of the wings brushed against the dusty ground, small clouds of dust trailing behind the pure, white, tips. The wings folded neatly against his back as he stood up straight. Gabriel matted back his unruly black hair, stretched his back for a few moments, and turned towards the stone church bench. He flexed his fingers as he proceeded to walk towards it in a purposeful stride.
On the stone construct lay the gospel. Gideon. He lifted the tome from its resting place. The book opened in his palm as he held it near his face. A cloud of dust shot up as he closed it immediately. He lifted his glasses up higher as they began to droop again. Corrupted. Desecrated. Tainted. He was a demon; nothing more. Whatever high position he had once held had dissipated into nothingness. The bible crumbled into dust as he crushed it in his hand. Everything he had once known about god is no more.
As an outcast of the hosts of heaven, he was no more than a man with wings. Everything he had and everything he will ever have is nothing but a distant memory as he sat on the bench. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. He threw his head back and cried out against the devil.
Jason breathed heavily with every step, every punch he threw at his opponent. An angel was no easy target; even for one of his stature. He ducked a ludicrous punch going at two hundred miles per hour and backed up just in time to save himself from a devastating uppercut. The angel was but a white blur in front of his eyes, aiming precise yet deadly blows. The angel jumped and crash landed in front of him, causing him to stagger backwards. The winged assassin moved in for the kill, his clenched fist flying forward, kicking up stone tiles from the ground as he rushed towards him at unfathomable speeds. The punch caught him in the chest, smashing his entire ribcage, rupturing his heart and both of his lungs. He flew backwards until he slammed against a brick façade, dead before he hit the floor.
Angels were rather infamous for the extraordinary strength and speed, the most feared beings on the planet. There are more commonly known as sentinels. They are not true angels because they have been exiled from heaven and stripped of their rankings, forced to roam the earth until all of them have been eliminated.
The Inquisition is one such force capable of slaying angels. Their cause is to destroy the sentinels as they are a disgrace to the hosts of heaven. To them, the very presence of the exiled corrupts the sanctity of the earth.
Alan was one such outcast, though not for the reason one might think. He's been exiled accidentally. Ever since he found himself on earth, he has wondered what force had placed him in such unholy lands. He sat atop the church roof, listening to the chorus, the euphonious melody of a piano in the background. He did not have the words to describe the sensation he had; one of warmth and passion. His wings flapped lightly as he cocked his head to one side. He snapped out of it. Pleasure is sin. He blinked. There was a clicking sound somewhere in the distance.
Gordon set down his PTRS-41. He missed. "Damn," he breathed. He reloaded his rifle, making a clicking sound. He took aim at the angel once more. The other clergy members beside him urged him to hurry up. "We don't have much time; what, angels and their extra-sensory perception. He'll figure us out in no time."
He peered through the scope. The angel couldn't have looked more harmless, the wings folded on his back, his elbows on his knees. Then he remembered what Jason had said. "These aren't angels anymore, Gordon, they're as bad as demons. You'd probably have to do something pretty damn bad to be kicked out of heaven. Kill one, save countless."
He reassured himself that being a vigilante would save their skins one day. There was no time to waste. As he got a better view, his finger tightened on the trigger. The angel must've sensed something, because at the last second, he jumped from the roof the second he squeezed the trigger. "Damn," he cursed again. His friends gave him an intense glare, but said nothing. He knew he could've made the shot. He had just decided not to.
Joel was at the wheel, steering the white van around. "So," Brandon said, strapping his assault rifle to his back, "where's our next target?" Joel swerved sharply to the right and replied, "We're already here." Joel and the rest of the Inquisition climbed out of the van, readying their vast array of lethal weaponry.
Gordon was the first to spot it; Jason's broken body laying on the floor, blood spreading across form his chest. "He's dead," were the only words that made it through his mouth. A bright shape slammed into the ground directly in the middle of the group.
He rose from the splintered earth under him, glaring at the group with a sadistic grin. He also happened to be the first one to make a move. He rushed forward, landing a vicious straight punch on Joel's mouth. He flew backwards, his jaw hanging grotesquely from the side of his mouth.
