by Desmond Hussey | Mar 26, 2014 | Story |
Author : Desmond Hussey, Staff Writer
In the years long after the cataclysms of fire and ice, embedded deep within the dark histories of the descent of man, when the waning sun still hung dim and bloated in its senility above the shattered horizon, there once stood, defiantly upon the ragged slopes of Mount Agothon, the greatest ale house this side of Armageddon. “The End Inn” had a reputation spanning a thousand light years, drawing many of the galaxy’s greatest champions, who, at least once, would make the long pilgrimage to its venerated drinking halls. It was a place where heroes came to die.
A long standing rule of the proprietor forbade fighting indoors. Grudges were to be left at the threshold. No words of anger were to be spoken, no punches thrown, nor blood spilt as long as one stood beneath the vaulted roof of the inn. However, if a patron came with the burden of revenge weighing heavily upon their heart, or if a pride was wounded so deeply by careless word or deed which could not be forgotten or forgiven after a round on the House, a challenge could be made and resolved in the arena constructed on the Inn’s rooftop.
It was one such challenge which would prove to be the ruin of “The End Inn” and all life within a hundred leagues.
Shadowed by the jagged fangs of Agothon’s twin peaks, a drunken and raucous assembly of both human and inhuman patrons had gathered among the steep-tiered seats of the rooftop amphitheatre to witness Hogarth the Obstreperous duel his arch-nemesis, the mighty Execrable Corlang of Delta V, but as the two champions strode out to their respective ends of the snow-dusted arena a respectful hush fell across the crowd.
Hogarth, more baroque machine than human, towered above the diminutive Corlang, but whether the enigmatic man-thing from Delta V showed concern was anybody’s guess. Whatever hate-filled past linked these two galactic mercenaries would also remain a mystery, for neither spoke a word before Hogarth cast a volley of death-dealing flames from his built-in arsenal.
Corlang sprang deftly aside, easily evading the blue, flesh-searing blazes and, hovering mid-air, countered with a prismatic burst from his ring of Quantum Oblivion. The multi-colored, atom-splitting spray was absorbed easily by a luminous field which now surrounded Hogarth like a rippling dome. The heat of the impact blistered the faces of the crowd. The icy battlefield became a steaming plateau.
Hogarth the Obstreperous barked a mocking laugh. Execrable Corlang, still hovering, gave a sharp-toothed sneer of defiance, then all was silent. The two rivals sized each other up, seeking hidden weakness. An unseen battle raged within their minds. Each imagined thrust was parried, each fatal blow evaded and reposted. No witness dared to move or breathe, lest they miss the inevitable final strike.
Then, all at once, they recommenced their furious battle in a frenzy of unbridled powers. Lancets of Loathsome Lightning ricocheted from shimmering Shields of Righteous Reflection, blasting great chunks of stone from the peaks of Agothon, causing avalanches of rock and snow. Relentlessly, the two enemies rampaged, oblivious to the devastation caused by their mutual hatred.
Darts of Nuclear Damnation disappeared into a Vortex of Nil, Vibrations of Molecular Sundering were quieted by a Zone of Entropic Dissipation and still the damnable fight was fought until, at last, a terrible, soul-devouring darkness, summoned from the Abyss of Gork, swallowed whole the Inn, Mt. Agothon, the gaping, gasping, smoldering crowds, even Hogarth and Corlang, until all that remained was a vast, steaming, concave emptiness inhabited only by cold, uncaring winds.
by Stephen R. Smith | Mar 25, 2014 | Story |
Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer
Captain Lewis gripped the hand-strap inside the copter’s airframe tightly, the wind whipping spray up from the dark ocean below as the pilot tried to maneuver in the gale.
“Your ride is below – when we get close enough, drop into the boat,” the pilot screamed back through the cabin, “but try not to miss.”
Lewis had been cursed with an unnatural aversion to open water for as long as he could remember. Never swam, never took baths, only ever showered. Bouncing along in a helicopter in this extreme weather didn’t concern him at all, but the water below unsettled him severely. He swallowed hard and reset his grip on the strap.
From the bridge of the nearby warship, Admiral Danes watched the scene unfold through binoculars.
“Somebody tell that helo driver to offload my cargo; we don’t have all night.”
The instruction was relayed to the copter pilot, who turned again in the cockpit to address Lewis, screaming once more over the combined wind, wave and rotor noise.
“Sir, you need to transfer to the boat now!”
