Shroomie's Shorts: Epiphany
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Einhander Sn0m4n
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Crazedwraith
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Shroom Man 777
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In the planned sequels, we see CEID do all sorts of nasty stuff. This is just the beginning
"DO YOU WORSHIP HOMOSEXUALS?" - Curtis Saxton (source)shroom is a lovely boy and i wont hear a bad word against him - LUSY-CHAN!
Shit! Man, I didn't think of that! It took Shroom to properly interpret the screams of dying people
- PeZookShroom, I read out the stuff you write about us. You are an endless supply of morale down here. :p - an OWS street medic
Pink Sugar Heart Attack!
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JointStrikeFighter
- Worthless Trolling Palm-Fucker
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Shroom Man 777
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Yeah. There'll be a sequel too. Check The Runaway Apexai while yer waiting for the next installement (shameless plugging).
"DO YOU WORSHIP HOMOSEXUALS?" - Curtis Saxton (source)shroom is a lovely boy and i wont hear a bad word against him - LUSY-CHAN!
Shit! Man, I didn't think of that! It took Shroom to properly interpret the screams of dying people
- PeZookShroom, I read out the stuff you write about us. You are an endless supply of morale down here. :p - an OWS street medic
Pink Sugar Heart Attack!
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Shroom Man 777
- FUCKING DICK-STABBER!
- Posts: 21222
- Joined: 2003-05-11 08:39am
- Location: Bleeding breasts and stabbing dicks since 2003
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Not the sequel. But a crossover of several significant universes from Omniverse Zero.
To the Edge of Time
A ship, sleek, silvery and with round edges, suddenly appeared in the skies above the desolate world. It had used its inertia-less hyperspace rippling drives and the momentum of its emergence from folded hyperspace to enter the planet’s atmosphere at relativistic speeds, coming in so fast that, until it halted, it was practically invisible – like a speeding bullet, but faster. Shields, Sigma shields, ensured that the ship didn’t vaporize in reentry.
A faint blue beam shot out of the ship’s belly and three figures materialized on the planet’s scorched surface.
A thousand years after the multiverse disintegrated, now we’re finally here. Star’s End. Earth. John Baylor thought as he surveyed the charred and airless environment of what had been humanity’s home world. He could see the large quantities of glass in the soil – tell tale signs of orbital bombardment. But one didn’t need bio-ocular implants to see the more obvious signs of devastation, the enormous hills of molten steel that were once the star-scrapers that composed megacities. “Let’s get going guys.”
“Ja,” Viktor ‘Cable’ Schaefer, a big man with blonde hair and blue-eyes and a prominent chin, acknowledged. The planetary surface had no air and they could only breathe through the atmospheric containment fields that surrounded their jump suits, but the hyperwave comm.-links inside their heads would see to it that they could hear each other even if they were galaxies apart. “Kaede, so where’s the place?”
“Judging by the rapidly oscillating Second Space signatures, I can triangulate that-”
“Spare us the technobabble,” Cable sighed. His voice had an accent and he brandished the thick-barreled gauss carbine he held with only one hand. “Or I’ll shoot you.”
Gulping, Kaede rephrased his ‘triangulations’: “It’s right in front of us, a few yards. There’s a big dome sticking out of the slag, that’s where it should be.”
“Groovy,” John patted his squat science expert’s back. “Been a long time waiting.”
Indeed, there was a massive dome obscured behind a spire of broiled steel. It looked oddly out of place, it did not look slagged and neither did it look like it had undergone partial immolation. If it weren’t for the inches of dust covering it, it probably would’ve looked brand new, shining and gleaming under the burnt out star that the Earth orbited.
They circled the dome; it didn’t look like it had an entrance.
“So, how do we enter the thing?” John asked after minutes of examination and circumnavigation.
“My tetracorder indicates that the polymetallic-” Cable stared and Kaede grew silent. “Its polymorphic-”
“Like IntelliMetal?” John asked.
“Yeah… so we just walk right in.”
“Like this?” Cable stuck his hand in and the steel gave way like some sort of ooze, cold and thick, but not sticky. It felt smooth and…metallic. Cable looked like he was about to say something, but instead gave out a yelp as the liquid metal made a sucking sound and pulled him inside it. Within seconds, the big 6'5 foot tall cyborg had disappeared into the dome of fluid steel, the only trace of his existence were ripples on the steel’s surface.
John gaped. “Really groovy.”
He walked in, as did Kaede. And they were sucked into the thick wall of metal, immersed and drenched with a sensation that felt like cold mud and looked like gleaming chrome. A second later, before they could even feel the vaguest perception of drowning or claustrophobia or lacking air, they emerged into a giant quasi-vacuous realm. They were standing on a tiny outcropping, a tongue-like sheet of inch-thin living steel. Below them was an abyss of bluish blackness. It looked cold and the air was drenched in energy that was not of a particular type, but pure and undiluted.
“Amazing,” Kaede was gaping at his tetracorder, a palm-sized device that projected, telepathically, data into his mind. “… whereas the dome was just a few hundred meters in height and diameter, this… expanse in front of us is… infinite…”
“Shiny,” John’s comment, seemingly coming out of nowhere, forced Kaede to look away from his tetracorder, breaking the eye-contact psychic link. His mouth unhinged, trying their best to gape even winder. At the ‘middle’ of the abyss that surrounded them was a sphere of light. It was soundless, but it seemed to hum and… call out. It had a corona of greenish-blue light and inside it was a pulsating orb, a globule of white that had splotches of blue ‘beating’ all over it. The ‘plasmoid’ was a sight to behold, a psychedelic spectacle of surreal and unworldly proportions. It seemed small, but with the distance separating them, it was probably a kilometer in diameter – from a cursory and conservative estimate.
“We have traveled to the zeroth universe, through time and space… to the edge of oblivion and reality…” Kaede seemed mystified, spooked, revering. Like a man who found some mythical deity, a God.
“Indeed…” Cable was at a lost of words.
“What do we do?” this seemed familiar to John.
“You walk into it and make things right.”
Kaede, for all his technical jargon, was really a straightforward guy and John couldn’t really disagree with him. He stepped over the ledge and –
“No!” Cable shouted, pushing Kaede out of his way and sticking his hand to grab and save John. There was no need though, as the ledge of steel they were on extended itself to place itself under John’s foot.
“It’s polymorphic,” Kaede concluded. “It will form a bridge to the plasmoid…”
“Wait!” Cable said, snapping out of the plasmoid’s trance. “Firstly, what is that thing?”
“I just felt like I’ve been already here, that I already did this some time ago…” despite his eagerness to walk into the ball of light, he knew practically as much of the thing as Cable – which wasn’t much. “… déjà vu.”
Cable uncharacteristically rolled his eyes.
“Look,” Kaede said, butting in. “This place is old, and I’m sure it feels familiar to all of us. Right, Cable?”
“Right…”
“Now after we’ve ran half-way through what’s left of the multiverse, after the proverbial temporal equinox, after being chased by automatons, revived a thousand years after the transdimensional collision that killed every other wholly organic beings aside from us, after talking to the Machine God himself, and after going through the remaining half of what’s left of the multiverse, after doing what he told us and after finding everything exactly as he told us-” Kaede gasped for breath. “We have here-”
“Cut to the chase!” it wasn’t tech jargon, but it was still as longwinded as Xenu. Cable didn’t like that.
“I was just getting to that,” Kaede scoffed. “What we have here is a pocket dimension that displaces time – and we are inside a hyperspace bubble being used as a containment field. Energy cannot be created nor destroyed, even you know that. And inside the pocket dimension is ectoplasm, and it’s reflecting itself and bouncing itself all over that sphere, expanding and contracting – like a universe, but a thousand times every second. It’s a perpetual motion engine that’s been on ever since the multiverse imploded, maybe even longer.
“Now, as the Machine God said, John here has to go inside it so he can stop everything from going wrong. Right after he goes in, the pocket dimension’s perpetual motion engine will develop a series of imbalances, which will develop into entropy and a nanosecond later, it will explode and eliminate all realities, resetting it for whatever timeline that results from John’s tampering. So our super-reality will be changed, there will be no alternate universes that will branch out from John’s interference, it will all-”
It was getting too long, and Cable heard all he needed to know. “John’s going to a time machine?”
“Yes-”
“Good. That’s all I needed to know.”
“Wait… did you say the second I step in… everything would be destroyed?” Kaede’s rant had taken what seemed to be an eternity and now that Cable had ended it, John finally spoke up.
“Yes. In order to reset things, make them right. Make them as they should be, and not just for us, but for everyone. Everywhere. Everytime.” Short and to the point, highly unusual for Kaede. That just underscored how serious the matter was, which was really serious – with it being after the end of the universe and all. “The nanosecond, actually.”
John, silent, gazed at the sphere, the perpetual motion time machine made out of pure energy.
Kaede looked at him: “Think of Selphie.”
A silent ten minutes flowed by like a second; the sphere – which defied all conventions of logic - continued shimmering, pulsating within its own being. It was waiting.
“I’ll go in…” John finally said. Resigned. He had a job to do, and he felt he had already done it.
“Be careful. You don’t have me to pull your ass off the line, ja?” Cable said. He took John’s hand, gripped it hard, and shook it.
“And take this…” Kaede handed to John something that was on his back. It was a short katana – it had a two dimensional blade contained in a force field. “A heirloom. Was never much of a warrior, though it belonged to an ancestor long ago – a shogun. When you go near the sphere, take off your clothes. Only things that produce bioelectrical fields and ectoplasms can go through. That sword’s covered in IntelliMetal, so it will have its own ectoplasm, it’s the only weapon you can bring to the other side.”
“Speaking of which,” this was a solemn moment and Cable didn’t want to interrupt Kaede, especially when it was their last time talking to John. Their last time for a long time. “See you on the other side.”
“Yeah,” Cable couldn’t tell whether that was a tear on John’s eye or if it was just a reflection from the glowing, pulsing sphere. “And thanks, Kaede. Thanks Schaefer.”
“That’s Cable, to you punk. Now do what you’ve got to do.”
John nodded, looked at his friends for the last time, and marched towards the sphere. With every step he took, the polymetal bridge underneath him extended so that his foot would land exactly at the same spot it was before. Eventually the tongue of steel had extended itself to a thousand feet away. John was now a dot to Cable and Kaede. John pressed a button on his jumpsuit and it detached itself, falling into the abyss below. He then walked on, and soon the little dot that was him was absorbed into the magnificent ball of pure temporal energy.
“So long. Farewell,” Kaede and Cable said, paraphrasing a song. “And see you on the other side.”
The nanosecond John’s entire being was absorbed, the ball transformed into the purest of white, untainted and as bright as a billion trillion suns. And everything was no more.
To the Edge of Time
A ship, sleek, silvery and with round edges, suddenly appeared in the skies above the desolate world. It had used its inertia-less hyperspace rippling drives and the momentum of its emergence from folded hyperspace to enter the planet’s atmosphere at relativistic speeds, coming in so fast that, until it halted, it was practically invisible – like a speeding bullet, but faster. Shields, Sigma shields, ensured that the ship didn’t vaporize in reentry.
A faint blue beam shot out of the ship’s belly and three figures materialized on the planet’s scorched surface.
A thousand years after the multiverse disintegrated, now we’re finally here. Star’s End. Earth. John Baylor thought as he surveyed the charred and airless environment of what had been humanity’s home world. He could see the large quantities of glass in the soil – tell tale signs of orbital bombardment. But one didn’t need bio-ocular implants to see the more obvious signs of devastation, the enormous hills of molten steel that were once the star-scrapers that composed megacities. “Let’s get going guys.”
“Ja,” Viktor ‘Cable’ Schaefer, a big man with blonde hair and blue-eyes and a prominent chin, acknowledged. The planetary surface had no air and they could only breathe through the atmospheric containment fields that surrounded their jump suits, but the hyperwave comm.-links inside their heads would see to it that they could hear each other even if they were galaxies apart. “Kaede, so where’s the place?”
