βββββββββββββββββββ | It was hard to walk this road alone, without her.
The mission was a simple one, put out the fires and stop the chaos. Alex, a weapon bred for war and destruction was unleashed with the Palmecia police. A man often accompanied by another, Elowen Sloane was alone moving into the facility. The trap was perfectly set by the Harlot, one the warrior wouldn't be able to intercept, intervene or stop. Dressed in his battle vestments he moved eerily throughout the facility, the team was behind him it was supposed to be routine. Laying a trap was easy but executing it was another then, upon turning the corner that's when he saw her.
The Harlot wasn't someone you saw and lived to tell the tale, the woman was a myth and a legend. One that had materialized way too soon in a form way too lethal for Alex to handle. His eyes went wide upon seeing her, a stunning beauty mixed with the lethality of a vixen before he could warn those he led it was already over just like she planned. Her goons in camouflage and more aimed guns down this kill box as lead flew all he could do was to try and protect them but this was in vain, as he summoned Buvelle the Harlot was quicker what felt like a freight train struck him hard sending him to the ground as the slaughter continued.
He was helpless.
Stirring sometime later the smell of death and blood filled his nostrils, he was bruised and somewhat broken as his eyes returned him to this world. The hard black leather boot of the Harlot pressed against his chest, claiming her prize. He couldn't move, the soldiers around him secured the building, radioing in information and taking out the rest - the hopes and dreams of those who could not be protected. The Harlot looked down at him with a grin of glee, one a victor wore over her enemies at the end of a battle. She took in the win as the aches and pains of reality wore through his body with every waking moment, grunting he couldn't even remove the boot from his chest. "Bitch.." He hissed.
The boot came up and it came down with a solid strike into the ribs, balling up was all Alex could do but even that freedom of movement was denied from him as the Harlot's harsh quiet words fell onto the ears of her lackeys. They grabbed onto his arms and tied him up, cuffed with the same technology that inhibited his Aeon he was subsequently stripped of any gear and identity becoming one of the many faceless victims of the Harlot. With the facility secure, he was dragged to the awaiting vehicles in the motor pool to haul him off to the Harlot's lair wherever it may be. He never knew, there was no VIP treatment for an Aeon wielder such as himself as a black hood was all he donned.
...
Then it was all hazy, how long had he been there? Waking up in his cell he had that nightmare again, of not getting back to her. Alex was a lot slimmer since his captivity however long ago, muscle mass faded and injuries replaced his perfect sometimes soft skin. A black eye, a bloody lip, and marks from punches, kicks, and whips replaced the normal skin tone of the soldier. Some days he had trouble remembering, sometimes he would fight back against the guards and lose and then some days the Harlot would have her sadistic fun with him.
The vixen herself tried to break him, and maybe it was working as his sanity crumbled under her torture on thing always came to mind that pushed him forward.
Getting back to her. |