Cormac OCullen
Inactive Member
((OOC: I'm unsure if this is the right place but while I'm waiting for a plot I thought I'd just write up some stories of Cormac's past, concentrating on small random events after he fled from Vice. Think of it as a collection of (very) short stories showing snapshots of his life in this transition period, the title will make more sense later. And i apologise in advance for the corny titles, they are not my forte. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!))
The sound of silence, Part 1
Silence covered the derelict streets like a thick blanket, the sort of oppressive silence that is somehow worse than a room full of chatter and shouting and jeering. It was almost suffocating. Even the stray cats appeared to have stopped their cries and shouts, as though they had sensed that something was about to happen and were attempting to contribute to the general atmosphere of the whole situation. In short, it was the sort of silence that generally hung over an area to precipitate some sort of event that was likely to be rather unpleasant for the people who happened to be in it's vicinity.
This was especially true for the shadow that crept along the walls of one of the dilapidated houses, keeping low and moving slowly towards a light of a window that glowed in the distance like a very small lighthouse, silhouetting the figure of a rather burly man who happened to be enjoying a cigarette and paying rather little attention to the world around him.
Every movement that Cormac made as he approached the house felt agonisingly loud to him, the sound of his footsteps against the rough concrete of the streets sounded like hammer-blows, the almost silent sound that his gas-mask made as it moved on his belt seemed like the loudest wind chimes and even his own breath sounded like a howling wind. He was used to noise and bustle and movement and life that could cover his sounds, not sneaking alone through the night with nothing to mask your presence but the occasional shout from inside the house.
He mentally sighed and attempted to remember what he was doing in this god-forsaken suburb of a god-forsaken city on this god-forsaken backwater rock of a world. Then it came back to him, he was being paid a not inconsiderable amount of money to do a job and until he finished the job he wouldn't be able to get off this bloody rock and find somewhere new to be miserable in.
He was almost at the house, his gaze flicked to the smoking guard, watching as the man took another deep drag of his cigarette before releasing it in a satisfied cloud of smoke. A smirk touched Cormac's lips as he quietly thought "Gotcha." His gaze flicked to his pistol and the blackened knife he held in his hands before returning to the guard, a plan rapidly forming in his mind.
He uttered a low whistle that to him seemed to completely shatter the silence, although it could have been barely audible beyond the walls of the building, and the guard's head snapped towards the source of the sound, his eyes squinting into the darkness. He was a brute of a man, his nose askew in the sort of way that is only possible when it has been bashed against a concrete wall for extended periods.
Cormac quickly slipped into the tiny alleyway between the two houses as guard flicked on a torch that had been taped to his gun, the light flashing across the spot where he had been moments before. The brute began to lumber forward speaking in a slurred tone "Oi. Joe. That you, stop frackin' around" Cormac slowed his breathing and began to count in his head... 1....2...3...4...
Then he came from the corner, his timing almost perfect as he crashed into the bigger man, sending the pair stumbling to the ground with Cormac landing on top. He quickly jammed his forearm into the man's mouth, fighting down a cry of pain as he felt teeth digging into his skin and he slammed his knife down into the side of the man's neck, stabbing three times and sending blood flowing across the street as the artery pumped the red fluid out, the brute spasming beneath him for a few moments before finally falling still, his teeth extraditing themselves from Cormac's arm as the jaw slackened. He slowly got to his feet and reached down to the gun, turning off the light and then dragging the body and propping it up against the wall.
He looked down at his arm and made a face as blood began to slowly seep through the sleeve of his combat jacket presumably from the flesh that the large guard had broken and he mentally rolled his eyes at the thought of the shots he'd need after this was done. He spat at the now dead thug, arterial blood still dripping down the man's neck before he quietly and quickly moved next to the door. He slipped his knife into belt and pulled his gas-mask over his face, the world suddenly becoming blinkered by the glass lenses and his breath turning into a low rasp.
His hand closed around a small canister that hung on his belt and he pulled it up behind him, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes as he began to mentally count, one hand removing a pin on the device...
The sound of silence, Part 1
Silence covered the derelict streets like a thick blanket, the sort of oppressive silence that is somehow worse than a room full of chatter and shouting and jeering. It was almost suffocating. Even the stray cats appeared to have stopped their cries and shouts, as though they had sensed that something was about to happen and were attempting to contribute to the general atmosphere of the whole situation. In short, it was the sort of silence that generally hung over an area to precipitate some sort of event that was likely to be rather unpleasant for the people who happened to be in it's vicinity.
This was especially true for the shadow that crept along the walls of one of the dilapidated houses, keeping low and moving slowly towards a light of a window that glowed in the distance like a very small lighthouse, silhouetting the figure of a rather burly man who happened to be enjoying a cigarette and paying rather little attention to the world around him.
Every movement that Cormac made as he approached the house felt agonisingly loud to him, the sound of his footsteps against the rough concrete of the streets sounded like hammer-blows, the almost silent sound that his gas-mask made as it moved on his belt seemed like the loudest wind chimes and even his own breath sounded like a howling wind. He was used to noise and bustle and movement and life that could cover his sounds, not sneaking alone through the night with nothing to mask your presence but the occasional shout from inside the house.
He mentally sighed and attempted to remember what he was doing in this god-forsaken suburb of a god-forsaken city on this god-forsaken backwater rock of a world. Then it came back to him, he was being paid a not inconsiderable amount of money to do a job and until he finished the job he wouldn't be able to get off this bloody rock and find somewhere new to be miserable in.
He was almost at the house, his gaze flicked to the smoking guard, watching as the man took another deep drag of his cigarette before releasing it in a satisfied cloud of smoke. A smirk touched Cormac's lips as he quietly thought "Gotcha." His gaze flicked to his pistol and the blackened knife he held in his hands before returning to the guard, a plan rapidly forming in his mind.
He uttered a low whistle that to him seemed to completely shatter the silence, although it could have been barely audible beyond the walls of the building, and the guard's head snapped towards the source of the sound, his eyes squinting into the darkness. He was a brute of a man, his nose askew in the sort of way that is only possible when it has been bashed against a concrete wall for extended periods.
Cormac quickly slipped into the tiny alleyway between the two houses as guard flicked on a torch that had been taped to his gun, the light flashing across the spot where he had been moments before. The brute began to lumber forward speaking in a slurred tone "Oi. Joe. That you, stop frackin' around" Cormac slowed his breathing and began to count in his head... 1....2...3...4...
Then he came from the corner, his timing almost perfect as he crashed into the bigger man, sending the pair stumbling to the ground with Cormac landing on top. He quickly jammed his forearm into the man's mouth, fighting down a cry of pain as he felt teeth digging into his skin and he slammed his knife down into the side of the man's neck, stabbing three times and sending blood flowing across the street as the artery pumped the red fluid out, the brute spasming beneath him for a few moments before finally falling still, his teeth extraditing themselves from Cormac's arm as the jaw slackened. He slowly got to his feet and reached down to the gun, turning off the light and then dragging the body and propping it up against the wall.
He looked down at his arm and made a face as blood began to slowly seep through the sleeve of his combat jacket presumably from the flesh that the large guard had broken and he mentally rolled his eyes at the thought of the shots he'd need after this was done. He spat at the now dead thug, arterial blood still dripping down the man's neck before he quietly and quickly moved next to the door. He slipped his knife into belt and pulled his gas-mask over his face, the world suddenly becoming blinkered by the glass lenses and his breath turning into a low rasp.
His hand closed around a small canister that hung on his belt and he pulled it up behind him, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes as he began to mentally count, one hand removing a pin on the device...