Lewis stared at the bobbing black craft below him. He was Army, battle tested, better than this. There was no way an irrational fear of water should be locking him up.
In a single movement Captain Lewis released his grip on the airframe and stepped out into the darkness.
In the same instant a gust of wind buffeted the helicopter sideways. Lewis missed the Zodiac by inches and splashed down in the icy water beside, then sank like a stone.
Admiral Danes barked at the crew on the bridge.
“What the hell just happened? Where’s my asset? Somebody fish that soldier out of the water and get him onboard ASAP!” There was a flurry of activity on the bridge, tense radio chatter with the pickup crew on the smaller boat and the helicopter pilot, followed by a hesitant voice from one of the instrument operators.
“Sir,” he began, “Admiral?”
The Admiral turned on him and barked. “Speak up man!”
“Sir, the Captain’s sinking fast, and all his on-boards are out. Those Army units aren’t watertight at depth sir, and they don’t float. They’re intended for dry-land combat, they’re water resistant, even partially waterproof to a limit, but…”
“Are you telling me that our Army Intel unit just deep-sixed itself into the god-damned ocean, and it can’t swim?”
The radar operator flinched. “And we’re right over the trench sir, it’s going to be practically impossible to get down there to get it back.”
The admiral slowly balled both fists and leaned into the console, the room getting very quiet around him.
“Get comms to Langley, have them bake me a new unit, load-in our intel and send it out here in a god-damned Ziploc bag. We’ll turn it on when it’s safely on board and I’ll personally deal with any disorientation.”
The operator sat very quiet and still.
“NOW!”
The bridge burst back into action, as beneath the waves below Captain Lewis went completely dark, his armored combat frame dropping him into the deepest, final sleep.
by submission | Mar 24, 2014 | Story |
Author : Andrew Hawnt
Frozen in time behind the door to Vault Six is an explosion, and it talks to me.
How can an explosion talk to me? I don’t really know, but then again I’m just a guard. I sit next to the door to Vault Six and I read, or I clean the corridor, or I check and recheck the systems which keep the explosion imprisoned in a time bubble.
My name’s John Drake, but the explosion calls me Johnny Boy, or occasionally Drakey when it wants to wake me up. The explosion (or Bang, as I call it when we’re alone) even saved my skin last Friday when it woke me up just before Colonel Trent turned up unannounced.
Me and Bang are friends, even though it’s stuck in a cell and I’m guarding the door. We have an understanding. I don’t tell people it can talk to me, and Bang tells me stories to pass the time.
I thought I was going mad when Bang started talking to me, but hey, I have a mad job. This building is full of impossible things and a fair few staff have lost it over the years, but I can deal with Bang. It explains the monsters in other cells. The ghosts and the aliens and the sentient computer viruses and everything else.
But today, Bang told me a secret I didn’t want to hear. Where it came from. Where it began. I didn’t believe it at first, but then I remembered there’s a guy with horns claiming to be the devil in the next cell, so I figure there’s not all that much which is still impossible.
Bang is the end of this facility. This whole complex. Exploding. Bang told me the explosion was so powerful that it ruptured time and space and seeped through into the present. The department were able to imprison it using an experimental technique which bends time on itself into a loop, sealing whatever is inside it completely.
But the thing is, the thing that’s been making my head hurt all shift long, is that Bang says the explosion began when Bang gets released accidentally. But that means that Bang is both the cause and the result of the incident. An explosion from the future which detonates in the present, creating a paradox which can never end.
The thing that really freaked me out though was that Bang claimed to be me, John Drake, caught in the future explosion which created it and broke time. Bang’s voice in my head is me, my consciousness having become a part of the living explosion when the facility was, or will be, wiped out.
So that means I die here, I guess. Bang says that might not be the case. That I might get out. That it gets my voice because of all the time we spent talking in the past, or the present. That’s when my head hurts, thinking about that.
Get out, Bang tells me now. Get out quickly. It’s started.
Alarms start to chime, then the strip lights along the corridor go red and I hear commotion on the floor above and the floor below. An overlooked weakness in safety protocols. The corridor doors lock themselves. I could scream for help, but it wouldn’t do any good. Bang tells me it’s okay. Bang says it will look after me. Bang tells me in my own voice that this was always meant to be.
The protective bubble around Bang ruptures, and the building is consumed in blinding fire. I am taken away by the bubble’s broken science and the force of Bang’s unleashed energies swallows me whole. I am gone, but I am still here.
