Sweat dripping down his back. The sting of bruise marks ringing in the back of his mind. Thoughts calming down slightly.
Tension grew for young Blake Klim as a great tower of a man, his father, stood in front of him with two swords gripped tightly in his arms. The man, having killed three Policemen and decimated three Mechs, stood opposite his son while facing away from him momentarily.
The man, dressed in his red suit with a red mask similar to a certain comic book character, with a fresh, new but at the same time old-looking cloak on, had been following his son ever since he escaped from prison, knowing very well that he was going to do so.
Using his words carefully, Malice had managed to manipulate his son into escaping and even went as far as dictating where he'd end up, when he'd end up there, and how he'd end up there. It was all planned just by the way he spoke, the way he carried himself around, and not forgetting, the way he raised him in his earlier days of childhood.
