Cleveland
is one of a handful of super-enhanced mavericks called Tinface, originally of
human descent. Planet Earth had been abandoned by mankind several centuries
ago. The earthlings thereafter founded several colonies throughout the galaxy.
Deployed from their duties, the Tinfaces led a life of misery among them,
unstable minds and restless souls with almost unlimited powers.
The leaders
of the colonies had therefore decided to deport the Tinfaces back to the old
planet for a recon mission. But what they encountered there was far from being
a deserted planet. As a matter of fact, the tattered celestial body had
remained the habitat of various kinds of mutated creatures and had moreover
become a safe harbor for many stranded voyagers seeking a life below the
colonial radars.
Darkness
had prevailed. A torn open earth was pumping black wads of smoke out of its
wounds. At some hours of day, wasteland turned into glistening oases. The
ultraviolet rays were able to wring some life out of a seemingly dreary vegetation.
But after all, a rough clime would return. The planet had segregated into
eternal seasons, and so had all creatures that populated a coarse and barren
earth.
Ironically
enough, the few of us that remained were the closest to our ancestors. They used
to call us Tinfaces. A sworn brotherhood, unified unto death. Yet, death was
not our enemy. Our enemy was our past. Many of us were using their superiority
to protect the weak from the strong. Not as an act of humanity, though, but
rather to save us the agony.
Let me
introduce myself. My name is Cleveland. I bear a name, therefore I am. The
craft was reported to touch ground at 1600 hours. I surveyed the site and
waited, still. Soon after, I sensed a strange hissing from behind a patch of
shrubs to my left. I clutched the handle of my machete with my right hand and
drew it slowly.
The beast
sprang right at me. Its venom dripping from enormous fangs, the skin light
green and brown. For a split second, I made contact with its slit-shaped eyes.
A look, both vivid and blank. The skull,
as big as a bull’s, split right in the middle, parted to both sides of my
blade. The blood it drew blurred my vision. I wiped my eyes with my empty hand,
then hurled the cadaver back into the bushes. So much for the afternoon massacre.
My name is
Cleveland. I bear a name, therefore I am. A dash of blood. It tastes like the
past. Metallic and stale. I ripped out a bunch of jagged leaves and started
cleaning my machete. The vessel arrived silently. Its dimensions so immense, it
eclipsed the sun. I engaged my BOWFIRE-100 and ducked lower, blending in with
the ground.
