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Chapter Three: э x τ r α - c u r r ı c u l α r s (cont.) |
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The sole eye of heat gawked down on the open field. The beads were warm, so was the artificial grass. There were breezes which drawled across the space, trees up about the hill dancing with their many branches angled to the sky. They were happy, staring from behind the baseball diamond's gates, out towards the field that was used to the enjoyment and liberty of the school's students. Oracle Preparatory and its soccer team would use this same field as the cross country team was running about, getting warmed up. The rest of its members were getting suited up.
Facing the side of the field was a hill that ran the length of the entire field, sloping down the pathway along its far right - which would grant the students their routinely trek up to Newman Hall - the relatively warm and unseasonably sunny autumn day showed no signs of the summer's departure. In fact, the flowers that amplified the aesthetics of the field were still in full bloom, not bothered in the least by the irregular climate or weather. Truth be told, if they could do anything at all, they probably wouldn't even complain.
The group of seven boys, identifiable from afar by their height, hair color, and even how they bobbed up and down in their light jog, chatted as they crossed the turf towards the hill. Another breeze danced across the artificial blades of grass, providing relief for the group of boys that was about to go on a seven-mile run. Laughter erupted from the group as the leader, a jovial and lighthearted member of the team who was most-definitely passionate about running, and renown throughout the entire school for it, turned around to face the familiar identities.
The soccer team paused their warm-up punts to the goal, whose goaltender relaxed minutely, expecting one of the nearby balls to end up in the goal - his goal - and would have none of it. As the small crowd of boys hobbled on by, a few ran up from behind them, joining the party, while a single individual peeled off from the front. "Jack! Pass me one!" The grinning boy called, and so one of the soccer players kicked the ball his way. With agility and finesse that seemingly flowed throughout the members of either team, he maneuvered the ball while strafing to the side, attempting to lag behind his group but not too far. With a tap of his foot, he settled in one spot, inspecting his angle to the goal. He took a few steps back, and the goalie, a fellow Junior by the name of William [ but everyone called him Billy ], jeered him on. "C'mon, Joe!" He tapped his gloves together, as if to taunt him further. "Kick it!"
Joseph, with a large and goofy grin, met Billy's challenge with a glare. His smile fell for a moment as he inhaled lightly and stepped forward, following through with his right leg. The laces of his sneaker made contact with the ball, and it went barreling forward. Incidentally, William had been in the game long enough to acknowledge how Joey's body was moving and in which direction. Watching the mocha-skinned figure approach the ball, aiming to the left, he decided that it was too much of an easy defense, and let his guard down. Joe looked confident with the kick, a smile sparking his features, but it soon fell as he watched it arc higher and slam into the bleach-white metal post. "Aww, you missed." Billy teased. "Good kick, though!" "Next time, Billy! You'll get it!" Joe laughed as he pedaled backwards towards his group, which had instinctively slowed to watch the kick or continue on at a leisure pace with their conversations.
As Joe returned to his group, the soccer team resumed with their pre-practice practice. Joe resumed his place in the front of the group, and as they neared the obvious slope of the hill, another spoke up. It was Kenny: "Stiggy's not at practice?" Joe looked over his shoulder as he pivoted and approached the hill backwards. "No, he told me he was going to the doctor's or something." "Oh yeah, that's right. His physical's still not in," Kenny laughed with pity, and Joe nodded with a smirk. His eyes then turned to the hill, and Joey's own were focused on the hill after he turned to face it. It wasn't a challenge whatsoever. In fact, the team attacked the hill with so much ease that some weren't even struggling as the efforts of their muscles proved flexing and a good finish to their light warmup.
Next was to stretch.
The group assembled into a large circle, spreading their legs between the paver path and the large, green gates of the tennis courts. The commenced their stretching, doing their traditional and ritualistic chant-like count, some mulling over the run ahead, others absentmindedly watching the cars that whizzed down the descending road. It was odd, how the school had been effected by the massive advancement of technology, but it retained its quaint and relatively-tranquil atmosphere within the quiet Gilded Province - eastward of the center of Redacle City.
Once they were done with their stretch, briefed by the active captains - Joe and Kenneth, in a senior's stead - of their exercise for the day, they took a moment to gather their bearings, recount the meeting places and then set out for their run. "Alright boys, let's go." The pace was set to something light, but wasn't too lenient to give their coach ammunition to fire at them with if he caught them running without challenging themselves. After all, the had a meet in a couple of days. They had only done a hard workout the day before, and were taking it light today.