He went prone as multiple bullets flew overhead. He twirled his feet around, tripping several people as he got back up. He plucked a bullet straight out of the air and tossed it at an Inquisition member, killing him instantly. One second he was in one spot, the next he was in several. The angel beat on chests, faces, and backs, focusing as much concentration he could administer in each blow. Then one of the members, Alex, grabbed one of the angel's wings and pulled, nearly bringing him to his knees. Another grabbed the other wing. And another. And another. Soon, he was completely covered in men, bringing him down from all sides.
Gordon walked over to the struggling sentinel, aiming his rifle. The angel simply spat in his face. "Get that out of my sight. Do you realize what you are doing?" He aimed briefly, muttering, "The right thing." Before he could pull the trigger, a powerful blow to his shoulder sent him sprawling. He turned to see...another angel.
"Shit," he breathed. "You will not harm my brother," the angel said defiantly. "So," Gordon said, the rest of the Inquisition staring at the newcomer. "He is your brother?" The sentinel took a step forward. "All angels are our brothers. Step away from him, please." Gordon hesitated, then yielded, along with the rest of his group. The angel brushed dust off himself as he rose. "Alan, my boy, you were a bit late in coming," he said, "The bastards ambushed me."
Gordon was aghast; "What!" He exclaimed. "You murdered Jason and tried to kill all of us!" The angel sighed, turning to his "brother." "Really, Alan, are you going to believe a bunch of heretical mortals or your own brother, a fellow angel?" Alan raised a brow, but nodded. He turned towards the Inquisition. "Leave us. Now." They watched the two sentinels carefully as they climbed back into the van.
Alan turned to face his brother once more as the van began to trail off. "What is this, Gabriel? What's going on?" He placed a hand on Alan's shoulder. "We are at war, brother. A sad thing, but it is the truth. We are at war with the humans." Alan looked around, puzzled. "Where are the rest of our brothers and sisters?" Gabriel sat on the concrete. "Alas, they are not here to help us. They have abandoned us. God, has abandoned us. We are alone, brother."
Alan shrugged Gabriel's hand off his shoulder. "That is not true. God loves all of his children." The sentinel looked at his brother with deep remorse. "We are the odd ones out, Alan. He is not going to come to save us. He has forsaken us, and for that, we will strike him down with all our might. Even if we cannot, we will not have died in vain."
Alan shook his head. "What nonsense do you speak of?" Gabriel placed his hand on Alan's head and turned it. "Look brother; what do you see? This is god's 'gift' to us. If we do not revolt, we are simply tools. Ones that are obsolete and beyond repair. We need to be more than that." Alan was reluctant. "I-" A white van crashed through the brick wall, slamming straight into Gabriel. Gordon peered out the side window, "How's that bumper taste, asshole?" A hand reached from under the van and grabbed the hood. Gabriel groaned, pulling himself up. Gordon leveled a shotgun at the sentinel. "I won't be seeing you in hell," he said, squeezing the trigger.
The angel's limp body dropped to the floor as the van swerved and turned around to face Alan. He aimed the gun at the remaining sentinel. "Get the hell out of here." It took a full second for Alan to register what had just happened. They had just killed his brother. "Not today," Alan said, fighting back tears.
Gordon fired as Alan shielded himself with his own wings, the blast tearing them apart. But he didn't care. The only thing on his mind was vengeance. Blinded with rage, he lashed out wildly, striking the vehicle with his fists.. The van tipped over and crashed onto its side. Gordon tumbled out of the van as the door fell of its hinges. He looked up to see the angel looking down on him. He was in an incredibly pitiful state, his wings torn and bloody.
Alan looked back down at him. This man...he has a good heart. He has no right to kill a man like him. He turned away and walked in the opposition direction. With his last bit of strength, Gordon pulled out his shotgun and struggled to aim it with one hand. Exiles are a danger to this earth. If you get a chance...shoot it. And so he pulled the trigger. Click! The gun was empty.
The sentinel stopped in his tracks and slowly turned to look back at him. His eyes were rimmed a deep shade of scarlet. His decision was vital by this point. If he chose to kill him there was no doubt he would slaughter countless more. If he spared him, there still might be a chance for mankind. What a stupid mistake he'd made! He could only hope for the best. Alan's tall figure loomed over him, consumed in his shadows...
