Esoteric Truth
Junior Member
"Dodgy? I'm hurt," Gunnar said dryly, looking over at Lyre with mild amusement on his face before turning back to the blonde. "Now, Blondie, it's not like I don't have a side. Ideally I would just be on my side. But considering the fact that the Loyalists have tried to kill me, I figured I'm obligated to do the same to them." His smile was thin and dark and he stared at her intently for a few short moments before shaking his head and frowning. "I'm Gunnar," the dark haired man said simply, and looked over at Sol. "Special Agent? I suppose if not for this war you and I would be on opposing sides of an entirely different battle at this point in time. Last I remember the government wouldn't have been too fond of some deranged freak running around and drinking mutants' blood."
The mutant smiled for a moment and took one of the can openers, setting it on the rim of the can. He watched the blade cut off the lid with a bizarre fascination, watching the gears turn and the circular blade roll tightly along the desired surface. Once it was cut, he removed the can opener and pulled back the lid of the can, revealing some kind of soup. He didn't bother to check what kind, just tipped it back into his mouth and began to swallow, not even tasting the food but rather desiring the feeling of being full once more. Not unlike a babe suckling from his mother's breast. Hunger can make even the strongest men weak. Not that I'm one of the strongest, because there's no doubt in my mind that in the grand scheme of things, I lie closer towards being weak than I do strong even on the best of days.
"Sol, are we not rebels? By merely not being one of them, and by not laying down and dying, we are rebels. After all, we are doing exactly what they do not want: we do not comply, but for some reason or another we still have the will to survive. That makes us more rebel than a man who is so desperate to die that he makes blatant attacks against Shaw. In the end, that mutant is doing exactly what Shaw wants: eliminating himself. We are rebels indeed."
The mutant smiled for a moment and took one of the can openers, setting it on the rim of the can. He watched the blade cut off the lid with a bizarre fascination, watching the gears turn and the circular blade roll tightly along the desired surface. Once it was cut, he removed the can opener and pulled back the lid of the can, revealing some kind of soup. He didn't bother to check what kind, just tipped it back into his mouth and began to swallow, not even tasting the food but rather desiring the feeling of being full once more. Not unlike a babe suckling from his mother's breast. Hunger can make even the strongest men weak. Not that I'm one of the strongest, because there's no doubt in my mind that in the grand scheme of things, I lie closer towards being weak than I do strong even on the best of days.
"Sol, are we not rebels? By merely not being one of them, and by not laying down and dying, we are rebels. After all, we are doing exactly what they do not want: we do not comply, but for some reason or another we still have the will to survive. That makes us more rebel than a man who is so desperate to die that he makes blatant attacks against Shaw. In the end, that mutant is doing exactly what Shaw wants: eliminating himself. We are rebels indeed."