RecAgenda
Double Luck
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Fantasy In All Things
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RecAgenda
Double Luck
The doors to the elevator lift opened after a barely audible tone and out stepped yet even more volunteers and recruits of the Iliad Program. They were now filing out, two by two, onto the upper catwalk that overlooked the entirety of the gate chamber, nearly a mile underground below the Apex Corporation's headquarters tower in Safe Haven. Every man and woman in that high-tech, bunker-like chamber had been sworn to secrecy. Among them, stepping out of the group that recently arrived from the elevator, was the very young Harvard associate professor and anthropologist Thomas Virgil. As he made way down the suspended catwalk, his sharp blue eyes darted in every direction to take in his surroundings. They were still about three or four stories above the bottom of the chamber, which was walled with some sort of high-density alloy. According to the security briefings they all were forced to sit through, the walls and ceilings were designed to absorb radio and microwaves. So, basically, no one could transmit any secrets to the outside.
Bright white LED lights were nestled into crevices along the walls, and even placed under tempered glass portions of the floor down below, providing a clean ambience and utilitarian feel to the polished chromatic atmosphere. At the end of the catwalk was another lift that they were all herded onto and used to descend lower into the chamber. On their way down, they passed below the command deck, suspended between the upper catwalk leading to the main elevator and the main floor of the chamber. He witnessed about a dozen technicians, all wearing Apex Security Forces uniforms and tailored suits, scurrying about from terminal to terminal, shouting over each other for this report and that report. There were more monitors hanging from the walls, bolted to metal supports, and holographically projected into the thin air than he bothered to count.
Finally, when the lift stopped with a few clunks of the metal gears below it on the main floor, the safety gate swung open and the volunteer adventurers stepped out and gathered with the other hundred, all split up into cliques and groups, milling about and kicking their feet, gossiping and chatting. Beyond them all, at the back of the room, towering about twenty feet high and wide, was the circular iris called the Polyphemus gate, named after the cyclops in Homer's Odyssey. At the foot of the ramp leading to the gate was a team of five men wearing multicam fatigues with the Valkyrie PMC logo patched to their right shoulders and their individual code names on their left.
The day had finally come. That gate, that massive ring of metal, copper, and wires, would activate by the end of the next hour and create a bridge to an entirely different universe. String theory would no longer be a theory, it would be fact. Or, presumably, it already was fact. Those same five men had already ventured to and from this fabled land as a scouting party. Now, every man and woman on that main floor, standing around and waiting like anxious children at the gates to a new theme park, would make up the first true expeditionary team to establish a base camp in the world beyond Polyphemus. What will your eye give sight to? Tom thought as he set down his backpack and stood near a few other brave journeymen and women.
An electronic chirp came from unseen speakers around the chamber, followed by the familiar voice of Evelyn Rouge. "Attention Odysseus," she spoke up, referring to the one hundred men and women that made up the team ready to go beyond the gate, "we will establish connection with Terra in t-minus forty-five minutes. Before we begin, Dr. Evenway is on his way down to send you all off. I recommend taking this time to double check all of your equipment and belongings. Should you require assistance with any issued items such as MOPP gear, please seek assistance from any of the ASF personnel on the team."
Tom brushed back the sleeve of his climber's jacket for a moment to check the sports watch around his wrist, which read 10:00am. He started to feel a few butterflies in his stomach as the seconds ticked away. If someone had approached him a month ago and said that he could go to another universe, he would have laughed and thought they just walked out of a Star Trek convention. And that's exactly what he did, one month ago, when Dr. Isaac Evenway sat him down in an interview for the Iliad Program.
"Why do I still feel like laughing?" he asked himself aloud.
Syrena
Enchanted.
She leaned against the kitchen table, panting. The cheap pine dug uncomfortably into her sweaty hip and wet salt oozed into the dry wood. Pens, loose-leaf papers, and thick files clipped haphazardly into large, white binders rattled absently together.
Keira sighed. Her endorphin buzz was starting to fade taking the mindless calm of her long run. The aching cramps in her leg muscles were sharper, and the stitch in her side hummed unpleasantly. She rubbed her side, watching fresh coffee drip into a glass pot. A moment later the Mr. Coffee beeped and the automatic two-hour warming function clicked on.
White steam lazily fogged the glass. Keira stretched forward, opened the overhead cabinet, and fumbled around for a clean mug. She grabbed her dark red cup with white flowers first. Warmth seeped through the colored ceramic as she poured coffee. Mug clasped tightly in her hands, Keira sank onto the floor. The burst of heat felt good against her cool, damp skin. Sitting like a rag doll on the wooden kitchen floor felt even better.
She took a long sip of coffee. Hot liquid hit the back of her throat; burning the sensitive skin and making her cheeks flush pink. The sudden spike in her internal temperature caused a violent shudder to rip down her spine. She splashed coffee across the kitchen floor.
Dust floated in the dark brown puddles. Keira sat the mug on a dry patch of flooring, wiping her damp hands on her pants, and pulled her cotton t-shirt off. She dropped her shirt over the puddles of coffee. Brown liquid soaked through the white cotton and mixed with her sweat. Keira climbed awkwardly to her feet, muscles protesting and her joints popping. She mopped up the rest of the coffee and pitched the soggy shirt in the trash.
Pale dawn light leaked through her curtains by the trashcan. The lacy fabric looked dull in the natural light; the frayed ends swayed slightly in the humid air from the open window. Her reflection caught in the exposed panes of glass. Frizzy strands of loose hair curled around her face and were beginning to slip free of the elastic band. She pulled at her ponytail, but the band refused to slide snuggly back against her head.
Idly, she pulled the band free. Her dark brown hair tumbled around her face in thick curls. She ran a hand through her hair—grimacing at the slick feel of sweat and oil buildup—and came away with knotted clumps of hair stuck between her fingers. “Damn.” She plucked the knotted hair out from between her fingers, sprinkling the long brown strands over her ruined shirt.
She stalked back to her bedroom. It was time for a shower and a fresh set of clothes. The radio on her nightstand was still playing popular hits from the last twenty years. Keira yawned, turning the volume up. A little bit of static crept into the music, rasping against a guitar solo.
Her phone abruptly chimed. Neatly cutting across the static and guitar. The phone screen lit up briefly, casting her bed sheets in a blue glow. She dropped onto her unmade bed and pulled her phone out of the covers, reactivating the screen. A calendar notification—Iliad Program; Apex—stretched across the small touchscreen with a countdown.
Keira smiled and felt her hand shake. Butterflies rolled playfully in her stomach. The physical exhaustion from her run couldn’t dull her nerves. Or her excitement. She checked the radio clock. It was still early; if she hurried, she would have just enough time to drop off her case files and get through Apex security on time.
Keira sighed. Her endorphin buzz was starting to fade taking the mindless calm of her long run. The aching cramps in her leg muscles were sharper, and the stitch in her side hummed unpleasantly. She rubbed her side, watching fresh coffee drip into a glass pot. A moment later the Mr. Coffee beeped and the automatic two-hour warming function clicked on.
White steam lazily fogged the glass. Keira stretched forward, opened the overhead cabinet, and fumbled around for a clean mug. She grabbed her dark red cup with white flowers first. Warmth seeped through the colored ceramic as she poured coffee. Mug clasped tightly in her hands, Keira sank onto the floor. The burst of heat felt good against her cool, damp skin. Sitting like a rag doll on the wooden kitchen floor felt even better.
She took a long sip of coffee. Hot liquid hit the back of her throat; burning the sensitive skin and making her cheeks flush pink. The sudden spike in her internal temperature caused a violent shudder to rip down her spine. She splashed coffee across the kitchen floor.
Dust floated in the dark brown puddles. Keira sat the mug on a dry patch of flooring, wiping her damp hands on her pants, and pulled her cotton t-shirt off. She dropped her shirt over the puddles of coffee. Brown liquid soaked through the white cotton and mixed with her sweat. Keira climbed awkwardly to her feet, muscles protesting and her joints popping. She mopped up the rest of the coffee and pitched the soggy shirt in the trash.
Pale dawn light leaked through her curtains by the trashcan. The lacy fabric looked dull in the natural light; the frayed ends swayed slightly in the humid air from the open window. Her reflection caught in the exposed panes of glass. Frizzy strands of loose hair curled around her face and were beginning to slip free of the elastic band. She pulled at her ponytail, but the band refused to slide snuggly back against her head.
Idly, she pulled the band free. Her dark brown hair tumbled around her face in thick curls. She ran a hand through her hair—grimacing at the slick feel of sweat and oil buildup—and came away with knotted clumps of hair stuck between her fingers. “Damn.” She plucked the knotted hair out from between her fingers, sprinkling the long brown strands over her ruined shirt.
She stalked back to her bedroom. It was time for a shower and a fresh set of clothes. The radio on her nightstand was still playing popular hits from the last twenty years. Keira yawned, turning the volume up. A little bit of static crept into the music, rasping against a guitar solo.
Her phone abruptly chimed. Neatly cutting across the static and guitar. The phone screen lit up briefly, casting her bed sheets in a blue glow. She dropped onto her unmade bed and pulled her phone out of the covers, reactivating the screen. A calendar notification—Iliad Program; Apex—stretched across the small touchscreen with a countdown.
Keira smiled and felt her hand shake. Butterflies rolled playfully in her stomach. The physical exhaustion from her run couldn’t dull her nerves. Or her excitement. She checked the radio clock. It was still early; if she hurried, she would have just enough time to drop off her case files and get through Apex security on time.
RecAgenda
Double Luck
From his spot up on the command deck, leaning forward against the metal rails, the middle aged man professionally dressed in the charcoal grey and white uniform of the Apex Security Forces watched the gathered volunteers and his troops below with steel blue eyes. A silver eagle with spread wings was stitched to both sides of his stiff neck collar. His right shoulder patch denoted he was with the ASF, while his left shoulder patch denoted his U.S. citizenship and nationality.
Commander Johnathan Titus observed the huddled adventurers down below and wondered how many of them were actually afraid right now. How many of them were prepared for the worst if this field trip didn't turn out to be a simple walk in the park. He didn't have enough hands to guide everyone like a kindergarten teacher if the mission were to go south. Yet, he also didn't want them to think about all of that, or else they would try to give resolutions during a situation calling for military expertise.
"Are you all ready to go, commander?" asked the always very astute Evelyn Rouge from behind.
Titus turned his head slightly to see her in his peripherals, standing there with a tablet nestled in one arm and smiling at him. "As ready as I'll ever be," he replied. "But I really must ask a question that's been on my mind since the briefings about this place we're going to."
"Now's the time to ask it, I suppose."
John pushed away from the rail and spun around to face Evelyn straight on. He folded his arms and shifted his weight back to one foot and asked, point blank, "Why 'the Iliad Program'?"
"Come again, sir?" Evelyn appeared a tad confused by the question.
"You've named the team I'll be leading and commanding through that gate 'Odysseus'; however, the fabled Greek hero was the star of an entirely different epic. The Iliad and the Odyssey are not the same, even if Odysseus may have briefly appeared in the former. Even when he did, most forget that he wasn't as bold and heroic as, say, Achilles or Ajax."
"Perhaps the answer to your questions lies in the ultimate purpose of this mission, Commander Titus," a man's voice suddenly said from the flank. John turned his head to see the one and only Dr. Isaac Evenway approaching and stopping just off to the side of them. He was wearing an open collared white button-up with no tie. The jacket to his tailored black suit was left opened and the man easily slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks. He wore a very charming smile nestled in his finely trimmed boxed beard.
"What do you mean, sir?" John asked, now intrigued by the doctor's sudden response.
With a gleam in his eye, Evenway said, "I'll let you ponder it a while, actually." Turning to Rouge, Isaac said, "Evelyn, is everyone accounted for?"
"We just checked in the last group, doctor. Everyone is below and waiting for you to address them."
Commander Johnathan Titus observed the huddled adventurers down below and wondered how many of them were actually afraid right now. How many of them were prepared for the worst if this field trip didn't turn out to be a simple walk in the park. He didn't have enough hands to guide everyone like a kindergarten teacher if the mission were to go south. Yet, he also didn't want them to think about all of that, or else they would try to give resolutions during a situation calling for military expertise.
"Are you all ready to go, commander?" asked the always very astute Evelyn Rouge from behind.
Titus turned his head slightly to see her in his peripherals, standing there with a tablet nestled in one arm and smiling at him. "As ready as I'll ever be," he replied. "But I really must ask a question that's been on my mind since the briefings about this place we're going to."
"Now's the time to ask it, I suppose."
John pushed away from the rail and spun around to face Evelyn straight on. He folded his arms and shifted his weight back to one foot and asked, point blank, "Why 'the Iliad Program'?"
"Come again, sir?" Evelyn appeared a tad confused by the question.
"You've named the team I'll be leading and commanding through that gate 'Odysseus'; however, the fabled Greek hero was the star of an entirely different epic. The Iliad and the Odyssey are not the same, even if Odysseus may have briefly appeared in the former. Even when he did, most forget that he wasn't as bold and heroic as, say, Achilles or Ajax."
"Perhaps the answer to your questions lies in the ultimate purpose of this mission, Commander Titus," a man's voice suddenly said from the flank. John turned his head to see the one and only Dr. Isaac Evenway approaching and stopping just off to the side of them. He was wearing an open collared white button-up with no tie. The jacket to his tailored black suit was left opened and the man easily slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks. He wore a very charming smile nestled in his finely trimmed boxed beard.
"What do you mean, sir?" John asked, now intrigued by the doctor's sudden response.
With a gleam in his eye, Evenway said, "I'll let you ponder it a while, actually." Turning to Rouge, Isaac said, "Evelyn, is everyone accounted for?"
"We just checked in the last group, doctor. Everyone is below and waiting for you to address them."
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Samantha Robin
Your local Tolkiener
WIP
Syrena
Enchanted.
Her small, wooden file cabinet was empty.
Keira sunk into her ergonomic chair. The black mesh support settled comfortingly against the slight curve of her spine. She sighed and fingered the edges of her laminated ID badge; the clear plastic borders scraped lightly against her manicured nails. The temporary loss of her neat, handwritten patient records hurt.
The Iliad Program suddenly weighed heavily on her shoulders. Her nervous anxiety spiked and she tasted bitter bile against her tongue. She swallowed awkwardly and counted slowly to ten. The feeling passed, though a sour aftertaste stuck in her mouth.
She stood and carefully shut the file cabinet. The wooden door slammed against the frame, and a hollow echo rang in the confined emptiness. Her tall, oak bookcases absorbed the noise. Keira stepped back and stared at the organized rows. Old textbooks and journals filled the shelves. She ran her fingers over the spines. The older books and journals felt worn against her soft skin.
A previous version of the DSM caught her eye. Faded, yellow sticky notes highlighted random pages. Keira pulled the book out and idly flipped through the pages. Her chicken scratch notes stood out sharply on select pages, supplementing the sticky notes. She smiled and gently shut the book.
Keira walked back to her desk. Her heels clicked against the smooth, polished floor. She set the old copy of the DSM next to her black briefcase. Carefully, she worked the clasp free and tucked the book between the current DSM edition and Ezra Nash’s file. The book slid seamlessly into place. She redid the clasp; the metal catches locked noisily together.
She felt lighter with a relic from her medical school days safely packed into her belongings. The Iliad Program—and its endless possibilities and what ifs—no longer felt impossibly heavy.
Now, all she had to do was change her clothes. She pulled a clean pair of tan cargo pants and hiking shoes out of her duffle bag. Keira kicked her heels under the desk and shimmed out of her navy blue pencil skirt after checking the office door. Removing her nylon stockings required more patience. She leaned against her desk and carefully peeled the fragile fabric away.
She slipped on her tan cargo pants and laced her hiking boots over the pants. The pants and shoes fit appropriately, but she felt strange standing in her office without her usual professional wear. Keira stiffly hung her skirt on a closet hanger, slipped her rolled nylons into one of her heeled shoes, and neatly placed everything in the small coat closet.
Then, she zipped her duffle bag and worked the strap over her shoulder. She stood a little haphazardly and readjusted the weight before grabbing her briefcase and slipping her ID badge lanyard over her head. With all her tasks complete, Keira started for the elevator that would take her down to Polyphemos.
Keira sunk into her ergonomic chair. The black mesh support settled comfortingly against the slight curve of her spine. She sighed and fingered the edges of her laminated ID badge; the clear plastic borders scraped lightly against her manicured nails. The temporary loss of her neat, handwritten patient records hurt.
The Iliad Program suddenly weighed heavily on her shoulders. Her nervous anxiety spiked and she tasted bitter bile against her tongue. She swallowed awkwardly and counted slowly to ten. The feeling passed, though a sour aftertaste stuck in her mouth.
She stood and carefully shut the file cabinet. The wooden door slammed against the frame, and a hollow echo rang in the confined emptiness. Her tall, oak bookcases absorbed the noise. Keira stepped back and stared at the organized rows. Old textbooks and journals filled the shelves. She ran her fingers over the spines. The older books and journals felt worn against her soft skin.
A previous version of the DSM caught her eye. Faded, yellow sticky notes highlighted random pages. Keira pulled the book out and idly flipped through the pages. Her chicken scratch notes stood out sharply on select pages, supplementing the sticky notes. She smiled and gently shut the book.
