The Game

A story I started writing in English class. I got a peer review of 3/6 for Idea, and 4/6 for Voice. -_-<br><br><br>Eerie golden light filtered through a gritty plastic cover, illuminating the dirty sidewalks and tar-coated roadways. Quiet had fallen on the large city, the homeless skulking along silently, neon lights flashing, inviting the rich to entertainment of the less-than-moral sorts. One man in particular made his way past the flashing silhouettes of well endowed women without giving the entrances even one, much less a second, cursory glance. Moving doggedly, a look of determination on his pale, blocky face, the tall individual's gaze snuck up in snatches to view street signs.<br><br> The blonde took a sharp left on one such shadowy street, where he paused momentarily. "Yo, Xalt, d'ya honestly know where we're headed?" The man's voice was rough, strong and low, and at this time, rather quiet. If any passersby had seen this muscular figure, alone, speaking to himself, he would have been called either drunk or insane- in any other neighborhood that is. Weirdest of all was the fact that the lone man got an answer.<br><br> "Of course I know. Have some... faith." The voice was gravelly and inhuman, frightening with a hint of cruel humor ringing through it.<br><br> "Somehow, my dearest Exalted, trusting in a crazed government experiment isn't highest on my priority list." The man continued down the street, following a drifting shape that had appeared, almost snickering, after the conversation.<br><br> "We're here," growled the shadow named Exalted, stepping into the light cast down by the street lamp. The creature was vaguely canine in appearance- long of muzzle and leg, a lengthy whip-like tail, and toes tipped with deep gray talons. However, strangely, the monster was also completely hairless, his body covered in faint gray-pink scar tissue. A lion's mane covered Exalted's neck and shoulders, a mane made of shards and needles of dark flint-like stone. The creature's slanted yellow eyes gazed up at a home, the porch light off, a faint glow shining behind thick curtains in the front windows.<br><br> The door swung open and a burly man stepped outside, silhouetted, next to him an animalistic shape just as stout as he. "America?" he called, his accent thick. "About time! We sick of waiting!" The two beastly figures stepped back into the house, saying something that raised raucous laughter from within. Anthony 'America' Jacobson shook his head, running a hand through his short, cropped hair. He grunted and walked up the pathway, pushing through the door and into the well-lit living room.<br><br> "America! America!" a few sung out, grinning at the tattood blondie who had just entered. Anthony rolled his eyes, flopped into an empty chair, and tossed his feet onto the arm of a nearby sofa, barely missing the face of a raven-haired woman. She looked over and sneered, dark eyes glittering angrily.<br><br> "Always think you so hot, so cool," she hissed, tossing her head, sending a wave of glistening chocolate curls flying.<br><br> "Love, that would make him an oxymoron. May sound similar to 'American', but it's not quite the same." A slender man chuckled as he perched on the edge of a counter nearby the pair. His hair had been dyed fire engine red, nicely complimenting his patched-and-ripped plaid pants.<br><br> "You the same!" spat the woman, rising from her seat.<br><br> "Oh, sod off!" barked the red-haired man, narrowing his blue eyes.<br><br> "Now, now, Miss Mexico, that's Britain there. Y'know, that island somewhat half way around the world," America laughed, revealing his pearly whites. Mexico snorted and tilted her nose into the air, effectively, and openly, snubbing both men.<br><br> The large man before walked over to the trio, placing a beefy hang on the petite woman's shoulder. "All seem ready to fight, so, how Americans say... Let's get ready to rumble, yes?" His voice was deep, powerful, and most of all, held the confidence to show he was in charge tonight.