School was just something to do; something that's part of a daily routine. School meant absolutely nothing Gordon, perhaps even less to his "friends" Todd and James. He hung out with some of the worst kids (not even kids anymore; they had legally turned eighteen six moths ago) out there ever since junior high. Todd and James were trouble makers. Perhaps I'm using the term too lightly. They were criminals. That's what they were. Jordan was about to find out why.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The soles of Jordan's shoes slid across the gravel, kicking up tiny stones as he looked over his shoulder, a backpack slung over the other side. He'd forgotten to tell his parents he was coming home early. There was a rusted black pickup truck slowly cruising by him. He took no notice and looked at the traffic lights up ahead. Red. Green. Yellow. Red. Green.
He turned back to see that the truck was still strolling at his pace, its speed unwavering even for a split second. This wasn't the first time he'd seen the truck. It was James's. He paid someone a couple hundred dollars to forge his license; he was never able to finish his driving test successfully, passing it off as "a [s****y] waste of money."
He casually turned back to the truck. He couldn't see Todd nor could he see James; the window was tinted. He could, however, see his reflection as the window rolled down to reveal--you've got to be [s*******g] me--Todd was sitting in the passenger seat, his mirrored sunglasses shining brightly with a wooden baseball bat slung over his right shoulder and a smoldering cigar in his left hand. To Jordan, everything had simply stopped. The birds quit singing, the trees were frozen, and the world stopped spinning. He must've stood there like a fool for about four minutes before the world resumed and Todd finally said, "Aren't you gonna run?"
Now things weren't always like this. They've always been friends; just not very good ones. Things had definitely changed from last year. James had started smoking and Todd quickly picked up on the habit. Jordan had been asked repeatedly if he wanted a quick smoke but turned down their offer every time.
Then things started to get real nasty; they started destroying school property, vandalizing just about anything they could get their hands on and started the use of illegal drugs. That was just about the time Jordan had it with them. He quit being their friend; and what a serious mistake he had made.
He ducked as the bat swished where his head had been a heartbeat before. He wasn't sure what, but they were definitely high on something.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Orbital Sanctuary
The recliner flexed back as Stephen craned his neck backwards to see a meteor flash by his window. He looked over at the table beside him and fumbled for a piece of white chalk. He turned to the wall beside the window and drew a diagonal over four vertical lines. That was twelve. "Hey Joyce!" he called, his voice ringing throughout the ship. "How long we been up here?" After a moments silence, he heard, "Nine days, two hours, and seventy two minutes. Seventy three now." He placed the chalk back onto the desk and wiped his hands on his pants. Damn. He'd forgotten that you can't wash out chalk on these kinds of pants.
"I've got twelve; how many have you got?" He sat upright, the back of the recliner following in suit. "I've got one," was the reply. He chuckled, "You know you're losing the bet right?" He stood up and set his arms on the edge of the window. "Really? I didn't think there'd be that many-" Stephen watched a bright light flash across the window. "Hey, hold on a second; I think I just saw something!"
He slid out a panel on the side of the window. "Me too! Isn't it just another meteor?" A small metal block slid out of the panel, much like a CD ROM drive. He gently selected a small black computer chip from the drive and slid it back into the panel. He inserted the chip into a much larger plasma screen television that lies mounted above the foot of his bed.
He turned the television on and sat back. He touched slid around a few holographic panels that displayed themselves on-screen.
Accept? Yes. C://Edit/Play/Focus---Edit---Confirm-///
The screen sparked into life as he a single frame of outer space was displayed. He moved the scroll bar across the screen, back and forth, watching the flash move forward and backward. He set the bar at the middle. He hit the Advanced Options button on the bottom right corner.
//-A/O---Reduce Lighting---Set: 1-2-3-4-5--->100--65--Set Confirmed-///
The brightness of the object was drastically reduced and he could make out the object clearly. It was dark, camouflage green. It was modeled into the shape of a winged serpent, almost looked like a Kraus space fighter..."Joyce! Turn on all the deployables; we're going home!" He found himself staring into space again, his face pressed against the cold glass of his window.
"What's wrong? Does it have to do with the meteor?"
He hurried to the main room, his feet skidding across the metal floor as he did so. "It's not a meteor! It's a Kraus Model-996; have you got those deployables turned on yet?" The deployable map in the middle of the main room turned on. He set the course back home as he traced his finger from current location to destination.
"On it!"
Something crashed into the side of the ship, causing it to rock on one side. Stephen lost his balance slammed into the airlock, causing it to unlatch. He grabbed the handle as the outside struggled to pull him into space. He used his free hand to reach for the oxygen mask placed beside the door.
