Vega Anomoly Poster

Vega

Vega doesn't know when he was born, he can't remember. He knows that as far back as his memories stretch though, the world has always been like this. Cold, empty. He tried playing nice at first. He'd wander up to camps, empty gas stations and grocery stores hollowed out that people had hunkered down into. Made shelter, made new communities. They never accepted him though, not the way he wanted. They either feared him as an enemy, or feared him as a God. He wanted neither.

It always ended up the same. If they didn't hate him for his antlers, it was his arms, it was the way he needed a cane. Why would a god need a cane? Why would a creature ease its suffering? He had no choice, impaling them, pining them against buildings, and putting a knife between their ribs.

He's learned now. Learned so much. How to make a weapon. How to heal himself with salves and plant and expired pills. How to mend clothing, how to read, how to climb, how to fight. Everything but who he is. There's something tickling the back of his mind though, something he can't quite grasp but the way his heart shutters with anxiety, he thinks perhaps, he was not good.