The group disintegrated into their fashions of couples or trios when they were running at a common pace, keeping their partners at a comfortable distance. Running all along the concrete path, the whizzing and pulsation from passing vehicles fit rhythmically to their breathing. The further they ran, the less their surroundings retained the natural aura of the past: trees were dwindling in count on each block, the sidewalks were no longer thin and lacking buildings which loomed over the side but were now widespread and cluttered with obstructions on either side. All of these changes, the people adapted to them, as would the students. They knew where to run, where were good paths and how the flow of the town went. It could have been more considered a city as the headed towards Downtown, but there were still little areas that distinguished it from the city. Namely, the streets weren't condensed and busy with cars after Dismissal Hour.
They rounded a corner, Joey, Kenny, and a couple of others who were nearing their fourth mile, sweaty and vaguely phased from the run, unsuspecting of any immediate dangers whatsoever. What they found was a line of people who were obscuring their path, crossing the street and awaiting what seemed to be entrance into a building. A detour: "This way," Joe knew the city like the back of his hand, and as he slowed his run to a light jog, relaxing at the cross walk, he looked over to the line with inspecting eyes. What was it there for? What was this special event that he was unaware of? The building didn't look anything more of a market, surrounded by housing, so there could not have been some kind of major event happening. What's more was that these people were mostly dressed in a similar fashion: casual clothing that wasn't restricting or uncomfortable. Sweatpants, short-sleeved shirts, and sneakers - he would have to swing by later and check it out.
Ken, on the other hand, wasn't so much interested in the sole building as he was a few pathways overhead. With the transparent, colored glass looming overhead, higher than where the light-rails would shuttle across, he could see cars zooming by on the highway, always a danger when one of the hovering vehicles would veer off the side and either plunge down towards the ground, endangering someone's life [ with a careless driver, of course ]. Fortunately, all of these precautions were taken care of, and the city was essentially fool-proofed. Especially the runner paths that were situated along the side of each path. Kenny elongated his breathing as he slowed his pace, lacking behind to allow a pair of older runners to pass the side of their party of three, one other having slowed to take a break and run with the group behind them. They were about a mile away from the drop-off for the runners who didn't have to run the full seven miles today, so only a handful would be continuing their run onto six and seven miles.
Kenny's attention still did not veer from the Highway. The lighter brunet peered over his shoulder, sensing the distress. Joe glanced along their common line of sight, meeting the same target that the hazel eyes had been set on for a while. "What do you think it is?" "I don't know." Joe looked around, noticing that Downtown - save for that lone line and the drizzling evidence of potentially incoming traffic - was silent. Eerily so; the breezes of the Highway overhead were so sporadic that it acted as a conditioner for the runners, who could hear each other breathing. After his surveying of the area came to the conclusion that there was no one around to see them, he ducked off into a space between two front staircases, Ken stopping to cover him.
Joe pulled at his shorts, tugging at the drawstring to tighten his pants. With a press at the pad that resided on his left hip, there was a series of whirs and a flash of light as he was clad in a form-fitting, metallic-looking substance. A minute later, the form, uniformly black, sprung up from where Joe once was, Ken watching him from below, resting his hands on the crown of his head. It was his break, and he was going to enjoy it, while Joe went to inspect. Ken took a few steps backwards and leaned his back against the cool stair rail, awaiting Joe's return. If anyone would ask him, Joe's indomitable pace would have went, undisturbed as always: he would have left Kenny to rest and finish the rest of the way when he could.
Through the visor of his translucent helmet, brown eyes scanned the panels of the highway as if it were the surface of water. Rising from the side, he ascended above the level of the glass-like platform, and landed with an insubstantial thump. The path was colossal, able to provide support for more than three large freight haulers at once. And this, above forty feet in the sky, was most definitely a concern of the city at all times. To make matters worse, this wasn't just in Redacle City, but all of the Metropolis: it was as if the city was entangled in a frenzy of looping, shiny arms. It was remarkable how far technology and life overall had progressed.
Joseph looked both ways, not seeing any odd silhouettes any longer. He turned around to face the edge of the platform and look down at the tiny spec that was Kenneth. With a lift of his arms in a shrugging motion, he relayed that there was nothing up here. Rails blocked him from immediately slipping off as he stepped closer and instinctively crouched a bit to find his balance. As he focused on Ken, however, he noticed that the boy wasn't paying attention. Simultaneously, the buzzing of an insect resounded at the side of his head. Waving it away, the insect slowly flew away, leaving Joe alone to his perch.
"Ken!" His voice reverberated off the walls of the buildings which delivered his voice far below. The motion was obvious that he was now looking upwards. Joe repeated his motion, but was interrupted by the sound of the insect returning. He turned to find that there was a vehicle coming also - coincidental reaction to the louder sound of a vehicle approaching. It was on the other side of the raceway-like lanes, so he needn't to worry. He turned back to the grid-fence that laid behind the railing he was holding. "I guess it was nothing!" Kenny's faded voice called back. "Alright! I'm coming down!" Joe stepped back to bend his knees and rise over the fence. However, he was - once again - interrupted by that pesky pest. What came to follow, however, led him to believe that it wasn't just a little bug.