“Judging by the rapidly oscillating Second Space signatures, I can triangulate that-”
“Spare us the technobabble,” Cable sighed. His voice had an accent and he brandished the thick-barreled gauss carbine he held with only one hand. “Or I’ll shoot you.”
Gulping, Kaede rephrased his ‘triangulations’: “It’s right in front of us, a few yards. There’s a big dome sticking out of the slag, that’s where it should be.”
“Groovy,” John patted his squat science expert’s back. “Been a long time waiting.”
Indeed, there was a massive dome obscured behind a spire of broiled steel. It looked oddly out of place, it did not look slagged and neither did it look like it had undergone partial immolation. If it weren’t for the inches of dust covering it, it probably would’ve looked brand new, shining and gleaming under the burnt out star that the Earth orbited.
They circled the dome; it didn’t look like it had an entrance.
“So, how do we enter the thing?” John asked after minutes of examination and circumnavigation.
“My tetracorder indicates that the polymetallic-” Cable stared and Kaede grew silent. “Its polymorphic-”
“Like IntelliMetal?” John asked.
“Yeah… so we just walk right in.”
“Like this?” Cable stuck his hand in and the steel gave way like some sort of ooze, cold and thick, but not sticky. It felt smooth and…metallic. Cable looked like he was about to say something, but instead gave out a yelp as the liquid metal made a sucking sound and pulled him inside it. Within seconds, the big 6'5 foot tall cyborg had disappeared into the dome of fluid steel, the only trace of his existence were ripples on the steel’s surface.
John gaped. “Really groovy.”
He walked in, as did Kaede. And they were sucked into the thick wall of metal, immersed and drenched with a sensation that felt like cold mud and looked like gleaming chrome. A second later, before they could even feel the vaguest perception of drowning or claustrophobia or lacking air, they emerged into a giant quasi-vacuous realm. They were standing on a tiny outcropping, a tongue-like sheet of inch-thin living steel. Below them was an abyss of bluish blackness. It looked cold and the air was drenched in energy that was not of a particular type, but pure and undiluted.
“Amazing,” Kaede was gaping at his tetracorder, a palm-sized device that projected, telepathically, data into his mind. “… whereas the dome was just a few hundred meters in height and diameter, this… expanse in front of us is… infinite…”
“Shiny,” John’s comment, seemingly coming out of nowhere, forced Kaede to look away from his tetracorder, breaking the eye-contact psychic link. His mouth unhinged, trying their best to gape even winder. At the ‘middle’ of the abyss that surrounded them was a sphere of light. It was soundless, but it seemed to hum and… call out. It had a corona of greenish-blue light and inside it was a pulsating orb, a globule of white that had splotches of blue ‘beating’ all over it. The ‘plasmoid’ was a sight to behold, a psychedelic spectacle of surreal and unworldly proportions. It seemed small, but with the distance separating them, it was probably a kilometer in diameter – from a cursory and conservative estimate.
“We have traveled to the zeroth universe, through time and space… to the edge of oblivion and reality…” Kaede seemed mystified, spooked, revering. Like a man who found some mythical deity, a God.
“Indeed…” Cable was at a lost of words.
“What do we do?” this seemed familiar to John.
“You walk into it and make things right.”
Kaede, for all his technical jargon, was really a straightforward guy and John couldn’t really disagree with him. He stepped over the ledge and –
“No!” Cable shouted, pushing Kaede out of his way and sticking his hand to grab and save John. There was no need though, as the ledge of steel they were on extended itself to place itself under John’s foot.
“It’s polymorphic,” Kaede concluded. “It will form a bridge to the plasmoid…”
“Wait!” Cable said, snapping out of the plasmoid’s trance. “Firstly, what is that thing?”
“I just felt like I’ve been already here, that I already did this some time ago…” despite his eagerness to walk into the ball of light, he knew practically as much of the thing as Cable – which wasn’t much. “… déjà vu.”
Cable uncharacteristically rolled his eyes.
“Look,” Kaede said, butting in. “This place is old, and I’m sure it feels familiar to all of us. Right, Cable?”
“Right…”
“Now after we’ve ran half-way through what’s left of the multiverse, after the proverbial temporal equinox, after being chased by automatons, revived a thousand years after the transdimensional collision that killed every other wholly organic beings aside from us, after talking to the Machine God himself, and after going through the remaining half of what’s left of the multiverse, after doing what he told us and after finding everything exactly as he told us-” Kaede gasped for breath. “We have here-”
“Cut to the chase!” it wasn’t tech jargon, but it was still as longwinded as Xenu. Cable didn’t like that.
“I was just getting to that,” Kaede scoffed. “What we have here is a pocket dimension that displaces time – and we are inside a hyperspace bubble being used as a containment field. Energy cannot be created nor destroyed, even you know that. And inside the pocket dimension is ectoplasm, and it’s reflecting itself and bouncing itself all over that sphere, expanding and contracting – like a universe, but a thousand times every second. It’s a perpetual motion engine that’s been on ever since the multiverse imploded, maybe even longer.
“Now, as the Machine God said, John here has to go inside it so he can stop everything from going wrong. Right after he goes in, the pocket dimension’s perpetual motion engine will develop a series of imbalances, which will develop into entropy and a nanosecond later, it will explode and eliminate all realities, resetting it for whatever timeline that results from John’s tampering. So our super-reality will be changed, there will be no alternate universes that will branch out from John’s interference, it will all-”
It was getting too long, and Cable heard all he needed to know. “John’s going to a time machine?”
“Yes-”
“Good. That’s all I needed to know.”
“Wait… did you say the second I step in… everything would be destroyed?” Kaede’s rant had taken what seemed to be an eternity and now that Cable had ended it, John finally spoke up.
“Yes. In order to reset things, make them right. Make them as they should be, and not just for us, but for everyone. Everywhere. Everytime.” Short and to the point, highly unusual for Kaede. That just underscored how serious the matter was, which was really serious – with it being after the end of the universe and all. “The nanosecond, actually.”
John, silent, gazed at the sphere, the perpetual motion time machine made out of pure energy.
Kaede looked at him: “Think of Selphie.”
A silent ten minutes flowed by like a second; the sphere – which defied all conventions of logic - continued shimmering, pulsating within its own being. It was waiting.
“I’ll go in…” John finally said. Resigned. He had a job to do, and he felt he had already done it.
“Be careful. You don’t have me to pull your ass off the line, ja?” Cable said. He took John’s hand, gripped it hard, and shook it.
“And take this…” Kaede handed to John something that was on his back. It was a short katana – it had a two dimensional blade contained in a force field. “A heirloom. Was never much of a warrior, though it belonged to an ancestor long ago – a shogun. When you go near the sphere, take off your clothes. Only things that produce bioelectrical fields and ectoplasms can go through. That sword’s covered in IntelliMetal, so it will have its own ectoplasm, it’s the only weapon you can bring to the other side.”
“Speaking of which,” this was a solemn moment and Cable didn’t want to interrupt Kaede, especially when it was their last time talking to John. Their last time for a long time. “See you on the other side.”
“Yeah,” Cable couldn’t tell whether that was a tear on John’s eye or if it was just a reflection from the glowing, pulsing sphere. “And thanks, Kaede. Thanks Schaefer.”
“That’s Cable, to you punk. Now do what you’ve got to do.”
John nodded, looked at his friends for the last time, and marched towards the sphere. With every step he took, the polymetal bridge underneath him extended so that his foot would land exactly at the same spot it was before. Eventually the tongue of steel had extended itself to a thousand feet away. John was now a dot to Cable and Kaede. John pressed a button on his jumpsuit and it detached itself, falling into the abyss below. He then walked on, and soon the little dot that was him was absorbed into the magnificent ball of pure temporal energy.
“So long. Farewell,” Kaede and Cable said, paraphrasing a song. “And see you on the other side.”
The nanosecond John’s entire being was absorbed, the ball transformed into the purest of white, untainted and as bright as a billion trillion suns. And everything was no more.
"DO YOU WORSHIP HOMOSEXUALS?" - Curtis Saxton (source)shroom is a lovely boy and i wont hear a bad word against him - LUSY-CHAN!
Shit! Man, I didn't think of that! It took Shroom to properly interpret the screams of dying people
- PeZookShroom, I read out the stuff you write about us. You are an endless supply of morale down here. :p - an OWS street medic
Pink Sugar Heart Attack!
-
Shroom Man 777
- FUCKING DICK-STABBER!
- Posts: 21222
- Joined: 2003-05-11 08:39am
- Location: Bleeding breasts and stabbing dicks since 2003
- Contact:
____________________________________
- February 2, 2560 -
- New Genesis Enclave, Wild Space world Kasanar (a.k.a. The War World) -
____________________________________
“Don’t let the demons take you…”
Jeremiah was sitting cross-legged in the middle of his cell. It was dark and all he could see were the rapid movements of disgusting insects, vermin. He could hear them scurry around, smell their stink intermix with that of his food, feel them crawling on his skin. It had been like this for nearly twenty years.
“Don’t let them take you away…”
The food was dry, and was already two days old. Rotten. His only source of fluid were the roaches. He grabbed one, snatching it from the ground as it scurried somewhere near his feet, placed half of it it inside his mouth as it struggled to escape, and bit on its crunchy exterior – savoring the foul juices that was its entrails. He chewed on the half that had been severed inside his mouth, while holding the other half, which was still struggling, between his fingers. He tossed what remained of the insect into his mouth and crunched it with whatever was left of his teeth. He just gummed it.
Wasting no time, he continued with his chanting. “Don’t let them take you away…demons…don’t let them take you away.”
He was trapped in a purgatory of perpetual darkness… of perpetual stink, of perpetual misery inflicted not by pain, but by filth, by vermin, by decomposition. But he would not give up to the Devil’s torments, no. The Lord had given him a mission, and he was going to finish it. No matter what.
“Don’t let the demons take you away…”
He grasped randomly at the floor, searching for his instrument. He grasped at bones, rotten food matter, insects, human waste, and at last he found it – a shard of his food plate that he had fashioned into a carving tool.
“Don’t let them…”
He gripped the sharpened edges with his calloused hand and pressed it against his non-existing stomach, just as the Lord commanded. He winced as blood was drawn and the agonized look on his face, obscured by the shadows that concealed his naked form, only got worse as he carved the sharpened ceramic blade into his flesh. The Lord had required blood sacrifice for atonement, and he was going to deliver. He was not a sinner, he was ready to do the Lord’s work.
“Don’t let them take you away!”
What was once smooth and superficial became deep and eviscerating. Jeremiah could see the blood, black in the darkness, ooze from the wound as his intestines uncoiled and dropped themselves to the filthy floor that was crawling with vermin. They crawled to the wet ropes of flesh, eager for warmth and food.
“…don’t let them take you away…”
The first part of the Lord’s task had been completed. Salvation was only two more steps away. After this, he would be God’s child and then only Heaven awaited. He would be freed from this wretched existence.
“Don’t let the demons take you away…”
The blade, now slippery with blood, was pressed against his upper cheek and he could feel it dig into his face as it had dug into the flesh of his abdomen. In one swift motion, he brought it downwards and across his face and lips. He could feel something wet flow from the mutilated flaps that used to be his mouth. Blood. More blood. But eventually there would be none left. Then he placed the blade against the other side of his face and repeated the procedure, carving a bloody ‘X’ into his face.
“Don’t let the demons take you away…”
It did not matter if his carved up lips could not pronounce the exact words, the loving Lord could hear his children no matter how far they were from Heaven. Soon, he would be in Heaven and the Lord would no longer need to strain to hear.
“Don’t let them take you away…”
He rested, breathed, bled. Then he resumed the Lord’s work. This time, he pressed the blade against the floor. He would be carving stone now, not flesh. Just as the Lord said.
“… demons… don’t let them take you away…”
Just as the Lord said.
- February 2, 2560 -
- New Genesis Enclave, Wild Space world Kasanar (a.k.a. The War World) -
____________________________________
“Don’t let the demons take you…”
Jeremiah was sitting cross-legged in the middle of his cell. It was dark and all he could see were the rapid movements of disgusting insects, vermin. He could hear them scurry around, smell their stink intermix with that of his food, feel them crawling on his skin. It had been like this for nearly twenty years.