Keira walked back to her desk. Her heels clicked against the smooth, polished floor. She set the old copy of the DSM next to her black briefcase. Carefully, she worked the clasp free and tucked the book between the current DSM edition and Ezra Nash’s file. The book slid seamlessly into place. She redid the clasp; the metal catches locked noisily together.
She felt lighter with a relic from her medical school days safely packed into her belongings. The Iliad Program—and its endless possibilities and what ifs—no longer felt impossibly heavy.
Now, all she had to do was change her clothes. She pulled a clean pair of tan cargo pants and hiking shoes out of her duffle bag. Keira kicked her heels under the desk and shimmed out of her navy blue pencil skirt after checking the office door. Removing her nylon stockings required more patience. She leaned against her desk and carefully peeled the fragile fabric away.
She slipped on her tan cargo pants and laced her hiking boots over the pants. The pants and shoes fit appropriately, but she felt strange standing in her office without her usual professional wear. Keira stiffly hung her skirt on a closet hanger, slipped her rolled nylons into one of her heeled shoes, and neatly placed everything in the small coat closet.
Then, she zipped her duffle bag and worked the strap over her shoulder. She stood a little haphazardly and readjusted the weight before grabbing her briefcase and slipping her ID badge lanyard over her head. With all her tasks complete, Keira started for the elevator that would take her down to Polyphemos.
RecAgenda
Double Luck
Ezra was far from a minimalist when it came to packing for trips. In fact, he was far from a minimalist when it came to anything. One suitcase contained nothing but pants, undergarments, and socks; while a second suitcase contained only shirts, jackets, and two coats. A large camping backpack was filled with as much as it could be with other necessities, including personal hygiene products, materials and instruments for his mathematics and physics work, and various other personal items that he couldn't part without. One black coffee mug and one light-brown coffee mug. One clear bottle for water, and a bottle with a neutral brown tint for tea. A box of twelve no. 2 pencils, each finely sharpened to the same length and tip density. Four black Pilot ball-point pens arranged by the amount of ink in the cartridge, from most used to least used. The amount of contents was seemingly endless, and if it weren't for the boy's obsessive compulsion with organization, he wouldn't have been able to fit everything into three bags.
Despite how unnecessary it seemed to bring so much when he could easily put in a request for more items each day with scheduled gate activations, it absolutely was necessary. For Ezra, structure and order is everything. It's what keeps him mentally focused and provides a feeling of control and comfort. Most that claim to have OCD are merely anal retentive at most, but it's actually serious in Ezra's case. Clutter isn't necessarily a problem, though, as long as the clutter isn't a result of his own doing or neglect; otherwise, if so, he will suffer from horrible anxiety attacks until the problem is resolved. Therefore, bringing what he is used to working with, regardless of the amount, is reasonably necessary in order to keep his wits about him.
Ezra looked at the Wile E. Coyote sports watch around his wrist and checked the time. The gate was scheduled to activate soon and it looked like the entirety of Odysseus was now assembled on the main floor of the chamber. He had waited months for this moment. Five men have already proven his quantum entanglement method to be a success. It was now time to immerse himself into the result of his work. Needless to say, there were butterflies in the young teenager's stomach.
-----------------------------
To say there was tension in the air was an understatement. Dr. Evenway could practically feel the charged nerves of each and every person in that large chamber. They were about to embark on a journey like that of no other, about to set foot in a truly new world, not just another part of their own. This was to be the greatest discovery of mankind, and also the most dangerous undertaking of all time. There was more than just tension in the room, there was sheer terror mixed with anxiety and excitement. Courage and cowardice. Curiosity and nausea.
Stepping up onto lift that had been raised up to the command deck’s level, Evenway grabbed a firm hold on the hand rails and stood tall above everyone in the room. When the expedition team took notice of him, they stopped what they doing, fell completely silent, and directed their undivided attention to the man. All that could be heard was the quiet humming machines and computers.
“Do you know what I believe is the driving force behind every desire to wade into the depths of the unknown?” he asked in a loud voice. “The driving force that pushes us to discover and learn? Some say it is courage. Others say it is an instinctual need. I believe it is neither. Lovecraft once said that the oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown. I believe it is that very fear that drives us to explore it, to grasp onto it. Fear may keep away the weak, but the strong want nothing more than to dismantle it, to learn what makes it so dark and terrifying. Fear is what keeps us going, keeps us prying into the fabric of nature itself.
“We know very little what lies beyond that gate, but the men before it have already taken the first steps and have returned. They will be your guide across the bridge. I know you’re all afraid, practically trembling with a mixture of emotions. But know this: there are thousands that would killto be in your shoes right now; to see the landscapes and breathe the air of an entirely different earth… and make history.” He paused and let his words sink in for a moment before letting go of the handrail and standing back. “From the bottom of my heart, I applaud and thank each and every one of you. Good luck and godspeed.”
When Isaac turned and walked away, everyone felt a ping of refreshed anxiety when Evelyn Rouge’s commanding voice shouted through the stiff silence, “Activate the bridge!”
Somewhere on the command deck, a technician had punched in the start-up commands at his terminal. A second later, everyone on the main floor spun around when Polyphemus began to hum with an intense ferocity. The light fixtures embedded into the walls from top to bottom in the chamber suddenly dimmed to a nearly-muted ambiance and a new source of light appeared… floating freely in the center of the ring. It was a tiny spec of white purity, shining like a distant, but close star. Moments later, several green lasers shot forth from the ring itself at multiple angles, pinning into the tiny spec of light like needles, and then the incredible happened. That spec of light blew up into a flat disk of white brilliance, filling the empty ring all the way to its inner border. Everyone on the main floor, save for the Valkyries, were in awe with mouths gaping open.
Soon, the light began to shift and colors emerged. Those colors morphed into recognizable forms. A blue sky with white clouds, the peaks of distance mountains, the outstretched blowing stalks of tall grass. The loud humming of Polyphemus lowered in volume after several seconds and the picture appeared to stabilize. It was now a crystal clear image of another location, the appearance of the new world Isaac had promised them. There was no question as to whether or not it was real. They could all not just see it, but feel it. The wind on their faces, the warm sunlight breaking through. They were looking through the eye of the cyclops… looking into another universe.
Despite how unnecessary it seemed to bring so much when he could easily put in a request for more items each day with scheduled gate activations, it absolutely was necessary. For Ezra, structure and order is everything. It's what keeps him mentally focused and provides a feeling of control and comfort. Most that claim to have OCD are merely anal retentive at most, but it's actually serious in Ezra's case. Clutter isn't necessarily a problem, though, as long as the clutter isn't a result of his own doing or neglect; otherwise, if so, he will suffer from horrible anxiety attacks until the problem is resolved. Therefore, bringing what he is used to working with, regardless of the amount, is reasonably necessary in order to keep his wits about him.
Ezra looked at the Wile E. Coyote sports watch around his wrist and checked the time. The gate was scheduled to activate soon and it looked like the entirety of Odysseus was now assembled on the main floor of the chamber. He had waited months for this moment. Five men have already proven his quantum entanglement method to be a success. It was now time to immerse himself into the result of his work. Needless to say, there were butterflies in the young teenager's stomach.
-----------------------------
To say there was tension in the air was an understatement. Dr. Evenway could practically feel the charged nerves of each and every person in that large chamber. They were about to embark on a journey like that of no other, about to set foot in a truly new world, not just another part of their own. This was to be the greatest discovery of mankind, and also the most dangerous undertaking of all time. There was more than just tension in the room, there was sheer terror mixed with anxiety and excitement. Courage and cowardice. Curiosity and nausea.
Stepping up onto lift that had been raised up to the command deck’s level, Evenway grabbed a firm hold on the hand rails and stood tall above everyone in the room. When the expedition team took notice of him, they stopped what they doing, fell completely silent, and directed their undivided attention to the man. All that could be heard was the quiet humming machines and computers.
“Do you know what I believe is the driving force behind every desire to wade into the depths of the unknown?” he asked in a loud voice. “The driving force that pushes us to discover and learn? Some say it is courage. Others say it is an instinctual need. I believe it is neither. Lovecraft once said that the oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown. I believe it is that very fear that drives us to explore it, to grasp onto it. Fear may keep away the weak, but the strong want nothing more than to dismantle it, to learn what makes it so dark and terrifying. Fear is what keeps us going, keeps us prying into the fabric of nature itself.
“We know very little what lies beyond that gate, but the men before it have already taken the first steps and have returned. They will be your guide across the bridge. I know you’re all afraid, practically trembling with a mixture of emotions. But know this: there are thousands that would killto be in your shoes right now; to see the landscapes and breathe the air of an entirely different earth… and make history.” He paused and let his words sink in for a moment before letting go of the handrail and standing back. “From the bottom of my heart, I applaud and thank each and every one of you. Good luck and godspeed.”
When Isaac turned and walked away, everyone felt a ping of refreshed anxiety when Evelyn Rouge’s commanding voice shouted through the stiff silence, “Activate the bridge!”
Soon, the light began to shift and colors emerged. Those colors morphed into recognizable forms. A blue sky with white clouds, the peaks of distance mountains, the outstretched blowing stalks of tall grass. The loud humming of Polyphemus lowered in volume after several seconds and the picture appeared to stabilize. It was now a crystal clear image of another location, the appearance of the new world Isaac had promised them. There was no question as to whether or not it was real. They could all not just see it, but feel it. The wind on their faces, the warm sunlight breaking through. They were looking through the eye of the cyclops… looking into another universe.
Rosie
sounds gay i'm in
Albany was never great at packing. She flopped her huge floral suitcase onto her bed and spun round to inspect her wardrobe which was fit to burst, with sleeves hanging out at odd ends, random shoes piled up in the corner, cushioned by a large black jumper she bought 2 years ago. No, was it 3? She didn't care to remember.
Under the assumption she had to dress for all weathers, Albany threw everything she laid eyes on behind her without a second thought. IT was a whirlwind of jackets, t-shirts, shorts, trousers, even the odd single sock landed in her case, which was prompty sat on, and forced to close with great effort and a few profanities.
Next was the personal hygiene. Albany grabbed a large washbag and wandered into her bathroom. She eyed each product closely with her index finger tapping against her lower lip in deliberation. After a moment, she simply shrugged and cascaded everything into the bulging bag, yet in her defence, she did ensure she had at least two extra toothbrushes and 5 bars of soap. She tossed the bag onto her suitcase in her room and lay down on her bed with a satisfied smile. That should do just fine.
By no means was her packing style (or maybe, lack of) a reflection of both her personality and academic achievements. She understood that just by being selected to go on this voyage, she was considered to be of an elite mental understanding. Her education only emphasised this, with a first class degree in Quantum Physics, nicely accompanied by a masters in Chemical Engineering, not to mention countless work placements in which she exceeded in. For her, this was like a dream come true. An opportunity to envelope herself into a new world and explore very inch of it with the most stimulating company she can imagine.
She grinned widely to herself without a nerve in sight.
----------------------------------------------------
There was an inevitable eruption of excitement and terrified astonishment from the volunteers. Obviously no-one quite knows what to expect when entering a journey such as this, but it was more vibrant and spectral than any of them had imagined. It was bordering on supernatural. I suppose it was.
Albany almost dropped her bags when she stepped out into the open, and, like everyone she could see, her jaw was comfortably resting on the ground. She wasn't sure what Terra was going to look like, but aesthetically, it was a phenomenon. She had managed to get through the past hour with no nerves and an undeterred mass of confidence, but it had been shattered. For once in her life, she felt out of her depth, like her feet were kicking underwater and never finding ground to rest on, like that same water was dragging her downwards. However, she felt determined to find the surface.
Under the assumption she had to dress for all weathers, Albany threw everything she laid eyes on behind her without a second thought. IT was a whirlwind of jackets, t-shirts, shorts, trousers, even the odd single sock landed in her case, which was prompty sat on, and forced to close with great effort and a few profanities.
Next was the personal hygiene. Albany grabbed a large washbag and wandered into her bathroom. She eyed each product closely with her index finger tapping against her lower lip in deliberation. After a moment, she simply shrugged and cascaded everything into the bulging bag, yet in her defence, she did ensure she had at least two extra toothbrushes and 5 bars of soap. She tossed the bag onto her suitcase in her room and lay down on her bed with a satisfied smile. That should do just fine.
By no means was her packing style (or maybe, lack of) a reflection of both her personality and academic achievements. She understood that just by being selected to go on this voyage, she was considered to be of an elite mental understanding. Her education only emphasised this, with a first class degree in Quantum Physics, nicely accompanied by a masters in Chemical Engineering, not to mention countless work placements in which she exceeded in. For her, this was like a dream come true. An opportunity to envelope herself into a new world and explore very inch of it with the most stimulating company she can imagine.
She grinned widely to herself without a nerve in sight.
----------------------------------------------------
There was an inevitable eruption of excitement and terrified astonishment from the volunteers. Obviously no-one quite knows what to expect when entering a journey such as this, but it was more vibrant and spectral than any of them had imagined. It was bordering on supernatural. I suppose it was.
Albany almost dropped her bags when she stepped out into the open, and, like everyone she could see, her jaw was comfortably resting on the ground. She wasn't sure what Terra was going to look like, but aesthetically, it was a phenomenon. She had managed to get through the past hour with no nerves and an undeterred mass of confidence, but it had been shattered. For once in her life, she felt out of her depth, like her feet were kicking underwater and never finding ground to rest on, like that same water was dragging her downwards. However, she felt determined to find the surface.
Samantha Robin
Your local Tolkiener
"A what!?" Piper exclaimed at the suited man in front of her.
The airport was not as busy as she'd expected, it was, after all, four in the morning at Detroit.
Under her heavy pants and fleece, Piper was a little cold. The air was cool and fresh-feeling, like after chewing on spicy mint.
"A Learjet," the man said calmly, in a British accent.
Oh, no, she thought. The call came in only five hours ago, Piper had hurried to the site and had not much time to pack.
"But, I already bought a ticket!" She argued. The calmness and quiet of the man heated her.
"You may choose which plane you prefer to board, Ms. O'Learie. If you would want to fly with us, please follow me. If not, you may continue to wait for your flight."
The man turned on his heels and began walking briskly towards a terminal door, as Piper ran after him. He kept walking and didn't even glance back to see if she was following, until he reached the elevator.
Piper got in, and the elevator quickly brought them down the three floors and out of the building.
The black asphalt was well lit with floodlights that blinded Piper as the doors opened. She stepped out, blinking stupidily as her escort continued towards a stair-truck.
She stepped up as she took a look around her. The noise of the huge engines was deafening, and she could hear the obvious Doppler effect on the planes rushing on the runway.
Entering the luxurious jet, Piper popped a piece of candy in her mouth as she sat on a fancy couch beside a technician-looking woman wearing a one-piece suit marked on the chest and shoulders with all kinds of badges. On the facing couch sat a man, dressed similarly. This flight is going to be boring... She thought.
The technician woman was actually pretty nice. She led Piper through the underground hallways, rooms, security checks she would never have been able to pass and anything you could imagine, all the while explaining how the gate works. Piper had lost her somewhere between the words 'quantum co-existance' and 'teleportation'.
Finally, the pair walked into a huge room, buzzing with low talk and work noise, interrupted once in a while by an intercom. Other technicians filled the room and a few computer-nerd guys sat in a balcony above manning sets of commphones and three very official people stood in front of them talking. A group of civilians stood under the balcony, and on the other side of the room was...what is that?
The airport was not as busy as she'd expected, it was, after all, four in the morning at Detroit.
Under her heavy pants and fleece, Piper was a little cold. The air was cool and fresh-feeling, like after chewing on spicy mint.
"A Learjet," the man said calmly, in a British accent.
Oh, no, she thought. The call came in only five hours ago, Piper had hurried to the site and had not much time to pack.
"But, I already bought a ticket!" She argued. The calmness and quiet of the man heated her.
"You may choose which plane you prefer to board, Ms. O'Learie. If you would want to fly with us, please follow me. If not, you may continue to wait for your flight."
The man turned on his heels and began walking briskly towards a terminal door, as Piper ran after him. He kept walking and didn't even glance back to see if she was following, until he reached the elevator.
Piper got in, and the elevator quickly brought them down the three floors and out of the building.
The black asphalt was well lit with floodlights that blinded Piper as the doors opened. She stepped out, blinking stupidily as her escort continued towards a stair-truck.
She stepped up as she took a look around her. The noise of the huge engines was deafening, and she could hear the obvious Doppler effect on the planes rushing on the runway.
Entering the luxurious jet, Piper popped a piece of candy in her mouth as she sat on a fancy couch beside a technician-looking woman wearing a one-piece suit marked on the chest and shoulders with all kinds of badges. On the facing couch sat a man, dressed similarly. This flight is going to be boring... She thought.
The technician woman was actually pretty nice. She led Piper through the underground hallways, rooms, security checks she would never have been able to pass and anything you could imagine, all the while explaining how the gate works. Piper had lost her somewhere between the words 'quantum co-existance' and 'teleportation'.
