Wish Upon A Star: New Earth promotional
New Earth: Wish Upon A Star
Jaymez Carez was as certain as he had ever been about what was about to transpire: Despite his history, breeding, lessons to peak his intelligence while he forged his physique through years of exercise and diet, he knew he would never see another sunrise. He was far from unprepared for such an occurrence but he couldn't think for the life of him how things had turned so sour, so fast. The events of the past few moments play through his mind. Little snips like a slide show of pictures set on fast forward when they were important, and slow motion when they showed him something that didn't seem to fit nor matter in the bigger picture. It was then that the light bulb came on in his mind, a bubble of useless information coming to the surface to ease the panic that had been creeping up on his composure.
Jaymez was one of the three partners in his family's organization. They weren't big by any means, but they had a flawless record and outstanding citizenship awards under their belt. Something the three brothers took very seriously. In the Carez family, tradition came second only to honor and respect. The "company" was easy to trace back three generations. Khayman had been their grandfather before his natural ending; and he had left them something to be proud of. Khayman had retired from the Southern Horizon S.W.A.T after a very successful career as not only a sniper but negotiator and investigator. His one son Hamane took up the "mantle" once he was old enough and focused his sharp mind and skills to hunt down some of the most dangerous butchers' in Southern Horizon's history as far back as anyone could remember.
By the time Jaymez, Frei and Dario were born the family had a sort of notoriety for excellence among those who upheld and enforced the law of the land. The flicker of the family tree disappeared as quickly as it had shown itself: pictures, documents, and history all gone in a puff of mental smoke. The eyelids of Jaymez Carez seemed ten times heavier than they had been before, as if someone had clipped small paperweights to his lashes and burnt them into the skin to keep them from removal. It was this pain, and the blur of his suddenly unsteady vision that snapped the vigilante's focus back to his surroundings.
Those dreary, bloodshot eyes swept over what was around him. The condition of the weather out tonight wasn't helping much. It was a new moon, and down in the northeastern corner of the Southern Horizon docks there were no street lamps or artificial light. What shine came from the distant parts of the city reflected off of the billions of stars above when the storm clouds permitted. The shadows all seemed to merge together then break apart. The only solace he could find in the haze of blurred darkness and impossibly fast lights came when the clouds drew close and heat lightning flashed across the sky. The thunder to follow each fast flash was enough to make him cringe with a sharp pain sent through the core of his torso. It was almost as if someone was on the second story rooftops detonating TNT or some sort of grenade and the sound waves they generated slammed into his injuries like shrapnel.
There were others in the alley with him. Once he'd focused his senses enough to tell shadow from shape it all seemed to crash over his mind like a tidal wave of information. Unfortunately, the wave of wisdom washed back out to sea just as quickly, only leaving almost childlike collections of former deductions. The smell was enough to make him gag if he had the strength. Whether it came from the homeless or something else he wasn't sure and it didn't seem to matter, the smell was so ingrained into everything that he felt it like oil coating his skin where his trench coat and shirt had been ripped apart. They blended and moved with the shadows like they belonged there and nowhere else. The movements of these onlookers were quick, erratic. Almost like they were pit vipers trying to decide to strike, or retreat. Whatever was making them keep their distance, he was grateful for. Just as things were starting to come in to focus, Jaymez could have sworn he saw a child-like shape take a shaky step toward him out of the darkness. He hoped he was smiling at least. He couldn't feel any part of him anymore through the confusing medley of fire and ice pouring through his veins. Just before he considered speaking or calling out to the adolescent, two huge drapes of robed arms swooped around her and drug the small person back into the shadows and obscurity beyond his eyesight. The hunter refrained from chasing the two. Besides his inability to do anything more physical than hold himself up, Jaymez would stake his new motorbike on the fact that whatever had grabbed the smaller thing had red glowing eyes. Nothing he wanted to tangle with when he had no weapon or backup.
The alley itself was lined with trash and concrete debris from what may have either been construction, or someone breaking through the brick walls. Medium to large sized boxes tucked under trash and beneath awnings made a make-shift shanty town. The alley was lined with intricately cut and placed bricks set to make the ground look almost like some sort of Zen garden. Where there were not bundles and piles of trash higher than his head, the alley disappeared into nothingness as if it were all some sort of mirage. A trick of the light and his overactive imagination, it had to be. The last of the "pleasantries" of these new surroundings crept up on him with all the subtlety of a slap in the face. Rotten flesh, burning hair, and something similar to sulfur were suddenly potent enough to overwhelm the funk of the intimidated onlookers. Just as the man's legs gave out beneath him, depositing his broken body onto the cobblestone walk, another of those pleasant bubbles of memory came up to consume him and he lost consciousness. Back and forth between this world and Tel'Aran Rhiod, the world of dreams, the consciousness of this particular fighter drifted. Relax, strain for control, relax and sink into the illusion or make the illusion become reality. Finally, sleep claims him and memories come trickling back to the fore-front of his mind.
The entire reason he found himself beaten and broken in the darkened alley was put together before him as if it were some sort of jig-saw puzzle he'd found the last piece of. Nalasin-Unica-Carincu: A unique name to go along with a unique girl. She had helped him and Frei a number of different times when it came to tracking down someone they were having a hard time with. She had connections in about every department in the city and was one of Southern Horizon's few reporters who actually treated people right.
He'd been planning to propose to her tomorrow. Finally got the ring, and some job security with the new deal he would have been about to sign with Nightbringer Industries. The job itself, the reason for his presence in the gutter of the city seemed just like a hundred others that had come across his desk in the past few years. An important looking envelope was waiting for him when he arrived at work not 18 hours ago. Four-hundred eighty-nine thousand credits for the acquisition and delivery of one, Rik Hushai to Nightbringer Industries' main lobby in one piece. As if the price wasn't perfect enough for the "bounty-head"; it was supposed to be some sort of initiation into the company's ranks and if he could do it himself, he could bring his brothers along for the adventure.
The target, Rik Hushai, was described as a stereotypical raver. Some punk kid who decided living on the street would be better than following anyone's rules. Reportedly he had various drug addictions and problems with a multitude of the local gangs, but nobody had stepped up to take him out yet. It would have set off alarms in Jaymez's keenly developed psyche, but for once he didn't want to ask questions. No, it was time to do something simple and get a huge payout for it. Yet as all things go in reality, some things are just too good to be true. A sudden burst of new, unbelievably pure pain shocked him alive once again and pulled him back to the present. A shock with enough force to jerk him up off the ground and send his six-foot-two frame crashing into a particularly disgusting pile of rubbish. Despite the pain of that last hit, it was just enough to send him in to his second wind. His brown eyes focused through black bangs to glare into the shadows in front of him; as if he could make out more than shadows and tracers. He felt that he could finish this death match alive somehow.
Without any more time to consider the strategy he pushed forward from the plastic bags of the trash he landed in; then immediately let out a scream better fit for a death in some cheesy zombie movie. His entire body grew tense as if burning hot needles had been forced into every bundle of nerves in his body at the same time and his muscles lost all control. He could do nothing but remain stuck there in the dark, inches from the punk's face with a fist. His muscles and internal organs shuddered harder than he thought possible. Biceps tore through pale skin, blood ripped free in torrents when arteries burst and lashed about like a fire hose with no operator. The last thing his mind was able to process before taking his final breath was the outline of a young adult: Not defined but not overweight. Covered in glowing rave paint the target's emerald eyes that could've been stones set into the kid's face. Finally, the outline of catlike ears to either side of his aqua hair and tail lashing out behind him completed the demon's appearance, and didn't seem at all out of place considering the fangs displayed with his killer's smirk.