“Don’t let them take you away…”
The food was dry, and was already two days old. Rotten. His only source of fluid were the roaches. He grabbed one, snatching it from the ground as it scurried somewhere near his feet, placed half of it it inside his mouth as it struggled to escape, and bit on its crunchy exterior – savoring the foul juices that was its entrails. He chewed on the half that had been severed inside his mouth, while holding the other half, which was still struggling, between his fingers. He tossed what remained of the insect into his mouth and crunched it with whatever was left of his teeth. He just gummed it.
Wasting no time, he continued with his chanting. “Don’t let them take you away…demons…don’t let them take you away.”
He was trapped in a purgatory of perpetual darkness… of perpetual stink, of perpetual misery inflicted not by pain, but by filth, by vermin, by decomposition. But he would not give up to the Devil’s torments, no. The Lord had given him a mission, and he was going to finish it. No matter what.
“Don’t let the demons take you away…”
He grasped randomly at the floor, searching for his instrument. He grasped at bones, rotten food matter, insects, human waste, and at last he found it – a shard of his food plate that he had fashioned into a carving tool.
“Don’t let them…”
He gripped the sharpened edges with his calloused hand and pressed it against his non-existing stomach, just as the Lord commanded. He winced as blood was drawn and the agonized look on his face, obscured by the shadows that concealed his naked form, only got worse as he carved the sharpened ceramic blade into his flesh. The Lord had required blood sacrifice for atonement, and he was going to deliver. He was not a sinner, he was ready to do the Lord’s work.
“Don’t let them take you away!”
What was once smooth and superficial became deep and eviscerating. Jeremiah could see the blood, black in the darkness, ooze from the wound as his intestines uncoiled and dropped themselves to the filthy floor that was crawling with vermin. They crawled to the wet ropes of flesh, eager for warmth and food.
“…don’t let them take you away…”
The first part of the Lord’s task had been completed. Salvation was only two more steps away. After this, he would be God’s child and then only Heaven awaited. He would be freed from this wretched existence.
“Don’t let the demons take you away…”
The blade, now slippery with blood, was pressed against his upper cheek and he could feel it dig into his face as it had dug into the flesh of his abdomen. In one swift motion, he brought it downwards and across his face and lips. He could feel something wet flow from the mutilated flaps that used to be his mouth. Blood. More blood. But eventually there would be none left. Then he placed the blade against the other side of his face and repeated the procedure, carving a bloody ‘X’ into his face.
“Don’t let the demons take you away…”
It did not matter if his carved up lips could not pronounce the exact words, the loving Lord could hear his children no matter how far they were from Heaven. Soon, he would be in Heaven and the Lord would no longer need to strain to hear.
“Don’t let them take you away…”
He rested, breathed, bled. Then he resumed the Lord’s work. This time, he pressed the blade against the floor. He would be carving stone now, not flesh. Just as the Lord said.
“… demons… don’t let them take you away…”
Just as the Lord said.
"DO YOU WORSHIP HOMOSEXUALS?" - Curtis Saxton (source)shroom is a lovely boy and i wont hear a bad word against him - LUSY-CHAN!
Shit! Man, I didn't think of that! It took Shroom to properly interpret the screams of dying people
- PeZookShroom, I read out the stuff you write about us. You are an endless supply of morale down here. :p - an OWS street medic
Pink Sugar Heart Attack!
-
Crazedwraith
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11924
- Joined: 2003-04-10 03:45pm
- Location: Cheshire, England
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Shroom Man 777
- FUCKING DICK-STABBER!
- Posts: 21222
- Joined: 2003-05-11 08:39am
- Location: Bleeding breasts and stabbing dicks since 2003
- Contact:
____________________________________
- September 5, 2547 -
- The Bohemian Rhapsody, somewhere in T3 space-
____________________________________
“Daddy, what are you doing?”
Juan looked over his shoulders to see that Carol had somehow infiltrated the freighter’s bridge. She was probably hungry, or all excited about finally going back home to Earth. Back to mom. “I’m just talking to the computer, sweetie.”
Five year olds couldn’t possibly understand the processes involved in preparation for a hyperspace jump, no matter how short and easy the computers made them to be.
“For the…” neither could they pronounce ‘hyperjump’ right. Juan chuckled as the chubby blonde girl struggled to articulate the complicated adult words. “For…going very fast?”
“Yes, yes,” incredible how smart kids were, or at least his kid. Couldn’t pronounce the big grownup words, they made their own. “And now the computer has to think how to make the jump safe for us. So that we can see mom as soon as possible.”
Carol’s face lit up in amazement as she looked at the big boxy mass of buttons and glowing things and holographic display monitors that was in front of Juan, realizing that it helped her father in his very long and boring job. Realizing that it was what made going back home to mom possible. “Can I have some of your coffee?”
“No, sweetheart. You’re too young. Coffee’s only for old people, so that they can stay awake,” Juan answered tenderly. He was reading what the computer had to say after it scanned the local hyperwave channels and used its own hyperspatial sensors. “Thirteen parasecs, eh?”
“What, daddy?” Carol looked confused.
“Ah, nothing. Just talking to the computer…” the reply only made Carol even more confused. “Hey, why don’t you go to sleep? Tomorrow, mommy’s going to be waiting for us at the starport and she wouldn’t want you to be dozing off while we have breakfast at Burger Boat.”
“Burger Boat?!” they didn’t have those in Zigonia. The party-lizards only had eggs with boiled bird fetuses, and those scared the living daylights out of Carol. Gave her nightmares. She preferred the six-inch thick slabs of pure Earth-made BurgerBeef and BurgerBread interspaced with BurgerCheese, mayonnaise, ketchup, lettuce, flavored BurgerFat, and so forth. The thought of it made Juan salivate.
“Yes dear. Now you better go to sleep. We’ll be dropping into Sol in the middle of the night and land on Earth in the morning.”
“Aw kay.” Carol said as she turned and bounced to her quarters. Juan could hear her yell ‘Burger Boat!’ repeatedly. He smiled. She’d never go to sleep now.
“Burger Boat indeed,” the ship had sent a hyperspace ping. The signal, aside from carrying a bit of information, would enable nearby ships to triangulate the Bohemian Rhapsody’s present location and its destination. This was necessary to prevent collisions, even though the odds against them were astronomical. Also, should the ship get attacked by pirates (rare when a ship was this close to Earth) or otherwise disappear because of unforeseen circumstances, the hyper-ping would help in the rescue effort. “Computer, set course for Earth. Eneregize hyperdrive. Engage Ludicrous Speed!”
He heard that from a holoscreen movie. Probably them bloody McBain movies Carol so desperately wanted to watch, despite his protests.
Acknowledged. The computer beeped, the ship’s engines hummed, and the sea of stars in the holographic viewscreen transformed into a sea of white streaks that highlighted a tunnel of blue energy. Ludicrous Speed indeed.
- September 5, 2547 -
- The Bohemian Rhapsody, somewhere in T3 space-
____________________________________
“Daddy, what are you doing?”
Juan looked over his shoulders to see that Carol had somehow infiltrated the freighter’s bridge. She was probably hungry, or all excited about finally going back home to Earth. Back to mom. “I’m just talking to the computer, sweetie.”
Five year olds couldn’t possibly understand the processes involved in preparation for a hyperspace jump, no matter how short and easy the computers made them to be.
“For the…” neither could they pronounce ‘hyperjump’ right. Juan chuckled as the chubby blonde girl struggled to articulate the complicated adult words. “For…going very fast?”
“Yes, yes,” incredible how smart kids were, or at least his kid. Couldn’t pronounce the big grownup words, they made their own. “And now the computer has to think how to make the jump safe for us. So that we can see mom as soon as possible.”
Carol’s face lit up in amazement as she looked at the big boxy mass of buttons and glowing things and holographic display monitors that was in front of Juan, realizing that it helped her father in his very long and boring job. Realizing that it was what made going back home to mom possible. “Can I have some of your coffee?”
“No, sweetheart. You’re too young. Coffee’s only for old people, so that they can stay awake,” Juan answered tenderly. He was reading what the computer had to say after it scanned the local hyperwave channels and used its own hyperspatial sensors. “Thirteen parasecs, eh?”
“What, daddy?” Carol looked confused.
“Ah, nothing. Just talking to the computer…” the reply only made Carol even more confused. “Hey, why don’t you go to sleep? Tomorrow, mommy’s going to be waiting for us at the starport and she wouldn’t want you to be dozing off while we have breakfast at Burger Boat.”
“Burger Boat?!” they didn’t have those in Zigonia. The party-lizards only had eggs with boiled bird fetuses, and those scared the living daylights out of Carol. Gave her nightmares. She preferred the six-inch thick slabs of pure Earth-made BurgerBeef and BurgerBread interspaced with BurgerCheese, mayonnaise, ketchup, lettuce, flavored BurgerFat, and so forth. The thought of it made Juan salivate.
“Yes dear. Now you better go to sleep. We’ll be dropping into Sol in the middle of the night and land on Earth in the morning.”
“Aw kay.” Carol said as she turned and bounced to her quarters. Juan could hear her yell ‘Burger Boat!’ repeatedly. He smiled. She’d never go to sleep now.
“Burger Boat indeed,” the ship had sent a hyperspace ping. The signal, aside from carrying a bit of information, would enable nearby ships to triangulate the Bohemian Rhapsody’s present location and its destination. This was necessary to prevent collisions, even though the odds against them were astronomical. Also, should the ship get attacked by pirates (rare when a ship was this close to Earth) or otherwise disappear because of unforeseen circumstances, the hyper-ping would help in the rescue effort. “Computer, set course for Earth. Eneregize hyperdrive. Engage Ludicrous Speed!”
He heard that from a holoscreen movie. Probably them bloody McBain movies Carol so desperately wanted to watch, despite his protests.
Acknowledged. The computer beeped, the ship’s engines hummed, and the sea of stars in the holographic viewscreen transformed into a sea of white streaks that highlighted a tunnel of blue energy. Ludicrous Speed indeed.
"DO YOU WORSHIP HOMOSEXUALS?" - Curtis Saxton (source)shroom is a lovely boy and i wont hear a bad word against him - LUSY-CHAN!
Shit! Man, I didn't think of that! It took Shroom to properly interpret the screams of dying people
- PeZookShroom, I read out the stuff you write about us. You are an endless supply of morale down here. :p - an OWS street medic
Pink Sugar Heart Attack!
-
Shroom Man 777
- FUCKING DICK-STABBER!
- Posts: 21222
- Joined: 2003-05-11 08:39am
- Location: Bleeding breasts and stabbing dicks since 2003
- Contact:
____________________________________
- April 10, 2555 -
- Purgatorium Primus, the Terran Periphery -
____________________________________
At the furthest reaches of space, inside a desolate rock orbiting a burnt up husk of a sun, deep within the colony’s labyrinth of steel and concrete corridors, Maynard McGinnis sat inside a car that was making its way to the starport.
Maynard yawned. It was late, half-past midnight. Penal colonies had executions done as soon as possible, at midnight, as to prevent exactly this kind of situation.
“So what’s your story?” he asked the car’s driver, the suited man who had yanked him out of Death Row.
“Let’s just say I’ve come to offer you a contract,” the man didn’t take his eyes off the road. Wasn’t really the sociable type, just here for the job, Maynard guessed.
“Hmm… I doubt you alone could have the power to overrule my court-appointed meeting with the gas chamber,” Maynard shifted himself to face his chauffer. “So, who are you representing? CEID? The NID? NBI? ToRepSec?”
“As of now, you’re on a need to know basis. And you don’t need to know,” the man replied casually. “Though this might change after you agree to the contract.”
Maynard was right. He wasn’t the talkative type, just here for the job. If he weren’t so small and lanky, Maynard would’ve been sure he was an Infiltrator. “What happens if I don’t agree to the contract?”
“We go back and you’ll have your court-appointed meeting with the gas chamber.”
The doors weren’t locked. And the car was going at a leisurely speed of sixty kilometers per hour. Jumping out would be survivable, and they were pretty close to the starports…
“How was your meal?” finally, the g-man decided to have some small talk. Bad timing, though.
