Post by Cazador on Nov 13, 2012 22:51:58 GMT -6
It didn't take long for the word to get out that Cazador murdered the resistance captain, 201. Not only was Vulture looking for him now, but also the resistance. Both sides of the city wanted him brought in for his crimes. The entire city saw him as some kind of monster for 'helping' Legion. His heart was in the right place, but saving a child like Legion was beyond his power as a mere human. Despite being in peak condition for a human with advanced technology at his hand, he couldn't stop the demons that raged with in her. It was just another long list of failures in his life.
The night was ripe with life through out the city. The sound of gunshots along with a trail of bodies and blood were leading to a familiar area. It was a small destroyed part of town in Cazador's first battle with the Crimson Vulture. Some buildings were still holding together, while others were nothing, but rubble. The streets were filled with potholes and the sight of dry blood still stained the ground. Anyone who walked through the block could tell that an enormous battle raged there at one point. For the time being it would be Cazador's safe haven or at least he thought it would be.
With his armor left with no power and him feeling unworthy of wearing it, Cazador had discarded it. Cazador could be seen walking slowly towards the old battle ground. Orginally he was seen in a black jacket, white shirt, blue jeans, and black boots, but after going through what looked like a battle, most of it was ripped apart. His jeans were covered in burns, the black jacket he had been wearing was now just dust in the wind, his white shirt was covered in holes and blood. He appeared to be heavily wounded. He was holding his left bleeding shoulder trying to apply pressure to stop any bleeding.
He was unlucky enough to run into some Vulture troops who were looking for him. Fighting them off in the gunfight was much harder without his armor. He didn't know why he was still trying to survive. The battle with Legion drained away his fighting spirit. He was nothing, but a broken man. Through out the battle, all he could see were his failures. The death of his squad, the death of his family, the death of his best friend, the death of 201, and the death of all those resistance soldiers were all his fault. He couldn't call himself a warrior. As that battle ended the only thing Cazador wanted was a dishonorable death so that he could finally have some kind of rest, but even that was denied from him as he was left alive.
As Cazador walked further towards the abandoned building, the pain of his wounds were now increasing. Each step made the bullet wound in his shoulder burn like fire. He was exhausted from fighting for his life that last few days. It wasn't long before he collapsed to the ground. He felt so weak and tired. He couldn't get back up. Luckily, he wasn't too far from the building. His legs had given out, but somehow Cazador found the energy to crawl into the half destroyed building. It was dark inside with barely any noticeable light. It felt safe for him though. He reached a wall next to a window so he could listen for anyone who was coming. Sure enough there were more.
It wasn't Vulture this time. Cazador peaked through the window to see it was the Resistance. It looked like it was only a small squad. While Cazador still had no problem killing anyone on Vulture's side, he still refused to kill anyone on the Resistance side. He hoped that they wouldn't come walking into his hiding spot. Cazador listened carefully to hear their conversation.
"Reports said he was last seen going in this direction. Just look at all these dead Vulture troops. Who else could of done it besides us?"
"I don't understand why that bastard would come here. There's nothing left."
"Well the trail of corpses ends here. He's gotta be in one of the buildings here that are still standing."
In that moment, one of the buildings that was barely standing collapsed.
"This whole block is falling apart, I doubt he'd be stupid enough to hide in one of these."
"You're right. C'mon boys lets head back to base."
Cazador gave a sigh of relief as they left. Now that they were gone, he needed to get to work on stop the bleeding from his shoulder. There had to of been some kind of first aid in the building to help him along with the healing process. He was going to need light though if he planned on looking. The building had no power thanks to his actions. His best bet was to make a torch. Cazador could see a metal rod poking out from the wall. It looked loose enough for him to pull. He leaned against the wall to get himself back on his feet. He slowly walked towards the rod and removed it from the wall.
Next he removed his blood stained shirt revealing numerous scars across his chest and back. Years of fighting had taken its toll on him. While some people found scars attractive, these were anything but. Some ran even deeper than others while others still looked like they could be hurting a lot. He wrapped the shirt around the metal rod before lifting up the right pant of his jeans, to pull out a survival knife. He opened up the hilt to pull out a match. Cazador struck it against the wall to light it. All he needed to do was bring the fire toward his shirt and rod and he had his torch. The light wasn't extremely bright, but at least now he could see.