Finally, the pair walked into a huge room, buzzing with low talk and work noise, interrupted once in a while by an intercom. Other technicians filled the room and a few computer-nerd guys sat in a balcony above manning sets of commphones and three very official people stood in front of them talking. A group of civilians stood under the balcony, and on the other side of the room was...what is that?
Last edited by a moderator:
Syrena
Enchanted.
The elevator was empty.
Keira dropped her duffle bag inside. Her belongings hit the ground with a muffled clang making the carriage rattle. She absently pulled her ID lanyard over her head. Loose pieces of her dark hair stuck to the cord. But she swiped her badge through the card reader without picking the loose strands of hair free. The control panel hummed thoughtfully; the noise echoed faintly against the metal walls.
She waited for the computer to verify her credentials, and then keyed in the appropriate floor. The heavy elevator doors rolled smoothly shut. Although, the carriage jolted slightly as the mile descent underground began.
A yellow light flickered across the floor markers positioned over the metal doors. Keira cautiously leaned against the railing and watched the light blink from one marker to the next. An uneasy pang of claustrophobia—highlighted by the silence—coated her stomach. She swallowed, shifted her weight, and toed her duffle bag.
Finally the doors slid open to reveal a bunker like chamber filled with dozens of men and women. The Polyphemus gate stood out sharply near the back of the room. Keira stared at the circular gate with a foreboding sense of awe. It was the very same feeling that had seeped into her bones when Dr. Evenway had first shown her the project.
She abruptly rolled her shoulders to shake away the feeling, letting the noise of the gathered crowd bolster her spirits. Keira picked up her duffle bag and stepped into the crowd. The elevator doors slid soundless shut behind her.
The anticipation-laden excitement radiating from the other recruits quickly became infectious. She felt butterflies fluttering in her stomach again as she checked in and inquired about Ezra. A pretty, strawberry blonde receptionist pointed the fourteen year old out of the crowd.
Keira nodded, satisfied, and moved away from the table. She checked her plain wristwatch. It was time. The butterflies in her stomach surged; the nervous excitement was nearly unbearable. A sudden hush fell over the room, lapping up the roller coaster of emotions. Keira looked at the gate—still inanimate—losing track of the speech and Evelyn’s call to activate the gate.
She blinked and suddenly felt warm sunlight on her face. Felt wind brush against her clothes, rustling the fabric. It was like magic; something more than magic, more than science. Keira sucked in a steadying breath.
“Oh, my god…”
Keira dropped her duffle bag inside. Her belongings hit the ground with a muffled clang making the carriage rattle. She absently pulled her ID lanyard over her head. Loose pieces of her dark hair stuck to the cord. But she swiped her badge through the card reader without picking the loose strands of hair free. The control panel hummed thoughtfully; the noise echoed faintly against the metal walls.
She waited for the computer to verify her credentials, and then keyed in the appropriate floor. The heavy elevator doors rolled smoothly shut. Although, the carriage jolted slightly as the mile descent underground began.
A yellow light flickered across the floor markers positioned over the metal doors. Keira cautiously leaned against the railing and watched the light blink from one marker to the next. An uneasy pang of claustrophobia—highlighted by the silence—coated her stomach. She swallowed, shifted her weight, and toed her duffle bag.
Finally the doors slid open to reveal a bunker like chamber filled with dozens of men and women. The Polyphemus gate stood out sharply near the back of the room. Keira stared at the circular gate with a foreboding sense of awe. It was the very same feeling that had seeped into her bones when Dr. Evenway had first shown her the project.
She abruptly rolled her shoulders to shake away the feeling, letting the noise of the gathered crowd bolster her spirits. Keira picked up her duffle bag and stepped into the crowd. The elevator doors slid soundless shut behind her.
The anticipation-laden excitement radiating from the other recruits quickly became infectious. She felt butterflies fluttering in her stomach again as she checked in and inquired about Ezra. A pretty, strawberry blonde receptionist pointed the fourteen year old out of the crowd.
Keira nodded, satisfied, and moved away from the table. She checked her plain wristwatch. It was time. The butterflies in her stomach surged; the nervous excitement was nearly unbearable. A sudden hush fell over the room, lapping up the roller coaster of emotions. Keira looked at the gate—still inanimate—losing track of the speech and Evelyn’s call to activate the gate.
She blinked and suddenly felt warm sunlight on her face. Felt wind brush against her clothes, rustling the fabric. It was like magic; something more than magic, more than science. Keira sucked in a steadying breath.
“Oh, my god…”
RecAgenda
Double Luck
Tom had heard about Apex’s level of paranoia when it came to safeguarding their experiments and secrets, but he had no idea it went this far. He and Isaac had stepped into an elevator that ran from the center of the main basement below the headquarters tower all the way down for nearly a kilometer below the surface before he heard the dings of entire floors… twelve different times.
“We just passed below sector twelve,” Dr. Evenway said in quiet of the elevator ride. “Those were the twelve sub-level basements of Apex. Each level specializes in its own area of research: biopsychology, human augmentation technology, computer development, military-grade weapons research, et cetera. With each descending level, the security measures to protect them become more stringent.”
“I see…,” Tom replied. “Am I allowed to ask what sector twelve specializes in?”
Isaac laughed and patted Tom on the shoulder with a heavy, almost intimidating hand. “No, my friend. No, you may not.” Isaac was smiling, but behind the gleam in his eyes, Tom could recognize the warning as clear as day.
After another minute of awkward silence, the elevator dinged a final time after coming to a slow halt. Tom wished for moment that he could pop open the maintenance hatch above and look up into the shaft that they had just descended down for sheer amusement. When the doors slid open, Isaac led him out onto a long catwalk suspended high above the floor of the chamber he had previously seen in the holographic image in the conference room. It was much larger than what he had imagined it to be, spanning nearly five stories high and approximately fifty yards long and wide. The walls were built out of some kind of sturdy metal alloy, with white LED light fixtures nestled into the gaps between some of the slabs, like glowing rods. At the end of the catwalk was rectangular lift that stretched to the bottom, while also connected with different decks in between the catwalk above and the main floor below.
Isaac opened the safety gate to the lift and let Tom step in first. After closing it, the doctor moved the control lever downward and the lift jolted slightly before slowly descending. Tom could only imagine the amount of exhaustive, physical effort it would take a person that had to climb stairs from where they were at now all the way up to the outside surface.
“What we’re passing by now,” Isaac said, gesturing to the middle deck in the stack, which was filled with computer terminals all facing the gate and, consequentially, them, “is the ‘command deck’. This is where we will monitor the gate’s activity and basically assume the role of ‘mission control’.”
Finally, the lift came to a bumping stop at the main floor and Isaac opened the safety gate for the both of them. Stepping onto the large slabs for the first time, Tom looked around in awe at the vastness of the chamber from a new angle. The monitors and other equipment that had been scattered about in the picture from before had been relocated and arranged to the sides of the giant room, out of the way, but still active. More men and women in white lab coats were milling about or working diligently at one of these stations. And Polyphemus itself, or the eye of the cyclops, stood tall in the back of the chamber.
Now that he was closer, he guessed that the gate’s diameter was in between thirty and forty feet. Definitely befitting a monster. Tom slowly wandered towards it, right on up to the steel ramp leading to the platform serving as an anchor to the standing disk.
“How does it work?” he asked in a raised voice, calling back to Isaac who had remained at a distance, like a proud parent watching his child explore a jungle gym.
A new voice answered back in a crackly, immature tone, “Quantum entanglement.”
Tom spun around to see who had spoken and was surprised to find a young boy standing off to Isaac’s right, wearing the same lab coat as the other physicists, with hands buried in the outer pockets. Revealed through the coat’s relaxed opening, Tom could see a black suit vest over a white button-up, which was tightly hugged by a skinny black tie. Wild brown hair reached down to just past his small ears, and hazel eyes peered back at the anthropologist with a stern expression that just didn’t fit with the image of a child.
“I see you’re taking on just about anybody for this project, Dr. Evenway,” Tom quipped.
“Professor Virgil, meet the brilliant mind behind Polyphemus and the reason for the project’s success, fourteen year-old, Ezra Nash.”
“Fourteen…?”
Ezra, without batting an eye, retorted, “And a half.”
“Young Mr. Nash is a mathematical savant,” Isaac explained. “When we brought him on board the team, he managed to solve one key issue that everyone else was having trouble with: creating a sustainable wormhole to the same target destination. We had already managed to figure out an application for string theory; but our model was too small. At most, we could only send quantum particles through, and even then we had no idea where they were going. Ezra proposed a very interesting solution.”
“To send through not just any quantum particle,” Ezra began to say, “but the twin of one. A particle completely identical to another by way of quantum entanglement.”
Tom began to understand. Not what Ezra was talking about, of course – he knew very little about quantum physics, or physics in general for that matter – but what made Ezra so special to be on Isaac’s team of geniuses. The man had said the boy was a savant; meaning Ezra Nash has been gifted with a very unique mind allowing him a high level of aptitude in something specific. Throughout history, the most notable minds in science have often been savants. However, it is the result of a specific syndrome: savant syndrome; which typically bears a heavy price. Tom wondered what price Ezra had to unfairly pay in order to attain such a gifted mind.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to explain that one a bit,” Virgil pleaded. “I’m not a physicist by any means.”
Ezra raised a brow and then looked to Isaac, who loudly whispered in a joking manner, “He’s an an-thro-pol-o-gist.”
The boy nodded, though it appeared he had to pause and process the sarcasm in Isaac’s voice before replying, “O-okay. Uhm… Well, when something happens to an entangled set of particles, whatever new state is applied to one is simultaneously applied to its twin. No matter the distance of travel, location, or the medium in between, the pair will mimic each other exactly and precisely at the same time. Basically, we sent through one particle and then used its twin to create a larger gate, effectively expanding the bridge between here and the other universe.”
“What if the gate closes?” Tom asked. “Can it be opened again by just one particle, even if the distance between universes is unquantifiable?”
“String theory suggest that all particles – and, effectively, universes – are connected. That’s what quantum entanglement demonstrates; a rapid, instantaneous communication of altered states between two identical points of origin.”
Tom looked back at the gate and asked, “So… when do I get to see the cat clones?”
“Huh?” the boy asked, perplexed. “Wait… Dr. Evenway, did you go with the many-worlds interpretation of ‘Schrödinger’s Cat’?”
“Well, to be fair,” Isaac insisted, “it was Professor Virgil that jumped to that conclusion.”
Nodding in understanding, the teenager replied with a resolute, “Oh.”
The heavy muzzles of their state-of-the-art rifles were the first to cross through the bridge and enter the world beyond Polyphemus. With their heads on a swivel, scanning the immediate area and then the distance for signs of any possible hostilities, the Valkyries slowly advanced through the warm grassland beyond the circular window that floated freely behind them; a whole in the fabric of time, peering into chamber they had just left. When the area was deemed to be secure, their leader – a roughly built man with a five o’clock shadow, tangled black hair and gunmetal eyes – whose codename patch read Siegrune, turned back and bellowed, “All clear!”
On the other side, upon hearing the man’s voice loud and clear, the expeditionaries of Odysseus picked up their belongings and put one foot in front of the other. They hobbled through the gate in three columns, a marching troop of explorers venturing into the unknown, yet also the familiar. When he finally made it through, Thomas Virgil drew in a deep breath of fresh air. It felt and tasted the same as Earth’s, and the sun was just as warm and inviting. The terrain appeared to be natural enough as well. The only difference he could pick out was a certain freshness, a distinctly clean and unpolluted atmosphere. His lungs, for the first time in his life, felt unrestricted and light.
“Incredible…,” he whispered, he standing in the field when the others around him detached from their formation and began to separate and spread out. Immediately following the expeditioners and ASF were the civil engineers, tasked with setting up a base camp at the portal site. They hauled in massive amounts of heavy equipment on forklifts and automated mobile units. Polyphemus was built large enough to accommodate not just a landing party, but almost anything they would need to immediately start constructing a small base.
“Get me a perimeter set up, ASAP!” barked someone in an entourage of ASF officers.
“Move the power generators over there!” one of the chief engineers shouted, directing the automated carriers to shift direction to the portal’s left and aim for a rallying point. “Vasquez! Herschel! You’ve got five minutes to get them ready. Move!”
“Set up a temporary command tent over there!”
“Where are the light-alls?!”
“We’re going to need hasty DFPs there, there, and over there. Let’s move, people!”
Tom stood around with the other scientists that hadn’t been tasked with assisting in the base’s set up and watched everyone get to work. The ASF and engineers were as organized and flawless as ants; not just in helping one another but in doing exactly what they needed to do. It was like clockwork. Within thirty minutes, the tall grass surrounding the portal had been cut down by an advance team of the engineers and power cables were already being laid out and connected to several large tents and mobile RV units that had been brought in through the portal. He hadn’t recalled seeing the RVs and other heavy equipment in the chamber before, though. Tom assumed they had been kept waiting in the back, possibly in another wing of the underground complex, offset from the main gate chamber.
Looking out to a fiery sunset over the horizon, Tom quietly mused, “Beautiful. My first sunset in another universe.”
“Alright! Listen up, people!” Everyone turned to find a man standing on top of the emptied bed of an auto carrier. He was fully armed in the ASF colors and had a very advanced rifle strapped to a three-point sling around his torso. A ball cap shielded his eyes, with half-flak shades offering further concealment. It took Tom a moment to recognize that it was Commander Titus. “The gate is about to close in t-minus five! We’ve established red security rope and stanchions around the gate site! No one is enter that zone unless permitted! And remember: until we build a gate ring here, we can’t go back whenever we want to! Apex will reopen the bridge of supplies and transport on a routine basis, once each day at noon unless the situation changes!”
It was a mildly scary thought. They would regularly be stuck in the new world until the gate opens for a short duration. This would make it impossible to conduct an immediate evacuation in case something went wrong. Keeping the shivers at bay, Tom pushed the idea from his mind.
“Everyone has been assigned to a tent!” Titus continued. “Each of you should have been issued a haptic wristwatch! Consult that for information on your tent assignment, occupational duties, and any important messages and alerts! It can also be used as a comm link to the command tent! Don’t lose or break it!”
After finishing, the commander dismissed Odysseus and stepped down from the carrier bed to make his way towards the command tent. As implicitly prompted, Tom checked the black band around his wrist, pressing a small button on the lower part of the face’s slick surface. A cyan colored haptic interface sprang forward about an inch from the band and unraveled to display a wealth of information. Tom saw a flashing “!” icon in the upper right and he moved his finger to gesture a tap in the air where it was projected. The monitors in the band picked up on his movement and altered the GUI to display the alert message he wanted to open.
Quarters assignment: Tent 3-A
“We just passed below sector twelve,” Dr. Evenway said in quiet of the elevator ride. “Those were the twelve sub-level basements of Apex. Each level specializes in its own area of research: biopsychology, human augmentation technology, computer development, military-grade weapons research, et cetera. With each descending level, the security measures to protect them become more stringent.”
“I see…,” Tom replied. “Am I allowed to ask what sector twelve specializes in?”
Isaac laughed and patted Tom on the shoulder with a heavy, almost intimidating hand. “No, my friend. No, you may not.” Isaac was smiling, but behind the gleam in his eyes, Tom could recognize the warning as clear as day.
After another minute of awkward silence, the elevator dinged a final time after coming to a slow halt. Tom wished for moment that he could pop open the maintenance hatch above and look up into the shaft that they had just descended down for sheer amusement. When the doors slid open, Isaac led him out onto a long catwalk suspended high above the floor of the chamber he had previously seen in the holographic image in the conference room. It was much larger than what he had imagined it to be, spanning nearly five stories high and approximately fifty yards long and wide. The walls were built out of some kind of sturdy metal alloy, with white LED light fixtures nestled into the gaps between some of the slabs, like glowing rods. At the end of the catwalk was rectangular lift that stretched to the bottom, while also connected with different decks in between the catwalk above and the main floor below.
Isaac opened the safety gate to the lift and let Tom step in first. After closing it, the doctor moved the control lever downward and the lift jolted slightly before slowly descending. Tom could only imagine the amount of exhaustive, physical effort it would take a person that had to climb stairs from where they were at now all the way up to the outside surface.
“What we’re passing by now,” Isaac said, gesturing to the middle deck in the stack, which was filled with computer terminals all facing the gate and, consequentially, them, “is the ‘command deck’. This is where we will monitor the gate’s activity and basically assume the role of ‘mission control’.”
Finally, the lift came to a bumping stop at the main floor and Isaac opened the safety gate for the both of them. Stepping onto the large slabs for the first time, Tom looked around in awe at the vastness of the chamber from a new angle. The monitors and other equipment that had been scattered about in the picture from before had been relocated and arranged to the sides of the giant room, out of the way, but still active. More men and women in white lab coats were milling about or working diligently at one of these stations. And Polyphemus itself, or the eye of the cyclops, stood tall in the back of the chamber.
Now that he was closer, he guessed that the gate’s diameter was in between thirty and forty feet. Definitely befitting a monster. Tom slowly wandered towards it, right on up to the steel ramp leading to the platform serving as an anchor to the standing disk.
“How does it work?” he asked in a raised voice, calling back to Isaac who had remained at a distance, like a proud parent watching his child explore a jungle gym.
A new voice answered back in a crackly, immature tone, “Quantum entanglement.”