“The asparagus was a bit overcooked but the lobster was perfect. It was great,” this was weird, Manyard thought. “Why do you ask?”
“Drank your sparkling wine?”
“All of it. Didn’t go so well with the asparagus though,” Maynard moved his hand closer to the door handle.
“The bubbly was laced with nanobombs,” the g-man said frankly. “Try anything and you’ll look pretty funny running away without a head.”
Slagging bioshit!
“So… about the contract?”
Defeated, Maynard reclined his chair to the point where it could lean backwards no more. “What is it?”
The g-man tossed a datascroll on his lap. He got it and unscrolled the datasheet, which grew taut and began displaying some pictures. The g-man cleared his throat and said: “An associate working inside the Imperium of Man as an informant has been disappeared. My benefactors have reason to suspect he’s being held in a Kongregation in Klanton-”
“What do you need me for? Can’t you just send your people in?” Maynard interrupted.
“The Klanton Kongregation happens to be heavily armed,” the g-man continued, not paying attention to Maynard’s question. He unintentionally answered it anyway. “A staging point for their terrorist activities. We need someone who’s flexible, who can adapt to new situations.”
“Someone with nothing to loose?”
“Precisely.”
“And the deniability’s a good thing too, right? With you not telling me who you are,” Maynard suspected they were CEID. But the LFW’s National Bureau of Investigation also wanted a piece of the Imperium’s fascist terrorist ass. As did the Silver Shield, and the Toraamal Republic, and many others.
“When you were employed by Reverend Bobby Ray Smith to kill the mobster who brought in illegal immigrants from Zigonia, was it before you were Maynard McGinnis or after?”
“How did you know about that?!”
“We’ve been watching the Reverend tend to his flock for years now. Answer the question.”
“Before.”
“Good. So my benefactors won’t have to pay to have your face altered,” how the g-man and his ‘benefactors’ knew of his multiple cosmetic surgeries, Maynard didn’t know. They’ve probably been watching him for a long time. “We’ll be dropping you in Klanton immediately. Someone will meet you there.”
“Hotel accommodations?”
“Your Klanton contact will give you your lunch money,” the g-man replied. “He will tell you what to do and hopefully, with your experience working for the good Reverend, we’ll know what happened to our disappeared associate and maybe we can do something about it. Just remember, if you try anything funny, your head explodes.”
“Is that all?” Maynard had listened intently to all the g-man had to say, but he was still getting sleepy. He yawned.
“Yes.”
“Great. Wake me up when we reach the docks. I’ll catch some shut eye.” It would be hard though, knowing that there was a bomb inside your brain. But Maynard knew he would manage, he always did.
- April 10, 2555 -
- Purgatorium Primus, the Terran Periphery -
____________________________________
At the furthest reaches of space, inside a desolate rock orbiting a burnt up husk of a sun, deep within the colony’s labyrinth of steel and concrete corridors, Maynard McGinnis sat inside a car that was making its way to the starport.
Maynard yawned. It was late, half-past midnight. Penal colonies had executions done as soon as possible, at midnight, as to prevent exactly this kind of situation.
“So what’s your story?” he asked the car’s driver, the suited man who had yanked him out of Death Row.
“Let’s just say I’ve come to offer you a contract,” the man didn’t take his eyes off the road. Wasn’t really the sociable type, just here for the job, Maynard guessed.
“Hmm… I doubt you alone could have the power to overrule my court-appointed meeting with the gas chamber,” Maynard shifted himself to face his chauffer. “So, who are you representing? CEID? The NID? NBI? ToRepSec?”
“As of now, you’re on a need to know basis. And you don’t need to know,” the man replied casually. “Though this might change after you agree to the contract.”
Maynard was right. He wasn’t the talkative type, just here for the job. If he weren’t so small and lanky, Maynard would’ve been sure he was an Infiltrator. “What happens if I don’t agree to the contract?”
“We go back and you’ll have your court-appointed meeting with the gas chamber.”
The doors weren’t locked. And the car was going at a leisurely speed of sixty kilometers per hour. Jumping out would be survivable, and they were pretty close to the starports…
“How was your meal?” finally, the g-man decided to have some small talk. Bad timing, though.
“The asparagus was a bit overcooked but the lobster was perfect. It was great,” this was weird, Manyard thought. “Why do you ask?”
“Drank your sparkling wine?”
“All of it. Didn’t go so well with the asparagus though,” Maynard moved his hand closer to the door handle.
“The bubbly was laced with nanobombs,” the g-man said frankly. “Try anything and you’ll look pretty funny running away without a head.”
Slagging bioshit!
“So… about the contract?”
Defeated, Maynard reclined his chair to the point where it could lean backwards no more. “What is it?”
The g-man tossed a datascroll on his lap. He got it and unscrolled the datasheet, which grew taut and began displaying some pictures. The g-man cleared his throat and said: “An associate working inside the Imperium of Man as an informant has been disappeared. My benefactors have reason to suspect he’s being held in a Kongregation in Klanton-”
“What do you need me for? Can’t you just send your people in?” Maynard interrupted.
“The Klanton Kongregation happens to be heavily armed,” the g-man continued, not paying attention to Maynard’s question. He unintentionally answered it anyway. “A staging point for their terrorist activities. We need someone who’s flexible, who can adapt to new situations.”
“Someone with nothing to loose?”
“Precisely.”
“And the deniability’s a good thing too, right? With you not telling me who you are,” Maynard suspected they were CEID. But the LFW’s National Bureau of Investigation also wanted a piece of the Imperium’s fascist terrorist ass. As did the Silver Shield, and the Toraamal Republic, and many others.
“When you were employed by Reverend Bobby Ray Smith to kill the mobster who brought in illegal immigrants from Zigonia, was it before you were Maynard McGinnis or after?”
“How did you know about that?!”
“We’ve been watching the Reverend tend to his flock for years now. Answer the question.”
“Before.”
“Good. So my benefactors won’t have to pay to have your face altered,” how the g-man and his ‘benefactors’ knew of his multiple cosmetic surgeries, Maynard didn’t know. They’ve probably been watching him for a long time. “We’ll be dropping you in Klanton immediately. Someone will meet you there.”
“Hotel accommodations?”
“Your Klanton contact will give you your lunch money,” the g-man replied. “He will tell you what to do and hopefully, with your experience working for the good Reverend, we’ll know what happened to our disappeared associate and maybe we can do something about it. Just remember, if you try anything funny, your head explodes.”
“Is that all?” Maynard had listened intently to all the g-man had to say, but he was still getting sleepy. He yawned.
“Yes.”
“Great. Wake me up when we reach the docks. I’ll catch some shut eye.” It would be hard though, knowing that there was a bomb inside your brain. But Maynard knew he would manage, he always did.
"DO YOU WORSHIP HOMOSEXUALS?" - Curtis Saxton (source)shroom is a lovely boy and i wont hear a bad word against him - LUSY-CHAN!
Shit! Man, I didn't think of that! It took Shroom to properly interpret the screams of dying people
- PeZookShroom, I read out the stuff you write about us. You are an endless supply of morale down here. :p - an OWS street medic
Pink Sugar Heart Attack!
-
Shroom Man 777
- FUCKING DICK-STABBER!
- Posts: 21222
- Joined: 2003-05-11 08:39am
- Location: Bleeding breasts and stabbing dicks since 2003
- Contact:
____________________________________
- November 16, 2570 -
- White Sands, Sovereign Protectorate world Aruba -
____________________________________
Carl Brownski was a middle-aged man. He had a modest income, a chubby wife, a nine-year-old daughter and a nice house that happened to be in a tropical paradise. Life couldn’t get much better, except when someone was outside impatiently ringing the doorbell.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!” Carl said loudly as he brought himself in front of the door. He twisted the knob and pulled the door open.
“Carl Brownski?” the visitor, a big man with a couple of piercings and a black jacket, inquired.
“Yeah?” Carl replied. To him, the stranger looked oddly familiar. “What is-”
Before Carl could finish his question, the big man kneed him in the gut and pushed him into the house. Staggering backwards, Carl struggled to defend himself. No such luck, as the man slammed his big fist into Carl’s face, breaking his nose and sending him down to the floor.
“Remember me Carl?” the man asked as he kicked Carl in the ribs, twice.
Carl couldn’t hear him, he was too busy trying to crawl away.
“It’s me, Nicholas. Big Nick, remember?” he kicked Carl again, viciously. “Used to work for Don Giovanni.”
He grabbed Carl by the hair and pulled him deeper into the house.
“Used to, because you sold him out to CEID, remember?” they were now in the living room. Nearby was a table, Nick slammed Carl’s face onto it, smearing its polished surface with blood. “Then you and your girlfriend got into the protection program and hid like fucking rats. That was twenty years ago, now you’ve got yourself a daughter. Nine years old. She’s gonna have her birthday two months from now, right?”
He slammed Carl’s face on the table again, smearing it with even more blood.
“Or what? You think the mob would forget? The mob never forgets, you little piece of bioshit!” he jerked Carl’s face off the table, and then he slammed his face on the table’s sharp edge. Nick repeated the process, careful to make sure that the edge met with Carl’s mouth. “You little bastard. You little cunt!”
Carl’s mouth met the table again, and he couldn’t help but spit out some of the teeth he broke.
In one swift and painful motion, Nick threw Carl across the room with one hand, ripping a clump of hair out of Carl’s scalp. Carl landed on a pile of chairs.
Nick walked over to Carl’s crumpled form, picked him up and slammed him on one of the still-standing chairs. He slapped Carl’s face, just to wake him up. He couldn’t tell if the man’s eyes were still open, his face was too bloody.
“So Carl, do you think Don Giovanni’s a bitch?” Nick asked as he pulled out a cigarette. He stuck it in his mouth, got out his lighter and lit it.
“No…” Carl said, barely able to speak.
“Then why did you fuck him?! Why did you fuck him like a bitch, Carl?!” Nick shouted. He stopped, took a drag, and exhaled, calming himself down.
Carl struggled to talk: “I had no choice, Nick… CEID was-”
“CEID was what? CEID was coming to get him? To get us? CEID got him because you fucked him over, you little shit!” again, Nick took a drag and calmed himself down. He blew out some smoke and continued: “Why, Carl? Why? The Don took you in when you were a pathetic piece of shit, dead in the gutter. He gave you a house, he gave you cash. Without him, you would’ve been a nobody, Carl. So why did you fuck him over?!”
“Listen Nick… I’m so sorry. Tell the Don I’m sorry. Please don’t kill me, please don’t hurt my wife-”
“Oh no, Carl. I’m not going to hurt her. I’m just going to cut her up like a bitch, and bleed her like a fucking pig. Then I’m going to put one between your little girl’s eyes, Carl. Because you fucked the Don over, Carl. And the mob never forgets!” he capitalized his point by kicking Carl in the face, causing blood to splatter all over and Carl to fall backwards. “Oh, I hear them coming… it’s three o’clock, and that’s when your girl comes home after school with her mom, right?”
Carl, now a bloody crumpled up wreck, cried. “Please Nick… don’t do this! Please! They don’t have anything to-”
“Gotta go, Carl. I’ll be back.” Nick said, nonchalantly, as he pulled out a silenced pistol and left Carl to wallow as an impotent bloodied mess who could only hear the screams and gunshots from outside and do nothing but wait…
- November 16, 2570 -
- White Sands, Sovereign Protectorate world Aruba -
____________________________________
Carl Brownski was a middle-aged man. He had a modest income, a chubby wife, a nine-year-old daughter and a nice house that happened to be in a tropical paradise. Life couldn’t get much better, except when someone was outside impatiently ringing the doorbell.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!” Carl said loudly as he brought himself in front of the door. He twisted the knob and pulled the door open.
“Carl Brownski?” the visitor, a big man with a couple of piercings and a black jacket, inquired.
“Yeah?” Carl replied. To him, the stranger looked oddly familiar. “What is-”
Before Carl could finish his question, the big man kneed him in the gut and pushed him into the house. Staggering backwards, Carl struggled to defend himself. No such luck, as the man slammed his big fist into Carl’s face, breaking his nose and sending him down to the floor.
