Rhythm of Violence

[Sayne]

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Sayne sat on the edge of the bed in his rented room. The rooms aboard the station, normally used for returning for an evening of ecstasy with a friend or illicit consumables, was used as his hideout. In the corner of the room, a small girl sat huddled against the wall, her tear stained face a contrast to her beautiful blue eyes which bored into him with both fear and anger. Jadyn stared back. His eyes wouldn’t betray it, but he felt like he had crossed a line and become a true monster. Memories came back to him as he stared at the girl.

Now he was her, but it was years prior to the war, prior to meeting Scarman. He had just lost his parents and his Uncle had just gotten through beating him. He had stared at his Uncle in much the same way while he drank copious amounts of Bourbon and injected various substances into his body. Sayne hadn’t known it at the time, but his Uncle would continue visiting grotesque abuses on him throughout his young life into his teens…until he murdered him in cold blood as a young man. Was he perpetuating the same cycle of violence with this girl? Would she, one day, turn into the twisted monstrosity that he was now?

Jadyn turned his eyes away from the girl and looked to the door, as if sensing his old rival approaching. It wouldn’t take Marcus long to find him. Finally he would end his miserable existance. He would have vengeance for Julianne's death. If he died in the pursuit of his goal, then so be it. He could finally rest, he could finally stop being in pain. If he survived, what would he do? Piracy? Bounty Hunting? He scoffed at the latter thought. He would have his vengeance soon, all this would finally come to an end.

A cold chill flowed through his body. It startled him at first, but even that startled sensation faded quickly. He rose, almost mechanically, causing the small girl to flinch. His movements became robotic as if he was being puppeteered by someone else. He turned away from her and looked into the mirror as if by some instinct. The implants that had always been present kicked in, numbing all his emotions, allowing him to think clearly without those pesky worries and doubts. There was no pain anymore, no angst, no anger or sadness. There was only existence.

Despite all his misery, his self-loathing, his maniacal and murderous actions, he knew that a corner was coming. A corner that he would turn and would dictate the rest of his life however long that might be. He wouldn't die like this. He wouldn't die in a cage, cornered like some feral animal. He would go out with a bang. He would go out with fire and brimstone. If he was lucky he would take the traitor Marcus Scarman with him. Maybe the girl would survive.

He turned around slowly to look at the girl. She flinched at his sudden movement, her eyes never leaving his. The rage present in her eyes was staggering. That something so small could possess so much fury. Should she survive this battle then she would be scared for life. An apt metaphor considering her last name. She would never be the same. She would seek him out later in life to put his to an end...and maybe he would let her. Maybe it would be a release to finally be dead and buried. Until that day came, he would live. Now, however, he had a pain in the ass to kill. Marcus would die here and now. He finally spoke to the girl, his voice sounding distant; muffled. Almost as if it was being spoken through a pane of glass. It came out almost robotic and detached. She flinched with every syllable.

“On your feet, Ms. Scarman. It’s past time we got this over with.”

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I've lost people who meant the world to me...and I'm still doing just fine.

I'm coming for everything they said I couldn't have.