Aberrant: The Middle Children of History - Forged In Anger, Cooled In Sorrow

[Guest ????]

Four ninety seven...

It hurts. It always hurts, it's been hurting since the day I started this. That's how I know it's working. Every muscle I possess burns but I don't stop.

Four ninety eight...

My shoulders quiver and I feel my grip slipping. I want to stop, hell, I'm not going to lie about it. Sometimes what looks good in the mind is pretty damn stupid when put into application. The chains grind and the metal flexes one more as I chance the boundaries of their tension limit.

The sweat pours down my face, each droplet a painful reminder of the dedication I posses. My eyes are seared with each tea my brow sheds. Let it burn I say. Every drop of sweat that falls to the ground is a testament to purification.

Four ninety nine...

Only one more. I cry out into the dark night as I give it my all. I hurts all over and my legs threaten to give out. I can't remember pain like this, ever, but I'm not going to stop now. I pull once more, each arm flexes downward and I pull with everything I have.

Everything in life hurts. You can't be afraid to let the pain wash over you once in awhile and I tell myself this as I feel three hundred and twenty two tons of steel leave the ground on each side of me. My legs ache, by back is on fire, and my arms feel like pudding as the salty sweat lights my eyes on fire.

I could quit, sure, but we carry failure with us long after our wounds have healed.

The pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional.

Five hundred, and it feels fan-fucking-tastic.

[Guest ????]

You know, of the Seven Deadly Sins, Wrath is possibly the most fun. I mean, c'mon, think about it. To lick your wounds, to smack your lips over grievances long past, to roll over your tongue the prospect of bitter confrontations still to come, to savor to the last toothsome morsel both the pain you are given and the pain you are giving back. In many ways it is a feast fit for a king.

I won't lie, I've had my fill. Being angry at the world is easy, you just have to look around for just under a second and trust me, you'll find something out there that'll crawl under your skin and drive you nuts. That's what I do on nights like tonight. I just sit here on the rooftops and let the streets below fan the flames of my fury.

Robbery, assault, harassment. Those are the least of what you'll see from up here on a slow night and casually, I just observe. I can't bring myself to do much else but sit here like the Grinch on his mountain side and just hate every little who down below. The police don't care, they never really have. Sure there's a few cops who are dedicated to what they do and keeps those ideals with them on every beat but all that's going to get them is shot, dropped, and forgotten.

Petty gangs, organized crime and corporations run everything now. How? Shit, they all got novas these days and as always they have more novas than the so-called 'good guys' do. Sick novas, the twisted, loc'ed out, pipe-hitting mutha fuckas that have powers and abilities that are hard core. Winds, fire, plasma, energy shields and my personal favorite particle blasts.

And the fuck is a 'particle blast' for that matter?

Anyway, what do the police get? Special Ops officers with shit like telepathy, ESP, post-time sense. They help them solve crimes, not fight them. Any nova officer that lets lose any unsanctioned blast of quantum ability has to fill out more paperwork than you can imagine. I've seen the reports, it's like forty seven different documents to file. So, like any flat foot, they say fuck it, and avoid paper work all together.

As I sit here and let the cool night breeze mingle with the warm sweat on my skin I can't help but look down on all that shit below and just be pissed. I mean, just look at them, they don't give a rats ass about one another. They're liars, thieves, criminals, warmongers, and worse yet they all think they're owed something. I owe them alright, I want to crush every last one of them beneath my heel.

I can feel my cup running over.

But that's how Wrath works you see, the chief drawback is that what you are wolfing down is yourself at that glorious banquet and the skeleton left over from the feast is you.

[Guest ????]

The scream echoes clearly off the concrete walls of the L.A. jungle. It's an unheard cry for help mingled with the cat calls and hollers of soon-to-be rapists. I coast two blocks over keeping to the shadows and looking down on the event as it unfolds.

She's a hot one, that's for sure. Caramel skinned with long dark hair and sweet set of implants a guy could just fluff up and fall asleep on. I have to admit, just watching her run with that wiggly pair was cause enough to fly over here. Coming up along the back stretch will be tonight's sperm donors; Ickle-Me and Pickle-Me look like mitoids. Ain't hard to tell the way their torsos are unimaginably huge and they have those cute stubby little legs under them carry them along. They look they fell from an old Warner Bros. cartoon.

Tickle-Me's a nova, 1stGen if I had to guess. It's hazy energy emissions leaking from his metallic eyes that give him away. Just another taint junkie, dying for power.

I have to admit, this chica sure can haul ass. She must be a professional ho the way she's running full tilt in those heels and hardly even breaking stride at all. The people on the street, they just look on and do nothing, scared that they'll be next and who wants to risk themselves for a stranger these days, right?

