Within Dreams

One

Eto's eyes clenched together, a defiant stand against the sunlight spilling into and pouring through the blinds. It was too early, he was up far to late, and the Sun had the audacity to be so bright? As he rolled he grasped onto the pillow beneath his head and slid it over his face. Just five more minutes? The blaring of his alarm clock informed him dutifully; five more minutes would have to come later. With a sigh he swung his feet and his body swung with them, one fluid motion sitting him to the edge of his bed. The floor was cold as usual, and the sensation sent a shiver through his body. He groaned, then sighed, pinching and rubbing the bridge of his slender nose. He could hear the sporadic rhythm of rain drops as they danced against the outer walls of his apartment.

Standing, and opening his eyes, the light overtook him. He winced, and swooned, trying to regain his composure quickly he put his hand against the wall and it landed with a thud. His head was splitting, cracking open to spill it contents he was sure of it. So, maybe he had been up too late and drank too much. He limped, hand along the wall, to the doorway just left of his bed. The door detected his presence and slide open with a hiss as if to say "don't you dare defile this room", but Eto did anyways. He fell to his knees and grasped onto the bowl of the toilet, heaving up whatever poison he had willingly taken in from the night before. As he did, he looked down upon his arms. One of flesh on the right, and one of metal and wire on the left. He had lost it during his time as a police officer, and the precinct had been just "kind" enough to fund him a new arm, since they needed him.

Eto wiped his mouth and scratched the ghostly itch on his left forearm. Flushing the toilet, he walked to the sink and turned on the water so as to splash some in his face and cup some to his mouth to rinse out the vile taste that lingered. Thinking back on it, that was definitely the final reason he decided to walk away from the precinct but it certainly wasn't the only factor. The police in the Aka-Zawa district were as corrupt as they could come. Bribes to keep government officials or Organization members out of jail, reselling evidence, hell even selling guns from the police armory itself to gangs and thugs just to make a quick buck. And yet, Eto chose to be a private eye and bounty hunter, instead. All of these things made that job even harder. Not that Eto was afraid of a challenge.

He walked out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. A mirror ran along the wall vertically and he stopped to look at himself. He was tall, slender in build, but the job kept him fit. He tousled his shoulder length dark brown hair, which seemed to have its own agenda at all times since it stayed so unruly. The metal sheen of his left arm caught the light and reflected it as a sparkle in the mirror. The flexi-steel material ran from his finger tips to the bio connector at his shoulder which ensured its usability and connectivity to the rest of him. He rotated said shoulder and watched the flex of the bio-fibers in the arm simulated like muscles.

The rest of his body was all natural, though. He flexed his chest a bit, a traditional Japanese dragon tattoo wrapped its way around his chest where it was consuming the tail of another dragon, encircled around his back. He turned to inspect his back, and this dragon met to eat the tail of the first. His eyes were drawn to the scars on his left side. Echoes left by the explosions shrapnel carved into his skin. The same one that took his arm when he was sent to defuse some idiot Organization member that had been turned into a walking bomb. The man had panicked in the end and began to rip at wires. Eto clicked his tongue, repulsed from the taste such a bad memory left behind.

He turned his gaze from his mirror to his right wrist, with a flick the bio-monitor implanted in his skin came to life, the lit text made available to see. Heart rate, breathing, brain waves, and any other information that pertained to his body was available with a simple set of motions. All of them were also reading nominal. That was good, then. He walked to to the sliding closet door, already ajar, and reached in to grab himself a button up shirt. He felt his hand wrap around the soft cotton and grasped, pulling out a maroon colored one with long sleeves. Giving it a sniff, and affirming it smelled clean enough, he wrapped it around himself, tucking his arms into it and rolling them to cuffs. He buttoned it about three fourths of the way. His black slacks lay on the floor, belt still through the loop. A quick inspection however revealed some kind of muck around the bottoms... Probably vomit. His, he hoped. He slid the belt from their loops and rummaged around in the drawers inside his closet to retrieve a dark gray fresh pair of slacks. He quickly put them, and the belt, on before tucking the ends of his shirt into them.