capture or neutralize {attiharb vs cyborg}
Apr 1, 2017 21:41:49 GMT -5
Post by MATTIO on Apr 1, 2017 21:41:49 GMT -5
"FOR BETTER OR FOR WORSE, A VISION OF THE FUTURE'S | GETTING HEARD BETWEEN THE BLACK AND WHITE." |
The rain drop slowly slid it's way down his cheek, paving a pathway for the tear to make it's impact on the ground. It stopped rushing when it met the bottom of his jawline, but he didn't hear the little droplet meet with the ground.
It was done.
He was ready.
Atticus Manor shared one defining feature with seventy-three other people in this world, and the burden the feature made was much more than any blemish could ever. His stomach tossed and turned with every thought of those days. Sometimes, he would blink and everything would flood back to him like rain was pouring down for days.. weeks.. months.. years. The thought of Andy and Carrita laying lifeless in the swamp, the sight of Sol Shim falling out of the cage, the image of Cecelia burning to ashes. The hair on his skin shook with each and every memory that came back to him.
Atticus Manor hated the fact that every year, he'd have to return to watch more teenagers die, in the Seventy-Fifth's case even sacrifice their lives. It wasn't right, yet he didn't have a choice to return or not to return. If he did come back, he'd just watch more bodies pile on. If he didn't, the guilt of not being able to help them would forever present itself in his mind.
Deja Hatcher. He couldn't forget her and what she told him. That would be the single reason to return the next year and the ones after that, so he could hear those stories and try to help them in any way he could.
He decided that Wylla Lysander didn't need his help, in fact, the girl would be better off without him and his pathetic hopes that she'd come out alive and be in District Three's spotlight.
It was easier to be an entity behind the curtain and never to be seen than it was to be the vocals for a thirteenth of the population.
His body faced upwards at the ceiling. Atticus Manor was in bed but he was restless.
Should I go? (It's not like he deserved to be here in the first place.
Should I just get it over with? Physically, his reflexes wouldn't allow it.
Should I run away? He would only do that if he had a sign.
He shrugged it off, turning to his side. His eyes remaining open, but the wall he faced told a story that he only imagined when his eyes were closed.
Sol Shim just worked his fucking spear into Cecelia's body, and she became alit. By the time Hettie and Iain and Insanis all ran away, he looked to Sol.
"Sol Shim, you're a monster. A fucking monster!"
It was the first time that he witnessed a murder take place, and the act was committed by someone he considered a closest ally. It haunted him.
It hurt him so much that he ran away, opposite Astrid and Nell, but instead toward the other three. He looked at it to be such a monstrous act (little did he know he would commit it four times over), and so he ran as far as he could from it. He ran from his problems, he didn't confront them.
It was the sign he needed, and he wasted no time to escape.
He only took a bag with a bottle of water, some fruit, one of the Capitol's blankets, and a knife. Atticus knew it wouldn't be that hard to find people who are thinking the same way as him, who need an escape and have been living like it for years. Runaways, that is what he wanted to be.
A runaway victor.
He took one last look at the Capitol's buzzing lights. The flashing and screaming in the middle of the night always agitated him, and it was no help that even with windows shut, you could hear them. The nights in the Capitol were not well spent.
Maybe these future ones, wherever they may be, will treat him better..
Descending down the Center's elevator, he kept his head down. Now would be the attention that he really did not need.
The elevator dinged itself open, and he pulled his backpack around his shoulders and hurried himself out of the lobby.
The voices.. oh those motherfucking voices chirped in his ears. They were filled with such excitement and such glee.
"It's such a shame she went so soon.." a girl with purple hair said.
"Who is that, and who dresses that man?!" a couple gossiped, Atticus believed it was of him.
"Mister Manor! Where are you going so late at night?" a chilling voice came from a man with an even more chilling white beard. He didn't respond. Instead, he just pushed the doors to the building open.
A few steps later and he went into a jog. Atticus was glad to distance himself from that god-forsaken place. It was toxic, and every moment he spent there was like liquid silver being poured down his throat.
Several yards later, and his pace increased.
Steadily, steadily.