“Remember me Carl?” the man asked as he kicked Carl in the ribs, twice.
Carl couldn’t hear him, he was too busy trying to crawl away.
“It’s me, Nicholas. Big Nick, remember?” he kicked Carl again, viciously. “Used to work for Don Giovanni.”
He grabbed Carl by the hair and pulled him deeper into the house.
“Used to, because you sold him out to CEID, remember?” they were now in the living room. Nearby was a table, Nick slammed Carl’s face onto it, smearing its polished surface with blood. “Then you and your girlfriend got into the protection program and hid like fucking rats. That was twenty years ago, now you’ve got yourself a daughter. Nine years old. She’s gonna have her birthday two months from now, right?”
He slammed Carl’s face on the table again, smearing it with even more blood.
“Or what? You think the mob would forget? The mob never forgets, you little piece of bioshit!” he jerked Carl’s face off the table, and then he slammed his face on the table’s sharp edge. Nick repeated the process, careful to make sure that the edge met with Carl’s mouth. “You little bastard. You little cunt!”
Carl’s mouth met the table again, and he couldn’t help but spit out some of the teeth he broke.
In one swift and painful motion, Nick threw Carl across the room with one hand, ripping a clump of hair out of Carl’s scalp. Carl landed on a pile of chairs.
Nick walked over to Carl’s crumpled form, picked him up and slammed him on one of the still-standing chairs. He slapped Carl’s face, just to wake him up. He couldn’t tell if the man’s eyes were still open, his face was too bloody.
“So Carl, do you think Don Giovanni’s a bitch?” Nick asked as he pulled out a cigarette. He stuck it in his mouth, got out his lighter and lit it.
“No…” Carl said, barely able to speak.
“Then why did you fuck him?! Why did you fuck him like a bitch, Carl?!” Nick shouted. He stopped, took a drag, and exhaled, calming himself down.
Carl struggled to talk: “I had no choice, Nick… CEID was-”
“CEID was what? CEID was coming to get him? To get us? CEID got him because you fucked him over, you little shit!” again, Nick took a drag and calmed himself down. He blew out some smoke and continued: “Why, Carl? Why? The Don took you in when you were a pathetic piece of shit, dead in the gutter. He gave you a house, he gave you cash. Without him, you would’ve been a nobody, Carl. So why did you fuck him over?!”
“Listen Nick… I’m so sorry. Tell the Don I’m sorry. Please don’t kill me, please don’t hurt my wife-”
“Oh no, Carl. I’m not going to hurt her. I’m just going to cut her up like a bitch, and bleed her like a fucking pig. Then I’m going to put one between your little girl’s eyes, Carl. Because you fucked the Don over, Carl. And the mob never forgets!” he capitalized his point by kicking Carl in the face, causing blood to splatter all over and Carl to fall backwards. “Oh, I hear them coming… it’s three o’clock, and that’s when your girl comes home after school with her mom, right?”
Carl, now a bloody crumpled up wreck, cried. “Please Nick… don’t do this! Please! They don’t have anything to-”
“Gotta go, Carl. I’ll be back.” Nick said, nonchalantly, as he pulled out a silenced pistol and left Carl to wallow as an impotent bloodied mess who could only hear the screams and gunshots from outside and do nothing but wait…
"DO YOU WORSHIP HOMOSEXUALS?" - Curtis Saxton (source)shroom is a lovely boy and i wont hear a bad word against him - LUSY-CHAN!
Shit! Man, I didn't think of that! It took Shroom to properly interpret the screams of dying people
- PeZookShroom, I read out the stuff you write about us. You are an endless supply of morale down here. :p - an OWS street medic
Pink Sugar Heart Attack!
-
Shroom Man 777
- FUCKING DICK-STABBER!
- Posts: 21222
- Joined: 2003-05-11 08:39am
- Location: Bleeding breasts and stabbing dicks since 2003
- Contact:
____________________________________
- 12th of Rakirss 247 -
- Sharasskalesh, Republic capital world Toraamal -
____________________________________
“So… what is it, Inspector Kraslashkes?” Inspector Ss’raks asked as he entered the room. He immediately noted something of foul odor.
“Spontaneous combustion,” Kraslashkes replied. He was on his knees, closely examining the immolated human corpse with a holo-scanner. Ss’raks could see that the scanner was one of the newer varieties, complete with ectoplasmic receptors. Its holoscreen displayed human alphabetic symbols, so it was undoubtedly imported from the T3, probably from Earth or Tarsonis, rather than a local design.
“Spontaneous combustion? Wait, you must be joking, right?” Kraslashkes was old, his scales and feathers were graying, and his sense of humor had long since gone to the retirement home. Ss’raks frowned. This explained why the Inspector had an ectoplasm-detecting scanner. “Oh no…”
“That is correct, inspector,” Krasleshkes said as he got up and walked away from the burnt up corpse. He brushed his snout, probably because of the corpse’s foul smell and its irritating ashes. “We’ve got ourselves a homicidal psyker.”
“Oh no, oh no,” Ss’raks brushed his Mohawk of yellow feathers and bobbed his head up and down, the Zigonian gesture of disapproval. “This is not good.”
“It gets worse,” Krasleshkes headed for the room’s exit, probably to get some fresh air. Ss’raks decided that was a good idea and followed him. “The surveillance footage shows that nobody came into the victim’s room.”
“What does that mean?” Ss’raks asked as he dodged some forensics people who wanted to have a look at the corpse.
“I’ve worked in the Paranormal Investigation branch of the ToRepSec, and I know this means only one thing…”
“What?”
“The psyker murdered the victim inside his dreams, and the act manifested itself physically,” Krasleshkes pocketed his holo-scanner.
“No, that’s not possible!” Ss’raks protested. He grew quiet and absorbed what his senior had just said. “Have you told the Silver Shield?”
“Yes. They’ll bring some of their paranormalists over. They’ll be here tomorrow. You’ll be meeting them in the starport.”
“Why do we always get the most insane jobs?” Ss’raks sighed.
- 12th of Rakirss 247 -
- Sharasskalesh, Republic capital world Toraamal -
____________________________________
“So… what is it, Inspector Kraslashkes?” Inspector Ss’raks asked as he entered the room. He immediately noted something of foul odor.
“Spontaneous combustion,” Kraslashkes replied. He was on his knees, closely examining the immolated human corpse with a holo-scanner. Ss’raks could see that the scanner was one of the newer varieties, complete with ectoplasmic receptors. Its holoscreen displayed human alphabetic symbols, so it was undoubtedly imported from the T3, probably from Earth or Tarsonis, rather than a local design.
“Spontaneous combustion? Wait, you must be joking, right?” Kraslashkes was old, his scales and feathers were graying, and his sense of humor had long since gone to the retirement home. Ss’raks frowned. This explained why the Inspector had an ectoplasm-detecting scanner. “Oh no…”
“That is correct, inspector,” Krasleshkes said as he got up and walked away from the burnt up corpse. He brushed his snout, probably because of the corpse’s foul smell and its irritating ashes. “We’ve got ourselves a homicidal psyker.”
“Oh no, oh no,” Ss’raks brushed his Mohawk of yellow feathers and bobbed his head up and down, the Zigonian gesture of disapproval. “This is not good.”
“It gets worse,” Krasleshkes headed for the room’s exit, probably to get some fresh air. Ss’raks decided that was a good idea and followed him. “The surveillance footage shows that nobody came into the victim’s room.”
“What does that mean?” Ss’raks asked as he dodged some forensics people who wanted to have a look at the corpse.
“I’ve worked in the Paranormal Investigation branch of the ToRepSec, and I know this means only one thing…”
“What?”
“The psyker murdered the victim inside his dreams, and the act manifested itself physically,” Krasleshkes pocketed his holo-scanner.
“No, that’s not possible!” Ss’raks protested. He grew quiet and absorbed what his senior had just said. “Have you told the Silver Shield?”
“Yes. They’ll bring some of their paranormalists over. They’ll be here tomorrow. You’ll be meeting them in the starport.”
“Why do we always get the most insane jobs?” Ss’raks sighed.
"DO YOU WORSHIP HOMOSEXUALS?" - Curtis Saxton (source)shroom is a lovely boy and i wont hear a bad word against him - LUSY-CHAN!
Shit! Man, I didn't think of that! It took Shroom to properly interpret the screams of dying people
- PeZookShroom, I read out the stuff you write about us. You are an endless supply of morale down here. :p - an OWS street medic
Pink Sugar Heart Attack!
I'm always amazed that you can fit so much action into such short stories. Me? I'd have talking and plotting and stuff, and then after a while some action would take place, but it would happen between chapters so you wouldn't actually get to see it. But with you it's all "wham! bang! zip!"
I enjoy it.
I enjoy it.
"I would say that the above post is off-topic, except that I'm not sure what the topic of this thread is, and I don't think anybody else is sure either."
- Darth Wong
Free Durian - Last updated 27 Dec
"Why does it look like you are in China or something?" - havokeff
- Darth Wong
Free Durian - Last updated 27 Dec
"Why does it look like you are in China or something?" - havokeff
-
Shroom Man 777
- FUCKING DICK-STABBER!
- Posts: 21222
- Joined: 2003-05-11 08:39am
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More action coming... [Arnoe]NOW![/Arnie]
Well, not exactly now. Soon.
Well, not exactly now. Soon.
"DO YOU WORSHIP HOMOSEXUALS?" - Curtis Saxton (source)shroom is a lovely boy and i wont hear a bad word against him - LUSY-CHAN!
Shit! Man, I didn't think of that! It took Shroom to properly interpret the screams of dying people
- PeZookShroom, I read out the stuff you write about us. You are an endless supply of morale down here. :p - an OWS street medic
Pink Sugar Heart Attack!
-
Shroom Man 777
- FUCKING DICK-STABBER!
- Posts: 21222
- Joined: 2003-05-11 08:39am
- Location: Bleeding breasts and stabbing dicks since 2003
- Contact:
____________________________________
- June 3, 2567 -
- The Deadlands, Wild Space world Kasanar (a.k.a. The War World) -
____________________________________
Lieutenant Yvanek and his squad were inside the deepest depths of the temple. They, a crack team from the Guard’s Elite Commando Detachment, were on a special mission personally assigned to them by the Imperator - a mission into a forsaken tabernacle deep within the southern continent of Kasanar, a lifeless post-apocalyptic wasteland.
His powersuit’s comm.-link crackled to life. It was Sergeant Garrek: “A dozen lifesigns up ahead, thirty meters.”
The lifesigns probably belonged to Saquati Templars who had been corrupted into demonic monstrosities or xenomorphs, insect-like abominations that were even more horrible and vile. But since they were in the innermost sanctum of the temple, these lifesigns could easily belong to things that were much worse.
“Oleg, how is your flamer?” Yvanek asked. Whatever those things were, they needed to be killed fast – preferably immolated by nuclear fire.
“Nearly empty.”
“Great. Garrek, you and I take point. Oleg will need whatever fuel left in his flamer to clear the last chamber,” Yvanek ordered as he checked his K-bolter LMG’s ammunition counter. He too was nearly empty. “Precise bursts only. Conserve your ammunition, who knows what could still be out there.”
Yes, they were inside a temple infested with all forms of corrupted creatures, things that did not belong to reality but to some kind of bad horror story. But they were Elites, the Imperator’s finest, and as such this mission would be like any other – a mission where they would triumph over their enemies by drowning them out with vastly superior firepower and nuclear flame. Starved and untrained insurgent or infested half-Saquati half-insectoid demon, it did not matter to the Imperator, and neither did it matter to the executors of his will. Yvanek smiled at this thought, but still he would’ve preferred it if they were allowed to use tactical nukes – no such luck though, as the Imperator did not want disintegrations. “Let’s purge these abominations!”
With the rest of the squad behind them, Yvanek and Garrek rushed towards the monstrosities that waited behind the obsidian pillars of the blasphemous sanctum – pillars that looked like as if screaming and writhing creatures were being absorbed into them. The blasphemous design of the sanctum was perfect camouflage for its equally blasphemous inhabitants.