Cazador made his way deeper into the building. After minutes of searching, he finally came across a first aid kit. He opened it up, revealing some gauze, band aids, bandages, and alcohol. He set his torch on the ground and rested his survival knife on the fire. He broke off a wooden piece from a chair to use as a bite block. This was going to hurt. He place the wood block in his mouth before pouring alcohol on his shoulder wound. His face gave an extreme look of discomfort, but that was just the easy part. Cazador grabbed his knife from the fire and slowly drove it into his wound. He let a serious of painful grunts. The pain was excruciating. After what felt like weeks, he piece of metal shot out from the wound. It was a bullet. Now he just needed to cauterize his shoulder.
He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a few bullets. Cazador only needed one part of the ammo. He pulled the bullet apart from the casing to reach the gunpowder. One by one, he poured the gunpowder on his wound before reaching for his torch. He took a few deep breaths before pushing it against his shoulder to ignite the gunpowder. The bite block from his mouth dropped as he let out a large painful yell into the night. He set the torch back down so he could apply the gauze and bandages to his shoulder and the rest of his wounds. At least now he wouldn't bleed out to death.
Not far from where he was sitting was a coat hanger holding an old brown jacket. He could use it to stay warm for the night until he was ready to move out again. To where though, he didn't know. Like Relampago had said, there were two paths that Cazador could take. He could continue feeling sorry for himself and wallow around in his misery or rise above it to become something stronger than before. It was obvious which choice he needed to make, but there was one thing holding him back. Fear. He was afraid of failing again. Even if he did choose to go to Relampago for help, Isafaro would still see him as a monster who helped Legion.
There was always the third option. He reached into his back pocket to pull out an old photo of him and his fiance together. In the picture Cazador could be seen holding her pregnant stomach from behind her. He closed his eyes for a few moments. It was always easier to remember with his eyes closed. He returned the photo to his back pocket and pulled out his revolver. He looked at it with a blank cold stare before putting the barrel in his mouth. His breathing was increasing heavily as his finger shook on the trigger. At that point he wanted to give himself the shameful death that Legion should of given him. He shut his eyes before he thought it was all over.
Click
It was empty. He had run out of ammo fighting those Vulture troops to get to the building he was in. Cazador dropped the revolver to the ground while laughing. It seemed like death wanted nothing to do with Cazador. He quickly dismissed his actions and put out his torch. Darkness engulfed the room. For now he would sleep. With the whole city after him, it would only be a matter of time before someone found him here. He curled up on the broken ground of the building. It was uncomfortable, but without any beds he would need to make do. Cazador shut his eyes and awaited the morning to come.
The night was ripe with life through out the city. The sound of gunshots along with a trail of bodies and blood were leading to a familiar area. It was a small destroyed part of town in Cazador's first battle with the Crimson Vulture. Some buildings were still holding together, while others were nothing, but rubble. The streets were filled with potholes and the sight of dry blood still stained the ground. Anyone who walked through the block could tell that an enormous battle raged there at one point. For the time being it would be Cazador's safe haven or at least he thought it would be.
With his armor left with no power and him feeling unworthy of wearing it, Cazador had discarded it. Cazador could be seen walking slowly towards the old battle ground. Orginally he was seen in a black jacket, white shirt, blue jeans, and black boots, but after going through what looked like a battle, most of it was ripped apart. His jeans were covered in burns, the black jacket he had been wearing was now just dust in the wind, his white shirt was covered in holes and blood. He appeared to be heavily wounded. He was holding his left bleeding shoulder trying to apply pressure to stop any bleeding.
He was unlucky enough to run into some Vulture troops who were looking for him. Fighting them off in the gunfight was much harder without his armor. He didn't know why he was still trying to survive. The battle with Legion drained away his fighting spirit. He was nothing, but a broken man. Through out the battle, all he could see were his failures. The death of his squad, the death of his family, the death of his best friend, the death of 201, and the death of all those resistance soldiers were all his fault. He couldn't call himself a warrior. As that battle ended the only thing Cazador wanted was a dishonorable death so that he could finally have some kind of rest, but even that was denied from him as he was left alive.
As Cazador walked further towards the abandoned building, the pain of his wounds were now increasing. Each step made the bullet wound in his shoulder burn like fire. He was exhausted from fighting for his life that last few days. It wasn't long before he collapsed to the ground. He felt so weak and tired. He couldn't get back up. Luckily, he wasn't too far from the building. His legs had given out, but somehow Cazador found the energy to crawl into the half destroyed building. It was dark inside with barely any noticeable light. It felt safe for him though. He reached a wall next to a window so he could listen for anyone who was coming. Sure enough there were more.
