The strings of his vocal cords stretched thin from the blood bath that had ensued. Ripping off Tangent's vocoder from his technological suit made by the Darland chemical company, a subsidiary of StillLife that focused on the extenuation of living organisms. Offered access to Dev's immense archives detailing heavy implants designed by "The Phenom of Technology" still after many years of being KIA during the Suicidals' attempt at destroying their only focused enemy, Dev. The winged bat is dead. At the hands of his carefully placed mimic. His iris and pupil inverted to the outer brim of widened and stretched skin. Exemplifying the only difference other than a ripped-off jaw displaying where the device needs to reconnect what use to be. Raising it to his face, electrodes convulse the parts veins, and muscle tissue contorting the splayed mouth of the mimic till it reconnects to the new physiology of the angelic body, Rev. A figure approaches slowly ensuring each step I noticed while electricity burns the viscous liquid straining down onto the already bloody floor. The artificial replacement threads together burn on high heat.
Steaming off oxidized blood as it ties together the organic matter to the mechanically jarred contraption. From bottom jaw to scowl brows, the steam lifts the faded substance to a thin mirage. "You're much like him." Rev moves his spine and winces, the pain of where his wings used to be. "Don't worry we can fix that problem. It'll only take a few more seconds for the vocoder to converge from your old esophagus and in convection start stringing the muscle." Moving the tissue back and forth like the thread of a needle only with a pinprick instead of a pump pulling together your throat as sticky heated adhesive glowing a brilliant blue. "You'll have your throat soon and a voice box to go with it." He points at warehouse number 43. "Yes. That's the location they made the liquid that destroyed your eyes." Rev holds his neck bone throat noticing the heat sealing together organic matter because the human to bold to have been anything but a pawn to the one kneeling down to grab a key card. The mimic stays his hand and says from his throat, "I'll force them to open the door." The obsequious jackal let's go of the key card. "I'll lead the way. You see the pulse?" The mimic looks at the lackey and senses the vibration of the blood pulsing through his circulation. "That's all the proof I need. I want you to do something. Look to the stars and notice their vibration." He hands him a spinning compass of varying colours. The light shines through the telescopic compass capturing certain stars. Lights are only permissible for some to have been seen, to the ends of the spectrograph allowing a more enlightened view of the constellations above. "Hold it to the sky and tell me what you see." Rev angles the compass to the closest approximation of what fits as the constellation matching the only available angle. Thinking as he's noticed, as the old man with grey hair and white stripes shuffle does it depict?" His voice-box glitches. Thinking he's noticed and breaks into static. The lower class stitch shrugs at the lack of reception and starts walking at a time he would've rolled his eyes "This way." The new monster of this globe takes another look at what's above them, without it he sees the same thing he did a few seconds ago. Fucking nothing.
"Where did *** fall from?"
*
The strings of his vocal cords stretched thin from the
blood bath that just ensued. Rips off Tangent's vocoder from his technological suit made by the Darland chemical company, a subsidiary of StillLife that focused on the extenuation of living organisms. Offered access to Dev's immense archives detailing heavy implants designed by "The Phenom of Technology" ill after many years of being KIA during the Suicidals' attempt at destroying their only focused enemy, Dev. The winged bat is dead. At the hands of his carefully placed mimic. His iris and pupil inverted to the outer brim of widened and stretched skin. Exemplifying the only difference other than a ripped-off jaw displaying where the device needs to reconnect what use to be. Raising it to his face, electrodes convulse the parts veins, and muscle tissue contorting the splayed mouth of the mimic till it reconnects to the new physiology of the angelic body, Rev. A figure approaches slowly ensuring each step I noticed while electricity burns the viscous liquid straining down onto the already bloody floor. The artificial replacement threads together burn on high heat.
Steaming off oxidized blood as it ties together the organic matter to the mechanically jarred contraption. From bottom jaw to scowl brows, the steam lifts the faded substance to a thin mirage. "You're
much like him." Rev moves his spine and winces, the pain of where his wings used to be. "Don't worry we can fix that problem. It'll only take a few more seconds for the vocoder to converge from your old esophagus and in convection start stringing the muscle." Moving the tissue back and forth like the thread of a needle only with a pinprick instead of a pump pulling together your throat as sticky heated adhesive glowing a brilliant blue. "You'll have your throat soon and a voice box to go with it." He points at warehouse number 43. "Yes. That's the location they made the liquid that destroyed your eyes." Rev holds his neck bone throat noticing the heat sealing together organic matter because the human to bold to have been anything but a pawn to the one kneeling down to grab a key card. The mimic stays his hand and says from his throat, "I'll force them to open the door." The obsequious jackal let's go of the key card. "I'll lead the way. You see the pulse?" The mimic looks at the lackey and senses the vibration of the blood pulsing through his circulation. "That's all the proof I need. I want you to do something. Look to the stars and notice their vibration." He hands him a spinning compass of varying colours. The light shines through the telescopic compass capturing certain stars. Lights are only permissible for some to have been seen, to the ends of the spectrograph allowing a more enlightened view of the constellations above. "Hold it to the sky and tell me what you see." Rev angles the compass to the closest approximation of what fits as the constellation matching the only available angle. Thinking as he's noticed, as the old man with grey hair and white stripes shuffle does it depict?" His voice-box glitches. Thinking he's noticed and breaks into static. The lower class stitch shrugs at the lack of reception and starts walking at a time he would've rolled his eyes "This way." The new monster of this globe takes another look at what's above them, without it he sees the same thing he did a few seconds ago. Fucking nothing.
"Where did he fall from?"
*