His finger hooked on the strap as he pulled it towards him. He accidentally tried to breathe and he lost his grip on the mask. He felt as if his lungs were going to burst as he held on the door. The freezing cold was already having an effect on his body, his brow forming ice.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Lunatic
Chapter 1: The Winged Assassin
The plush feathers of the wings brushed against the dusty ground, small clouds of dust trailing behind the pure, white, tips. The wings folded neatly against his back as he stood up straight. Gabriel matted back his unruly black hair, stretched his back for a few moments, and turned towards the stone church bench. He flexed his fingers as he proceeded to walk towards it in a purposeful stride.
On the stone construct lay the gospel. Gideon. He lifted the tome from its resting place. The book opened in his palm as he held it near his face. A cloud of dust shot up as he closed it immediately. He lifted his glasses up higher as they began to droop again. Corrupted. Desecrated. Tainted. He was a demon; nothing more. Whatever high position he had once held had dissipated into nothingness. The bible crumbled into dust as he crushed it in his hand. Everything he had once known about god is no more.
As an outcast of the hosts of heaven, he was no more than a man with wings. Everything he had and everything he will ever have is nothing but a distant memory as he sat on the bench. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. He threw his head back and cried out against the devil.
Jason breathed heavily with every step, every punch he threw at his opponent. An angel was no easy target; even for one of his stature. He ducked a ludicrous punch going at two hundred miles per hour and backed up just in time to save himself from a devastating uppercut. The angel was but a white blur in front of his eyes, aiming precise yet deadly blows. The angel jumped and crash landed in front of him, causing him to stagger backwards. The winged assassin moved in for the kill, his clenched fist flying forward, kicking up stone tiles from the ground as he rushed towards him at unfathomable speeds. The punch caught him in the chest, smashing his entire ribcage, rupturing his heart and both of his lungs. He flew backwards until he slammed against a brick façade, dead before he hit the floor.
Angels were rather infamous for the extraordinary strength and speed, the most feared beings on the planet. There are more commonly known as sentinels. They are not true angels because they have been exiled from heaven and stripped of their rankings, forced to roam the earth until all of them have been eliminated.
The Inquisition is one such force capable of slaying angels. Their cause is to destroy the sentinels as they are a disgrace to the hosts of heaven. To them, the very presence of the exiled corrupts the sanctity of the earth.
Alan was one such outcast, though not for the reason one might think. He's been exiled accidentally. Ever since he found himself on earth, he has wondered what force had placed him in such unholy lands. He sat atop the church roof, listening to the chorus, the euphonious melody of a piano in the background. He did not have the words to describe the sensation he had; one of warmth and passion. His wings flapped lightly as he cocked his head to one side. He snapped out of it. Pleasure is sin. He blinked. There was a clicking sound somewhere in the distance.
Gordon set down his PTRS-41. He missed. "Damn," he breathed. He reloaded his rifle, making a clicking sound. He took aim at the angel once more. The other clergy members beside him urged him to hurry up. "We don't have much time; what, angels and their extra-sensory perception. He'll figure us out in no time."
He peered through the scope. The angel couldn't have looked more harmless, the wings folded on his back, his elbows on his knees. Then he remembered what Jason had said. "These aren't angels anymore, Gordon, they're as bad as demons. You'd probably have to do something pretty damn bad to be kicked out of heaven. Kill one, save countless."
He reassured himself that being a vigilante would save their skins one day. There was no time to waste. As he got a better view, his finger tightened on the trigger. The angel must've sensed something, because at the last second, he jumped from the roof the second he squeezed the trigger. "Damn," he cursed again. His friends gave him an intense glare, but said nothing. He knew he could've made the shot. He had just decided not to.
Joel was at the wheel, steering the white van around. "So," Brandon said, strapping his assault rifle to his back, "where's our next target?" Joel swerved sharply to the right and replied, "We're already here." Joel and the rest of the Inquisition climbed out of the van, readying their vast array of lethal weaponry.
Gordon was the first to spot it; Jason's broken body laying on the floor, blood spreading across form his chest. "He's dead," were the only words that made it through his mouth. A bright shape slammed into the ground directly in the middle of the group.
He rose from the splintered earth under him, glaring at the group with a sadistic grin. He also happened to be the first one to make a move. He rushed forward, landing a vicious straight punch on Joel's mouth. He flew backwards, his jaw hanging grotesquely from the side of his mouth.
