What if, forty years ago, instead of all the drugs, hippies, and all the rest, that scientist may have helped created, instead they created a soldier? Soldiers that were physically stronger, faster, and better reflexed than humans. Of course they were once humans but... who would have thought that, these humans only ran on urges, like their ancestors? To hunt, kill, eat, and mate. The basic instincts of any carnivores. They soon over ran the humans with their superior talents, and it took only a year until the humans were in the millions, and a month after that until the population resided in the hundreds. In a last ditch effort to save the last of their humans, scientist took a few of the hundreds of humans left and converted them. Some became apart of the Lycan project, where they were experimented on resulting in, nails that became claws, hard enough to cut diamonds and the even harder vampire skin. Teeth that became fangs, enough to rip limbs with little more than the jerk of the head. Hair that became fur which was like armor to sustain hits, and even the casual falling building. The second thing they created were the Magicians, humans with sight so enhanced they free form particles that they could easily manipulate with their thoughts. Able to create anything out of these, such as fire, trees, weapons. To the little group of scientist that remained among them, it was rumored that these may be what had caused the world to be how it came to be. Now, they protect the remaining 216 humans of the wasteland that remains of New York.
" I scrub and scrub trying to make it go away. I'd happily go back to walking around internally dead than whatever this is. Watching the crimson substance go down the drain and off my skin- out of sight, out of mind, except it's not going away. I hated that pain was temporary but this... this pain I don't want it. I don't want to feel this.
Tears begin to well in my eyes making my vision blurry.
Weak.
Anger surges in my veins and impulsively my fist connects with a tile on the wall of the shower shattering it.
This is emotional. I don't do that. I don't do this- I don't cry in the shower. I don't let my emotions dictate my actions I haven't in a long time. It's stupid. It's childish. It's weak.
I glance down at my knuckles on my right hand, watching the tiny cuts heal. Shouting, I punch the tile over and over and over again until blood runs down my arm and drips onto the shower floor. I reach my severely broken hand out under the water, momentarily stinging as water hits the open wounds which unfortunately close over seconds later. I crack whatever bones need it, back into place and look around me.
The back wall of the shower is destroyed, shards of tile and blood scattered on the floor. As I stand under the scalding hot stream staring into nothing my mind falls silent for a split second. A few seconds of solace until everything comes crashing back. The tightness in my chest and my stomach, the cloudiness in my brain, the anger, the sadness. It all comes back. I sit down away from the shattered pieces of tile, curling my legs up and letting the near boiling water hit my back.
There was a feeling of relief in losing everything I was. Whatever it is that has clawed it's way to the surface, I want it gone. I want that relief back. "