Her eyes shoot open, wildly darting around. The harsh visual search arrays show no discernible pattern as she shuffles back an indistinguishable number of steps. The only sounds are those of the grit rolling beneath her boots and her accelerated breathing. She looks left, right, back, then right again before crouching and looking at him once more.
“Right-handed.” he thinks to himself.
Lilith’s mind is racing at the impossibility of what she just experienced.
“You didn’t… Did you? Just now, you can’t possibly…” She trails away, face furrowed in concentration.
Unmoving he stands, still staring, head tilted downward, his eyes looking at her from just under the supraorbital ridge. The overall body language is a message of terrifying concentration.
“It’s hard for me to do this, so I don’t talk much. The nano-machines, my nano-machines, they are different.” The words boom into Lilith’s mind like a riot police PA system.
She drops to her knees, both hands on her ears, eyes clamped over fresh tears; she shrieks and crumples like a rag-doll into a pile of newspapers at the base of the dumpster. He blinks hard, uncertain; the sounds of the alley are coming back to life as he takes a step forward and stops. Looking quickly to the bodies strewn nearby, he notices atypical twitching in two of the fallen men. The massive paralyzed one is coming out of shock; his eyes flit and flutter, while the tall thin man who was simply knocked out is still breathing erratically.
Continue reading “Émigré 3 – The Voice”