As quickly as it begins, it ends.
The bubble reverts to its previous state. Time realigns. I am Bang, and outside Vault Six there sits John Drake. He is a friend. Within the bubble which holds my fire imprisoned, I feel a sense of completion.
“Hello Drakey,” I say out loud, and the guard wakes up, staring at the door to Vault Six with eyes which are so very familiar.
by submission | Mar 23, 2014 | Story |
Author : Tyler Hawkins
“Well I think it’s safe to say this project was a monumental failure”
“Gee, you think?”
We sit in silence for a while. All that needed to be said has already been screamed, yelled or pleaded in the last 24 hours. It’s not like we haven’t tried to fix this massive failure but yet here we remain.
“Some locals are waking up and walking this way”
I look up. Sure enough, they come. Armed with what could only pass for technology on the most backwater of planetary systems, they start arriving and congregating around myself and my partner, T’Kam-Gin.
We wait quietly while the whole tribe wakes and trudges over to ogle us. We’ve resigned at this point, and now just patiently wait for it all to be over. We have already documented as much as we could before they confiscated our equipment, and it’ll be nearly four hundred thousand years before myself and my partner arrive in this timeline to find our chronospatial buoy and it will divulge the details of this horrid experience so at least they can learn from our mistakes.
One of them moves through the crowd, clearly the leader of this tribe. He speaks.
“On this day, June the second in the year of our Lord One Thousand Six Hundred and Ninety-Two, you all stand accused of witchcraft, a crime which will not go unpunished…”
by submission | Mar 22, 2014 | Story |
Author : Steven Holland
“What’s this?” asked Hoyt Pendergrass, glancing at the envelope that was just handed to him.
“The U.S. Government has need of one of your organs. This is the necessary paperwork. Your operation is set to take place tomorrow.” These words came from one of the two suited men standing in front of him.
Hoyt quickly glanced through the papers, trying to focus his bleary eyes. I was 6:30 a.m. on a Saturday after all.
“What! My heart? You can’t take my heart!” he exclaimed when his eyes finally found the relevant information buried amongst all the legal babble.
“Actually, we can. By right of Eminent Domain, the U.S. Government is purchasing your heart for the immediate transplantation into the body of Senator Gershwin Wilkins.” The agent wore a bland, serene smile as he spoke these words.
Hoyt could only gape speechlessly as he listened.
“The government will of course reimburse you for your loss with a cash settlement and a TransverTech Vikus Mark III™ replacement heart. You must report to St. John’s Hospital by 10:00 a.m. tomorrow morning or be found in contempt of the law.”
“Why me? Get somebody else’s! I don’t want a tin can ticker!”
“Your heart has been deemed vital to the continued well being of the United States of America.” the agent said in well rehearsed words. “DNA Database of America and Citizen Tracker® found you to be the most suitable match for Senator Wilkins based on DNA similarity and lifestyle choice.”
“You’re not a fat, drunken druggie.” added the second agent – speaking for the first time.
“Do not run. You are being watched.” said the first agent. He then blinked twice, all the while, keeping the blank smile plastered on his face. The two men left, leaving Hoyt in his bathrobe and an expression of shock on his face.
Three days later Hoyt awoke, groggy and disoriented. The same two men were standing over his bed. The one still wore that insufferable, blank smile.
“Glad to see that you are awake Mr. Pendergrass. There were complications during your procedure. You died for five minutes during the operation, but the doctors don’t anticipate any significant loss of brain function.”
Hoyt blinked. “What?”
“Here is your compensation check.” Said the other man in the black suit, tossing an envelope on the bandages of Hoyt’s sawn through chest. “It’s more than you make in a year.”
“But I’m a janitor!” Hoyt protested, then seeing the futility, sighed. “Does senator what’s-his-face enjoy my heart?”
The smiling man shifted uncomfortably. “Actually, he never received the heart. Your heart was accidently shipped to Zimbabwe where apparently, a local tribe stole it and ate it during on of their annual rituals.”
Hoyt stared at the man, his expression shifting from shock to contempt to amusement.
“Anyway, enjoy your check from the government. Oh, and don’t do anything too strenuous – your pacemaker only has a five year warranty.” Turning to the other agent, smiley asked as they walked out the door, “So who’s second on the heart transplant list?”
The door closed with and click and silence flooded the room. Hoyt began thinking, thinking of new hobbies he should take up like smoking and drinking… or cocaine. After all, the good senator might be having another organ fail any day.
