I wish I could share with you the beauties of this world the way I have seen them. The inevitable demise of that understanding is locked by the very beauty itself. The individual consciousness and variant aspects of our shared world provide a murky and pooled idea of it all. I want to share the love of this world with all the people within it, but they share a disdain for one another that overcasts its beauty.   

    Where can love be shown?

    She should have killed them, but a Yetinaph among the surface with that much ignorance wouldn’t last long. Whatever the case, Blink had a more tenacious task at hand: the disruption of Federal supply lines.

    These Federal supplies had been trickling in from the recently captured A.R.D. settlement and to the east of Selahktia, where many of Blink’s operations among the Executio were prevalent.

    The Executio had a hold in western Selahktia for the past two years now, but with the sudden capture of the A.R.D, there were further complications resulting in an increased push from their eastern forces. It did not matter in any case to Blink, for she had a preference for the death of the imperialist fascists that were the I.H.M.D.

    Blink did not portray them as people, nor had any intent to lest they show characteristics of mercy.

    Blink had continued her way northbound across large batches of farmland that extended like a flowing ocean of grass. Her trek was harsh and arduous, and despite the incessant vegetation, there was hardly any Termoyl around to expedite her trip. The lack of hard cover made her anxious, and being in the center of an active warzone as a participant of the battle, it did not bode well for her in her mind’s eye.

    Sooner or later, her fears had to be realized, and so as she neared a farmhouse that stuck out from this ocean of grass, a loud crack of a bullet whizzed over her right shoulder, and she instinctively fell to the ground.

    There were two more pop shots that passed over Blink’s head, and she wasted no time moving to anywhere else but there, using the high grass as cover. For what little Termoyl there was around Blink, she managed to build a small ward shield between she and the marksman. Blink did not trust this device, however, and so she maintained her movement, the shield pressing against her in desperation. Eventually, she had managed to move towards the southern side of the complex when an idea spawned: a spring to launch her over and onto the house.

    The Termoyl quickly rearranged into the particular concept, and there Blink had pushed herself upwards into the sky like a slingshot, nearing over five meters in height before falling back down onto the A-frame rooftop. What Blink had failed to factor in, however, was the decay of the rotten wood beneath her, and so upon impact she simply fell into the structure; much to the surprise of the inhabitants, there were three distinct shouts from within.

    When the dust and debris had subsided, three identical clones of Blink had surfaced, her distinct eyes piercing through it all. In instinct, one of the men inside had started shooting at the apparitions. The bullets swept right through, smacking the marksman who was stunlocked at the opposite corner of the room.

    Blink hugged the shooter tightly from behind and put a knife up to their throat, slicing it cleanly as a shade of bright red stained her blade and hands. The three apparitions surrounded the last assailant, who had instinctively dropped his gun and soiled himself in the corner of the room. Blink wiped her blade using a handkerchief situated in her cloak somewhere, and she strolled over the kid. Stepping through her apparitions, they disappeared immediately, and in replacement she kneeled beside the kid holding the knife up to his cheek; a cloud of Termoyl exhaled from her mask.

    “Do you know who I am?” she asked, harshly running the blade down his face. The blade was sharp enough to cut the scruff from his barely-matured face; his anxiety relinquished any response.

    “Doesn’t matter,” she told him, “now you do -- and now you can tell all your little fucks what happens when they try and push this far west again. Stay the fuck away from Pollomocke.”

    Her eyes clicked off, and there was nothing but the hidden anonymity of a shadow. There, she picked the boy up (as well as his gun) and dragged him out of the farmhouse and into the overgrowth of the outside. He was thrown into the high grass, along with his weapon. The boy, upon realizing his firearm was returned to him, picked it up and blind-fired behind him straight into the house. 

Blink, however, was already gone.