He went prone as multiple bullets flew overhead. He twirled his feet around, tripping several people as he got back up. He plucked a bullet straight out of the air and tossed it at an Inquisition member, killing him instantly. One second he was in one spot, the next he was in several. The angel beat on chests, faces, and backs, focusing as much concentration he could administer in each blow. Then one of the members, Alex, grabbed one of the angel's wings and pulled, nearly bringing him to his knees. Another grabbed the other wing. And another. And another. Soon, he was completely covered in men, bringing him down from all sides.
Gordon walked over to the struggling sentinel, aiming his rifle. The angel simply spat in his face. "Get that out of my sight. Do you realize what you are doing?" He aimed briefly, muttering, "The right thing." Before he could pull the trigger, a powerful blow to his shoulder sent him sprawling. He turned to see...another angel.
"Shit," he breathed. "You will not harm my brother," the angel said defiantly. "So," Gordon said, the rest of the Inquisition staring at the newcomer. "He is your brother?" The sentinel took a step forward. "All angels are our brothers. Step away from him, please." Gordon hesitated, then yielded, along with the rest of his group. The angel brushed dust off himself as he rose. "Alan, my boy, you were a bit late in coming," he said, "The bastards ambushed me."
Gordon was aghast; "What!" He exclaimed. "You murdered Jason and tried to kill all of us!" The angel sighed, turning to his "brother." "Really, Alan, are you going to believe a bunch of heretical mortals or your own brother, a fellow angel?" Alan raised a brow, but nodded. He turned towards the Inquisition. "Leave us. Now." They watched the two sentinels carefully as they climbed back into the van.
Alan turned to face his brother once more as the van began to trail off. "What is this, Gabriel? What's going on?" He placed a hand on Alan's shoulder. "We are at war, brother. A sad thing, but it is the truth. We are at war with the humans." Alan looked around, puzzled. "Where are the rest of our brothers and sisters?" Gabriel sat on the concrete. "Alas, they are not here to help us. They have abandoned us. God, has abandoned us. We are alone, brother."
Alan shrugged Gabriel's hand off his shoulder. "That is not true. God loves all of his children." The sentinel looked at his brother with deep remorse. "We are the odd ones out, Alan. He is not going to come to save us. He has forsaken us, and for that, we will strike him down with all our might. Even if we cannot, we will not have died in vain."
Alan shook his head. "What nonsense do you speak of?" Gabriel placed his hand on Alan's head and turned it. "Look brother; what do you see? This is god's 'gift' to us. If we do not revolt, we are simply tools. Ones that are obsolete and beyond repair. We need to be more than that." Alan was reluctant. "I-" A white van crashed through the brick wall, slamming straight into Gabriel. Gordon peered out the side window, "How's that bumper taste, asshole?" A hand reached from under the van and grabbed the hood. Gabriel groaned, pulling himself up. Gordon leveled a shotgun at the sentinel. "I won't be seeing you in hell," he said, squeezing the trigger.
The angel's limp body dropped to the floor as the van swerved and turned around to face Alan. He aimed the gun at the remaining sentinel. "Get the hell out of here." It took a full second for Alan to register what had just happened. They had just killed his brother. "Not today," Alan said, fighting back tears.
Gordon fired as Alan shielded himself with his own wings, the blast tearing them apart. But he didn't care. The only thing on his mind was vengeance. Blinded with rage, he lashed out wildly, striking the vehicle with his fists.. The van tipped over and crashed onto its side. Gordon tumbled out of the van as the door fell of its hinges. He looked up to see the angel looking down on him. He was in an incredibly pitiful state, his wings torn and bloody.
Alan looked back down at him. This man...he has a good heart. He has no right to kill a man like him. He turned away and walked in the opposition direction. With his last bit of strength, Gordon pulled out his shotgun and struggled to aim it with one hand. Exiles are a danger to this earth. If you get a chance...shoot it. And so he pulled the trigger. Click! The gun was empty.
The sentinel stopped in his tracks and slowly turned to look back at him. His eyes were rimmed a deep shade of scarlet. His decision was vital by this point. If he chose to kill him there was no doubt he would slaughter countless more. If he spared him, there still might be a chance for mankind. What a stupid mistake he'd made! He could only hope for the best. Alan's tall figure loomed over him, consumed in his shadows...
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