Thread: Ruin And Rebirth (Mech Pilot and darkangel76)

The Hybrid sped on the highway, lost in thoughts. Humans had a saying that went a little along the lines of Sometimes you're the hunter, sometimes you're the hunted. If he had thought about it months ago, he would simply have discarded it as a misplaced attempt to wisdom by human's ever flawed common knowledge, or perhaps even from its vain philosophy. Maybe, that was simply the truth to a feeble species like they were, forever drifting along fate's twists and pulls. But of course, for him those words would never apply. He was the epitome of the hunter. A natural born killer, physical prowess on par with the most honed of senses, the sharper of instincts, no mercy whatsoever and devoid of all other emotions that affected the inferior races. He was the apex of evolution, the perfect survivor, a wolf among sheep. How could such a creature ever be the one being hunted? And still, there he was, on the run. A prey trying to lose his pursuers. The irony of it all would probably make him laugh, had he known how. It was a rather bothersome feeling he had to say, even more for someone who grew used to chase, not being chased. He couldn't say it was fear, but some kind of paranoia, a little red light inside his head that made him carefully consider his next moves and that got him aprehensive with every little action he took, alerted to any shadow around him. He was constantly looking over his shoulder to see if anyone was behind him. But it wasn't fear. Of course not. A fast approaching traffic sign made the young man snap out of his thoughts and slow down, the engine of the run down Harley Davidson he was in protesting to the sudden changing of gears, its roar considerably increasing. San Diego , proudly announced a now very worn out sign. He was very close to the city now, speeding through Escondido Freeway, the road he'd been using since he left Escondido. As expeced San Diego wasn't in any better shape than all other cities he had been so far. It was one great pile of rubble. A quiet, dead one. The invaders had been pretty through in their attack against Earth. Not only humans, but most forms of life had been exterminated or at least reduced to just a few exemplars. That fact made almost everywhere very quiet, with the exception of the few pockets of civilization still standing. San Diego was not an exception. Nothing moved there, no sound echoed through the air but that of his motorcycle, and the only smell he could feel was that of the ocean. What was he doing out there anyway? That lost soul had no place to go, that much was certain, and it probably was true to everyone on Earth at that point. No objective, no goal to keep him going, if not for surviving another day. He was being chased, that much he knew, and that would force him to always be on the move, but he never really thought as to where he was going to run to. He chose San Diego simply because it was there. It being close to the ocean, something he actually really wanted to see, was just a bonus anyway. He would have to leave, soon enough. And where would he go then? Where would those wheels take him after that? A quick glance below, and the hybrid noticed he was running dangerously low on fuel. He kept his speed almost at 80mph, swiftly dodging any rubble or abandoned car that happened to be on his way as he entered deeper into the city, quickly getting to an intersection where he finally stopped. Calmly, the man took a map out of his back and quickly glanced at it as it unfolded. That quickly glance was enough for him to memorize what he needed, but he took his time to analize it anyway. When finished, he folded it back and neatly put it away on the backpack. He currently stood on the intersect of Escondido Freeway with Mission Valley Freeway. There was a river not far from there, where he could drink and store a little bit of water, and he decided to take the chance while he got it. His reserves ran out in while he crossed the Mohave Desert through Death Valley Road on his way to Baker. Since then, he was holding on to what little left he had on his body, but even his alien phisiology was reaching its limits. The raven haired man quickly took the exit to Mission Valley Freeway, and kept on it to the point he saw a gas station, where he parked among the the gas pumps. After so much time on the road, it was very refreshing to finally stand on his own two feet. His boots clacked against the hard ground as he threw the other leg over the bike, his eyes scanning the place. Of course, it was just a ceremony. His other senses had already discarded the presence of any threat. The only smell there was of gas, obviously, oil, and some rotten food from the convenience store. The hybrid checked the pumps to see if he could find any with working, and gladly one of them was. Now he could only hope it actually had gas in it. Luckly, as soon as he pressed the button, the pump worked and he could hear the tank filling up. By the sound of the tank below the ground though, that station was nearing the end of its usefulness and would run out pretty soon. Someone probably had been used it for some time now. Some small setting of humans living nearby, most likely. The young man scanned the place for more clues, and found recent tire marks entering and leaving the yard. It mattered little to him, but it was good to be aware of such things. With a somewhat bored yawn the hybrid took his leather jacket off, and drop it off on the bike's seat, proceeding to take of his shades. The unusual red eyes with yellowish thunder-like pattern that shot out from the middle of his iris to the edge of his eyes, as if it was shattering from a blow with great force, were completely and utterly unhuman, and the most apparent signal of his lineage. He left the shades hanging from the collar of his marine-blue t-shirt, a pair of black jeans finishing his outfit, along with short army boots with the upper part hidden by the pants. A fairly sized hunting knife was strapped to his hip and down along his leg, and in the back of his pants beneath the shirt, rested a military grade human pistol. The young man didn't bothered taking the gun as he made his way inside the building looking around for anything he could salvage from it. The place had been looted already, so the only food remaining was that which could, and it already was, rotten. No water or any other beverage. No flashlights or batteries. Anything. Fragments of glass, furniture and products were scattered all over, being crunched by the man's boots with a rather satisfying sound. He left the convenience store, and assaulted the little mechanic shop right beside it. It had a metal door and a padlock with metal grids on rather high windows which probaly kept it safe until then, even more because few people searched for tools in times like those where food and water were the main concern and so no one considered to loot the place. The padlock was merely a toy for him, and broke with just a few pulls. The hybrid rolled the metal curtains up, and was inside the shop. And the place had a lot to be taken. Two gallons were found at the back, along with some other tools neatly arranged in a stand, which could help with the bikes maintenance. He carefully packed the tools in a black bag, and made it back to the bike. Once the motorcycle was full, he filled the gallons as well so he would have something to spare in a case of need, along with two other plastic bottles he found at the yard. Then he proceeded to accommodate everything on the bike. He was running out of space on it already, and considered if he should discard it for something bigger. He decided not to before, as the bike fit better in tiny space, had better autonomy, and a ot more of maneuverability. He decided not to once more, at least for now. Having finished what he had to do at the gas station, the young man climbed back on the bike without delay, and resumed his way to Mission Valey East, throught the freeway as soon as his jacket and shades were back on. He rode for just a couple more miles when it finally hit his nose. The acre fragrance of sweat, piss and most of all, fear. He wasn't sure of where, but he could tell that a human settlement was nearby. Decided to avoid it with possible, the alien offspring took a detour, leaving the freeway and taking some sideways just in case anyone had heard the bike's engine. After some time, when he figured it was safe, he approached the river carefully where it was clear no one had been for some time. He rode the bike as close to the river as possibel and then got down, stretching. Finally he could enjoy the water to his heart's content. Hell, maybe he would even take a swim.