Chapter One
I WILL Finish What You Have Started Father
Location- Hotel Rooftop.
Time-11:52pm
At the edge of the roof, a one-armed man stands holding a container in his hand. His eyes covered by a facemask, his hair spiked towards the night sky. The sentient-looking being oddly locks eyes with
the ground below him for five minutes before abruptly placing the container on the floor, taking a seat beside it.
Opening the container reveals a decapitated human head. He forcibly hooks the eyelids open using fish hooks as he turns the bloodshot eyes towards the night sky. Both “men” stare at the artificial clouds, one in a box, one alive.
Attempting to count the stars in the sky, he raises the one arm he has left, reaching out desperately towards it. As we see his war-torn, permanently battle-damaged hand, he clenches his fist with such force that his fingernails squish into his skin.
The man mutters under his breath.
“I want wings.”
…
Nothing happens.
The man puts his arm back into his pocket and focuses his view away from the stars to the city below him. He stares at the euphoric Christmas lights, and his eyes begin to shut on their own.
He withdraws hand and strikes himself, attempting to conceal his exhaustion with agony. He repeats the action, feeling his crippled and nerve-damaged hand quiver uncontrollably.
He raises his hand, and stares at it. As his hand shakes pitifully he smiles, currently having thoughts of how defective of a product he is he murmurs, “What have I done to my body…” His eyes fade to the side in disappointment.
In search of relief, he attempts to close his eyes; however, there is nothing to mask the discomfort and regret that he is feeling.
He pulls a pen from his right pocket before retrieving a book from inside his coat. Placing the artificial leather book on his lap, he attempts to write.
Liam's Journal.
December 16, 2050, Day 2922 of my journey, began with a sense of righteousness.
As Liam scribbled his thoughts onto the artificial leather pages, a palpable sense of anger and despair emerged.
Despite the miracles I've performed, this world still fears me. Droids and animals roam the city, no different from human beings. So ignorant of their existence, they fail to see the difference between man and machine.
Today, I bore witness to the murder of my father, my only remaining ally. His decapitated head was sent back to my homeland in a container, leaving me to wander these lands alone.
As he wrote, his pen paused briefly, as if unsure of how to capture the depth of his emotions. But Liam continued.
I know the past and can foretell the future. It is the same as our history.
Blood like rain.
This world is doomed.
Living in a world of blind men being the only person able to see the light tempts me to blind myself.
But I cannot.
I must make things right.
I have to fix this, I have to make a name for myself. I need to do something so-
Liam paused, his pen hovering above the page, his crippled hand shaking uncontrollably.
He knew what he wanted to say, but the enormity of his task loomed over him like a dark cloud. Finally, he scrawled his thoughts onto the page.
No.
No point in cutting corners.
This world -
I need to ruin it.
A good con man takes a little truth and a lot of lies and pulls the wool over the eyes of the ignorant. The only issue is, this isn't a man; it's an entire system. Destroying a man is easy. Destroying a system is nearly impossible. Despite the odds, I still try.
Liam closes the book.
The writing is nearly unreadable, with entire paragraphs resembling those of a child's scribbles.
Liam gets up, equipping his cowl to his head and attaching a mask to his face.
"I will not seek revenge against those who have wronged us."
He picks up the head as he looks it dead in the eyes.
"But please guide me, and I will finish what you have started, father."
Liam's voice passes through the modulator in his mask, causing it to reverberate deeply.
Finding the resolve he needs to continue his mission, the man moves forward.
