zg_shadows | If It Ends With Pulling Off A Mask, It's Probably A Good Mystery

(In an almost deperate attempt to work out which direction my character should be heading in, writing imaginary conversations and bits of fiction seem to be the best way to get it straight in my head...)

"I give it another.. six months, maybe a year if we're lucky, before the big fight. Give me another five years and I'd count myself fortunate to be half-way up the tree. I won't ever see the top of the tree in my lifetime."

The injuries the man sustained were horrific. Whoever had attacked him had done a very thorough job, and the blood daubed across the walls proclaiming the end of the world, well, that was the icing on the cake. You couldn't help but wonder how much blood a body contained. There was still a few puddles of the red-stuff slowly turning into dark, brown stains on the floor. Thomas considered, briefly, the merits of using it to fix the spelling mistakes on the bloody proclamation. Armageddon, after all, should only have one g.

"So why bother worrying about it? I might as well just get on with things. Doesn't matter about prestige and reputation and kudos anymore. I feel sorry for the others, really. At least at the bottom, there's nowhere lower to go, and there's not enough time left for me to play that game and win."

Thomas looked at one of the severed legs and held it up thoughtfully, glancing occasionally at the corpse in front of him. There was something not-quite-right about the scene, although things filed under that heading were no longer that unusual. It was just easier to fly away for a whle, rather than deal with the bigger problems. It was a holiday of sorts. A half-collapsed building south of the river woudn't be the ideal choice of holiday destination for a discerning tourist. Then again, Thomas considered that he was neither a tourist nor particularly discerning.

"You're right, I've got to find something else to replace it with. I don't think I can stop the end of the world and, well, I don't think anyone will really survive it now. The Tower has got bigger, better birds than me to deal with it. Maybe I'll just stick with the little things that need doing, and hope that it'll make sen- oh, hey.."

Leaning down, Thomas placed the severed leg next to one of the bloody stumps of the recently deceased.

"...I just realised, this isn't your leg. Looks like a mystery to me."