A corrupted Saquati, an ape-like mountain of fur covered in a fungus-like growth and with long razor-edged insect limbs sticking out of its chest, landed from the ceiling to confront the commandos. It emitted a hi-pitched screech and leapt at Yvanek, but was blown back by an acidic five-shot burst. It landed on its back, screeched, flailed a bit and exploded, clouding the room with a thick bacterial fog. The mist was harmless to Yvanek since he was enclosed in a nuclear-powered battlesuit, so he continued onwards, towards the wall of nightmare creatures that had suddenly materialized in front of him.
“They’re trying to surround us,” Garrek calmly noted as he unleashed nearly a dozen precise bursts of fire in just a few seconds, dropping an equal amount of corrupted Saquati. The rest of the Elites followed suit and soon, the entire room was filled with gunshots and the dying screams of xenos and infested Saquati.
Yvanek slammed his machinegun’s butt against the skull-like head of a screeching insectoid. The suit’s strength enhancements saw to it that the creature was sent staggering backwards, and Yvanek took the opportunity to vivisect it with K-bolter fire. The insectoid screeched one last time as its chest was reduced to corrosive splatters and it fell to the ground, twitching. Yvanek turned and sought another target, this time a corrupted Saquati Templar with pseudopods protruding over its chain mail armor. The deformed thing launched itself at Yvanek and began squirting thick, whitish liquid from its protruding organelles, only to have its head removed by a well-aimed burst. Yvanek checked his ammo counter and noted that it was nearly empty, with just a dozen rounds left.
“We need to clear the area fast. There’s too many of them,” Yvanek said, his voice cool and detached as he emptied what was left of his ammunition into a charging ten-limbed spider. He dropped his machinegun and pulled out his sidearms, two pistol-sized needlers, and opened fire on another infested spider, filling its chitinous carapace with needles and shattering it to pieces. “Anyone got a grenade?”
As if in response, a grenade launcher discharged and filled the far end of the room with thermobaric flame, cooking nearly a hundred xenomorphs who were converging towards the Elites.
“Great,” Yvanek said in approval as he perforated an arachnid that was scrabbling up his chest plate. Acidic blood splattered his suit, but the paint was barely deteriorated. So far, it had been a piece of cake – unarmed opponents were the easiest to dispatch, even if they were demonic and corrupted by supernatural powers and entities. Half the room had already been cleared.
“We’ve taken down half of them,” again, it was Garrek calmly updating them on the situation. He took a step forward and used his K-bolter to blast all sorts of otherworldly creatures into bloody acidic gibs, covering Yvanek as he reloaded his needlers. “But there’s probably more in the last chamber.”
“Don’t worry, Oleg’s got a flamer. We’ll set it at self destruct and toss it in,” Yvanek stated as he went back to his forward position and took out a potato-masher grenade. He pulled the pin and tossed it into a large gathering of daemons, causing them to erupt in a violent orgy of blood and disemboweled organs. Bioluminescent intestines landed on Yvanek’s powersuit as he took out his needlers and resumed firing, shearing a man-sized bat to pieces. “How many are left?”
“A quarter. Shouldn’t take long.”
“How are the rest of you faring?” the rest of the team was oddly silent, probably busy with the daemons, Yvanek thought.
“We’re doing okay. Just letting you two do most of the slaughtering, that’s all.”
“Why you-” before Yvanek could finish he was rammed by a Saquati sporting a dorsal fin made entirely out of spores. Yvanek staggered backwards as the Saquati opened its mouth, now mutated into multiple mandibles, and roared. Vomitus and maggots were spewed from its gaping maw. Yvanek winced, not in pain but in disgust. Then he dismembered the Saquati with several well-placed bursts from his needler. “When the Imperator asked us to do this, I never thought he was sending us to something so disgusting…”
“Tell me about it,” Yvanek could see Garrek decapitate a Saquati, rendered wet and soggy by fungus, with his expended machinegun. The Saquati was unimpeded, despite loosing its head, and Garrek was forced to empty his needler into it, yet the corrupted being continued moving, only to be hacked into pieces by Garrek’s standard-issue hatchet. A spiderling, half as large as a Bragulan, lunged at Garrek and also found itself chopped into two.
“Need any help?” Yvanek asked as Garrek twisted his body and drove his blade through the face of a charging arachnid, dismembering its skeletal face.
“No.” Garrek replied. Another arachnid had sunk its teeth into his arm, its fangs leaking out corrosive substances. Garrek simply blasted its face to pieces with his needler.
“Are you sure?” a Saquati with a plethora of tentacles replacing its head and arms wrapped its appendages around Garrek’s other arm, only to have them chopped by Garrek, who was whacking his hatchet on his powersuit. The powersuit was unharmed, but the molluskian certainly wasn’t. Yvanek decided to give Garrek a hand and emptied a needler into the tentacled Saquati. The creature dropped to the ground, its appendages liquefying into a clear watery substance.
“Behind you.”
Yvanek turned to see another Saquati, half insectoid and also without a head, lunge at him. Instead of a neck and torso, it had a huge vertically aligned mouth with what seemed to be a thousand needle-like fangs. Underneath those fangs was something undulating. Not anymore though, as Yvanek emptied his other needler into the monstrosity’s ‘face’. The creature staggered and crumbled into chunks of boiling flesh and bone that melted a hole through the floor. “Thanks.”
“They just keep getting weirder and weirder. No wonder the Imperator had to send us here,” Garrek commented as he took out two grenades and tossed them at the horde of daemonids. The grenades exploded, but instead of releasing flame and shrapnel they released thick technicolor clouds of death. “Eat Contagion 9.”
With that, the remaining creatures began madly flailing as the enhanced defoliant began replicating on their chitin and fungus, burning through their epidermis and eating away at their flesh. Some screeched, others wailed, but all ended up on the floor, shriveled up into corroded prune-corpses. A few of the corpses turned into dust, while others liquefied and burned holes on the floor. Some just boiled into vapor. Most retained their solid shape, however.
Within seconds, everything not encased in a nuclear powered shell of Bragulan Steel was dead. As it should be.
“You could’ve done that earlier,” Yvanek said dryly. He kicked a corpse of a corrupted Saquati, whose head was a bulbous balloon-like mass that sprouted tentacles at its base, and it exploded into green flame. Yvanek commented to himself: “Lucky the enhanced Contagion didn’t react to our armor.”
By then, Garrek had walked over to the door of the final chamber. Sculpted on the onyx gateway’s surface was a mural of archaic symbols the inhabitants of Kasanar themselves couldn’t understand. It was said that these symbols, fluid and abstract hieroglyphs of gothic form, were more than a million years old. Archeologists said that these things belonged to mythic deities the Kasanarians, the Saquati, called the Old Ones. Personally, Yvanek couldn’t care any less.
“Oleg, prime your fuel tank. We’re using it to kill whatever’s on the otherside,” Yvanek snapped. “Garrek, open the door at my command.”
“It doesn’t have a knob,” Garrek said simply.
“What?”
“I don’t know how to open it. Aside from the glyphs, it doesn’t look like there’s any way to open the door-”
“Barkev, do you have any TNT left?” Yvanek asked, cutting Garrek short. The Elite Commando Detachment always said that if there was an obstacle, overcoming it was simply a matter of blowing it up – usually with portable atomic explosives. Not today, however.
“Yes, I do, Lieutenant.”
“Then-” before Yvanek could issue his command, the hieroglyphs of the gateway, its abstract murals, pulsed in an eerie glow. “Garrek, what did you touch?”
“Nothing…”
“Back away, Garrek. Back away,” Yvanek ordered. Garrek immediately complied, walking backwards as fast as he could while training his needler gun on the gothic gateway.
It pulsed again. Then there was a humming sound, more like that of a door in a hi-tech facility than something inside a million year old pyramid. The door opened, separating itself into a dozen pieces that slid into the floor, the ceiling and the roofs with a sharp hissing noise. White fog gushed out of the opened chamber and an eerie purple glow, like that on the gateway, began pulsing from the depths of the chamber.
A shapeless thing edged outwards from the sanctum, emanating a purple bioluminescence. The white fog cleared as it touched the thing’s aura.
Garrek, still walking backwards and with his weapon trained at the thing, nearly bumped into Yvanek, who could hear him gape through the comm.-link. “What in the Imperator is that…?”
What was in front of them was a being without form, a huge blob-like being with a smooth yet irregular transparent surface that was fluid. Its surface rippled and began forming pseudopods while its nucleus of purple light began pulsating with increasing frequency.
Somehow, Yvanek could feel the pseudopods reach into his mind. But decades of training and mental conditioning made him instinctually shrug it off. “Oleg, is the flamer primed for detonation?”
“Yes.”
- June 3, 2567 -
- The Deadlands, Wild Space world Kasanar (a.k.a. The War World) -
____________________________________
Lieutenant Yvanek and his squad were inside the deepest depths of the temple. They, a crack team from the Guard’s Elite Commando Detachment, were on a special mission personally assigned to them by the Imperator - a mission into a forsaken tabernacle deep within the southern continent of Kasanar, a lifeless post-apocalyptic wasteland.
His powersuit’s comm.-link crackled to life. It was Sergeant Garrek: “A dozen lifesigns up ahead, thirty meters.”
The lifesigns probably belonged to Saquati Templars who had been corrupted into demonic monstrosities or xenomorphs, insect-like abominations that were even more horrible and vile. But since they were in the innermost sanctum of the temple, these lifesigns could easily belong to things that were much worse.
“Oleg, how is your flamer?” Yvanek asked. Whatever those things were, they needed to be killed fast – preferably immolated by nuclear fire.
“Nearly empty.”
“Great. Garrek, you and I take point. Oleg will need whatever fuel left in his flamer to clear the last chamber,” Yvanek ordered as he checked his K-bolter LMG’s ammunition counter. He too was nearly empty. “Precise bursts only. Conserve your ammunition, who knows what could still be out there.”
Yes, they were inside a temple infested with all forms of corrupted creatures, things that did not belong to reality but to some kind of bad horror story. But they were Elites, the Imperator’s finest, and as such this mission would be like any other – a mission where they would triumph over their enemies by drowning them out with vastly superior firepower and nuclear flame. Starved and untrained insurgent or infested half-Saquati half-insectoid demon, it did not matter to the Imperator, and neither did it matter to the executors of his will. Yvanek smiled at this thought, but still he would’ve preferred it if they were allowed to use tactical nukes – no such luck though, as the Imperator did not want disintegrations. “Let’s purge these abominations!”
With the rest of the squad behind them, Yvanek and Garrek rushed towards the monstrosities that waited behind the obsidian pillars of the blasphemous sanctum – pillars that looked like as if screaming and writhing creatures were being absorbed into them. The blasphemous design of the sanctum was perfect camouflage for its equally blasphemous inhabitants.
A corrupted Saquati, an ape-like mountain of fur covered in a fungus-like growth and with long razor-edged insect limbs sticking out of its chest, landed from the ceiling to confront the commandos. It emitted a hi-pitched screech and leapt at Yvanek, but was blown back by an acidic five-shot burst. It landed on its back, screeched, flailed a bit and exploded, clouding the room with a thick bacterial fog. The mist was harmless to Yvanek since he was enclosed in a nuclear-powered battlesuit, so he continued onwards, towards the wall of nightmare creatures that had suddenly materialized in front of him.
“They’re trying to surround us,” Garrek calmly noted as he unleashed nearly a dozen precise bursts of fire in just a few seconds, dropping an equal amount of corrupted Saquati. The rest of the Elites followed suit and soon, the entire room was filled with gunshots and the dying screams of xenos and infested Saquati.
Yvanek slammed his machinegun’s butt against the skull-like head of a screeching insectoid. The suit’s strength enhancements saw to it that the creature was sent staggering backwards, and Yvanek took the opportunity to vivisect it with K-bolter fire. The insectoid screeched one last time as its chest was reduced to corrosive splatters and it fell to the ground, twitching. Yvanek turned and sought another target, this time a corrupted Saquati Templar with pseudopods protruding over its chain mail armor. The deformed thing launched itself at Yvanek and began squirting thick, whitish liquid from its protruding organelles, only to have its head removed by a well-aimed burst. Yvanek checked his ammo counter and noted that it was nearly empty, with just a dozen rounds left.