Tom spun around to see who had spoken and was surprised to find a young boy standing off to Isaac’s right, wearing the same lab coat as the other physicists, with hands buried in the outer pockets. Revealed through the coat’s relaxed opening, Tom could see a black suit vest over a white button-up, which was tightly hugged by a skinny black tie. Wild brown hair reached down to just past his small ears, and hazel eyes peered back at the anthropologist with a stern expression that just didn’t fit with the image of a child.
“I see you’re taking on just about anybody for this project, Dr. Evenway,” Tom quipped.
“Professor Virgil, meet the brilliant mind behind Polyphemus and the reason for the project’s success, fourteen year-old, Ezra Nash.”
“Fourteen…?”
Ezra, without batting an eye, retorted, “And a half.”
“Young Mr. Nash is a mathematical savant,” Isaac explained. “When we brought him on board the team, he managed to solve one key issue that everyone else was having trouble with: creating a sustainable wormhole to the same target destination. We had already managed to figure out an application for string theory; but our model was too small. At most, we could only send quantum particles through, and even then we had no idea where they were going. Ezra proposed a very interesting solution.”
“To send through not just any quantum particle,” Ezra began to say, “but the twin of one. A particle completely identical to another by way of quantum entanglement.”
Tom began to understand. Not what Ezra was talking about, of course – he knew very little about quantum physics, or physics in general for that matter – but what made Ezra so special to be on Isaac’s team of geniuses. The man had said the boy was a savant; meaning Ezra Nash has been gifted with a very unique mind allowing him a high level of aptitude in something specific. Throughout history, the most notable minds in science have often been savants. However, it is the result of a specific syndrome: savant syndrome; which typically bears a heavy price. Tom wondered what price Ezra had to unfairly pay in order to attain such a gifted mind.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to explain that one a bit,” Virgil pleaded. “I’m not a physicist by any means.”
Ezra raised a brow and then looked to Isaac, who loudly whispered in a joking manner, “He’s an an-thro-pol-o-gist.”
The boy nodded, though it appeared he had to pause and process the sarcasm in Isaac’s voice before replying, “O-okay. Uhm… Well, when something happens to an entangled set of particles, whatever new state is applied to one is simultaneously applied to its twin. No matter the distance of travel, location, or the medium in between, the pair will mimic each other exactly and precisely at the same time. Basically, we sent through one particle and then used its twin to create a larger gate, effectively expanding the bridge between here and the other universe.”
“What if the gate closes?” Tom asked. “Can it be opened again by just one particle, even if the distance between universes is unquantifiable?”
“String theory suggest that all particles – and, effectively, universes – are connected. That’s what quantum entanglement demonstrates; a rapid, instantaneous communication of altered states between two identical points of origin.”
Tom looked back at the gate and asked, “So… when do I get to see the cat clones?”
“Huh?” the boy asked, perplexed. “Wait… Dr. Evenway, did you go with the many-worlds interpretation of ‘Schrödinger’s Cat’?”
“Well, to be fair,” Isaac insisted, “it was Professor Virgil that jumped to that conclusion.”
Nodding in understanding, the teenager replied with a resolute, “Oh.”
The heavy muzzles of their state-of-the-art rifles were the first to cross through the bridge and enter the world beyond Polyphemus. With their heads on a swivel, scanning the immediate area and then the distance for signs of any possible hostilities, the Valkyries slowly advanced through the warm grassland beyond the circular window that floated freely behind them; a whole in the fabric of time, peering into chamber they had just left. When the area was deemed to be secure, their leader – a roughly built man with a five o’clock shadow, tangled black hair and gunmetal eyes – whose codename patch read Siegrune, turned back and bellowed, “All clear!”
On the other side, upon hearing the man’s voice loud and clear, the expeditionaries of Odysseus picked up their belongings and put one foot in front of the other. They hobbled through the gate in three columns, a marching troop of explorers venturing into the unknown, yet also the familiar. When he finally made it through, Thomas Virgil drew in a deep breath of fresh air. It felt and tasted the same as Earth’s, and the sun was just as warm and inviting. The terrain appeared to be natural enough as well. The only difference he could pick out was a certain freshness, a distinctly clean and unpolluted atmosphere. His lungs, for the first time in his life, felt unrestricted and light.
“Incredible…,” he whispered, he standing in the field when the others around him detached from their formation and began to separate and spread out. Immediately following the expeditioners and ASF were the civil engineers, tasked with setting up a base camp at the portal site. They hauled in massive amounts of heavy equipment on forklifts and automated mobile units. Polyphemus was built large enough to accommodate not just a landing party, but almost anything they would need to immediately start constructing a small base.
“Get me a perimeter set up, ASAP!” barked someone in an entourage of ASF officers.
“Move the power generators over there!” one of the chief engineers shouted, directing the automated carriers to shift direction to the portal’s left and aim for a rallying point. “Vasquez! Herschel! You’ve got five minutes to get them ready. Move!”
A light-all is standalone lighting rig, usually powered by a gasoline generator, designed to illuminate large areas for extended periods, though are temporary solutions when light is needed. Most light-alls are anywhere from 10 to 15 ft tall.
A DFP is a "defensive fighting position". Most DFPs are permanent or long-term installments, typically in the form of fully constructed bunkers or pillboxes. A hasty DFP is, as the name implies, a DFP quickly constructed out of the natural terrain or out of whatever resources are immediately available for instant protection. Often, hasty DFPs are small ditches deep enough to conceal most of the human body with minimal cover at eye-level (colloquially referred to as "fox holes").
A DFP is a "defensive fighting position". Most DFPs are permanent or long-term installments, typically in the form of fully constructed bunkers or pillboxes. A hasty DFP is, as the name implies, a DFP quickly constructed out of the natural terrain or out of whatever resources are immediately available for instant protection. Often, hasty DFPs are small ditches deep enough to conceal most of the human body with minimal cover at eye-level (colloquially referred to as "fox holes").
“Set up a temporary command tent over there!”
“Where are the light-alls?!”
“We’re going to need hasty DFPs there, there, and over there. Let’s move, people!”
Tom stood around with the other scientists that hadn’t been tasked with assisting in the base’s set up and watched everyone get to work. The ASF and engineers were as organized and flawless as ants; not just in helping one another but in doing exactly what they needed to do. It was like clockwork. Within thirty minutes, the tall grass surrounding the portal had been cut down by an advance team of the engineers and power cables were already being laid out and connected to several large tents and mobile RV units that had been brought in through the portal. He hadn’t recalled seeing the RVs and other heavy equipment in the chamber before, though. Tom assumed they had been kept waiting in the back, possibly in another wing of the underground complex, offset from the main gate chamber.
Looking out to a fiery sunset over the horizon, Tom quietly mused, “Beautiful. My first sunset in another universe.”
“Alright! Listen up, people!” Everyone turned to find a man standing on top of the emptied bed of an auto carrier. He was fully armed in the ASF colors and had a very advanced rifle strapped to a three-point sling around his torso. A ball cap shielded his eyes, with half-flak shades offering further concealment. It took Tom a moment to recognize that it was Commander Titus. “The gate is about to close in t-minus five! We’ve established red security rope and stanchions around the gate site! No one is enter that zone unless permitted! And remember: until we build a gate ring here, we can’t go back whenever we want to! Apex will reopen the bridge of supplies and transport on a routine basis, once each day at noon unless the situation changes!”
It was a mildly scary thought. They would regularly be stuck in the new world until the gate opens for a short duration. This would make it impossible to conduct an immediate evacuation in case something went wrong. Keeping the shivers at bay, Tom pushed the idea from his mind.
“Everyone has been assigned to a tent!” Titus continued. “Each of you should have been issued a haptic wristwatch! Consult that for information on your tent assignment, occupational duties, and any important messages and alerts! It can also be used as a comm link to the command tent! Don’t lose or break it!”
After finishing, the commander dismissed Odysseus and stepped down from the carrier bed to make his way towards the command tent. As implicitly prompted, Tom checked the black band around his wrist, pressing a small button on the lower part of the face’s slick surface. A cyan colored haptic interface sprang forward about an inch from the band and unraveled to display a wealth of information. Tom saw a flashing “!” icon in the upper right and he moved his finger to gesture a tap in the air where it was projected. The monitors in the band picked up on his movement and altered the GUI to display the alert message he wanted to open.
Quarters assignment: Tent 3-A
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Rosie
sounds gay i'm in
The tents were arranged alphabetically, and split by gender. They had all been informed of these indisputable facts months before they arrived, via an online programme each candidate received. Still, Albany felt a rush of exhilaration as she gently tapped the exclamatory icon in the corner of her projection:
Quarters Assignment: Tent 5-C
She engrained the code in her mind, strangely worried that she may forget it as soon as the projection folded down into her band again. Luckily, her height gave her an advantage in situations like these. Not that she’d been in a particular situation like this, of course. Most of the volunteers were weaving in and out of each other to find their tents in a bustle of embarrassed apologies when feet were trodden on, and small sounds of recognition when they finally arrived at their new home.
Albany spotted her tent almost immediately, and excused herself through the small crowd of people until she finally managed to get to the entrance. It was nothing too fancy. Functional was probably the most appropriate word. The opening to the tent was wide, and could be easily closed by a large black zip that was neatly folded around the left hand side of the tent’s structure. She peered inside and tentatively began to put one foot in front of the other.
Inside, there were around 6 beds with a few feet between each one. Even in new universes like this, personal space was still valued between the explorers. It comforted her. Back home, her bedroom was her sanctuary. It’s where she began the day and where she finished it. It was a constant in the chaos of assignments, social events, campaigns, just to name a few. This was so obviously different to what she had grown accustomed to. Nevertheless, the young woman’s lips upturned into a determined smile. She would make this place her home.
While in the midst of unpacking (if you can call strewing her clothes over her bed and within two feet of it that), her wandering eyes kept finding themselves looking back at the entrance. Surely she wasn’t to have the entire tent to herself? The thought seemed both mitigating and, well, she supposed a little lonely. These other volunteers were like her family now, she thought to herself, or at least they may well turn out to be in the coming months.
Quarters Assignment: Tent 5-C
She engrained the code in her mind, strangely worried that she may forget it as soon as the projection folded down into her band again. Luckily, her height gave her an advantage in situations like these. Not that she’d been in a particular situation like this, of course. Most of the volunteers were weaving in and out of each other to find their tents in a bustle of embarrassed apologies when feet were trodden on, and small sounds of recognition when they finally arrived at their new home.
Albany spotted her tent almost immediately, and excused herself through the small crowd of people until she finally managed to get to the entrance. It was nothing too fancy. Functional was probably the most appropriate word. The opening to the tent was wide, and could be easily closed by a large black zip that was neatly folded around the left hand side of the tent’s structure. She peered inside and tentatively began to put one foot in front of the other.
Inside, there were around 6 beds with a few feet between each one. Even in new universes like this, personal space was still valued between the explorers. It comforted her. Back home, her bedroom was her sanctuary. It’s where she began the day and where she finished it. It was a constant in the chaos of assignments, social events, campaigns, just to name a few. This was so obviously different to what she had grown accustomed to. Nevertheless, the young woman’s lips upturned into a determined smile. She would make this place her home.
While in the midst of unpacking (if you can call strewing her clothes over her bed and within two feet of it that), her wandering eyes kept finding themselves looking back at the entrance. Surely she wasn’t to have the entire tent to herself? The thought seemed both mitigating and, well, she supposed a little lonely. These other volunteers were like her family now, she thought to herself, or at least they may well turn out to be in the coming months.
Samantha Robin
Your local Tolkiener
That consisted of big pieces of thick metal, too many wires for Piper's taste and small mechanisms, some rotating or moving on slowly on gyros and little pistons. Plates which looked like they were pulled out of a science-fiction covered the inside of the gate which made a bulky flat-bottomed ring. Small colorful chips were stuck in humming circuit boards and the whole thing buzzed with power. Yeah, "that" was a good description.
A man clad in second millitary outfit approached Piper and handed her a small, thin band with a plastic clip and a few buttons.
"Put it on your wrist, ma'am," He said in a deep thundering voice, before quickly saluting and turning on his heels and walking away, more confused than before.
'W-what?' She mumbled to herself as she stared after him, standing there amongst the technicians as if she was rooted.
###
As the Valkyrie men stood in lines and marched forward, the first ones in the line had reached the gate and shimmered away into thin air like a miraj. Piper could see the surprise on the faces but it immediately was concealed into a poker-face.
###
Passing through the portal felt like walking through a sheet of cold water. Piper could see her toes disappear as she stepped in, and the next thing she saw as she passed completely through was an orange sunset. Temp- floods were already set up and hooked to five massive generators which lit the whole camp. Caravans and pickup trucks parked, large tents were already standing and men were digging and building a perimeter.
Valkyrie men ran around carrying digging tools, guns, large boxes and crates.
Piper looked around in absolute awe. The area was grassy but the plants inside the camp were freshly cut, according the the smell. The air was cool, it reminded her of mountain air- clean and clear.
The sun had began to set over a grassy hill, turning the cloudless sky purple. It was just so beautiful in thi-
Piper's thoughts were snipped short as a man literally walked into her. He came from the gate, and tumbled into her back.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you should move from the gate," He apologised as he walked away.
Piper was alright, but her mood was ruined. She stepped away towing her small suitcase as her wristband blipped.
She pressed a button and a projection came up showing a menu which consisted of a few options. Piper tried to touch the projection grumpily on where it said Alerts. A message popped upon which said,
Quarters assignment: Tent 5-C
After five minutes of searching, Piper found tent 5-C. It was a tent sized like the others, of thick khaki canvas and few nets and a wide door.
Piper walked in, and absorbed the inside after her eyes had adjusted to the gloom.
A few beds. Grass floor. A woman. 'Pip, say hi She thought. 'Be nice, you're going to live and work together for a few months now, '
She muttered an un -enthusiastic "hi" and flopped onto the bed nearest to her.
A man clad in second millitary outfit approached Piper and handed her a small, thin band with a plastic clip and a few buttons.
"Put it on your wrist, ma'am," He said in a deep thundering voice, before quickly saluting and turning on his heels and walking away, more confused than before.
'W-what?' She mumbled to herself as she stared after him, standing there amongst the technicians as if she was rooted.
###
As the Valkyrie men stood in lines and marched forward, the first ones in the line had reached the gate and shimmered away into thin air like a miraj. Piper could see the surprise on the faces but it immediately was concealed into a poker-face.
###
Passing through the portal felt like walking through a sheet of cold water. Piper could see her toes disappear as she stepped in, and the next thing she saw as she passed completely through was an orange sunset. Temp- floods were already set up and hooked to five massive generators which lit the whole camp. Caravans and pickup trucks parked, large tents were already standing and men were digging and building a perimeter.
Valkyrie men ran around carrying digging tools, guns, large boxes and crates.
Piper looked around in absolute awe. The area was grassy but the plants inside the camp were freshly cut, according the the smell. The air was cool, it reminded her of mountain air- clean and clear.
The sun had began to set over a grassy hill, turning the cloudless sky purple. It was just so beautiful in thi-
Piper's thoughts were snipped short as a man literally walked into her. He came from the gate, and tumbled into her back.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you should move from the gate," He apologised as he walked away.
Piper was alright, but her mood was ruined. She stepped away towing her small suitcase as her wristband blipped.
She pressed a button and a projection came up showing a menu which consisted of a few options. Piper tried to touch the projection grumpily on where it said Alerts. A message popped upon which said,
Quarters assignment: Tent 5-C
After five minutes of searching, Piper found tent 5-C. It was a tent sized like the others, of thick khaki canvas and few nets and a wide door.
Piper walked in, and absorbed the inside after her eyes had adjusted to the gloom.
A few beds. Grass floor. A woman. 'Pip, say hi She thought. 'Be nice, you're going to live and work together for a few months now, '
She muttered an un -enthusiastic "hi" and flopped onto the bed nearest to her.
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Syrena
Enchanted.
Clara stretched sloppily.
The astrophysicist next to her shifted, annoyed, and signed off on a checklist. She listened to the quick scratch of pen against paper. The last RV unit started to roll up the ramp. Clara twisted her ear bud cord around her music player and shoved it into her bag. Faint chorus lyrics drifted out of her bag before fading.
She scrambled to her feet. The strap of her bag cut into her chest and the bulk of its weight slapped against the back of her thighs. Clara grunted and adjusted the weight. Her bulkier equipment rattled together, straining against the canvas. She stooped to pick up a smaller, nondescript bag with toiletries and followed the RV unit to the edge of the gate.
The mobile unit crossed through the gate. But she paused at the edge of the ramp and the new world. Sun dappled clouds and green grass stretched out before her. Clara’s stomach turned over; the sudden rush of excitement warmed her blood. She swallowed and walked through the gate.
A cool breeze tickled her face as her shoes pressed into the dirt, and activity immediately swarmed around her. The RV unit disappeared into a crowd of similar looking machines. Clara shuffled to the side, standing awkwardly out of the way yet still near the hub of operations.
She watched the sun sink lower and turn the clouds different shades of pinks and purples. It was a pretty first sunset. Gorgeous. She reached for her phone to snap a picture and, then, remembered tucking her phone deep inside her canvas duffle bag.