His heartbeat raced to catch up with him, but right before it declared a tie for the finish, he sprinted.
He sprinted until his heart matched him in speed.
Atticus's feet finally tripped upon themselves, and he fell face down on the branch and leaf-filled ground. His not getting up was not because he wanted to be in awe of the foliage and scenery, but rather that he couldn't get up. He was out of breath. Every muscle in his body worked their butts off until there was almost nothing left. The darkness was unsettling, but it was at least a step in the right direction from the Capitol's aura.
It took a few minutes, but his legs decided they were ready. Wobbling himself to his feet, Atticus used the help of the trees to work his way further into the forest.
The forest was filled with insects. They latched onto his skin, and when he tried to swat them away, they were gone. Each of them nagged to him, "Why are you hitting yourself? Why are you hitting yourself?!" The taunts that lurked in his brain came from Danny and Ezero and Eryn and Sol. They're getting their revenge from the graves.
The physically dead were finally making their way to Atticus, the emotionally dead.
He grabbed onto another tree when he heard the rustling of leaves and breaking of twigs. For a moment he was silent. It's just a rabbit or deer.. nothing to worry about.
The noises did not stop, and in fact, they advanced.
His breath was cold, but the body that ran full-force into him was even colder.
"Did you come to bring me back to the Capitol? Did they send you to do their dirty work?"
The voice was familiar. It came from the victor before him. Harbinger Rhodes.
Two runaway victors... even better. Two heads is better than one, after all.
"No.. I.. that's what I'm trying to get away from," he spoke still on the ground.
He looked up to hear more footsteps. This time, however, they were robotic. A light shined into his eyes. Atticus stood, trying to move back and away from the light. The shining was like watching onions, he couldn't help but tear up.
"No, that would be my job, one that I must execute in an appropriate manor." The robotic tone screamed in his ears. Atticus took out the nice from his bag, not that it would do much to a robot like this...
He was afraid. This wasn't what he wanted. This wasn't how he wanted to die. He wanted to let the dead bury him.
Let the dead bury the dead.
The rain drop slowly slid it's way down his cheek, paving a pathway for the tear to make it's impact on the ground. It stopped rushing when it met the bottom of his jawline, but he didn't hear the little droplet meet with the ground.
It was done.
He was ready.
It was done.
He was ready.
-=*+*=-
Atticus Manor shared one defining feature with seventy-three other people in this world, and the burden the feature made was much more than any blemish could ever. His stomach tossed and turned with every thought of those days. Sometimes, he would blink and everything would flood back to him like rain was pouring down for days.. weeks.. months.. years. The thought of Andy and Carrita laying lifeless in the swamp, the sight of Sol Shim falling out of the cage, the image of Cecelia burning to ashes. The hair on his skin shook with each and every memory that came back to him.
Atticus Manor hated the fact that every year, he'd have to return to watch more teenagers die, in the Seventy-Fifth's case even sacrifice their lives. It wasn't right, yet he didn't have a choice to return or not to return. If he did come back, he'd just watch more bodies pile on. If he didn't, the guilt of not being able to help them would forever present itself in his mind.
Deja Hatcher. He couldn't forget her and what she told him. That would be the single reason to return the next year and the ones after that, so he could hear those stories and try to help them in any way he could.
He decided that Wylla Lysander didn't need his help, in fact, the girl would be better off without him and his pathetic hopes that she'd come out alive and be in District Three's spotlight.
It was easier to be an entity behind the curtain and never to be seen than it was to be the vocals for a thirteenth of the population.
His body faced upwards at the ceiling. Atticus Manor was in bed but he was restless.
Should I go? (It's not like he deserved to be here in the first place.
Should I just get it over with? Physically, his reflexes wouldn't allow it.
Should I run away? He would only do that if he had a sign.
He shrugged it off, turning to his side. His eyes remaining open, but the wall he faced told a story that he only imagined when his eyes were closed.
-=*+*=-
Sol Shim just worked his fucking spear into Cecelia's body, and she became alit. By the time Hettie and Iain and Insanis all ran away, he looked to Sol.
"Sol Shim, you're a monster. A fucking monster!"