It wasn't Vulture this time. Cazador peaked through the window to see it was the Resistance. It looked like it was only a small squad. While Cazador still had no problem killing anyone on Vulture's side, he still refused to kill anyone on the Resistance side. He hoped that they wouldn't come walking into his hiding spot. Cazador listened carefully to hear their conversation.
"Reports said he was last seen going in this direction. Just look at all these dead Vulture troops. Who else could of done it besides us?"
"I don't understand why that bastard would come here. There's nothing left."
"Well the trail of corpses ends here. He's gotta be in one of the buildings here that are still standing."
In that moment, one of the buildings that was barely standing collapsed.
"This whole block is falling apart, I doubt he'd be stupid enough to hide in one of these."
"You're right. C'mon boys lets head back to base."
Cazador gave a sigh of relief as they left. Now that they were gone, he needed to get to work on stop the bleeding from his shoulder. There had to of been some kind of first aid in the building to help him along with the healing process. He was going to need light though if he planned on looking. The building had no power thanks to his actions. His best bet was to make a torch. Cazador could see a metal rod poking out from the wall. It looked loose enough for him to pull. He leaned against the wall to get himself back on his feet. He slowly walked towards the rod and removed it from the wall.
Next he removed his blood stained shirt revealing numerous scars across his chest and back. Years of fighting had taken its toll on him. While some people found scars attractive, these were anything but. Some ran even deeper than others while others still looked like they could be hurting a lot. He wrapped the shirt around the metal rod before lifting up the right pant of his jeans, to pull out a survival knife. He opened up the hilt to pull out a match. Cazador struck it against the wall to light it. All he needed to do was bring the fire toward his shirt and rod and he had his torch. The light wasn't extremely bright, but at least now he could see.
Cazador made his way deeper into the building. After minutes of searching, he finally came across a first aid kit. He opened it up, revealing some gauze, band aids, bandages, and alcohol. He set his torch on the ground and rested his survival knife on the fire. He broke off a wooden piece from a chair to use as a bite block. This was going to hurt. He place the wood block in his mouth before pouring alcohol on his shoulder wound. His face gave an extreme look of discomfort, but that was just the easy part. Cazador grabbed his knife from the fire and slowly drove it into his wound. He let a serious of painful grunts. The pain was excruciating. After what felt like weeks, he piece of metal shot out from the wound. It was a bullet. Now he just needed to cauterize his shoulder.
He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a few bullets. Cazador only needed one part of the ammo. He pulled the bullet apart from the casing to reach the gunpowder. One by one, he poured the gunpowder on his wound before reaching for his torch. He took a few deep breaths before pushing it against his shoulder to ignite the gunpowder. The bite block from his mouth dropped as he let out a large painful yell into the night. He set the torch back down so he could apply the gauze and bandages to his shoulder and the rest of his wounds. At least now he wouldn't bleed out to death.
Not far from where he was sitting was a coat hanger holding an old brown jacket. He could use it to stay warm for the night until he was ready to move out again. To where though, he didn't know. Like Relampago had said, there were two paths that Cazador could take. He could continue feeling sorry for himself and wallow around in his misery or rise above it to become something stronger than before. It was obvious which choice he needed to make, but there was one thing holding him back. Fear. He was afraid of failing again. Even if he did choose to go to Relampago for help, Isafaro would still see him as a monster who helped Legion.
There was always the third option. He reached into his back pocket to pull out an old photo of him and his fiance together. In the picture Cazador could be seen holding her pregnant stomach from behind her. He closed his eyes for a few moments. It was always easier to remember with his eyes closed. He returned the photo to his back pocket and pulled out his revolver. He looked at it with a blank cold stare before putting the barrel in his mouth. His breathing was increasing heavily as his finger shook on the trigger. At that point he wanted to give himself the shameful death that Legion should of given him. He shut his eyes before he thought it was all over.
Click
It was empty. He had run out of ammo fighting those Vulture troops to get to the building he was in. Cazador dropped the revolver to the ground while laughing. It seemed like death wanted nothing to do with Cazador. He quickly dismissed his actions and put out his torch. Darkness engulfed the room. For now he would sleep. With the whole city after him, it would only be a matter of time before someone found him here. He curled up on the broken ground of the building. It was uncomfortable, but without any beds he would need to make do. Cazador shut his eyes and awaited the morning to come.
