This is a story I'm writing as part of NaNoWriMo, which is a month-long event where writers from around the world focus on writing each day of the month of November in order to finish, or create a piece of fiction.
I did start this story before November but decided to use this month to try and get this one finished, or at least get a good bit of it written.
A Night In The Western Wastes
M'Trada walked to the door and it opened automatically as he reached it. Passing the guard outside standing to attention he could feel a light tingle in the pit of his stomach. The gank. He had completely forgotten about the cap he swallowed before entering the building. He hadn't taken full effect. Not yet anyway. Standing still for a moment, he took a deep breath to attempt to steady himself and settle his mind.
"Move along," he heard a shimmering voice that echoed.
Turning to the guard, he stared at the man's face, or at least the only part of it which was on show. The lower half poked out from the black helmet.
"Hear me, Trisken? Move." He commanded once more, and by gritted teeth, M'Trada knew the man was losing patience. But, he was lost staring at the waving teeth. Each one of them came to life and wanted to greet him.
"I just, I." M'Trada stumbled over his words mumbling, before breaking into a hideous fit of giggles while locked onto the guard. "I, I'm trying to leave." He managed to say, before another burst of laughter. His ribs started to hurt from the contractions, and his stomach got tighter and tighter with each bout.
"You're funny," the man said as he scratched at his upper lip lightly.
There was a surge of energy that resonated from his stomach, and it felt like he came to life. Life. He was alive, and fully in the moment. It felt as though everything that was - or would be - didn't matter. All that mattered was now. This moment. The guard wasn't an individual, no. They were both one entity split in two.
The guard stepped forward, and as he did, M'Trada spread his arms for a warm embrace, and it seemed like they moved to do the same. But, rather than hug, the Human butted him with his rifle. A blinding white flash of light shook him to his core, as he felt the crunch of flesh on steel, as it collided with his face. He landed on his back with a thud, and the bass from the music below resonated through his body. Holding his face, and feeling the liquid dance against his fingers M'Trada stared up, through his bloodstained fingers at the Humans raised boot. Another flash of white light, and a similar crunch as it fell on him. The onslaught continued. Another stamp, and another. He counted three before he thought to grab the attack leg. He wrestled against it and sat up to give himself more leverage to defend himself. A blast to the crown of his head made him lose strength, and he slumped forward. Lose grip turned his grabbing of the man's leg, into a clutch, almost begging forgiveness.
He finally fell back, after another strike. Feeling the thud from the music far louder now, he stared back and realised quickly that these knew thuds were boots on the ground as backup arrived.
He floated without feeling or sense, and saw the passing of the ceiling, as though he was lying on a conveyor belt. It all felt vaguely unreal as if he were living in some sort of a simulated reality. He wasn't who he thought he was, and everyone else was fake. All of it wasn't real, it was just senseless ramblings of an incoherent mind. Something broken, lost, and utterly devoid of care for what was created from thin air.
"You alive?" In a hazy dream, he heard a voice. The darkness called to him. It wasn't warm, or freezing. It was just even. It all felt even. Love, hate. Right, wrong. There was no making sense of it, it was totally different than everything he learned throughout his life. He was programmed to feel a certain way, and now, in an instant, it was all gone. In just a single flash.
Eyes opened to grey clouds, and red lights. Repetitive taps of rain on his face made him feel instantly alert. Eyes shifted and darted, but his body didn't move. The jumbled mess of everything was lost on him, but slowly he pieced together a story that made him feel embarrassed.
"Oh, so you are alive then." He heard the voice from the void once more, but before he could search for it. A face appeared. A warm face; bright green eyes, red hair, and white teeth peering from behind red lips. "I saw them kick you out, and didn't know whether or not you were dead or not." She continued, as her eyebrows raised while her eyes washed over him. "You should probably get out of the rain, but you don't seem like you can move. Can you? Or, do you just want to lay down for a little while longer?"
"I can move," M'Trada let out croaky and unsteady words, then coughed, which sent shudders of pain through his ribs. The pain must have been obvious on his face because the Woman let out a quiet gasp and moved to help him sit up. Through labored breath, he was in a sitting position and looked around briefly at the mostly empty alleyway.
He could hear the echoes of conversations wash in from the end of it, which was mixed in with the repetitive music from inside the club.
"So, what happened to get you kicked out? I'm assuming they also did this to you." The woman said as she squatted down beside him.
"I can't really remember. I did something stupid." M'Trada said as he lightly ran his fingers across his face, and certain areas stung to the touch. The gank had worn off fully now, and what was once good was now bad. He heard a bleep on his communicator and tapped the screen on his wrist.
"Don't take too much time, I want that shipment." A message read, and he could almost hear Crovin's slimy voice through the text.
"Is that a friend?" The woman asked. "If it is I can help you find them, maybe they can take you home, or to a med-centre."
"It's not a friend." M'Trada cut her off before she could finish. "You could say, it's more like my boss."