Nevermind — Roleplayer Guild

BRADLEY CLARKE - ARES, GOD OF WAR


Bradley fell off balance. He had been sat upright on one of the benches in the gym, having just changed out of his sweaty clothes. Bradley didn't notice that his dirty clothes were nowhere to be seen - or that the paint on the walls of the gym was chipped and the floor covered in a layer of dust. He was very disorientated, and ended up stumbling out of the gym without any of the stuff he had taken in. He slowly made his way back to his flat, spending the duration of the walk home trying to figure out what had led him to black out and simultaneously shielding his eyes from the burning light that the sun shone down upon him. He felt like he had a terrible hang-over.

He reached the door of his flat and rustled around his pockets for his keys, eventually locating them and putting them in the lock. But they didn't turn. He twisted them in frustration, sighing after concluding that his landlord must have changed the locks. Strange, considering the fact he had been up to date on his rent. Suddenly, the door swung open and a large bald man emerged.

"Oi," the bald man spat. "Fuck off, 'less you want me to get my rottweiler out. It's around his dinner time anyway." The door slammed shut.

Bradley stared forward in disbelief. He wasn't entirely sure of what was going on. The headache that was refusing to go away didn't help him deduce anything, either. Realising that he would probably get his limbs torn apart if he decided to pick a fight with a rottweiler, Bradley headed to his father's flat. He didn't care for his father at all, but this headache wouldn't go away and he needed to collapse on to a bed somewhere. His childhood home would have to do, even if the memories that it would re-instil were highly unpleasant for Bradley.

The key worked. He opened the door slowly and poked his head in. "Dad?" Bradley called out. "Dad, you in?"

No response. Bradley entered regardless. He was feeling dizzy and he didn't fancy walking the couple of miles it would take to reach his closest friend's apartment. He needed to crash out here. He headed over to the small kitchen area of the flat, seeking out the pad of sticky notes that his father kept on the fridge and then jotting a note down. 'needed somewhere to sleep . got locked out my flat . hope you don't mind. -Brad.'

Bradley made his way to the room he had slept in as a child. His father used it as a spare room now, but he never had any visitors, so it was just a bed in the middle of a room. Only - when Bradley entered, he discovered that all of his things were lined around the room. As if someone had raided his flat and put all of the things of worth in this room. Even stranger was that they were covered in dust. They seemed like they were completely untouched for a long period of time.

Bradley noticed that his phone was on the bedside table, and he went over to check it for any messages. It was dead. He put it on charge and waited for a couple of minutes before loading it up. He was not a man of technology, he preferred face to face communication, but he, like millions of others, had been swept along with the latest trend and forced to purchase the latest tech or else be deemed un-cool... whatever that meant. The first thing he noticed after the screen lit up was his primary notification.

1,124 unread messages.

His face contorted. This was a ridiculously large amount of messages, very unusual for him. Bradley looked at the date, wondering if he had blacked out for over a day and his friends had plagued him with messages to see if he was okay. It was the same date as it had been before he had blacked out. Odd. Then Bradley read it. The year. It didn't read 2018. It read 2019.

"What the fuck." Bradley dropped his phone to the floor. Surely it was some sort of error in the data? Or something.

His head was banging. He didn't like this. It was probably just a weird dream or something. Which was odd because he never dreamed much. He denied everything that he had seen today and put it off as his imagination, collapsing on to the bed and shutting his eyes tight, hoping that this 'dream' would come to an end.

----

"You are weak."
"What?"
"You are weak."
"What is going on? Who are you?"
"You take refuge in your enemies' home. You openly display your vulnerability to the person you loathe most. The person that should bow to you. Instead, you bow to him."
"You are weak."
"What the hell is going on? And who the fuck are you? My conscience? I didn't realise I was such a judgemental prick."
"I am not your conscience."
"Then what are you?"
"You should sleep."
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