It was the first time that he witnessed a murder take place, and the act was committed by someone he considered a closest ally. It haunted him.
It hurt him so much that he ran away, opposite Astrid and Nell, but instead toward the other three. He looked at it to be such a monstrous act (little did he know he would commit it four times over), and so he ran as far as he could from it. He ran from his problems, he didn't confront them.
-=*+*=-
It was the sign he needed, and he wasted no time to escape.
He only took a bag with a bottle of water, some fruit, one of the Capitol's blankets, and a knife. Atticus knew it wouldn't be that hard to find people who are thinking the same way as him, who need an escape and have been living like it for years. Runaways, that is what he wanted to be.
A runaway victor.
He took one last look at the Capitol's buzzing lights. The flashing and screaming in the middle of the night always agitated him, and it was no help that even with windows shut, you could hear them. The nights in the Capitol were not well spent.
Maybe these future ones, wherever they may be, will treat him better..
Descending down the Center's elevator, he kept his head down. Now would be the attention that he really did not need.
The elevator dinged itself open, and he pulled his backpack around his shoulders and hurried himself out of the lobby.
The voices.. oh those motherfucking voices chirped in his ears. They were filled with such excitement and such glee.
"It's such a shame she went so soon.." a girl with purple hair said.
"Who is that, and who dresses that man?!" a couple gossiped, Atticus believed it was of him.
"Mister Manor! Where are you going so late at night?" a chilling voice came from a man with an even more chilling white beard. He didn't respond. Instead, he just pushed the doors to the building open.
A few steps later and he went into a jog. Atticus was glad to distance himself from that god-forsaken place. It was toxic, and every moment he spent there was like liquid silver being poured down his throat.
Several yards later, and his pace increased.
Steadily, steadily.
His heartbeat raced to catch up with him, but right before it declared a tie for the finish, he sprinted.
He sprinted until his heart matched him in speed.
-=*+*=-
Atticus's feet finally tripped upon themselves, and he fell face down on the branch and leaf-filled ground. His not getting up was not because he wanted to be in awe of the foliage and scenery, but rather that he couldn't get up. He was out of breath. Every muscle in his body worked their butts off until there was almost nothing left. The darkness was unsettling, but it was at least a step in the right direction from the Capitol's aura.
It took a few minutes, but his legs decided they were ready. Wobbling himself to his feet, Atticus used the help of the trees to work his way further into the forest.
The forest was filled with insects. They latched onto his skin, and when he tried to swat them away, they were gone. Each of them nagged to him, "Why are you hitting yourself? Why are you hitting yourself?!" The taunts that lurked in his brain came from Danny and Ezero and Eryn and Sol. They're getting their revenge from the graves.
The physically dead were finally making their way to Atticus, the emotionally dead.
He grabbed onto another tree when he heard the rustling of leaves and breaking of twigs. For a moment he was silent. It's just a rabbit or deer.. nothing to worry about.
The noises did not stop, and in fact, they advanced.
His breath was cold, but the body that ran full-force into him was even colder.
"Did you come to bring me back to the Capitol? Did they send you to do their dirty work?"
The voice was familiar. It came from the victor before him. Harbinger Rhodes.
Two runaway victors... even better. Two heads is better than one, after all.
"No.. I.. that's what I'm trying to get away from," he spoke still on the ground.
He looked up to hear more footsteps. This time, however, they were robotic. A light shined into his eyes. Atticus stood, trying to move back and away from the light. The shining was like watching onions, he couldn't help but tear up.
"No, that would be my job, one that I must execute in an appropriate manor." The robotic tone screamed in his ears. Atticus took out the nice from his bag, not that it would do much to a robot like this...
He was afraid. This wasn't what he wanted. This wasn't how he wanted to die. He wanted to let the dead bury him.
Let the dead bury the dead.
The rain drop slowly slid it's way down his cheek, paving a pathway for the tear to make it's impact on the ground. It stopped rushing when it met the bottom of his jawline, but he didn't hear the little droplet meet with the ground.
It was done.
He was ready.
ᙖᖇIᗩᖇ ᙖᒪᙓᔕᔕ YOᙀ <3