Clara sighed and rocked back on her heels.
Restlessness clawed at her muscles and made her legs cramp. She shifted, forlorn, as Commander Titus issued general instructions. Her haptic wristwatch beeped with a tent assignment as Titus climbed down from the carrier bed and disappeared into the command tent. She fiddled with the wristwatch desperate for something to do.
It took a second to process everything on the display. Although, she eventually opened her alerts; the message—Quarters Assignment: Tent 7-G—flashed across the projected display. She spun in a half circle, display still on, and looked for the appropriate cluster of tents. The swell of people was starting to lessen, though Clara had to trudge through several neat rows before finding her assigned tent.
She ducked inside and dropped her bags onto the closest bed. No one else was inside yet. The other three beds were neatly made and personal items weren’t sitting in the corners. Clara unzipped her bag and pulled out a sweater and a black jacket. She slipped on the black jacket, feeling slightly chilled with the lack of sunlight.
Two other people—the astrophysicist from earlier and a psychiatrist—walked in as she flung her sweater haphazardly across her bed. Clara turned just enough to smile at both people and muttered a quick “hello.”
The astrophysicist next to her shifted, annoyed, and signed off on a checklist. She listened to the quick scratch of pen against paper. The last RV unit started to roll up the ramp. Clara twisted her ear bud cord around her music player and shoved it into her bag. Faint chorus lyrics drifted out of her bag before fading.
She scrambled to her feet. The strap of her bag cut into her chest and the bulk of its weight slapped against the back of her thighs. Clara grunted and adjusted the weight. Her bulkier equipment rattled together, straining against the canvas. She stooped to pick up a smaller, nondescript bag with toiletries and followed the RV unit to the edge of the gate.
The mobile unit crossed through the gate. But she paused at the edge of the ramp and the new world. Sun dappled clouds and green grass stretched out before her. Clara’s stomach turned over; the sudden rush of excitement warmed her blood. She swallowed and walked through the gate.
A cool breeze tickled her face as her shoes pressed into the dirt, and activity immediately swarmed around her. The RV unit disappeared into a crowd of similar looking machines. Clara shuffled to the side, standing awkwardly out of the way yet still near the hub of operations.
She watched the sun sink lower and turn the clouds different shades of pinks and purples. It was a pretty first sunset. Gorgeous. She reached for her phone to snap a picture and, then, remembered tucking her phone deep inside her canvas duffle bag.
Clara sighed and rocked back on her heels.
Restlessness clawed at her muscles and made her legs cramp. She shifted, forlorn, as Commander Titus issued general instructions. Her haptic wristwatch beeped with a tent assignment as Titus climbed down from the carrier bed and disappeared into the command tent. She fiddled with the wristwatch desperate for something to do.
It took a second to process everything on the display. Although, she eventually opened her alerts; the message—Quarters Assignment: Tent 7-G—flashed across the projected display. She spun in a half circle, display still on, and looked for the appropriate cluster of tents. The swell of people was starting to lessen, though Clara had to trudge through several neat rows before finding her assigned tent.
She ducked inside and dropped her bags onto the closest bed. No one else was inside yet. The other three beds were neatly made and personal items weren’t sitting in the corners. Clara unzipped her bag and pulled out a sweater and a black jacket. She slipped on the black jacket, feeling slightly chilled with the lack of sunlight.
Two other people—the astrophysicist from earlier and a psychiatrist—walked in as she flung her sweater haphazardly across her bed. Clara turned just enough to smile at both people and muttered a quick “hello.”
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RecAgenda
Double Luck
Tent 3-A was an all-male tent with no occupational relativity with regards to its assigned inhabitants. There was a meteorologist, a biologist, a zoologist, two physicists (including the young Mr. Nash), and Tom, the anthropologist. The only reason he could see for the separation of the members was to probably reduce stress by long-term association. If you’re with the same group of people day-in and day-out, then bickering would ensue and productivity would be minimal, if not completely nonexistent. It would be wise to keep team members’ quarters separated as much as possible for cooling off. The only reason why Ezra would be assigned to the same tent as another team member would probably be for observational purposes, given his age. Of course, Tom’s presumptions could be totally wrong and this was all simply random. He had a habit of being over-analytical at times. He failed the Wal-Mart pre-employment test when he was a teenager due to reading too far into the questions.
After sliding his bag beneath the bottom of one of the bunks in the back, Tom straightened out his back and stretched out for some feel-good pops around the middle of his spine. He then noticed that his hearing was a bit dull and stretched his jaw to try and pop his ears. It took a while, but the pressure that must have been there for a long time finally went away and he rubbed a few fingers beneath his earlobes for some soothing.
“Different atmospheric pressure,” one of the occupants that took the top bunk in the middle said. It was the meteorologist, Dr. Neil Beckham; a tall and lanky man with black thick-rimmed glasses and wild black hair. He had a bit of a long nose and a faint scare beneath his chin that curved up a few centimeters on the right side of his jaw.
“Sorry?” Tom asked.
“The atmosphere is slightly different on this world. Still able to sustain a garden planet, though, but there’s a slightly higher average pressure level. I would image this means that the planet also has more mass.”
“So, a bigger earth compared to our own?”
“Relatively so, yes. We have yet to confirm how big, of course.”
“Where are you from, doctor?”
“Fairbanks. I graduated from the University of Alaska. Yourself?”
“I’m from Texas, originally,” Tom replied, enjoying the pleasant conversation. “Moved to Cambridge after high school though and later graduated from Harvard.”
Beckham began to remove some clothes from his suitcase and relocate them to a dresser chest on the other side of the tent, directly opposite his bunk. There were three two-level bunks in the tent, which were stacked on one side, while three desks and three chests occupied the other side. Each chest contained six drawers, offering enough room for two occupants’ clothes. The desks were to be shared between the occupants, but Tom would probably let his bunkmate use it more, as he preferred to work in the field with a tablet.
“I think I remember hearing about you,” the doctor said. “You applied for Harvard’s new Junior Professor Program, right?”
“That’s right,” Tom said with a humble smile. “Graduates seeking an educational occupation with their degrees can shadow tenured professors as their associates.”
“So you’re an associate professor then?”
“According to Harvard, yes; but it’s not officially recognized by other institutes.”
“You’re still a professor in my book, Virgil.”
Before Tom could offer his thanks to the man a loud bang was heard nearby outside the tent. Everyone stopped what they were doing and froze in place. Seconds later, more bangs were heard and it didn’t take long to register the unmistakable sound of gunfire. A loud voice followed over the camp’s alert system, exclaiming, “Attention Odysseus! Attention! This is not a drill! Proceed to the camp’s interior and await further instructions! Repeat! Proceed to the camp’s interior and await further instructions!”
After sliding his bag beneath the bottom of one of the bunks in the back, Tom straightened out his back and stretched out for some feel-good pops around the middle of his spine. He then noticed that his hearing was a bit dull and stretched his jaw to try and pop his ears. It took a while, but the pressure that must have been there for a long time finally went away and he rubbed a few fingers beneath his earlobes for some soothing.
“Different atmospheric pressure,” one of the occupants that took the top bunk in the middle said. It was the meteorologist, Dr. Neil Beckham; a tall and lanky man with black thick-rimmed glasses and wild black hair. He had a bit of a long nose and a faint scare beneath his chin that curved up a few centimeters on the right side of his jaw.
“Sorry?” Tom asked.
“The atmosphere is slightly different on this world. Still able to sustain a garden planet, though, but there’s a slightly higher average pressure level. I would image this means that the planet also has more mass.”
“So, a bigger earth compared to our own?”
“Relatively so, yes. We have yet to confirm how big, of course.”
“Where are you from, doctor?”
“Fairbanks. I graduated from the University of Alaska. Yourself?”
“I’m from Texas, originally,” Tom replied, enjoying the pleasant conversation. “Moved to Cambridge after high school though and later graduated from Harvard.”
Beckham began to remove some clothes from his suitcase and relocate them to a dresser chest on the other side of the tent, directly opposite his bunk. There were three two-level bunks in the tent, which were stacked on one side, while three desks and three chests occupied the other side. Each chest contained six drawers, offering enough room for two occupants’ clothes. The desks were to be shared between the occupants, but Tom would probably let his bunkmate use it more, as he preferred to work in the field with a tablet.
“I think I remember hearing about you,” the doctor said. “You applied for Harvard’s new Junior Professor Program, right?”
“That’s right,” Tom said with a humble smile. “Graduates seeking an educational occupation with their degrees can shadow tenured professors as their associates.”
“So you’re an associate professor then?”
“According to Harvard, yes; but it’s not officially recognized by other institutes.”
“You’re still a professor in my book, Virgil.”
Before Tom could offer his thanks to the man a loud bang was heard nearby outside the tent. Everyone stopped what they were doing and froze in place. Seconds later, more bangs were heard and it didn’t take long to register the unmistakable sound of gunfire. A loud voice followed over the camp’s alert system, exclaiming, “Attention Odysseus! Attention! This is not a drill! Proceed to the camp’s interior and await further instructions! Repeat! Proceed to the camp’s interior and await further instructions!”
Rosie
sounds gay i'm in
Albany went to strike up a friendly small talk with her campmate, but was cut short by the announcement. The urgency was tangible, and she stared at the woman who was frozen across the tent from her.
“Jesus, already? You’d at least think they’d let us put our clothes away first.” She mumbled to herself before tossing her jacket back into her case and running out into the daylight. She could see people crowding round the centre of the site, and gave the woman a reassuring smile.
“I’m sure it’s nothing.” She reminded, more for herself than anyone. However, she couldn’t shake the concern that had embedded itself onto the pigments of her skin.
In amongst the people, Albany laid eyes on a boy, he mustn’t have been over 16 years old. Her gaze darted away in disbelief. Must be some kind of child prodigy, she thought to herself. He looked rather sure of himself. Get it together, Albany.
She peered over the top of everyone in hope she would see some kind of sign that would help her understand what was going on. Nothing. Just equally confused volunteers who were attempting to keep it together. Some succeeding, most failing. During your first 30 minutes on a new planet, the last thing you need is a crisis.
Albany stood up straight, as if she had been called to attention, and evened out her broad shoulders. She and her surrounding peers had been selected carefully for this exploration. Whatever was coming their way, she was adamant that they would be ready.
“Jesus, already? You’d at least think they’d let us put our clothes away first.” She mumbled to herself before tossing her jacket back into her case and running out into the daylight. She could see people crowding round the centre of the site, and gave the woman a reassuring smile.
“I’m sure it’s nothing.” She reminded, more for herself than anyone. However, she couldn’t shake the concern that had embedded itself onto the pigments of her skin.
In amongst the people, Albany laid eyes on a boy, he mustn’t have been over 16 years old. Her gaze darted away in disbelief. Must be some kind of child prodigy, she thought to herself. He looked rather sure of himself. Get it together, Albany.
She peered over the top of everyone in hope she would see some kind of sign that would help her understand what was going on. Nothing. Just equally confused volunteers who were attempting to keep it together. Some succeeding, most failing. During your first 30 minutes on a new planet, the last thing you need is a crisis.
Albany stood up straight, as if she had been called to attention, and evened out her broad shoulders. She and her surrounding peers had been selected carefully for this exploration. Whatever was coming their way, she was adamant that they would be ready.
Syrena
Enchanted.
Her ugly sweater flopped lazily on the bed. Red bits of fuzz stuck to the crisp sheets. It gave the drab tent décor an oddly cheery look. She added a wrinkled white shirt and a yellow polka dot sock to her bed, too. The messy collection of clothes stretched across the bed made the large tent feel vaguely familiar and welcoming.
Clara fished around in her duffle bag for her flashlight and a worn, leather bound journal. The pages were yellow and the pen ink of the earliest entries was starting to fade. She tucked the journal superstitiously under her pillow. The flashlight was less carefully propped against the bed for ease of access.
She pushed her duffle bag off the bed. Her gear rattled ominously inside the bag now that not every square inch of space was full. Clara yawned, her ears finally popped and adjusted to the atmospheric pressure, and she studied her tent mates. They were civil enough; politely exchanging greetings and unpacking their bags.
The astrophysicist—something Evans; the artificial tent light glinted off the nametag and obscured the first name—looked severe. Her short bottle-blonde hair swept across her face despite the assistance of multiple clear-coated bobby pins. But her green eyes looked almost friendly. The psychiatrist was tall and pretty. Her long, soft curls and dark eyes were warm. Although, a fragile vulnerability clung to the woman’s shoulders.
Clara swallowed and sat up straight. The silence filling the tent wasn’t particularly uncomfortable. But. “Where are you all from?” She swung her legs dramatically off the bed and kicked idly at the air. Her tent mates started slightly.
“Safe Haven.” The psychiatrist answer first. Her lips curled in a tentative smile.
Clara quirked one of her slender eyebrows, suddenly curious. “Did you grow up there?”
“No. I moved to Safe Haven for my internship.”
Her curiosity deflated a little bit. The psychiatrist was pleasant, but she seemed to be holding something back. Her answers felt incomplete. Clara wasn’t sure if the incompleteness was a long ingrained habit relating to work or a show of nerves to match the vulnerability wafting off the woman’s slender frame.
“What about you, Clara?” The psychiatrist brushed her hair off her shoulders. Clara finally caught the name—Keira Grey—neatly printed on the rectangular tag. “And you, Emma.”
The astrophysicist, Emma Evans, shrugged. “Maine.”
Keira’s smile stretched delightfully across her face. Vague outlines of old emotions—a touch of sadness and a flitter of joy—slid across her face. “I was on a boating trip along the coast last summer.”
Clara nodded. “Neat.”
A small smile twisted Emma’s lips. The astrophysicist suddenly looked less severe. “The coastline is very pretty. Especially in the summer.”
“So, Clara—” A loud bang cut the psychiatrist off.
Emma froze in place. Her smile looked oddly petrified and she held her hands awkwardly in the air. But Keira’s face melted into a series of panicked lines, wide eyes, and pursed lips. The woman made a jerky move toward the tent opening. Clara pushed herself off the bed and grabbed the doctor’s arm. The psychiatrist jerked back, away from the tent door.
“What’s wrong?” Clara had to yell over the sound of gunfire and the camp’s alert system.
“Ezra." Keira paused. The panic outlined on her pretty face growing. "I didn’t check to make sure Ezra got to his tent…”
Clara fished around in her duffle bag for her flashlight and a worn, leather bound journal. The pages were yellow and the pen ink of the earliest entries was starting to fade. She tucked the journal superstitiously under her pillow. The flashlight was less carefully propped against the bed for ease of access.
She pushed her duffle bag off the bed. Her gear rattled ominously inside the bag now that not every square inch of space was full. Clara yawned, her ears finally popped and adjusted to the atmospheric pressure, and she studied her tent mates. They were civil enough; politely exchanging greetings and unpacking their bags.
The astrophysicist—something Evans; the artificial tent light glinted off the nametag and obscured the first name—looked severe. Her short bottle-blonde hair swept across her face despite the assistance of multiple clear-coated bobby pins. But her green eyes looked almost friendly. The psychiatrist was tall and pretty. Her long, soft curls and dark eyes were warm. Although, a fragile vulnerability clung to the woman’s shoulders.
Clara swallowed and sat up straight. The silence filling the tent wasn’t particularly uncomfortable. But. “Where are you all from?” She swung her legs dramatically off the bed and kicked idly at the air. Her tent mates started slightly.
“Safe Haven.” The psychiatrist answer first. Her lips curled in a tentative smile.
Clara quirked one of her slender eyebrows, suddenly curious. “Did you grow up there?”
“No. I moved to Safe Haven for my internship.”
Her curiosity deflated a little bit. The psychiatrist was pleasant, but she seemed to be holding something back. Her answers felt incomplete. Clara wasn’t sure if the incompleteness was a long ingrained habit relating to work or a show of nerves to match the vulnerability wafting off the woman’s slender frame.
“What about you, Clara?” The psychiatrist brushed her hair off her shoulders. Clara finally caught the name—Keira Grey—neatly printed on the rectangular tag. “And you, Emma.”
The astrophysicist, Emma Evans, shrugged. “Maine.”
Keira’s smile stretched delightfully across her face. Vague outlines of old emotions—a touch of sadness and a flitter of joy—slid across her face. “I was on a boating trip along the coast last summer.”
Clara nodded. “Neat.”
A small smile twisted Emma’s lips. The astrophysicist suddenly looked less severe. “The coastline is very pretty. Especially in the summer.”
“So, Clara—” A loud bang cut the psychiatrist off.
Emma froze in place. Her smile looked oddly petrified and she held her hands awkwardly in the air. But Keira’s face melted into a series of panicked lines, wide eyes, and pursed lips. The woman made a jerky move toward the tent opening. Clara pushed herself off the bed and grabbed the doctor’s arm. The psychiatrist jerked back, away from the tent door.
“What’s wrong?” Clara had to yell over the sound of gunfire and the camp’s alert system.
“Ezra." Keira paused. The panic outlined on her pretty face growing. "I didn’t check to make sure Ezra got to his tent…”
RecAgenda
Double Luck
Tom and the other 3-A occupants set down their belongings and fast-walked toward the exit. When he left through the zip-up flap at the front the sounds of the gun shots rang louder and he could feel a surge of adrenaline and anxiety go through his system. Other expedition team members ran to the center of the camp as fast as they could and Tom wasted no time in following suit.