“We need to clear the area fast. There’s too many of them,” Yvanek said, his voice cool and detached as he emptied what was left of his ammunition into a charging ten-limbed spider. He dropped his machinegun and pulled out his sidearms, two pistol-sized needlers, and opened fire on another infested spider, filling its chitinous carapace with needles and shattering it to pieces. “Anyone got a grenade?”
As if in response, a grenade launcher discharged and filled the far end of the room with thermobaric flame, cooking nearly a hundred xenomorphs who were converging towards the Elites.
“Great,” Yvanek said in approval as he perforated an arachnid that was scrabbling up his chest plate. Acidic blood splattered his suit, but the paint was barely deteriorated. So far, it had been a piece of cake – unarmed opponents were the easiest to dispatch, even if they were demonic and corrupted by supernatural powers and entities. Half the room had already been cleared.
“We’ve taken down half of them,” again, it was Garrek calmly updating them on the situation. He took a step forward and used his K-bolter to blast all sorts of otherworldly creatures into bloody acidic gibs, covering Yvanek as he reloaded his needlers. “But there’s probably more in the last chamber.”
“Don’t worry, Oleg’s got a flamer. We’ll set it at self destruct and toss it in,” Yvanek stated as he went back to his forward position and took out a potato-masher grenade. He pulled the pin and tossed it into a large gathering of daemons, causing them to erupt in a violent orgy of blood and disemboweled organs. Bioluminescent intestines landed on Yvanek’s powersuit as he took out his needlers and resumed firing, shearing a man-sized bat to pieces. “How many are left?”
“A quarter. Shouldn’t take long.”
“How are the rest of you faring?” the rest of the team was oddly silent, probably busy with the daemons, Yvanek thought.
“We’re doing okay. Just letting you two do most of the slaughtering, that’s all.”
“Why you-” before Yvanek could finish he was rammed by a Saquati sporting a dorsal fin made entirely out of spores. Yvanek staggered backwards as the Saquati opened its mouth, now mutated into multiple mandibles, and roared. Vomitus and maggots were spewed from its gaping maw. Yvanek winced, not in pain but in disgust. Then he dismembered the Saquati with several well-placed bursts from his needler. “When the Imperator asked us to do this, I never thought he was sending us to something so disgusting…”
“Tell me about it,” Yvanek could see Garrek decapitate a Saquati, rendered wet and soggy by fungus, with his expended machinegun. The Saquati was unimpeded, despite loosing its head, and Garrek was forced to empty his needler into it, yet the corrupted being continued moving, only to be hacked into pieces by Garrek’s standard-issue hatchet. A spiderling, half as large as a Bragulan, lunged at Garrek and also found itself chopped into two.
“Need any help?” Yvanek asked as Garrek twisted his body and drove his blade through the face of a charging arachnid, dismembering its skeletal face.
“No.” Garrek replied. Another arachnid had sunk its teeth into his arm, its fangs leaking out corrosive substances. Garrek simply blasted its face to pieces with his needler.
“Are you sure?” a Saquati with a plethora of tentacles replacing its head and arms wrapped its appendages around Garrek’s other arm, only to have them chopped by Garrek, who was whacking his hatchet on his powersuit. The powersuit was unharmed, but the molluskian certainly wasn’t. Yvanek decided to give Garrek a hand and emptied a needler into the tentacled Saquati. The creature dropped to the ground, its appendages liquefying into a clear watery substance.
“Behind you.”
Yvanek turned to see another Saquati, half insectoid and also without a head, lunge at him. Instead of a neck and torso, it had a huge vertically aligned mouth with what seemed to be a thousand needle-like fangs. Underneath those fangs was something undulating. Not anymore though, as Yvanek emptied his other needler into the monstrosity’s ‘face’. The creature staggered and crumbled into chunks of boiling flesh and bone that melted a hole through the floor. “Thanks.”
“They just keep getting weirder and weirder. No wonder the Imperator had to send us here,” Garrek commented as he took out two grenades and tossed them at the horde of daemonids. The grenades exploded, but instead of releasing flame and shrapnel they released thick technicolor clouds of death. “Eat Contagion 9.”
With that, the remaining creatures began madly flailing as the enhanced defoliant began replicating on their chitin and fungus, burning through their epidermis and eating away at their flesh. Some screeched, others wailed, but all ended up on the floor, shriveled up into corroded prune-corpses. A few of the corpses turned into dust, while others liquefied and burned holes on the floor. Some just boiled into vapor. Most retained their solid shape, however.
Within seconds, everything not encased in a nuclear powered shell of Bragulan Steel was dead. As it should be.
“You could’ve done that earlier,” Yvanek said dryly. He kicked a corpse of a corrupted Saquati, whose head was a bulbous balloon-like mass that sprouted tentacles at its base, and it exploded into green flame. Yvanek commented to himself: “Lucky the enhanced Contagion didn’t react to our armor.”
By then, Garrek had walked over to the door of the final chamber. Sculpted on the onyx gateway’s surface was a mural of archaic symbols the inhabitants of Kasanar themselves couldn’t understand. It was said that these symbols, fluid and abstract hieroglyphs of gothic form, were more than a million years old. Archeologists said that these things belonged to mythic deities the Kasanarians, the Saquati, called the Old Ones. Personally, Yvanek couldn’t care any less.
“Oleg, prime your fuel tank. We’re using it to kill whatever’s on the otherside,” Yvanek snapped. “Garrek, open the door at my command.”
“It doesn’t have a knob,” Garrek said simply.
“What?”
“I don’t know how to open it. Aside from the glyphs, it doesn’t look like there’s any way to open the door-”
“Barkev, do you have any TNT left?” Yvanek asked, cutting Garrek short. The Elite Commando Detachment always said that if there was an obstacle, overcoming it was simply a matter of blowing it up – usually with portable atomic explosives. Not today, however.
“Yes, I do, Lieutenant.”
“Then-” before Yvanek could issue his command, the hieroglyphs of the gateway, its abstract murals, pulsed in an eerie glow. “Garrek, what did you touch?”
“Nothing…”
“Back away, Garrek. Back away,” Yvanek ordered. Garrek immediately complied, walking backwards as fast as he could while training his needler gun on the gothic gateway.
It pulsed again. Then there was a humming sound, more like that of a door in a hi-tech facility than something inside a million year old pyramid. The door opened, separating itself into a dozen pieces that slid into the floor, the ceiling and the roofs with a sharp hissing noise. White fog gushed out of the opened chamber and an eerie purple glow, like that on the gateway, began pulsing from the depths of the chamber.
A shapeless thing edged outwards from the sanctum, emanating a purple bioluminescence. The white fog cleared as it touched the thing’s aura.
Garrek, still walking backwards and with his weapon trained at the thing, nearly bumped into Yvanek, who could hear him gape through the comm.-link. “What in the Imperator is that…?”
What was in front of them was a being without form, a huge blob-like being with a smooth yet irregular transparent surface that was fluid. Its surface rippled and began forming pseudopods while its nucleus of purple light began pulsating with increasing frequency.
Somehow, Yvanek could feel the pseudopods reach into his mind. But decades of training and mental conditioning made him instinctually shrug it off. “Oleg, is the flamer primed for detonation?”
“Yes.”
"DO YOU WORSHIP HOMOSEXUALS?" - Curtis Saxton (source)shroom is a lovely boy and i wont hear a bad word against him - LUSY-CHAN!
Shit! Man, I didn't think of that! It took Shroom to properly interpret the screams of dying people
- PeZookShroom, I read out the stuff you write about us. You are an endless supply of morale down here. :p - an OWS street medic
Pink Sugar Heart Attack!
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Crazedwraith
- Emperor's Hand
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- Location: Cheshire, England
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Shroom Man 777
- FUCKING DICK-STABBER!
- Posts: 21222
- Joined: 2003-05-11 08:39am
- Location: Bleeding breasts and stabbing dicks since 2003
- Contact:
Lovecraftian?
"DO YOU WORSHIP HOMOSEXUALS?" - Curtis Saxton (source)shroom is a lovely boy and i wont hear a bad word against him - LUSY-CHAN!
Shit! Man, I didn't think of that! It took Shroom to properly interpret the screams of dying people
- PeZookShroom, I read out the stuff you write about us. You are an endless supply of morale down here. :p - an OWS street medic
Pink Sugar Heart Attack!
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Einhander Sn0m4n
- Insane Railgunner
- Posts: 18630
- Joined: 2002-10-01 05:51am
- Location: Louisiana... or Dagobah. You know, where Yoda lives.
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Shroom Man 777
- FUCKING DICK-STABBER!
- Posts: 21222
- Joined: 2003-05-11 08:39am
- Location: Bleeding breasts and stabbing dicks since 2003
- Contact:
____________________________________
- June 6, 2569 -
- New York City, USE capital world Earth -
____________________________________
“Stop right there!” the armored figure shouted. He was blocking her way and was brandishing a PsiGun.
“No,” she replied simply. She pointed her index and middle fingers at the man, making a ‘gun’ gesture, and mentally vaporized his chest cavity, causing it to explode outwards.
With her would be captor incinerated, Callista ran. She had to. CEID had found out and the Shield was after her, angry at her betrayal.
No matter, Callista thought. They wouldn’t catch her, no one could. Today, Odin’s Eye would emerge the victor. With that in mind, she ran into the dark alleyway as fast as she could, her psionically enhanced physique propelling her to nearly sixty kilometers per hour, faster than any mere paleohuman.
She rounded a corner and had to telekinetically stop herself from slipping, she was not slowed down though. Overhead Callista could hear hovering repulsor vehicles, choppers, and she knew they were sweeping the area for her, searching with eyes that could see all.
With her telekinesis, she propelled herself faster. And with her pyrokinesis, she attempted to mask her body heat from the searchers’ infrared sensors. Although they also had ectoplasm detectors, the speed at which she was going necessitated the use of other sensors.
Callista rounded yet another corner, leaping over impeding trashcans, and continued her run. Not for long though, as a three-pronged junction confronted her.
She contemplated which way to go and telepathically contacted her associate from Odin. No luck, CEID had erected AWE-jammers and all Callista could get was static.
“Slag it,” Callista cursed. She would have to choose one of them randomly-
Suddenly, she felt an aura approach from behind. She turned, pointing her left index and middle fingers like a pistol. It was dark, midnight, and all she could see was the person’s luminescent aura. She ‘pressed the trigger’, taking no chances, and the aura was quickly overshadowed by the person’s burning torso.
The dark alley was illuminated by the flames, and Callista could see that her immolated victim was merely a harmless tramp. “Slag!”
She felt two more auras approach, this time from the left and right sides of the junction. They were CEID operatives.
Cursing once more, Callista ran into the middle junction, the one without the armed agents.
“I have to get out of here now,” Callista said to herself. With adrenalin and psionic energy coursing through her veins, she ran so fast that her surroundings blurred.
The alley was no longer dark; a hover gunship was illuminating her vicinity with a spotlight.
“Sla-” before Callista could finish her curse, she suddenly halted, feeling yet another presence.
There was a patch of shadow unaffected by the spotlights, but it wasn’t a shadow – it was an ectoplasm. Quickly, the darkness receded and Callista was confronted by a man without an aura.
The man was a Pariah, CEID’s finest. CEID’s deadliest.
Callista assumed a fighting stance and pointed both hands at the man. Whatever he was, whatever it was, he/it would soon be nothing but ashes.
However, before Callista could shoot, the Pariah Adept pointed an open palm at her and the air became cold and frigid. Callista suddenly became frozen, and then an invisible wall of negative energy struck her like a shockwave, causing her entire body to become limp, numb and without feeling, as her own aura was blown away. She fell to the wet ground like a marionette without its strings. And then darkness engulfed her.
