[The following roleplay is rated mature for reasons that may include, but are not limited to, violence, blood, coarse language, sensual situations and drug use. Reader discretion is advised.]
Blood-tipped midnight. Those were the words he'd use to describe the scene in front of him. Shattered pieces of laboratory equipment scattered across the scarlet grass. Marble counters littered the dirt in crimson fractals, and beakers and syringes had flown everywhere. Cages had been thrown open, their contents either dead or escaped by now. Had he been passed out long? The building lay in ruins, burying the parts of the laboratory no one had seen, no one had wanted to see. Were they still alive? He didn't want to find out. With the darkness shrouding his bloodstained body, he began to move, hobbling at first, then jogging away from the memories of his home, the ruins of his prison.
He didn't know how far he'd gotten, only that he could no longer see the smoking facades and the ash. Had he started a fire? He couldn't remember exactly what had happened, but he knew he had done that, had destroyed the laboratory, had intended to destroy the two other people in it. He looked down at his hands, a mixture of red and black, still dripping. Was that his blood? Theirs? How could he know? He tried to keep going, get further from this wreckage, but his legs could take him no further. Each step added a pile of bricks to his back until, after only two more, he collapsed onto the grass beneath him. He was under a tree, its leaves feathering overhead, providing a shield from the wrath of whatever god had allowed him to exist. Body raked with agony, he threw his head back onto the earth, and he shut his eyes.
By the time he awoke, the world was bathed in light. He'd left a trail from the laboratory; was it safe to lose that much blood? He felt lethargic, and drums pounded against his skull. Where... was he? Who was he? His name was... Matt? Matteo, his name was Matteo Ag... something. He'd been a test subject, and now he was escaped. As memories flood back to him, Matteo found himself wincing. He could barely remember events of that morning, let alone before then. How long had he been in that lab? Was he even a person anymore?
He tried to stand up, but his legs gave out beneath him, and he awkwardly fell onto his ankle. Wincing, he used the tree to steady himself before trying again. Around him was a field, and in the distance, buildings. Could he make it to one of those and get help? He looked back to his hands, now covered in brown, dried blood. He glanced at his body, his torn once-white shorts, his dirtied striped polo, his bare feet. Who would help him in this state, anyway?
Matteo needed to think of something to do. He had to get out of here, to abandon the trail of blood he'd left and to start a new life as a normal guy, except... A twitch of his shoulder had him brushing against the soft silk of angels, the feathery appendages he'd hated. His wings. He'd never find someone to help him, not with those things fused into his back. Matteo stretched the things, the all-white wings of a celestial being, spanning more than his own height in wingspan. They were speckled red now but mostly still white, the only part of him not drenched in blood. Tucking his wings against his back, they trailed lightly on the ground. He'd have to find a way to hide them, but how?
He was thinking too much. His migraine was blurring his vision, casting shadows across this new world. When had he last seen grass like this, or trees, or even the sky? Matteo pressed on, trying to ignore the pain with every step. He got several meters from his blood trail before collapsing again. Maybe this was where he would die after all. Maybe he was damned to stay with his mother in the afterlife, too. Bleakly, he stared up at the sky, at a shining ball worlds away. What was that? It peeked over clouds, burning brighter than his brown eyes could handle. He averted his gaze wondering if he had ever seen such a thing. This world had so many things to explore, but if he died here, he'd never experience any of them. Curling into a ball, Matteo cast a wing over his body, hiding himself. He didn't know what he could do. He didn't want to die, but maybe this murderer deserved it.