"Ah!" The exclamation wasn't loud enough to immediately concern Kenny, but he kept his gaze upward, awaiting the boy's return. However, it would be prolonged, seeing as how Joe had a little run-in with an unknown aggressor.
The contact of Joe's back against the poles was not a good thing, especially since he had just been running. Fortunately, the boy's eerily concealing, full-body suit was supportive as well as an addition to his extraordinary endurance. His body collapsed to the ground, suppressed pain surfing through his lower back. "Ow," He groaned, groggily rising to his feet. "What the heck?" He looked around, not seeing anything. There was obviously something that had pushed him into the railing, so it had to be something formidable. He pressed his back against the railing, holding it on either side as he looked down, over his shoulder. "Ken!" He called down to the boy, only to receive a high-pitched screeching in response. The noise was being produced, right before him, and it caused Joseph to cry out once more, his charcoal, cloth hands ineffectively covering the areas where his ears would be. He fell to a single knee and gritted his teeth, hoping that Kenny would have heard this and came rushing up.
Joe struggled to stumble to his feet, and raced away from the sound, barely getting up into the air as the space around him buckled and he was sent hurdling into the platform of the highway, skidding along a few feet. There had been a popping sound as he fell from the air, but he was too bewildered to think anything of it. "What is this?!" He cried out, confused beyond belief. Gathering his wits, he stood to his feet and faced whatever foe he was going up against.
A sound, similar to the ignition of a jet plane, resounded from the side of the platform, and a robotic form could be seen, hovering with streams of blue flaming downward on either side from its hands. Jet propulsion, "Joe! What's going on?" The supers were suited up for a fight. Joe was frantic, not even caring about the boy jeopardizing his identity with no one around. A sharp breath slid through Joe's covered lips and he looked around once more, wondering where this sorcery had gone now. "I don't know!" He recounted to the machine-clad male as he rose over the fences as well. They both inspected the length of the highway, watching as another car drove in the same direction as the last.
"Well, whatever happe--" Another ear-piercing tone practically shattered the thin, glass screen at the side of the road to allow stragglers to call in for any kind of road-side assistance. Even the doors leading down to the stairwell and subsequent platform with a plethora of elevators down to the ground-level were cracked. "What the hell is that?!" Kenny cried out, looking out through a set of wincing eyes. The whirring was drowned out within his helmet, though he could still feel the vibrations within his suit: they were absurd.
He let out a beam of blue energy straight from his chest, aiming it in a sweeping motion, hoping to hit whatever was making the noise. It could not have been a broken sign's speaker - they never malfunctioned due to constant maintenance. The beam hit nothing but the sides of the highway's barriers, and the noise stopped. They both collapsed to one knee, exhausted from the onslaught of noise already. "The ********]" Kenny barked in frustration. What kind of enemy could do this? Hide and beat their enemies without so much as a lift of the finger. It sounded like someone was screaming, but no human could produce sounds this horrendous.
There was a blurry haze that swirled before the pair, and, Kenny having noticed this, immediately thrust his torso forward, a thin, speeding beam of energy striking it. The figure lit up and the haze dissipated. What was left in its stead was a frightening sight: an individual who could have been trained and seasoned with years and generations of secret techniques and special maneuvers that would prove rather difficult to manage against: neither Ken nor Joey were martial artists of any kind.
The figure that was before them hovered slightly off the ground, his shoulders broad with a sense of authority and power that would prove to intimidate any lesser figures. On its countenance was a gas mask, black in color and grunge-looking in its chipped and beaten appearance. His body was clad in a black leather-like attire, the shoulders, joints and hands and feet having a gray padding rather than the black. It somewhat mirrored Joseph's attire, though it was adorned with more dark blotches and weapons: evidence that this particular individual was most definitely seasoned in his trade: an assassin.
"Holy s**t!" "Ah!" Kenny and Joe both exclaimed simultaneously as the figure made himself known. What probably startled them the most was the large mohawk that protruded from the crown of its helmet. It looked like a warrior's helmet, dipped in black tar and clawed at by the most ferocious of creatures. The eye holes were dried from a dripping, white paint, finishing off the grotesque and gaunt vibes as a whole. With a flick of its arms outward, there were slender objects in both hands. A single twitch of its fingers unraveled these objects without so much of a second wasted, and ancient, Chinese fans were revealed. They were silver and fairly bland in retrospect, though they had sharp blades at each interval on the end of the fan.
Joe and Kenny stood side by side, a few feet apart from one another, facing this foe. They knew it wasn't going to be an easy fight, but they were ready, nonetheless.
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 Montferer - Maestro · Wed May 18, 2011 @ 04:04am · 0 Comments |
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