05-03-2014, 01:58 PM
For what seemed the hundredth time that week Michael wished he remained in a dreamless slumber where there was no pain, no burden. His body had other ideas though, and perhaps it was a good time to regain consciousness.
He felt himself being jostled while voices argued in angry tones nearby in what must have been Arabic. He was met with a moment of panic before he found his inner steel again. He had given Dr. Weston his orders. His men would be safe and perhaps his work may be appreciated. Even so, he was wary. Who knew who these people were, and what they were capable of.
His head still throbbed but was robbed of the intensity he had suffered in his escape. At least he could think relatively clearly, even if the danger of the situation still eluded his senses.
As the anger mounted Michael resisted the urge to grasp the power. He hadn't even the strength to open his eyes, any attempt with the power could end in disaster worse than an angry mob. But he was prepared. He had no intention of being killed here.
And then a voice cut through the din like a knife through butter. It drew Michael's attention and he felt somewhat soothed by what seemed to be the sound of reason amidst chaos.
His eyes fluttered open and he blinked as the light of sight stung his watery eyes. He took a moment to adjust to his surroundings which slowly stopped spinning, and looked at the face staring down at him.
Well...
It was a face he had not seen but knew very well. One he had not expected to see, definitely not in this situation.
Alarms rung in his head as if an entire city were set ablaze. They told him to run, hide, escape.
But the encounter with the monster had left a bitter taste in his mouth. Besides, the man was an enigma.
Michael cleared his throat and spoke in clear English, his eyes now sharp despite lingering pain. "It appears I have you to thank for my life. How would someone like I express my gratitude to the 12th Imam?"
Edited by Michael Vellas, May 3 2014, 02:00 PM.
He felt himself being jostled while voices argued in angry tones nearby in what must have been Arabic. He was met with a moment of panic before he found his inner steel again. He had given Dr. Weston his orders. His men would be safe and perhaps his work may be appreciated. Even so, he was wary. Who knew who these people were, and what they were capable of.
His head still throbbed but was robbed of the intensity he had suffered in his escape. At least he could think relatively clearly, even if the danger of the situation still eluded his senses.
As the anger mounted Michael resisted the urge to grasp the power. He hadn't even the strength to open his eyes, any attempt with the power could end in disaster worse than an angry mob. But he was prepared. He had no intention of being killed here.
And then a voice cut through the din like a knife through butter. It drew Michael's attention and he felt somewhat soothed by what seemed to be the sound of reason amidst chaos.
His eyes fluttered open and he blinked as the light of sight stung his watery eyes. He took a moment to adjust to his surroundings which slowly stopped spinning, and looked at the face staring down at him.
Well...
It was a face he had not seen but knew very well. One he had not expected to see, definitely not in this situation.
Alarms rung in his head as if an entire city were set ablaze. They told him to run, hide, escape.
But the encounter with the monster had left a bitter taste in his mouth. Besides, the man was an enigma.
Michael cleared his throat and spoke in clear English, his eyes now sharp despite lingering pain. "It appears I have you to thank for my life. How would someone like I express my gratitude to the 12th Imam?"
Edited by Michael Vellas, May 3 2014, 02:00 PM.
"She saw a flaring halo around his head, radiant in gold and blue. It shouted of glory and power to come"
"No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it."