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Post by Adam Jensen on Sept 25, 2011 16:11:06 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true] Twli felt most like home, despite the deep canyons and rifts that spider-webbed through the city it reminded vaguely reminded Adam of Detroit. There were of course the striking differences that he was growing accustomed to, like the inhabitants of the city itself and the racially diverse community ( He had never seen talking animals before so his first encounter shattered his constant mask of indifference. ). Magic was a large source of energy here, or ‘Lifestream’ and he felt like he had heard all of these things before. Little bits of his childhood pieced itself together and he could have sworn this was something out of a video game. He’d brushed it off; it wasn’t such a large concern. It was coping; it was surviving that was proving difficult.
Work was almost nonexistent, even for someone with his qualifications. The locals seemed more preoccupied with the large cracks that had begun to grow large and larger with each passing week. They didn’t need another mercenary for hire, if he could even call himself that. With no aptitude for magic he’d managed to make up for it with his augmented limbs. They tech was somewhat superior to what Midgard had to offer. Too bad they didn’t have Neuropyzne, or any of the high-end medical supplies of Earth. It felt surreal to call it that.
Earth.
Wasn’t this Earth? Or some kind of Earth? Maybe he had been launched into the future through some unexplained event. Detroit had turned into an inter-dimensional wormhole and everyone there had been sucked away into different sections of a different universe. It sounded plausible, though the idea itself was laughable at best. Adam had little reason to entertain his own musings. It was best that things remained left unexplained. It was easier that way, it was simple and it was easier to deal with the reality that he might never go back to the sprawling neon junkyard of Detroit, Michigan. He’d miss his dog the most.
His evenings often panned out like this, sitting alone in some bar to drink in silence. It always left him too much time to think, too much time to reflect on everything and why his memory was hazy. There were too many things left unchecked, to many things unexplained. Maybe it was his lethargy, or perhaps his constant state of indifference that stopped him from pursing such answers. It was probably the reason why he came here, night after night, ritualistically sitting on the same barstool, ordering the same drink. Even now he drummed his fingertips along the countertop while his shot glass was filled to the brim with the house whiskey.
In the end, it all boiled down to the same phrase that repeated itself over, and over, and over again. He never asked for this.
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