Friday, November 19, 2010

Newspaper Airplanes Prt 3

Yuri backpedals, eyes wide in stringent shock.

"What!?" He yells, stepping forward now. Aggressive, alpha, predatory, hunter. "WHAT!?" Fists slam into a desk before convulsing fingers grip the edges and throw the construct with more physical force than the look of a gentlemanly older man he'd so cultivated would be capable of.

Brent backpedals as Yuri approaches him. "Look, man, look, it's just not working out."

"Is not working out!? You-!" Yuri spat, his language jerking into something altogether foreign. Brent has his hands up to appease or calm Yuri, only the older man backhands him strong enough to bawl him over. He shakes his head, hard, trying to find grounding. His neck is smarting something fierce.

"We come to this city, you promise us much. Now you wish not to fulfill deal?"

"Look, man, Yuri -- it's..., it's just, what you're doing man, it ain't right."

"Is not right? We give you money, weapons, power, you give us...minerals. What is hard?"

"Have you even fucking looked outside, Yuri!?" Brent shrieked.

"Is beautiful, yes."

"You can't fuckin' destroy the city, man! It's wrong!"

Yuri falls silent. Brent waits, watches, feels his gut turning. He's starting to smile wickedly, like this is a game, a joke with a punchline he isn't getting.

"Yuri, are you even listening to me?"

The wrenching in his stomach becomes reality as a blade shivers through his spine into his abdominal cavity. He's falling now, eyes staring at a ceiling just as disturbed as the landscape outside. Craters everywhere. And Yuri, he walks over to stand above him, a monolith.

"You understand little,... Brent. We do not care about your cities, only resources."

He then nods and Brent never sees again as a foot connects with the base of his skull.

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