Nemesis, By Evangeline Archer
Copyright by Evangeline Archer , August 2009, all rights reserved.
I do not own any of the characters, only the love I feel for them. If I did, then Sega would be the dominant videogame company. Unfortunately for them, I am only fifteen, so anyways, forget it! I am just the writer!
PROLOGUE: Nocturnal Visitor
Tick, tick, tick.
The small, round clock on the wall continued its monotonous anthem, declaring lackadaisically that it was already midnight, but nobody seemed to hear its weak voice. In the peaceful darkness of the room, the only sound to stir this acoustic routine were the fake, loud screams that came from a certain black box resting on a wooden piece of furniture.
Hands being brought together behind his head as a cushion, the young man had made himself comfortable in an obsolete, perished armchair. Eyes half-closed, one couldn't say whether he was awake or had already entered the world of dreams. He needed some rest, after an exhausting day full of duties and literally no time for himself. The male murmured something at a low tone, then exhaled heavily and gave a clear indication about his current status by starting to snore gently.
Then, suddenly, the screams stopped and the screen went immediately black. Repeated patters followed, echoing along with the clock. Step, step, step. A calm, chilling breath. Silence.
Shimmers in the nocturnal black truth, eyes opened, wide with fear. Someone was there, right next to him, his breath dreadfully caressing his ears. A cold, metallic, sharp surface touched his neck slightly. His heart hammered chaotically beneath his ribcage, a single drop of sweat tumbled torturingly from his forehead. He gulped.
"Dare you move a muscle, Tough Guy, and I swear it will be more painful than I was planning it to be", a deep, hoarse voice grunted from behind. Despite not being able to face the mysterious invader, the man would bet that he was smirking with every word he pronounced.
'Think of something. Anything. Say something, do something. Move. Think, think, THINK!'
He opened his mouth several times before any sound was actually heard. "Who are you...?", he finally stammered, subconsciously knowing it was no use.
He would actually...die.
A chill was sent through his body as the thought came to his mind, blocking malignantly his respiratory route. Death; a sad perspective, considering his age. He had much to see, but would precociously be prevented from enjoying the sunlight, or the light sea breeze fondling revivingly his face. He blinked twice, tough as he had always been, in an attempt to suppress the salty liquid which came to his eyes.
A sarcastic laugh.
"Does it matter, whatsoever?" his anonymous nocturnal visitor mocked calmly.
Instead of giving a verbal reply, the man moved his head slightly in a silent, cautious nod. A weak scream escaped his lips, for the blade had just brushed against the vulnerable skin of his muscular neck. Something cool and viscous tumbled its way down his torso, and as the knife was slowly being thrust deeper into his flesh, more of it moistened his fur, coming out of the wound with successive throbs.
Eyes closed, waiting for an end to come. Then a whisper followed; devastated, sad, but brave. A dying arm struggled to move, a finger pointed at the picture on the small table, in which a girl was smiling blissfully, her eyes sparkling with love and youthful enthusiasm. Behind her the surroundings were sunny and full of green, rare flowers adding to the unspeakable natural beauty. But as he glanced at the image the only thing that caught his attention was her face; now he would never be able to tell her how much she meant to him.
"She...she knows nothing...", he stuttered out of breath, pain penetrating his robust body repeatedly, desperately begging for an end to this torture to come. His heartbeat slowed down, until it reached a complete halt. The tormenting sensation gave its place to a peaceful one. Muscles loosened. The raised arm fell lifeless to the side of the armcair.
Gloved fingers wrapped around the dagger, the dark figure pulled the knife from the victim's body and put it in a plastic bag he carefully hid in the depths of a small, leather one. A grin appeared on his face as he prepared himself to leave the apartment.
"Nothing personal, Tough guy", he declared coldly, taking a last glimpse at his prey, now blackish in death.
Marching his way towards the door in a rush, the figure left like a rude guest. The shadows of night shrouded him, until he couldn't be seen anymore.
The apartment was now silent, and the clock's voice echoed like a complaining bewail. The sun would rise in a few hours, letting the light fill the horizon, and the tragic event that was to hit the headlines had already occurred. An uncertain smile having been formed on his pale face, the man's eyeballs had frozen forever on the woman's beloved ones.
The creature's hands trembled as he looked at the phrase. A sweat drop moistened his forehead and run between the eyes. His friend. Rival. Companion. He didn't exist anymore. Averting the face from the gathered masses, a certain hedgehog struggled not to break, for the very first time in his life.
The paper fell on the ground after a carefree dance with the air.
RENOWNED HERO IS FOUND DEAD IN HIS OWN APARTMENT - CULPRIT REMAINS UNKNOWN
To be continued...
In the next chapter, we'll see who the hero is, and who is accused of the murder. In the meantime, while reviewing, you can tell me who you think the victim is! Please R&R. Thank you.
I owe an apology to all of you guys who waited to see a new chapter on my two last stories, The chronicle of loss and What I've Been searching for. I am still working on them, don't worry! It is just that this idea hit meh...and if you like sci-fi/drama/romance/mystery, stay tuned and this will become the story for you!