Tickle-Me kicks on the juice and ends the chase in a hurry, smashing the side of her head into a store front with a well placed body check as he zips past her. That's about as much as I can abide while looking down from my perch. I sigh as I coast down to the street below, I don't know I keep helping these people, they never appreciate it.

"Fun's over, go home." I say as I land gently beside her. She's awake, but just cringes as close as she can to the wall the moment she sees me. I love reputations.

Ickle-Me lunges forward and brings his fist straight forward into my chest and breaks his hand. You see, novas have the skeletal reinforcement to handle punches that fly at with superhuman strength, these piss ant mitiods don't get shit but a small penis and a lifetime of regret. For good measure I backhand him out of my way and his arm cracking under the force of my swing is certainly gratifying.

Pickle-Me and Tickle-Me try and do a number on me, Pickle-Me plows my face with his fist but I've been hit by professionals and this guy's a bitch. Normally I'd give the opponent an ego boost and arch my neck a bit like the impact actually did something, but not this guy. I just absorb the whole damn thing and let his fist slam into a pure 3G (3rd Generation) monolith.

I feel like one of those spiky headed guys in the japanimation shows who sound like they're passing a puffer fish through their colon and then explode into the greatness of regularity as Tickle-Me unleashes hot fury on my back with a volley that seems to be some sort of concussive energy blasts. I can almost hear the 'ting', 'ting', 'ting', in the air as each one just disperses as it hits.

The fist hits my cheek a second time and I feel a bit of apple skin fall out from between my teeth. Saves me the trouble of flossing, see no good deeds go unrewarded. I grab his wrist and squeeze and I feel his bones turn to dust in my grip. He screams in pain, but that's not enough, I want him to scream in pain. You know the kind I'm talking about, that primal terror that calls for you to let out one last cry before you shit yourself and fall over dead. I want to hear that from this piece of filth.

"Apologize!" I yell as the block looks on, twisting him around like a rag doll, placing him close to the woman they were chasing a moment ago. "Now!"

Tears are in his eyes as the pain causes him to hit one knee. He'll never use this arm again, not the way I'm holding it, and frankly I don't give a shit. Tickle-Me keeps lighting up my back with those energy blasts, even exploding one on my chest as I whipped his buddy around for his chat with the lady. Got to hand it to the guy, he's tenacious.

"Now! I squeeze even harder popping the veins in his hand and causing the skin to break in order to release the pressure.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." he cries out in that primal shriek and I swear it about gives me a fucking hard on. I love seeing filth like this on it's knees. No trial, no rights, nothing. Just the bullies getting bullied for once. "Jesus fucking Christ lady I'm so God damned sorry!"

I let him go, a deal's a deal after all, and I'm not out to kill these punks, that's too easy. You see I want them to live with the memory of moments like this so the next time they think up some stupid shit to do, that tingle in their bad knee, or the phantom limb feeling in their prosthetic arm will help them think the shit through a little more clearly.

It's my way of giving back to the community, teach the stupid through pain.

I turn to face Tickle-Me as Ickle-Me and Pickle-Me collect their pride and scamper away. That fucker is still poppin' off shots on me like an amped up pygmy on crack. "What the fuck dude? The first thirty didn't work, you think the next thirty are going to make a lick of difference?"

It sinks in and he slows down a bit and that's when I'm on him. He raises his arms in an attempt to block me but I shatter his walls like they're paper and in an instant his throat is in my hand. He lets his legs give out like he's a five year old, I'm his mommy and he's getting scolded at a Walmart or some shit. No big deal, I just have to squeeze harder to make sure I don't let go, and that's fine with me. It's his neck. He catches on and lets his legs struggle for footing once more.

"Eye for an eye." I say to him as I peer into his eyes, creepy as they are. I look to her, then back to him and he quickly catches on.

With a full turn I cry out and just throw him with everything I have. For a moment a moment I almost feel sorry for him as he crashes through the first store front like a nova missile. He flies for nearly a block and a half, one wall into another, and into another smashing through buildings as he goes. I hope it hurts.

I hope it hurts a lot.

I wind my arm a bit, it's still a bit tender from all the lifting I've been doing lately, and just start walking on down the street. People are gawking and the police are on their way, but really, who gives a shit?

"Thank you!" I hear the woman cry out to me, but I don't look back. I can stand the innocent about as much as I can tolerate the guilty.

Why? I wonder to myself as I walk the street looking on while a police cruiser zips past me at top speed. Why do I hate these people so much? This planet is degenerate in these latter days after the Galatea; bribery and corruption are common, children no longer obey their parents, the innocent are punished while the guilty set free while the innocent themselves are nothing more than greedy and materialistic and worthless, completely devoid of morality and decency. It feels like the end of the world is slowly approaching.

This planet has a disease...

[Bastion]

...and I'm the cure.