The Bellators

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Blinding whiteness invades the view, a bright abyss void of detail and surrounding. The colorless avalanche harasses with seemingly no end, that is before being met with an opposing force of darkness, once that impedes with wide coverage instantly until that whiteness is shrouded into complete darkness. The darkness persists in newfound dominance as the soft sound of rubbing is audible, and a soft tired groan accompanies it, from what sounds like a man bitterly admitting unease.

The darkness suddenly uplifts, and two hands that had been pressed on the view move out of the way. With the darkness lifted however, the whiteness didn't seem to return, but instead a new view, one adapted better after the struggle of remerging into the light.

The resolved view captures a lawn of large structures, tall and wide, with many beyond the view's peripherals in a way that's almost endless. The structures have a silverish blue body and seem to lack exterior features such as windows or doors, not even seeming to be real as they appear to be solid objects with no greater detail. Upon first glance, their simplicity seems to allude to illusionary situations, false images that couldn't practically exist within the physical world. Although at second glance and as the view is continuing to refine and normalize, it becomes clear that the true body of the structures is simply silver with a metallic texture, one that reflects a blue hue.

In front of and behind the structures, there seems to be a sea of racing objects soaring in the air. The speed of the objects renders disclarity, however they roar and rumble, overburdening with excessive sound. The objects seem fairly large, and to be moving in a single direction, however separated into several distinguishable lanes vertically. The resultant effect is a vertical grid of constantly moving and roaring objects between the viewer and the building.

The view then tilts upwards, trying to look above the lanes, and in doing so the brightness of the view increases as though moving towards the source. Blue skies become visible through the tall blades of silver structures, with fluffy and scarce white clouds.

Among the blue skies is a great circular cyan blue object, a source of immense light, sitting in the sky in the way a sun would. The entity's vibrant light seems to be the source of the blue hue on the structures, as its energy echoes onto the world below, being the cause of the overwhelming light upon the emergence.

The view then begins to move forwards as it tilts back down, moving disparately in a draggish manner, with soft steps nearly drowned by the roaring lanes. The view continues to lower before turning to its right side, losing sight of the lanes although there seem to be more silver structures in the distance. Looking closer, there seems to be a large field on a black smooth surface, a field with rows of entities wider than tall, with many having uniquely colored metallic bodies. While there also is a lack of exterior detail, the shape is more complex, seeming similar to that of an automobile, from at least the upper half, although there is an absence of wheels as the body has a flat and smooth bottom.

Continuing to approach the rows of these odd vehicular constructs, the view centers itself on a particular construct that, unlike the others, is matte black. The construct is relatively sleek, although not abundantly to appear sport-like, but not particularly round either.

Its body is lower to the ground than the majority of the other vehicles, and amongst the others, it's hidden, not with greatly pronounced camouflage technologies, but subtleties when sitting in a row of others.

The view approaches the construct, but that is until a loud voice is heard, one of a senile male with a noticeable rasp yet surprising power as it bellows: "Hey hey, almost missed you there!"

The view instinctively turns backwards towards the source of the sound, the view of the man in the leather jacket, his hands in his pockets with his hood over his head. The man's soft blue eyes contract in a confused glare as the soft morning wind picks up his four defined locks of white hair on an otherwise bald head.