[OPEN]
Who: Zack Fair (i_love_squats), OPEN
When: Tonight
Where: The city streets
Format: Paragraph, past tense
What: Zack’s taking things into his own hands, against better judgment.
Warnings: Slightly angsty.
The days had started to blur, become some green line that leaked at the edge of his visions. In recent days, Zack had forgone sleep, had let the business go to the wayside; sure, it would make rent damn near impossible, but he’d deal with that when the time finally came. Right now, he had other things to settle with.
The killer. Identity, deeds, results. People hurt, left bleeding out in the streets, forgotten, wounded . Dead. People who were confused and targeted for apparently no discernable reason. Friends.
Or, could it be “killers”? What if it was more than one? What if it was all the different residents of this city, people who had been here long before the Scorched had ever come?
Not that it mattered either way, not when the end results were the same. The body count was climbing like a determined hiker up a mountain, and those that weren’t killed were hurt beyond any aid he could grant. Scar. Sakura. Cloud. The city contained more healers than it ever had before (though it didn’t make him miss Aerith any less), and for that he was grateful; healing wasn’t his strong point, really.
SOLDIER was built for destruction, and heroes were made for saving. Seems he wasn’t doing so hot at that latter part. At least, not yet.
Sleep had been the first thing to go; what good were dreams when they weren’t telling him who was going to get attacked next? Work had been next. Commenting on the Forge was a memory; all these new people, and he hadn’t said a word of welcome. Patrolling had been the only thing he did now, from morning to midnight, on his shift and off it, the latter as a secret he didn't divulge; he grabbed food from stands with the money he had been saving and ate while he walked. He knew that Priscilla said not to, that people alone couldn’t tackle this issue, but he was a trained, enhanced fighter, brimming with Mako.
And beyond that, he was determined. Dedicated. He wanted to find this person; he wanted to save someone, wanted to protect all the people here, the good, the bad, everyone in between.
He wanted safety, especially for his friends. Finding this killer, it was the only way he could show them how sorry he was that he wasn’t there to protect and help them in the first place. It was the biggest apology, the most rewarding thing he could do in their honor. Words wouldn’t fix things, not at this point.
His boots scuffed the ground down the streets of the city as he walked, the daylight gone now. He watched a few residents move out of a local bar, stumbling like drunkards. Glowing blue eyes shifted down towards a nearby alley, looking, as he moved on, jumping at shadows. There had to be a clue. There had to be something.
But, so far, not tonight. Not yet.
Sighing, he pulled a bottle of water from his belt, and stopped walking long enough to drink. Shiva, he just wanted to be cut a break. For once.
When: Tonight
Where: The city streets
Format: Paragraph, past tense
What: Zack’s taking things into his own hands, against better judgment.
Warnings: Slightly angsty.
The days had started to blur, become some green line that leaked at the edge of his visions. In recent days, Zack had forgone sleep, had let the business go to the wayside; sure, it would make rent damn near impossible, but he’d deal with that when the time finally came. Right now, he had other things to settle with.
The killer. Identity, deeds, results. People hurt, left bleeding out in the streets, forgotten, wounded . Dead. People who were confused and targeted for apparently no discernable reason. Friends.
Or, could it be “killers”? What if it was more than one? What if it was all the different residents of this city, people who had been here long before the Scorched had ever come?
Not that it mattered either way, not when the end results were the same. The body count was climbing like a determined hiker up a mountain, and those that weren’t killed were hurt beyond any aid he could grant. Scar. Sakura. Cloud. The city contained more healers than it ever had before (though it didn’t make him miss Aerith any less), and for that he was grateful; healing wasn’t his strong point, really.
SOLDIER was built for destruction, and heroes were made for saving. Seems he wasn’t doing so hot at that latter part. At least, not yet.
Sleep had been the first thing to go; what good were dreams when they weren’t telling him who was going to get attacked next? Work had been next. Commenting on the Forge was a memory; all these new people, and he hadn’t said a word of welcome. Patrolling had been the only thing he did now, from morning to midnight, on his shift and off it, the latter as a secret he didn't divulge; he grabbed food from stands with the money he had been saving and ate while he walked. He knew that Priscilla said not to, that people alone couldn’t tackle this issue, but he was a trained, enhanced fighter, brimming with Mako.
And beyond that, he was determined. Dedicated. He wanted to find this person; he wanted to save someone, wanted to protect all the people here, the good, the bad, everyone in between.
He wanted safety, especially for his friends. Finding this killer, it was the only way he could show them how sorry he was that he wasn’t there to protect and help them in the first place. It was the biggest apology, the most rewarding thing he could do in their honor. Words wouldn’t fix things, not at this point.
His boots scuffed the ground down the streets of the city as he walked, the daylight gone now. He watched a few residents move out of a local bar, stumbling like drunkards. Glowing blue eyes shifted down towards a nearby alley, looking, as he moved on, jumping at shadows. There had to be a clue. There had to be something.
But, so far, not tonight. Not yet.
Sighing, he pulled a bottle of water from his belt, and stopped walking long enough to drink. Shiva, he just wanted to be cut a break. For once.