“Virgil! Virgil!”
The man spun around and looked for the person calling his name. It was Dr. Grey, weaving through others to catch up to him. When she was just a foot away, she lept and grabbed him by the sleeves with both hands. “Where is Ezra?!” she shouted frantically.
“I thought he was with you?!” Tom shouted back just as frantic now as the woman in front of him.
“No! He was supposed to go straight to your tent after the latrine!”
Tom’s eyes widened. The latrine trailer closest to the A tents was close to where the gunshots were coming from. “Shit! Go with the others and listen to instructions, I’ll find Ezra!”
“Tom, wait!”
Before he could let her stop him, Tom broke away from Keira’s grasp and bolted as fast as he could down the row of tents toward the large white trailer at the end. He prayed that the kid was taking shelter inside and not out wandering around. When he was just meters from the steps, something heavy came barreling into his path, rag-dolling with several thuds across the ground. He hit the brakes and slid through the dirt to stop himself. Looking down, his eyes were practically popping out of his skull and his skin lost color. In front of him, mangled in a torn uniform that was stained with dark crimson, was the body of an ASF specialist. His neck was gruesomely twisted around and deep puncture wounds had destroyed his flesh.
Upon hearing the sound of something approach to his left, he slowly turned his head and then froze in sheer terror. A person, or at least what appeared to be a person, stood in the shadows with a hunched back. Its skin was as pale as moonlight, clinging to bone with hardly a sign of muscle. It was naked, but covered in dirt and blood. There were no reproductive organs or distinguishing features to suggest it belonged to the human race. Its ears were long and pointed, its canines dropped over his bottom lip, dripping with scarlet, and its bony fingers had long ebony nails several inches in length.
“What the hell…?” was all Tom could get out before a very loud and obnoxious bang! echoed just behind him. He bent over in shock and cupped his hands around both ears to try and suppress a painful ringing. A gunshot? Who fired? Where’s the monster?! He looked up in panic again and saw the beast lying still on its back. A dark pool was starting to spread out from beneath its cranium.
“Virgil! Virgil!”
The man spun around and looked for the person calling his name. It was Dr. Grey, weaving through others to catch up to him. When she was just a foot away, she lept and grabbed him by the sleeves with both hands. “Where is Ezra?!” she shouted frantically.
“I thought he was with you?!” Tom shouted back just as frantic now as the woman in front of him.
“No! He was supposed to go straight to your tent after the latrine!”
Tom’s eyes widened. The latrine trailer closest to the A tents was close to where the gunshots were coming from. “Shit! Go with the others and listen to instructions, I’ll find Ezra!”
“Tom, wait!”
Before he could let her stop him, Tom broke away from Keira’s grasp and bolted as fast as he could down the row of tents toward the large white trailer at the end. He prayed that the kid was taking shelter inside and not out wandering around. When he was just meters from the steps, something heavy came barreling into his path, rag-dolling with several thuds across the ground. He hit the brakes and slid through the dirt to stop himself. Looking down, his eyes were practically popping out of his skull and his skin lost color. In front of him, mangled in a torn uniform that was stained with dark crimson, was the body of an ASF specialist. His neck was gruesomely twisted around and deep puncture wounds had destroyed his flesh.
Upon hearing the sound of something approach to his left, he slowly turned his head and then froze in sheer terror. A person, or at least what appeared to be a person, stood in the shadows with a hunched back. Its skin was as pale as moonlight, clinging to bone with hardly a sign of muscle. It was naked, but covered in dirt and blood. There were no reproductive organs or distinguishing features to suggest it belonged to the human race. Its ears were long and pointed, its canines dropped over his bottom lip, dripping with scarlet, and its bony fingers had long ebony nails several inches in length.
“What the hell…?” was all Tom could get out before a very loud and obnoxious bang! echoed just behind him. He bent over in shock and cupped his hands around both ears to try and suppress a painful ringing. A gunshot? Who fired? Where’s the monster?! He looked up in panic again and saw the beast lying still on its back. A dark pool was starting to spread out from beneath its cranium.
Rosie
sounds gay i'm in
A black silhouette flashed in front of Albany’s vision. She had never seen anything move that quick before in her life, not to mention the movement was accompanied by a snarl that made her blood curl and her heart drop to her stomach. Naturally, everyone moved in closer for security, but Albany knew that would limit her mobility. Nevertheless, the figure was stalking the circle of people she found herself in the middle of. It was cornering them off from the rest of the group. Making them vulnerable.
Albany scanned the area around her, trying to get some kind of clue as to where this thing is, and how she could stop it. She refused to die like this. They haven’t even been here for a day, for gods sake. A little way away, she noticed the door of the latrine trailer open, and then promptly slam close again. It was a quick motion, but she managed to make out who it was. Ezra, she believed was his name. He looked under 16, so she assumed he was some kind of super brain. She also assumed she had some kind of omission to protect him. If one of these things got to him, he would be easy prey.
From where she was standing, she judged the trailer to be around 50 feet away from her. It was a borderline suicide mission, but it was doable. Even if it wasn’t, she had to at least try. She couldn’t be torn to shreds and know she left a kid in a trailer alone to die.
“Shit..” She swore under her breath and managed to ease her way through until she had closed 10 feet. It was times like these she damned her broad build. If she was small and petite she could slip through to him with no hassle. Instead, she was going to have to bulldoze. Her arms pushed bodies aside unapologetically, and she managed to get out into the open, despite people pushing and shoving past her to get to safety, wherever that may be.
Albany crouched down, somehow convincing herself that made her less visible to the creatures stalking them, and made her way to the trailer. When she finally reached it, she pressed herself against the side and rattled the door in an attempt to open it. Making any kind of noise was not something she wanted to do, yet the screams ripping through the air behind her may drown her out. The door was locked, just as she expected. Keeping it open would be a death wish.
“My name is Albany Terrace. Tent 5-C. I’m here to take you somewhere safe.” She said as loudly as she dared against the door. Ezra heard her, yet his trembling hands stay pinned to his sides obediently. His eyes darted to the door, the noise startling him at first, but he didn’t quite calm down when Albany made herself known. The woman rested her forehead against the door and willed for it to unlock. Instead, she took a deep and calming breath.
“Ezra. Please open the door. I know you’re scared. I’m here to help you.” She added, hoping her tone was as soft as she meant it to be. After a few seconds, she heard a small click, and wasted no time in letting herself in and closing the door behind her again. There were small lights dotted along the floor in the trailer that illuminated the room, and she could see the boy sitting up straight on the floor directly in front of the entrance. His eyes were fixated on the door she just came through, and Albany cautiously sat down next to him. She wasn’t too accustomed to the feeling, but she knew an anxiety attack when she saw one, and this kid had it bad.
His breath was erratic, his face red. Albany’s sister suffered a similar problem, so thankfully she had a few techniques she used.
“Ezra, I want you to count how many lights there are in this trailer. Look at me if you can do that.” She waited patiently, but sure enough, his wide eyes dragged to her face. “I can see three from here. Count to three for me.” The boy did, albeit with a faltering voice, but he did it. “As you count, I’m going to turn them off so we’re not seen. Is that okay with you?” Ezra nodded once. At least she thought he did. It was more of a jerk, but that was all she needed.
The lights were counted, then stamped out. By the end of it, she could hear Ezra’s breathing slow down in the darkness, and she joined him on the floor again. “We’ll stay quiet, and I’m sure it’ll be under control soon.” She reassured him, to no response.
Amazingly, Albany was actually right. For around 10 minutes. The relative silence the two of them sat was interrupted by a thump on the roof of the trailer, causing a large dent that almost reached the floor. Both of them cowered down, trying to keep any noise to a minimum, although Albany thought they’d been spotted already. Suddenly, the door was ripped of it’s hinges, making Albany peer up at the beast that was looming over the both of them. It’s teeth were bared, similar to that of a vampire’s that Albany had seen in countless films back home. Their gums however, were coal black and stained with what she could only assume was blood. The blood of who? She didn’t particularly want to know.
“Get back!” She yelled, scrambling backwards against the wall behind her. Ezra, however, failed to move. She leapt forward and managed to cover his body with hers just as that thing made a calculated swipe. Instead of hitting him, it tore through her uniform and scratched deep into her back, making her yell out in agony. The only thing that distracted her from the affliction was a small illumination that caught her eye below her. It seemed to come from her wristband. The monitor projection.
Emergency: Unauthorised personal in Tent 5-C.
“God.. not now!” She hissed at the screen, lifting it up and tapping all over it frantically for it to fold back down. She was so caught up, she didn’t realise the trailer was now empty again. Her head spun round to assess what had happened, and she made out the creature still growling, yet backing away from the entrance. The only remenents of it’s presence were drops of saliva splattered on the floor beneath them. The monster hadn’t left, but was instead at a distance, it’s eyes staring at the illumination emitting from Albany’s wristband. It looked almost.. scared wasn’t the right word.. uneasy perhaps.
“It doesn’t like the light. Quick, project your band!” Albany urged, and the boy held his projection up in unison with hers, which made the beast growl, but back away even further. “I hope these things don’t have a limited battery life.” Albany remarked, making the boy crack a smile for the first time in what seemed like hours.
Albany scanned the area around her, trying to get some kind of clue as to where this thing is, and how she could stop it. She refused to die like this. They haven’t even been here for a day, for gods sake. A little way away, she noticed the door of the latrine trailer open, and then promptly slam close again. It was a quick motion, but she managed to make out who it was. Ezra, she believed was his name. He looked under 16, so she assumed he was some kind of super brain. She also assumed she had some kind of omission to protect him. If one of these things got to him, he would be easy prey.
From where she was standing, she judged the trailer to be around 50 feet away from her. It was a borderline suicide mission, but it was doable. Even if it wasn’t, she had to at least try. She couldn’t be torn to shreds and know she left a kid in a trailer alone to die.
“Shit..” She swore under her breath and managed to ease her way through until she had closed 10 feet. It was times like these she damned her broad build. If she was small and petite she could slip through to him with no hassle. Instead, she was going to have to bulldoze. Her arms pushed bodies aside unapologetically, and she managed to get out into the open, despite people pushing and shoving past her to get to safety, wherever that may be.
Albany crouched down, somehow convincing herself that made her less visible to the creatures stalking them, and made her way to the trailer. When she finally reached it, she pressed herself against the side and rattled the door in an attempt to open it. Making any kind of noise was not something she wanted to do, yet the screams ripping through the air behind her may drown her out. The door was locked, just as she expected. Keeping it open would be a death wish.
“My name is Albany Terrace. Tent 5-C. I’m here to take you somewhere safe.” She said as loudly as she dared against the door. Ezra heard her, yet his trembling hands stay pinned to his sides obediently. His eyes darted to the door, the noise startling him at first, but he didn’t quite calm down when Albany made herself known. The woman rested her forehead against the door and willed for it to unlock. Instead, she took a deep and calming breath.
“Ezra. Please open the door. I know you’re scared. I’m here to help you.” She added, hoping her tone was as soft as she meant it to be. After a few seconds, she heard a small click, and wasted no time in letting herself in and closing the door behind her again. There were small lights dotted along the floor in the trailer that illuminated the room, and she could see the boy sitting up straight on the floor directly in front of the entrance. His eyes were fixated on the door she just came through, and Albany cautiously sat down next to him. She wasn’t too accustomed to the feeling, but she knew an anxiety attack when she saw one, and this kid had it bad.
His breath was erratic, his face red. Albany’s sister suffered a similar problem, so thankfully she had a few techniques she used.
“Ezra, I want you to count how many lights there are in this trailer. Look at me if you can do that.” She waited patiently, but sure enough, his wide eyes dragged to her face. “I can see three from here. Count to three for me.” The boy did, albeit with a faltering voice, but he did it. “As you count, I’m going to turn them off so we’re not seen. Is that okay with you?” Ezra nodded once. At least she thought he did. It was more of a jerk, but that was all she needed.
The lights were counted, then stamped out. By the end of it, she could hear Ezra’s breathing slow down in the darkness, and she joined him on the floor again. “We’ll stay quiet, and I’m sure it’ll be under control soon.” She reassured him, to no response.
Amazingly, Albany was actually right. For around 10 minutes. The relative silence the two of them sat was interrupted by a thump on the roof of the trailer, causing a large dent that almost reached the floor. Both of them cowered down, trying to keep any noise to a minimum, although Albany thought they’d been spotted already. Suddenly, the door was ripped of it’s hinges, making Albany peer up at the beast that was looming over the both of them. It’s teeth were bared, similar to that of a vampire’s that Albany had seen in countless films back home. Their gums however, were coal black and stained with what she could only assume was blood. The blood of who? She didn’t particularly want to know.
“Get back!” She yelled, scrambling backwards against the wall behind her. Ezra, however, failed to move. She leapt forward and managed to cover his body with hers just as that thing made a calculated swipe. Instead of hitting him, it tore through her uniform and scratched deep into her back, making her yell out in agony. The only thing that distracted her from the affliction was a small illumination that caught her eye below her. It seemed to come from her wristband. The monitor projection.
Emergency: Unauthorised personal in Tent 5-C.
“God.. not now!” She hissed at the screen, lifting it up and tapping all over it frantically for it to fold back down. She was so caught up, she didn’t realise the trailer was now empty again. Her head spun round to assess what had happened, and she made out the creature still growling, yet backing away from the entrance. The only remenents of it’s presence were drops of saliva splattered on the floor beneath them. The monster hadn’t left, but was instead at a distance, it’s eyes staring at the illumination emitting from Albany’s wristband. It looked almost.. scared wasn’t the right word.. uneasy perhaps.
“It doesn’t like the light. Quick, project your band!” Albany urged, and the boy held his projection up in unison with hers, which made the beast growl, but back away even further. “I hope these things don’t have a limited battery life.” Albany remarked, making the boy crack a smile for the first time in what seemed like hours.
Syrena
Enchanted.
A wet squelch echoed between the last row of tents and the white trailer at the end.
Clara instinctively stopped and sunk to the ground in a defensive crouch. The yellow, artificial glow of her flashlight reflected off dusty puddles of blood. She swallowed; icy sweat oozed down her spine. The body of an ASF specialist—his uniform shredded and wet with crimson—lay awkwardly in the largest pool of blood. Flakes of dirt and dead grass idly floated near his head.
His gun sat useless several feet away; blood splatters marred the side. Clara slowly eased out of her crouch and flicked her flashlight off. Sudden movement caught her eye. Professor Virgil stood several feet in front of her. But his stance was rigid. Frozen. And he wasn’t looking at the dead ASF specialist.
Goose flesh ripped painfully across her skin. Cold sweat matted her hair, now, and dread simmered hotly in her stomach. She clutched her flashlight tightly. Her knuckles turned white against the warm metal casing. Clara followed the professor’s gaze. A humanoid thing stood in the shadows. It’s back hunched and naked flesh gleaming with dirty blood.
The monster shifted.
Its claws scratched at the dirt, blood dripped off its large fangs, and its muscles coiled with thick tension. Clara stood frozen—stuck—for a terrible moment. Panic and adrenaline heated her blood. Her heart slammed against her ribcage. Then, she dove for the gun.
The blood-splattered metal was slick in her hands. She fumbled and muscle memory snapped into action. Clara checked the safety, flicking it off, aimed, and fired as the creature lurched swiftly forward. The kickback from the sidearm was minimal, and the bullet pierced the monster’s cranium. It crumbled into an ungainly heap.
She waited a second, then a minute. The muzzle of her gun trained on the crumbled heap of monster. But the thing didn’t twitch. Clara sighed. An uneasy calm settled over her. She carefully picked her away to the professor and grabbed his shoulders.
“Professor? Professor Virgil?” She licked her lips, tasting salty, bitter sweat. “Tom. Are you alright?” Clara abruptly let go of the professor and stepped back. She turned her flashlight back on and pointed the light at the different shadows lazily draped over the tents.
“Have you seen Ezra?”
Clara instinctively stopped and sunk to the ground in a defensive crouch. The yellow, artificial glow of her flashlight reflected off dusty puddles of blood. She swallowed; icy sweat oozed down her spine. The body of an ASF specialist—his uniform shredded and wet with crimson—lay awkwardly in the largest pool of blood. Flakes of dirt and dead grass idly floated near his head.
His gun sat useless several feet away; blood splatters marred the side. Clara slowly eased out of her crouch and flicked her flashlight off. Sudden movement caught her eye. Professor Virgil stood several feet in front of her. But his stance was rigid. Frozen. And he wasn’t looking at the dead ASF specialist.
Goose flesh ripped painfully across her skin. Cold sweat matted her hair, now, and dread simmered hotly in her stomach. She clutched her flashlight tightly. Her knuckles turned white against the warm metal casing. Clara followed the professor’s gaze. A humanoid thing stood in the shadows. It’s back hunched and naked flesh gleaming with dirty blood.
The monster shifted.
Its claws scratched at the dirt, blood dripped off its large fangs, and its muscles coiled with thick tension. Clara stood frozen—stuck—for a terrible moment. Panic and adrenaline heated her blood. Her heart slammed against her ribcage. Then, she dove for the gun.
