She'd pissed someone off, someone that mattered. The poor girl lay vulnerable in her dark room, vulnerable to the incoming threat that stood right outside her window. She was clothed in a simple gown and meek slumber. As she rested defenseless the man came closer with cyanide. He put it into the room in front of her blind eyes. She was, after all, just a worker, nobody that mattered: nobody. The world would turn another day without her there. The sun rises, the stars pass, the clouds drift all by their will without care to the world below.
As the vapor filled the room, the girl woke up to the horrific smell of something like burnt nuts or oiled hair care products. She panicked as she was commanded to breathe in the poison. Her body tugged against the weak air that sentenced her to bend like a reed in the wind. Her heart thumped in her chest like an out of control machine then stopped.
The man ran away, fearing the corpse aftertaste of death. You could almost feel that hollow expression. Nothing anyone wants to live with, even the experienced.
Voices then entered the room with the girl that lay paralyzed.
"Let us send the fallen after her," a voice said.
The room smelled like burnt blood and rot.
"Turn around and let me see the face that I created!" A hissing voice shrieked out.
"But I want to be good!" I said back.
I woke up the next day with a headache from Hell.
This is all a satellite. They've got us locked in games, and they're using common gangs to target us since it's cheap labor. Then they use their fancy weapons on us. I get confused between reality and fiction, just what they want. What about you guys?
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