[center][h1]Section 1: [color=olivedrab]The World Traveller[/color][/h1][/center] The wind blew silently through the leaves. The sun broke the clouds, sending down lines of gorgeous life-giving sunshine. Nature remained at peace, as had been. Of course that's not true, is it? Every century, every millenium, there's been something, someone, there to screw around with the pieces. Someone to try to attain control over something best left alone. Someone attempting to play god. A shot rang through the air, followed by a soft pattering, which quickly grew to a loud muffled pounding in the air. A helicopter dangled weightlessly in the air, as if held by strings. "I think I got one!" "What, a pygmy?" "Some shirtless fucker I dunno." The Amazon sprung to life at the noise, colors filling the air as birds took flight in fear for their lives. The scream of a human displayed to the men that they had in fact shot a "pygmy". But despite all the sound and movement, the plants remained still. They had no reason to run. A tree sprung out of the dirt, at a speed at which trees should not move. It twisted and twirled into the open air, quickly dwarfing all others in the area. It consumed the helicopter where it stood, leaving it embedded. The pilots screamed, but the tree wasn't listening. Trees don't... listen to things. The water shimmered under the sunlight. The vast blue emptiness stretched out in front for kilometers without end. It rumbled, a terrifying reminder of how much lived out in that nothing, and how easily one could come face to face with it. A trumpet broke the water's natural silence. Off in the distance, a vague splotch of darkness could be seen. It grew, from a blotch to a blotch with wings. The trumpeting was joined by clicks. The blotch undulated in the darkness, creating currents of power that slammed into the rock. Finally it closed, letting out one last massive trumpet as it sailed by, the massive creature of blubber and... whatever else whales were made out of, sailed right on by, dispelling water and creature in its wake. [i][b]BEEEEEEEP[/b][/i] [color=olivedrab]"Interesting how much that beep sounded like 'get off your ass you lazy f...udge."[/color] Harris looked out the window of the Watch Tower, over Earth. Always his home, he's known that, but not until now had he truly understood it. [color=olivedrab]"It's Harris, what's up dude?"[/color] [hr] [center][h1]Section 2: [color=808080]The Destroyed[/color][/h1][/center] Laboured breathing echoed through the halls of the dark building. It creaked under the wind but the room deep within the walls was near silent except for the horrific gasping and heaving of Wilhelm Silber's lungs. It had been five years, but he would never heal, not even his healing factor could do that. He could only hope to get used to struggling to breathe. He used his powers to hold himself upright enough to walk, balancing himself with his hand on everything nearby. He felt trapped in his own body. He hated being some worthless incapable, he hated being one of the very things he swore to destroy. It would be different soon. He looked upon his newest creation. A set of power armor, massive, bulky, impractical, but he just wanted to walk. He pulled it into pieces in a moment and slapped them all in place on his body. This was it, what he'd been preparing for. He dropped his telekinesis and immediately felt a familiar pain in his knees, it was agony, but not too bad; he was able to stand at least. Now if he could do more than that. Slowly, unsteadily, he lifted his leg, then placed it down. Huh. That worked. He spent the next hour walking slowly, getting used to doing it again. It was a triumph, but it just made him angrier. How could something so easy be so hard to him, how could achieving it seem like such a milestone? He was calm though. He could walk. That meant he could fight. And if he could fight... [i]her[/i]... Then maybe, just maybe. He'd be able to die. Not as an old man killing himself. But as a martyr going out against his eternal enemy. That sounded good to him. [hr] [h1][center]Section 3: [color=blanchedalmond]The Starved[/color][/center][/h1] [color=blanchedalmond]"I'm so close now."[/color] She hurt. Shams felt pain pounding at her from every angle, some from hurting herself tripping due to sleep deprivation, some from starvation from forgetting to eat for days at a time, and some from those few times she'd gotten shot. Thank god for kevlar. Her room smelt like coffee. So much coffee. She almost tasted the goddamn fucking coffee. So there was this body. It had been shot seventeen times. No empty clip though, thank god, make it harder, she loved that. So there was clearly animosity there. You wouldn't shoot someone with a clip and a little bit more just because you got told to shoot them. Ah, her husband, the main suspect, they'd been disputing for years apparently, but if you're together that long and never split once, then why brutally kill her [i]now[/i]? She looked closer at the crime scene picture she'd "borrowed". Hold on. Her pocket It was full. That's a phone. The police never reported a phone. One of the cops must have stolen it. She needed that phone. She grimaced, more work to do. Oh well, no time to waste. She turned to leave but collapsed onto the floor. Maybe she wasn't leaving just yet. Just... just one more hour of deep thought.