The blood-splattered metal was slick in her hands. She fumbled and muscle memory snapped into action. Clara checked the safety, flicking it off, aimed, and fired as the creature lurched swiftly forward. The kickback from the sidearm was minimal, and the bullet pierced the monster’s cranium. It crumbled into an ungainly heap.
She waited a second, then a minute. The muzzle of her gun trained on the crumbled heap of monster. But the thing didn’t twitch. Clara sighed. An uneasy calm settled over her. She carefully picked her away to the professor and grabbed his shoulders.
“Professor? Professor Virgil?” She licked her lips, tasting salty, bitter sweat. “Tom. Are you alright?” Clara abruptly let go of the professor and stepped back. She turned her flashlight back on and pointed the light at the different shadows lazily draped over the tents.
“Have you seen Ezra?”
RecAgenda
Double Luck
When the ringing in his ears stopped, he could barely make out a female's voice piercing through his temporary deafness. He slowly turned away from the sight of the monster's limp corpse to see Clara Sandiego, the archaeologist, standing next to him and holding a gun. There was a frightening resolve visible in her eyes.
"Y-yeah... I think I'm okay," Tom managed to stammer out in response to her initial question.
"Have you seen Ezra?"
The professor's eyes briefly glanced down at the gun and he wondered for a split second how she had come to be so obviously familiar with firearms. Shaking his head and clearing his thoughts, though, he replied, "He's was supposed to have been inside this latrine earlier according to Dr. Grey." As soon as he finished speaking a loud thump sounded off from the roof of the trailer and the two of them quickly glanced up. He could see Clara ready the pistol again out of the corner of his eye and aim for the edge where the wall and roof met, waiting for any movement.
After a couple of seconds, the black silhouette of another monster zip over and down from the roof. By the intense focus in its eyes, a horrific image that Tom could only briefly catch for the split second that he was able to track it, the beast was aiming for whoever was inside. With a terrifying ferocity the animal dug its claws into the metal door of the trailer and ripped it clean off the hinges, sending it flying toward Tom and Clara below, forcing them to dodge. He wasn't sure how he managed to roll out of the way in time and avoid the door that nearly cut off his head. It was most likely the adrenaline, providing the sensation of time slowing down.
Tom hit the dirt and rolled, but quickly used his momentum to recover to his feet and dart for the ramp up to the trailer door. "EZRA!"
When they burst inside, Tom came to a short sliding halt behind the creature's back and quickly leaped in reverse to get some distance from the thing. It seemed to be cowering behind a raised arm under the brightness of an artificial light... from someone's haptic bracelet.
------------------------------------------
Titus wasn’t one to sit back in the safety of the interior while others did the fighting for him. Instead, the bold commander insisted on running through the camp, flanked by his top lieutenants, to make his way to the front line at the north perimeter and reinforce the ASF members that were fending off the unknown foes.
Siegrune was also running alongside him, fully equipped in his multicam fatigues and armored in the most advanced ceramic plating that defense contracting money could produce. The elite PMC was known for its explicit use of nothing but state-of-the-art technology in the field. They were legendary in the eyes of many, even the media, but also secretive and clandestine. In Norse mythology, the Valkyries were female warriors that would lead the fallen of their choosing, that died with honor in battle, to Valhalla. They were recognized by their winged helmets and spears, and so the company’s logo was a profiled winged helmet with a spear crossing underneath; and while the Valkyries of the myths were all women, regardless of the gender, every Valkyrie of the PMC was given a codename symbolic to one of the mythological warriors. John felt a brief and ironic discomfort with the idea that a Valkyrie was currently running next to him in the middle of a battle.
The group came to a halt when two of the devilish-looking beasts attacking the camp leaped in front of them, having gracefully jumped over one of the tents from behind. But something happened that gave Titus’ men pause before opening fire with their rifles. Both of the feral humanoids fell back and shielded their eyes, but it wasn’t from the sight of guns being aimed at them, it was from-
“The light-alls?” John wondered aloud looking over to one of the tall lighting fixtures equipped to a generator, used to shed light over a large area. He remembered giving the order to set them as quickly as possible so they everyone could see what they were doing before dusk. The creatures were cowering and writhing in agony under the bright rays of the powerful lamp.
Siegrune, having seen enough of the spectacle, squeezed the trigger of his automatic and unloaded a hellfire of lead into one of the wretched beasts. The others in the group followed suit with the remaining creature and both soon stopped moving, having been put out of their misery. The big man slapped John on the back of his shoulder and shouted, “Hey! No offense, sir, but this is no time to be dazzled by the lights.”
“That’s it!” Titus exclaimed suddenly. He then shot his eyes over to Siegrune. “That’s why they’ve attacked at night and not earlier when we arrived! They must be nocturnal and fear any intense source of light!” Reaching over his shoulder to grab the wired mic of his radio, the commander barked over the channel, “Control, Defender One. Have all interior patrols relocate unused light-all equipment to the perimeter.”
“Copy, Defender One. Relaying the order now.”
“Second, have the engineers break open the emergency flares and give each patrol a gun and multiple rounds.”
“Understood, Defender One.”
John saw Siegrune smile out of the corner of his eye and heard him say, “You know, my old man never did like me playing with fireworks. I had a tendency to shoot them toward the house when I was a kid.”
“Well try not to aim for my tents, Mjolnir.”
"Y-yeah... I think I'm okay," Tom managed to stammer out in response to her initial question.
"Have you seen Ezra?"
The professor's eyes briefly glanced down at the gun and he wondered for a split second how she had come to be so obviously familiar with firearms. Shaking his head and clearing his thoughts, though, he replied, "He's was supposed to have been inside this latrine earlier according to Dr. Grey." As soon as he finished speaking a loud thump sounded off from the roof of the trailer and the two of them quickly glanced up. He could see Clara ready the pistol again out of the corner of his eye and aim for the edge where the wall and roof met, waiting for any movement.
After a couple of seconds, the black silhouette of another monster zip over and down from the roof. By the intense focus in its eyes, a horrific image that Tom could only briefly catch for the split second that he was able to track it, the beast was aiming for whoever was inside. With a terrifying ferocity the animal dug its claws into the metal door of the trailer and ripped it clean off the hinges, sending it flying toward Tom and Clara below, forcing them to dodge. He wasn't sure how he managed to roll out of the way in time and avoid the door that nearly cut off his head. It was most likely the adrenaline, providing the sensation of time slowing down.
Tom hit the dirt and rolled, but quickly used his momentum to recover to his feet and dart for the ramp up to the trailer door. "EZRA!"
When they burst inside, Tom came to a short sliding halt behind the creature's back and quickly leaped in reverse to get some distance from the thing. It seemed to be cowering behind a raised arm under the brightness of an artificial light... from someone's haptic bracelet.
------------------------------------------
Titus wasn’t one to sit back in the safety of the interior while others did the fighting for him. Instead, the bold commander insisted on running through the camp, flanked by his top lieutenants, to make his way to the front line at the north perimeter and reinforce the ASF members that were fending off the unknown foes.
Siegrune was also running alongside him, fully equipped in his multicam fatigues and armored in the most advanced ceramic plating that defense contracting money could produce. The elite PMC was known for its explicit use of nothing but state-of-the-art technology in the field. They were legendary in the eyes of many, even the media, but also secretive and clandestine. In Norse mythology, the Valkyries were female warriors that would lead the fallen of their choosing, that died with honor in battle, to Valhalla. They were recognized by their winged helmets and spears, and so the company’s logo was a profiled winged helmet with a spear crossing underneath; and while the Valkyries of the myths were all women, regardless of the gender, every Valkyrie of the PMC was given a codename symbolic to one of the mythological warriors. John felt a brief and ironic discomfort with the idea that a Valkyrie was currently running next to him in the middle of a battle.
The group came to a halt when two of the devilish-looking beasts attacking the camp leaped in front of them, having gracefully jumped over one of the tents from behind. But something happened that gave Titus’ men pause before opening fire with their rifles. Both of the feral humanoids fell back and shielded their eyes, but it wasn’t from the sight of guns being aimed at them, it was from-
“The light-alls?” John wondered aloud looking over to one of the tall lighting fixtures equipped to a generator, used to shed light over a large area. He remembered giving the order to set them as quickly as possible so they everyone could see what they were doing before dusk. The creatures were cowering and writhing in agony under the bright rays of the powerful lamp.
Siegrune, having seen enough of the spectacle, squeezed the trigger of his automatic and unloaded a hellfire of lead into one of the wretched beasts. The others in the group followed suit with the remaining creature and both soon stopped moving, having been put out of their misery. The big man slapped John on the back of his shoulder and shouted, “Hey! No offense, sir, but this is no time to be dazzled by the lights.”
“That’s it!” Titus exclaimed suddenly. He then shot his eyes over to Siegrune. “That’s why they’ve attacked at night and not earlier when we arrived! They must be nocturnal and fear any intense source of light!” Reaching over his shoulder to grab the wired mic of his radio, the commander barked over the channel, “Control, Defender One. Have all interior patrols relocate unused light-all equipment to the perimeter.”
“Copy, Defender One. Relaying the order now.”
“Second, have the engineers break open the emergency flares and give each patrol a gun and multiple rounds.”
“Understood, Defender One.”
John saw Siegrune smile out of the corner of his eye and heard him say, “You know, my old man never did like me playing with fireworks. I had a tendency to shoot them toward the house when I was a kid.”
“Well try not to aim for my tents, Mjolnir.”
Samantha Robin
Your local Tolkiener
Piper only had time to sit up, when she heard a gunshot. And another. Blinking away sleep, she heard the siren system buzzing into life.
"Attention Odysseus! Attention! This is not a drill! Proceed to the camp’s interior and await further instructions! Repeat! Proceed to the camp’s interior and await further instructions!”
Running after her tent partner out of the door, Piper's eye cought her name tag, Terrace, Albany Regan. Gunshots sounded through the whole camp. Piper kicked a stone mid-run and lost her balance and fell on her side.
Rising up, she brushed off the dirt and mud while still in a crouch when she saw the thing.
The humanoid was roughly the size of a child, and hunched over. Covered by stained and folded skin, as if it had shrunk but it's skin remained. Dirtied with dark brown mud, talons gleamed on it's fingers.
"S-s-sstay, good g-guy," Piper mumbled, as she backed away ever so slowly and the creature growled, exposing sharp brown teeth.
"Go b-b-back, shoo," she stuttered. But the thing ran straight at her.
Adrenaline rushed in her blood and turned everything slightly hazy like in a dream as Piper bolted away. She ran to a nearby pickup truck, and jumped into the back in two steps.
The creature was joined by another, and now the pair were trying to get to her. Every time they set their ugly taloned hands on the rim, she'd kick them. Step on them.
After a few seconds of this one grabbed her shoe. Cutting the rubber sole neatly, a talon grazed her foot as well as Piper saw a stain of red starting to spread across her shredded shoe. And pain. Stinging pain launched in strips all across Piper's leg.
"Attention Odysseus! Attention! This is not a drill! Proceed to the camp’s interior and await further instructions! Repeat! Proceed to the camp’s interior and await further instructions!”
Running after her tent partner out of the door, Piper's eye cought her name tag, Terrace, Albany Regan. Gunshots sounded through the whole camp. Piper kicked a stone mid-run and lost her balance and fell on her side.
Rising up, she brushed off the dirt and mud while still in a crouch when she saw the thing.
The humanoid was roughly the size of a child, and hunched over. Covered by stained and folded skin, as if it had shrunk but it's skin remained. Dirtied with dark brown mud, talons gleamed on it's fingers.
"S-s-sstay, good g-guy," Piper mumbled, as she backed away ever so slowly and the creature growled, exposing sharp brown teeth.
"Go b-b-back, shoo," she stuttered. But the thing ran straight at her.
Adrenaline rushed in her blood and turned everything slightly hazy like in a dream as Piper bolted away. She ran to a nearby pickup truck, and jumped into the back in two steps.
The creature was joined by another, and now the pair were trying to get to her. Every time they set their ugly taloned hands on the rim, she'd kick them. Step on them.
After a few seconds of this one grabbed her shoe. Cutting the rubber sole neatly, a talon grazed her foot as well as Piper saw a stain of red starting to spread across her shredded shoe. And pain. Stinging pain launched in strips all across Piper's leg.
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Rosie
sounds gay i'm in
"EZRA!"
The yell was unmistakable, even with the chaotic roars that began to scatter into the air around the trailer. From the sudden beams of light that had just been fired up from all corners, Albany could only assume the cries belonged to the monsters, similar to the one that was cowering before her and Ezra, who was curled up next to her, still not out of his panicked state. However, his band was warding off whatever that thing was, and right now, that was all the Albany cared about.
From behind the creature, she managed to make out another figure. Yet this time, it had human like qualities. Her eyes narrowed when they stopped to a halt behind the beast, as if they were trying to work out what exactly was causing it to retreat in so suddenly. She wanted to shout to him, to tell him to use his haptic band, but blood was swiftly pooling out from behind her, and she could feel it soaking her ruined uniform. The image of what her back must look like now made her feel queezy. Or was that simply from blood loss? Either way, she concentrated on keeping her arm held high in resistance.
Gunfire had began to explode in the centre of the camp, which was only a matter of time. In actual fact, it made the woman chuckle with hazy satisfaction. It was an uncaring sound that threatened the senses, but it made Ezra look up at the entrance in a vain attempt to see what was happening.
“They’re taking care of it. We’ll get orders to move when it’s safe.” Albany declared with external confidence. In reality, she had no idea what the protocol was in circumstances like this. Stay alive instantly sprang to mind. However, it seemed as though it was in fact being taken care of, or at least that’s what she hoped was happening when bright orange emergency flares began rocketing into the air from all around them. Strangely, it was rather beautiful, but she had little time to consider visual display, as the monster that was surely defeated, yet reluctant to leave, let out a piercing screech when one went off just behind him, and scampered away until it faded into the darkness of the field. Out of sight, but Albany did not believe it would be out of mind for an excruciatingly long time.
Instantly, her and Ezra’s arms flopped down beside them again, and the figure that was situated a small distance away immediately began to run towards the trailer. When he got closer, Albany could make out he was a man, and a rather tall one at that. Not quite her height, but close. His glasses were furiously pushed up once of twice upon entering the trailer. His lips began to move, and he stared at the two urgently, looking over them both to check for injuries. He was talking to them both, but she couldn’t make out any words. Her ears were ringing from the gunfire, muting all other external noises. Her head simply moved from side to side lazily, and she toppled back against the wall to her side, staring at the ground and willing for her vision not to fade. The stinging in her back had reduced to a dull ache that seemed to vibrate through the rest of her being.
“He’s not hurt.” She mumbled quietly, or at least she thought she did, she couldn’t tell. Saying those three simple words exhausted her, and if this was how she was feeling, she didn’t want to imagine how many of the expedition group remained.
The yell was unmistakable, even with the chaotic roars that began to scatter into the air around the trailer. From the sudden beams of light that had just been fired up from all corners, Albany could only assume the cries belonged to the monsters, similar to the one that was cowering before her and Ezra, who was curled up next to her, still not out of his panicked state. However, his band was warding off whatever that thing was, and right now, that was all the Albany cared about.
From behind the creature, she managed to make out another figure. Yet this time, it had human like qualities. Her eyes narrowed when they stopped to a halt behind the beast, as if they were trying to work out what exactly was causing it to retreat in so suddenly. She wanted to shout to him, to tell him to use his haptic band, but blood was swiftly pooling out from behind her, and she could feel it soaking her ruined uniform. The image of what her back must look like now made her feel queezy. Or was that simply from blood loss? Either way, she concentrated on keeping her arm held high in resistance.
Gunfire had began to explode in the centre of the camp, which was only a matter of time. In actual fact, it made the woman chuckle with hazy satisfaction. It was an uncaring sound that threatened the senses, but it made Ezra look up at the entrance in a vain attempt to see what was happening.
“They’re taking care of it. We’ll get orders to move when it’s safe.” Albany declared with external confidence. In reality, she had no idea what the protocol was in circumstances like this. Stay alive instantly sprang to mind. However, it seemed as though it was in fact being taken care of, or at least that’s what she hoped was happening when bright orange emergency flares began rocketing into the air from all around them. Strangely, it was rather beautiful, but she had little time to consider visual display, as the monster that was surely defeated, yet reluctant to leave, let out a piercing screech when one went off just behind him, and scampered away until it faded into the darkness of the field. Out of sight, but Albany did not believe it would be out of mind for an excruciatingly long time.
Instantly, her and Ezra’s arms flopped down beside them again, and the figure that was situated a small distance away immediately began to run towards the trailer. When he got closer, Albany could make out he was a man, and a rather tall one at that. Not quite her height, but close. His glasses were furiously pushed up once of twice upon entering the trailer. His lips began to move, and he stared at the two urgently, looking over them both to check for injuries. He was talking to them both, but she couldn’t make out any words. Her ears were ringing from the gunfire, muting all other external noises. Her head simply moved from side to side lazily, and she toppled back against the wall to her side, staring at the ground and willing for her vision not to fade. The stinging in her back had reduced to a dull ache that seemed to vibrate through the rest of her being.
