Excerpt:

“This pitiful town…not a single breath of air here is pure of stupidity…”

Zevian dragged a long and rough sigh, making the heads of the townspeople turn and stare.

Who wouldn’t stare, noticing this personified anger breezing through a blistering-hot town in a seemingly retro outfit of an old pair of black, frayed jeans, a pair of thick, black leather gloves, and a black jacket?

Zevian shoved his way through the crowds of the town’s little shopping market, making no room for error as the people stepped out of his way. One man made the mistake of yelling back at his actions, “Hey! A little more manners?! My dog has better manners than you, and his bite is worse than his bark!”

The light chatter of friends was snapped, as Zevian stopped mid-stride. Hate literally rolled off of him in waves as he turned, seeming to cause the people to move off, repelled by the tidal force. When he had made a full circle, the black hair that hung in his face seemed to shadow the evil in his eyes. A grin peeled up on his face as he asked in a voice that was crisp, genuine, and foreign:

“A bite worse than a bark?” His voice was quiet, but its poison could be felt in the boiling blood of all who had stopped to see these men’s fates collide. He lifted his head from its slouched position, revealing his vivid blood red eyes, which added the finishing touch to his venom voice and grin. A few people had gasped and began to whisper.

His eyes! He’s a bio-fallout victim!

Even the man who had challenged his actions seemed to flinch inside. This small movement left him open, vulnerable.

No one should hesitate when facing Zevian Voir.

Ripping off his out-of-place gloves with his teeth, he swung and extended his left arm at the man, grasping his brittle neck, and dragging out a gasp from his opponent. Keeping his arm held straight out, and his victim a decent 2 centimeters off the ground, his face had keenly watched the contact he made as he applied pressure to a vital nerve bundle. Only he could hear the man’s throat gurgling with a plea for mercy, the fool’s eyes laced with moisture, but Zevian was a fuse with no other way to go but off. He pierced the skin smoothly to finish the man, neatly puncturing the fragile skin above the nerve bundle, seeming to analyze every aspect of the kill. Blood did not spew from the puncture in his neck, but it drained out of him quickly, trickling down Zevian’s arm. Opening his clutch on the man, Zevian dropped his challenger mercilessly, keeping his hand straight out. He stepped around the abhorred body, kicking its shoulder so it lied open to the sky. After staring at the man, he flexed his blood-stained hand, clenching it into a fist and suffocating the air, then letting it fall to his side.

A woman finally discovered she could breathe the air in the aura this stranger carried around him. She gasped with mixed feelings of disgust and fear.

Yet another non-conformity on the stranger in their town?

Zevian, putting on a show now, so as not to have anyone else step in his way, pulled off his jacket sleeve. Letting it hang on the right arm, he knelt down to the dead man and began to wipe the blood off his left arm onto the man’s shirt.

He donned what appeared to be a permanent gauntlet, or more so, a full arm replacement.

Is that from the nano-bomb too?

Zevian tilted his head back down, hiding his eyes behind his hair again. He felt their eyes upon him, on his arm, but he didn’t care. Not anymore. He stood, having removed the remains of the man who had opposed and insulted him. Staring down at the body, he said in the same tone he used earlier, “It’s a shame I don’t bark well enough to inform you of my bite…” His voice seemed more bored now, monotonous, having nothing to kill.

He didn’t waste another second in turning to leave, but an older woman limped to him and said in a withered, but controlled voice, “Sir, times are already hard as it is. Even with the technology of today, a lot of us are still living in the 17th century…not this, the 92nd. Economy for this country…for Shenzta…it’s horrible right now…and with everyone being so down on what used to be the United States, they’ve enforced a rule of no imports and exports on us…we have to fend for ourselves now…and killing off everyone who offends you is no way to help solve that…”

In another swift turn, Zevian had turned and grabbed her by the throat. He held her up off the ground and said to her, “I won’t exercise restraint on anyone, much less a whiny old flesh-bag.” He threw her down onto the ground and said with finality, “Don’t push me, waste.”

He turned without another acknowledgement and left, following the main road out of the town.

Times were tough. And this is how he survived.