- June 6, 2569 -
- New York City, USE capital world Earth -
____________________________________
“Stop right there!” the armored figure shouted. He was blocking her way and was brandishing a PsiGun.
“No,” she replied simply. She pointed her index and middle fingers at the man, making a ‘gun’ gesture, and mentally vaporized his chest cavity, causing it to explode outwards.
With her would be captor incinerated, Callista ran. She had to. CEID had found out and the Shield was after her, angry at her betrayal.
No matter, Callista thought. They wouldn’t catch her, no one could. Today, Odin’s Eye would emerge the victor. With that in mind, she ran into the dark alleyway as fast as she could, her psionically enhanced physique propelling her to nearly sixty kilometers per hour, faster than any mere paleohuman.
She rounded a corner and had to telekinetically stop herself from slipping, she was not slowed down though. Overhead Callista could hear hovering repulsor vehicles, choppers, and she knew they were sweeping the area for her, searching with eyes that could see all.
With her telekinesis, she propelled herself faster. And with her pyrokinesis, she attempted to mask her body heat from the searchers’ infrared sensors. Although they also had ectoplasm detectors, the speed at which she was going necessitated the use of other sensors.
Callista rounded yet another corner, leaping over impeding trashcans, and continued her run. Not for long though, as a three-pronged junction confronted her.
She contemplated which way to go and telepathically contacted her associate from Odin. No luck, CEID had erected AWE-jammers and all Callista could get was static.
“Slag it,” Callista cursed. She would have to choose one of them randomly-
Suddenly, she felt an aura approach from behind. She turned, pointing her left index and middle fingers like a pistol. It was dark, midnight, and all she could see was the person’s luminescent aura. She ‘pressed the trigger’, taking no chances, and the aura was quickly overshadowed by the person’s burning torso.
The dark alley was illuminated by the flames, and Callista could see that her immolated victim was merely a harmless tramp. “Slag!”
She felt two more auras approach, this time from the left and right sides of the junction. They were CEID operatives.
Cursing once more, Callista ran into the middle junction, the one without the armed agents.
“I have to get out of here now,” Callista said to herself. With adrenalin and psionic energy coursing through her veins, she ran so fast that her surroundings blurred.
The alley was no longer dark; a hover gunship was illuminating her vicinity with a spotlight.
“Sla-” before Callista could finish her curse, she suddenly halted, feeling yet another presence.
There was a patch of shadow unaffected by the spotlights, but it wasn’t a shadow – it was an ectoplasm. Quickly, the darkness receded and Callista was confronted by a man without an aura.
The man was a Pariah, CEID’s finest. CEID’s deadliest.
Callista assumed a fighting stance and pointed both hands at the man. Whatever he was, whatever it was, he/it would soon be nothing but ashes.
However, before Callista could shoot, the Pariah Adept pointed an open palm at her and the air became cold and frigid. Callista suddenly became frozen, and then an invisible wall of negative energy struck her like a shockwave, causing her entire body to become limp, numb and without feeling, as her own aura was blown away. She fell to the wet ground like a marionette without its strings. And then darkness engulfed her.
"DO YOU WORSHIP HOMOSEXUALS?" - Curtis Saxton (source)shroom is a lovely boy and i wont hear a bad word against him - LUSY-CHAN!
Shit! Man, I didn't think of that! It took Shroom to properly interpret the screams of dying people
- PeZookShroom, I read out the stuff you write about us. You are an endless supply of morale down here. :p - an OWS street medic
Pink Sugar Heart Attack!
-
Crazedwraith
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11924
- Joined: 2003-04-10 03:45pm
- Location: Cheshire, England
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Shroom Man 777
- FUCKING DICK-STABBER!
- Posts: 21222
- Joined: 2003-05-11 08:39am
- Location: Bleeding breasts and stabbing dicks since 2003
- Contact:
Its intended to be ambiguous at that point. Since I myself have no idea what she was doing. Aside from being some kind of mole or double agent that pissed off CEID and Shield while selling them off to the Eye.
"DO YOU WORSHIP HOMOSEXUALS?" - Curtis Saxton (source)shroom is a lovely boy and i wont hear a bad word against him - LUSY-CHAN!
Shit! Man, I didn't think of that! It took Shroom to properly interpret the screams of dying people
- PeZookShroom, I read out the stuff you write about us. You are an endless supply of morale down here. :p - an OWS street medic
Pink Sugar Heart Attack!
-
Shroom Man 777
- FUCKING DICK-STABBER!
- Posts: 21222
- Joined: 2003-05-11 08:39am
- Location: Bleeding breasts and stabbing dicks since 2003
- Contact:
This piece is very short. The teacher wanted us to write a story (or an essay) about freedom, at least 150 words, and time was limited. So this is what I got. Oh, and the bell rang and then this became our homework - but I was already done.
____________________________________
- March 1, 2567 -
- West Hampton, Coalition capital world Borealis -
____________________________________
Jeff LaBane stared down at his quarry, a bloody mess of mangled flesh. He had tried to run and Jeff pumped him full of lead – or depleted uranium buckshots, to be precise. Dropping his shotgun, Jeff bent down to inspect the limbless torso, checking for any signs life. His job required him to be thorough, to make sure that threats were neutralized quickly and cleanly. This time, it wasn’t very clean - the chunks of flesh and bone attested to that - but it had been quick, brutally so, and now the nameless man was lying on the floor without his arms and legs, and with what remained of his body perforated by dozens of buckshots.
The man dying on Jeff’s feet was some kind of criminal or terrorist (Jeff was on a need-to-know basis) and was threatening the safety and sanctity of the populace, prompting the Agency to request his termination. Jeff happily obliged, the paycheck was good and helping society get rid of scum – the heavily armed and dangerous kind – was a certainly a very rewarding bonus.
“The price of freedom,” Jeff sighed. Sometimes, to protect freedom, one had to do very nasty things. The bloody mess was still bleeding, so Jeff pulled out his pistol and deactivated the safety. Definitely not clean, the explosive tipped bullets would make sure of that.
Jeff aimed for the man’s head and squeezed the trigger.
____________________________________
- March 1, 2567 -
- West Hampton, Coalition capital world Borealis -
____________________________________
Jeff LaBane stared down at his quarry, a bloody mess of mangled flesh. He had tried to run and Jeff pumped him full of lead – or depleted uranium buckshots, to be precise. Dropping his shotgun, Jeff bent down to inspect the limbless torso, checking for any signs life. His job required him to be thorough, to make sure that threats were neutralized quickly and cleanly. This time, it wasn’t very clean - the chunks of flesh and bone attested to that - but it had been quick, brutally so, and now the nameless man was lying on the floor without his arms and legs, and with what remained of his body perforated by dozens of buckshots.
The man dying on Jeff’s feet was some kind of criminal or terrorist (Jeff was on a need-to-know basis) and was threatening the safety and sanctity of the populace, prompting the Agency to request his termination. Jeff happily obliged, the paycheck was good and helping society get rid of scum – the heavily armed and dangerous kind – was a certainly a very rewarding bonus.
“The price of freedom,” Jeff sighed. Sometimes, to protect freedom, one had to do very nasty things. The bloody mess was still bleeding, so Jeff pulled out his pistol and deactivated the safety. Definitely not clean, the explosive tipped bullets would make sure of that.
Jeff aimed for the man’s head and squeezed the trigger.
"DO YOU WORSHIP HOMOSEXUALS?" - Curtis Saxton (source)shroom is a lovely boy and i wont hear a bad word against him - LUSY-CHAN!
Shit! Man, I didn't think of that! It took Shroom to properly interpret the screams of dying people
- PeZookShroom, I read out the stuff you write about us. You are an endless supply of morale down here. :p - an OWS street medic
Pink Sugar Heart Attack!
-
Crazedwraith
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11924
- Joined: 2003-04-10 03:45pm
- Location: Cheshire, England
-
Shroom Man 777
- FUCKING DICK-STABBER!
- Posts: 21222
- Joined: 2003-05-11 08:39am
- Location: Bleeding breasts and stabbing dicks since 2003
- Contact:
____________________________________
- June 12, 2567 -
- Einhoven , LFW world New Amsterdam -
____________________________________
Lennart Verheek tapped the datasheet touch screen of the modem. He inputted several commands and waited for the results.
He clucked his tongue. “A hundred quintillion metabytes per second, that’s pretty fast, better than the ones we had before.”
The massive device he was analyzing, easily as large as his apartment, was a wormhole information relay. On Solaris, hundreds of lightyears away, was another one just like it, and the singularities deep within both of them hooked them to each other. Each device was worth more than a million USE credits, and both of them could communicate at speeds that would put any normal hyperwave relay to shame.
“That’s nice, Arty,” yawned a female voice from the other side of the room, it was his (hot) girlfriend. “Can we go out now? I’m hungry and that Zigonian restaurant closes at seven!”
“Ja, just wait,” Lennart replied. ‘Arty’ was his nickname. “Just have to do a couple more tests and check if Solaris is responding. When it’s all good, I’ll hook this thing to the Net and we can go have dinner.”
Lennart also wanted to finish the job. Aside from his attractive partner’s proposal and the prospects of various recreational after-date activities, he also had his own personal projects to tend to. He wasn’t just the guy who helped update the servers of interstellar holo-game companies, he was also a freelance journalist – and a rather successful one at that. Consequently, this gave him lots of creds, which was why he could afford to bring his girlfriend to various classy restaurants.
“Mm… seems pretty good,” Lennart said as he clucked his tongue again. This was the last of a series of server maintenances and upgrades that had plagued Net-gamers for the past month, which meant that now he could finally spend the credits he had worked so hard to get. He smiled as he inputted the final commands needed to make the server accessible to the Net-gamers. “I’m done. Let’s ride.”
As he spun his chair around, he discovered that his girlfriend had snuck up on him. She bent down and planted a kiss on his forehead.
“Let’s,” she said, pulling Lennart off his chair.
- June 12, 2567 -
- Einhoven , LFW world New Amsterdam -
____________________________________
Lennart Verheek tapped the datasheet touch screen of the modem. He inputted several commands and waited for the results.
He clucked his tongue. “A hundred quintillion metabytes per second, that’s pretty fast, better than the ones we had before.”
The massive device he was analyzing, easily as large as his apartment, was a wormhole information relay. On Solaris, hundreds of lightyears away, was another one just like it, and the singularities deep within both of them hooked them to each other. Each device was worth more than a million USE credits, and both of them could communicate at speeds that would put any normal hyperwave relay to shame.
“That’s nice, Arty,” yawned a female voice from the other side of the room, it was his (hot) girlfriend. “Can we go out now? I’m hungry and that Zigonian restaurant closes at seven!”
“Ja, just wait,” Lennart replied. ‘Arty’ was his nickname. “Just have to do a couple more tests and check if Solaris is responding. When it’s all good, I’ll hook this thing to the Net and we can go have dinner.”
Lennart also wanted to finish the job. Aside from his attractive partner’s proposal and the prospects of various recreational after-date activities, he also had his own personal projects to tend to. He wasn’t just the guy who helped update the servers of interstellar holo-game companies, he was also a freelance journalist – and a rather successful one at that. Consequently, this gave him lots of creds, which was why he could afford to bring his girlfriend to various classy restaurants.
“Mm… seems pretty good,” Lennart said as he clucked his tongue again. This was the last of a series of server maintenances and upgrades that had plagued Net-gamers for the past month, which meant that now he could finally spend the credits he had worked so hard to get. He smiled as he inputted the final commands needed to make the server accessible to the Net-gamers. “I’m done. Let’s ride.”
As he spun his chair around, he discovered that his girlfriend had snuck up on him. She bent down and planted a kiss on his forehead.
“Let’s,” she said, pulling Lennart off his chair.
"DO YOU WORSHIP HOMOSEXUALS?" - Curtis Saxton (source)shroom is a lovely boy and i wont hear a bad word against him - LUSY-CHAN!
Shit! Man, I didn't think of that! It took Shroom to properly interpret the screams of dying people
- PeZookShroom, I read out the stuff you write about us. You are an endless supply of morale down here. :p - an OWS street medic
Pink Sugar Heart Attack!