“He’s not hurt.” She mumbled quietly, or at least she thought she did, she couldn’t tell. Saying those three simple words exhausted her, and if this was how she was feeling, she didn’t want to imagine how many of the expedition group remained.
Syrena
Enchanted.
She felt cold. Numb.
The latrine trailer rattled; the white metal fittings groaned ominously. Clara cautiously eased the pistol to the point where the wall and roof met. She curled her index finger lightly around the trigger. Waiting. A sudden flare of orange light broke the stillness. The black silhouette of another monster—smaller than the dead thing at her feet—glided down from the roof.
Its claws sunk into the metal door, ripping the heavy door off the hinges. The metal shrieked loudly. She jerked her pistol away from the intersection of wall and roof. Her sweaty fingers slipped against the gunmetal. The tip of the gun sagged toward the ground. Clara righted the muzzle and squeezed off a shot as the door came flying at her and Tom.
She twisted out of the way, dropping into an awkward roll. The door slammed into the dead creature and its bones hissed and cracked. Blood, still warm, sprayed against her jeans. Tom recovered first and darted up the ramp, screaming for Ezra.
“WAIT! Tom. Shit! Be careful.”
She followed Tom up the ramp, slightly more on guard. Wary of the tight corridors. But the creature was cowering behind its raised, thin limbs under the artificial light of a haptic bracelet. Clara trained the muzzle of her pistol onto the base of the creature’s skull.
Abruptly, the distant glow of another emergency flare lit up the surround area. Dim light seeped into the latrine trailer. The creature made a noise between any angry war cry and terrified shriek. Its pupils dilated and it turned to swipe at Clara and Tom.
Clara tumbled back onto the ramp and lost her footing. She slid downward, but used her momentum to roll into a defensive crouch. The creature followed her. Its strides were long, despite its smaller size, and agile. And, then, it was in front of her. She yanked the gun upright, the pistol wavered at her eye level, and she pulled the trigger.
Her aim wasn’t perfect. The bullet grazed the creature’s thigh region.
The monster buckled, screeching. Its clawed hands brushed tenderly against the bleeding wound. Clara backed away, struggling to her feet, as the creature’s eyes cut into her. Its gaze was intense. Vicious. The monster dropped into the blood-soaked dirt. The muscles in its legs coiled tightly together. It was going to spring at her.
Fear filled her stomach and crept up her throat. Her pistol shook in her hands. There wasn’t enough time to—she remembered the gun as the monster launched into the air and landed on top of her. She hit the ground hard, her head bouncing on the dirt once, and she slammed the tip of the gun into the monster’s ribs. It shifted and the freshly released bullet missed the lungs and heart.
Clara kicked her way out from underneath the monster. She surged to her feet and stumbled back into the row of tents. The monster grunted in pain and lazily tracked her movement. It hesitated, holding its injured side.
A new emergency flare went off; accompanied by fresh gunshots and one or two panicked screams. The light was bright and no longer distant. The creature paced backward; limbs half-raised in a defensive position. Clara pulled her flashlight out of her jacket pocket and turned it back on. The yellow, artificial glow of light wasn’t as strong under the fading brightness of the flare. Yet the creature backed up again, turned, and disappeared into the night.
“Fuck.” She sucked in a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. Exhaustion slammed into her.
Clara very carefully picked her way forward. She stopped to relieve the dead ASF officer of his radio, and then climbed up the ramp. Deep gashes from the creature’s claws decorated the walkway. She paused at the threshold, shinning her flashlight into the trailer. Tom, Ezra, and a woman—she couldn’t make out the name on the tag—huddled in the back corner furthest away from the door.
The stink of blood wafted around her, and voices from the radio buzzed in her ears. Vaguely, she thought she heard Doctor Grey demanding an escort to help her locate Ezra. She muffled a drained laughed, turning the volume down. The voices of ASF officered faded into a pleasant white noise.
She rummaged through some of the cabinets in the trailer, produced a first aid kit, and knelt down in front of the group. “Maybe.” Clara licked her lips. “Maybe you should take Ezra back to Dr. Grey, Tom. If he's okay. I’ll stay here and patch up,” she glanced at the nametag on the woman’s torn uniform, “Albany. And find a proper medic.”
Clara set her flashlight on the ground, angling the beam of light upward. Her light illuminated the dents in the roof, and the dark crimson blood oozing down Albany’s back and shredded uniform. It didn’t look good. She popped open the first aid kit, pulling out a bottle of cleaning alcohol and a thick roll of gaze and tape.
“Hey.” She grasped the woman’s shoulder reassuringly. “Do you think you can sit forward? Away from the wall.”
The latrine trailer rattled; the white metal fittings groaned ominously. Clara cautiously eased the pistol to the point where the wall and roof met. She curled her index finger lightly around the trigger. Waiting. A sudden flare of orange light broke the stillness. The black silhouette of another monster—smaller than the dead thing at her feet—glided down from the roof.
Its claws sunk into the metal door, ripping the heavy door off the hinges. The metal shrieked loudly. She jerked her pistol away from the intersection of wall and roof. Her sweaty fingers slipped against the gunmetal. The tip of the gun sagged toward the ground. Clara righted the muzzle and squeezed off a shot as the door came flying at her and Tom.
She twisted out of the way, dropping into an awkward roll. The door slammed into the dead creature and its bones hissed and cracked. Blood, still warm, sprayed against her jeans. Tom recovered first and darted up the ramp, screaming for Ezra.
“WAIT! Tom. Shit! Be careful.”
She followed Tom up the ramp, slightly more on guard. Wary of the tight corridors. But the creature was cowering behind its raised, thin limbs under the artificial light of a haptic bracelet. Clara trained the muzzle of her pistol onto the base of the creature’s skull.
Abruptly, the distant glow of another emergency flare lit up the surround area. Dim light seeped into the latrine trailer. The creature made a noise between any angry war cry and terrified shriek. Its pupils dilated and it turned to swipe at Clara and Tom.
Clara tumbled back onto the ramp and lost her footing. She slid downward, but used her momentum to roll into a defensive crouch. The creature followed her. Its strides were long, despite its smaller size, and agile. And, then, it was in front of her. She yanked the gun upright, the pistol wavered at her eye level, and she pulled the trigger.
Her aim wasn’t perfect. The bullet grazed the creature’s thigh region.
The monster buckled, screeching. Its clawed hands brushed tenderly against the bleeding wound. Clara backed away, struggling to her feet, as the creature’s eyes cut into her. Its gaze was intense. Vicious. The monster dropped into the blood-soaked dirt. The muscles in its legs coiled tightly together. It was going to spring at her.
Fear filled her stomach and crept up her throat. Her pistol shook in her hands. There wasn’t enough time to—she remembered the gun as the monster launched into the air and landed on top of her. She hit the ground hard, her head bouncing on the dirt once, and she slammed the tip of the gun into the monster’s ribs. It shifted and the freshly released bullet missed the lungs and heart.
Clara kicked her way out from underneath the monster. She surged to her feet and stumbled back into the row of tents. The monster grunted in pain and lazily tracked her movement. It hesitated, holding its injured side.
A new emergency flare went off; accompanied by fresh gunshots and one or two panicked screams. The light was bright and no longer distant. The creature paced backward; limbs half-raised in a defensive position. Clara pulled her flashlight out of her jacket pocket and turned it back on. The yellow, artificial glow of light wasn’t as strong under the fading brightness of the flare. Yet the creature backed up again, turned, and disappeared into the night.
“Fuck.” She sucked in a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. Exhaustion slammed into her.
Clara very carefully picked her way forward. She stopped to relieve the dead ASF officer of his radio, and then climbed up the ramp. Deep gashes from the creature’s claws decorated the walkway. She paused at the threshold, shinning her flashlight into the trailer. Tom, Ezra, and a woman—she couldn’t make out the name on the tag—huddled in the back corner furthest away from the door.
The stink of blood wafted around her, and voices from the radio buzzed in her ears. Vaguely, she thought she heard Doctor Grey demanding an escort to help her locate Ezra. She muffled a drained laughed, turning the volume down. The voices of ASF officered faded into a pleasant white noise.
She rummaged through some of the cabinets in the trailer, produced a first aid kit, and knelt down in front of the group. “Maybe.” Clara licked her lips. “Maybe you should take Ezra back to Dr. Grey, Tom. If he's okay. I’ll stay here and patch up,” she glanced at the nametag on the woman’s torn uniform, “Albany. And find a proper medic.”
Clara set her flashlight on the ground, angling the beam of light upward. Her light illuminated the dents in the roof, and the dark crimson blood oozing down Albany’s back and shredded uniform. It didn’t look good. She popped open the first aid kit, pulling out a bottle of cleaning alcohol and a thick roll of gaze and tape.
“Hey.” She grasped the woman’s shoulder reassuringly. “Do you think you can sit forward? Away from the wall.”
RecAgenda
Double Luck
With another of the ghastly creatures falling limp from a well-placed shot to it's cranium from Titus' rifle, the ASF commander shifted his eyes to his three and nine o'clock to check for more hostiles. What they were experiencing was a guerilla attack by an unknown enemy with savage tactics and an unknown level of sentience. This was partially expected after all of the damn preparation briefings he and the rest of Odysseus were forced to sit through. So far they have learned that they're fearful of light sources, move quickly, kill efficiently, and seem to pursue their prey in pairs; where one stalks while the other ambushes, if their target isn't any wiser. However, if their prey is fighting back or actively fleeing, John noticed that the pair will cease their stalking pattern and go in for the kill simultaneously.
"Commander! Eight o'clock!"
At his lieutenant's sound-off, John spun around on heel with his weapon ready and his eyes immediately honed in on the two creatures that were attempting to force their way into a nearby pickup. Someone, a woman, was inside and desperately trying to fend them off. "Engage their legs!" Titus ordered. He knew his men had seen the woman also, so they held their fire. Any rounds at torso-level could over-penetrate and end up hitting her.
Titus and his team, including Mjolnir Siegrune, squeezed their triggers and shredded the tendons of their targets' legs, forcing them to quickly drop. One of them, however, remained grappled to the frame of the vehicle with his ebony claws and tried to keep climbing its way inside using nothing but upper body strength. Seeing this, John broke into a sprint and set up on the creature's right flank. Once in position, he steadied his breath and raised the rifle. With excellent marksmanship, Titus gradually squeezed the trigger until he felt the kick of the recoil and sent a well-aimed round into the monster's skull through it's jagged ear.
"Get a medic over here!" he hollered, rushing to the woman in the truck. "Ma'am, stay calm," he said as soon as he arrived, slinging the rifle over his shoulder. "Are you hurt?"
------------------------------
When Tom saw clara come back through the door he wasn't sure what to think. By the looks of her, she had just come out of a rough tussle with the creature that had chased at her out of the latrine trailer.
"Maybe you should take Ezra back to Dr. Grey, Tom. If he's okay. I’ll stay here and patch up... Albany. And find a proper medic.”
The professor looked at her behind the glare of his glasses, reflecting the orange light showering the dark skies beyond the open door. His face was expressionless by this point. He wanted to say 'thank you' or ask 'are you going to be okay?', but he couldn't quite form the words for either. Instead, he simply nodded his head and reached out an open hand for Ezra. Shaking, but responsive, the young man immediately grabbed it, like a man lost at sea reaching for a life preserver.
"Easy there, kid," he said in a warm and calming voice. "I've gotya." When Tom assisted Ezra in standing up straight, the young Nash immediately clung to him with both arms tightly wrapping around the professor's torso. His face was buried in the man's shirt and Tom could feel every tremble. Patting a hand atop the boy's wild, unkempt hair, he said, "Hey now... no time to just stand around here. Let's get you back to Dr. Grey. After watching the two of you interact over the last two months, I'm pretty certain she's trying to strangle Commander Titus into letting her search for you right about now."
Ezra slowly backed away and rubbed a balled fist over watery eyes before just barely nodding his head.
Three weeks ago at Apex...
“Fluoxetine,” Keira Grey replied after Tom had asked her about the medication he had witnessed Ezra taking minutes ago. “It’s used to treat depression and obsessive-compulsive disorder. Ezra suffers from spouts of depression and anxiety due to his autism. During those times, his OCD also becomes more prominent and then he’s unable to focus on anything. He
hates
chaos, professor.”
“Why’s he even on this mission?” Tom asked.
“Dr. Evenway doesn't like the odds of us being potentially stranded with no way to get home on our own. Ezra will be crucial in constructing another gate on Zamin. But don’t worry; Evenway’s decision may seem irresponsible – and I would have agreed a while ago – but this is good for the boy. I like to think of it as a method of therapy. An unpredictable world with unpredictable laws will surely test Ezra’s resiliency.”
After recalling the conversation with Dr. Grey, Tom’s eyes narrowed at the idea and he looked around at the others that were starting to make their way back to their assigned quarters while he escorted Ezra down the main row that separated the two main tent divisions. Most of the other scientists were now shrugging along and rubbing the shivering nerves from their arms and hands, whispering about those things that had attacked the camp. Everything was under control now. Tom had noticed the extra light-alls along the camp's perimeter in the distance. With the sudden fireworks display of the flares earlier and now the addition of extra lighting all around them, Tom figured that Titus and his men must have also figured out the creatures' weakness.
"Ah," Tom said, tapping Ezra's shoulder to get his attention and then pointing ahead of them. "There she is!"
"Commander! Eight o'clock!"
At his lieutenant's sound-off, John spun around on heel with his weapon ready and his eyes immediately honed in on the two creatures that were attempting to force their way into a nearby pickup. Someone, a woman, was inside and desperately trying to fend them off. "Engage their legs!" Titus ordered. He knew his men had seen the woman also, so they held their fire. Any rounds at torso-level could over-penetrate and end up hitting her.
Titus and his team, including Mjolnir Siegrune, squeezed their triggers and shredded the tendons of their targets' legs, forcing them to quickly drop. One of them, however, remained grappled to the frame of the vehicle with his ebony claws and tried to keep climbing its way inside using nothing but upper body strength. Seeing this, John broke into a sprint and set up on the creature's right flank. Once in position, he steadied his breath and raised the rifle. With excellent marksmanship, Titus gradually squeezed the trigger until he felt the kick of the recoil and sent a well-aimed round into the monster's skull through it's jagged ear.
"Get a medic over here!" he hollered, rushing to the woman in the truck. "Ma'am, stay calm," he said as soon as he arrived, slinging the rifle over his shoulder. "Are you hurt?"
------------------------------
When Tom saw clara come back through the door he wasn't sure what to think. By the looks of her, she had just come out of a rough tussle with the creature that had chased at her out of the latrine trailer.
"Maybe you should take Ezra back to Dr. Grey, Tom. If he's okay. I’ll stay here and patch up... Albany. And find a proper medic.”
The professor looked at her behind the glare of his glasses, reflecting the orange light showering the dark skies beyond the open door. His face was expressionless by this point. He wanted to say 'thank you' or ask 'are you going to be okay?', but he couldn't quite form the words for either. Instead, he simply nodded his head and reached out an open hand for Ezra. Shaking, but responsive, the young man immediately grabbed it, like a man lost at sea reaching for a life preserver.
"Easy there, kid," he said in a warm and calming voice. "I've gotya." When Tom assisted Ezra in standing up straight, the young Nash immediately clung to him with both arms tightly wrapping around the professor's torso. His face was buried in the man's shirt and Tom could feel every tremble. Patting a hand atop the boy's wild, unkempt hair, he said, "Hey now... no time to just stand around here. Let's get you back to Dr. Grey. After watching the two of you interact over the last two months, I'm pretty certain she's trying to strangle Commander Titus into letting her search for you right about now."
Ezra slowly backed away and rubbed a balled fist over watery eyes before just barely nodding his head.
Three weeks ago at Apex...
“Fluoxetine,” Keira Grey replied after Tom had asked her about the medication he had witnessed Ezra taking minutes ago. “It’s used to treat depression and obsessive-compulsive disorder. Ezra suffers from spouts of depression and anxiety due to his autism. During those times, his OCD also becomes more prominent and then he’s unable to focus on anything. He
hates
chaos, professor.”
“Why’s he even on this mission?” Tom asked.
“Dr. Evenway doesn't like the odds of us being potentially stranded with no way to get home on our own. Ezra will be crucial in constructing another gate on Zamin. But don’t worry; Evenway’s decision may seem irresponsible – and I would have agreed a while ago – but this is good for the boy. I like to think of it as a method of therapy. An unpredictable world with unpredictable laws will surely test Ezra’s resiliency.”
After recalling the conversation with Dr. Grey, Tom’s eyes narrowed at the idea and he looked around at the others that were starting to make their way back to their assigned quarters while he escorted Ezra down the main row that separated the two main tent divisions. Most of the other scientists were now shrugging along and rubbing the shivering nerves from their arms and hands, whispering about those things that had attacked the camp. Everything was under control now. Tom had noticed the extra light-alls along the camp's perimeter in the distance. With the sudden fireworks display of the flares earlier and now the addition of extra lighting all around them, Tom figured that Titus and his men must have also figured out the creatures' weakness.
"Ah," Tom said, tapping Ezra's shoulder to get his attention and then pointing ahead of them. "There she is!"
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