DarkBlood Prolouge

DARKBLOOD

Prologue





Section 116, Sahara Dessert-21st July 2010

As the shimmering of the metal doors struck his chiselled face, his head tugged backwards to suppress the extremeness of the light. The two symmetrical sides of the door facing him slid slowly open revealing a contrast of the heat struck desert of which was in the past of his travels. The blackness of the room before him was accentuated by the inability for his sight to be corrected instantly. For some time, his eyes continued blind, confusing and disorientating him. As his focus began to return, his eyes pinned on a figure in front, standing with a curious, yet unsurprised expression. He stood wearing a long white coat, much like that of doctors, only with the most humongous array of pens in his left pocket, colour co-ordinated to perfection as if it had been placed by an autistic child. As the man shifted his eyes into the others line of sight, words of an eerie, almost whispered fashion came out of the mouth of the scientist: or at least who he presumed to be a scientist.

         “Please, follow me Sir”



         As he followed, the assortment of valuables and collectables that decorated the walls were shun by the mass of religious relics and icons, consisting of mostly Christianity. However, these were still overlooked by the enormous amount of lab equipment and pieces of data scribbled of various pieces of recycled paper, obviously written in some what of a hurry. It felt queer that at this moment in time, it was so empty and quiet.

         Continuing down the corridor, the scientist began to speak. This time his voice was more pronounced, and was hinging on a sense of enjoyment in what he was presenting to the man.

         “Have you heard of the term, ‘Dark Blood’, Mr Cutler?”

The fact that he knew his name was shocking enough for him, but the word used was one he was all too familiar with. He had seen it before, scribbled on files swarmed in ‘Top Secret’ stamps. He asked once about it to his superior. The only answer he could receive was that it was a type of illness and he was advised to never ask about it again; which he did not take it on himself to listen.

         “I have. I hear it is an illness”, Cutler queried. The scientist stopped for a moment to raise one eyebrow in sarcasm, and then continued walking forward. The scientist seemed to be getting more and more agitated about something, as if he felt he had something to say, but looked like he was holding back, much like a school girl telling secrets. His feeble mind however was not enough to restrain his thoughts and he started to explain, opening up the book he had been grasping since their acquaintance.

“At the age of 9, dark blood appears in the protected sections of the body, where most of the vital organs and imprisoned. At this early stage, it appears only slightly when seeped through broken or attacked skin, making it barely noticeable, especially to the average person. Only at the age of 12 has the disease spread to areas as complex and detached from the main arteries as hands, feet, and the neck. When observed, the blood looks dark, not black, but very rich, almost crimson velvet. Irritations become more frequent as the blood integrates itself with the nervous system of the carrier. However, this may continue for up to 6 years, in which the subject is usually detected and disposed of. If, however, this is not executed, severe scratching of the shoulders and neck occurs, often leaving the person extremely sore and in tremendous pain, sometimes even resulting in torn skin and visible flesh, much like a burn of the third degree.”

Looking up from the book, the scientist continued.

“The result after has only been witnessed once, due to the lack of curiosity in people subject to impervious horror that was encountered from subject 01.”

         As the scientist looked up towards the tall, cloaked individual, he could sense a thirst for knowledge, which drove him to ask one simple question.

         “You want to know what happened, I guess”. The rugged man looked down upon him and slightly raised one side of his scarred mouth, out of which came an echoing grunt, signalling the scientist to proceed.

         “After the itching, the skin is always torn, no matter how hard you attempt to refrain yourself; the temptation is far too powerful for human minds to compete with. This is when we know it has been done, and is not irreversible. Out of the ripped flesh grows firstly too large spikes, which curl ever so slightly as they depart from the back of the collar bone. Following behind is a slime like material, that, when hardened by what would appear to be darkness; forms a curtain of glass, unbreakable by any known means. This curtain is held by strands of what we have discovered to be an unknown element, which form in a geometric arch, embraced by icicles of spikes draping down from the main “spine” of the organ. Simply, they were what would appear to be wings: wings as evil as Satan’s wrath itself.”

         “What had we found you wonder? Let me ask you yet another question, Mr Cutler. Do you believe in demons?”





Read on-"DarkBlood Part 1"