bad-idealist

[bad-idealist]

Report (got bored...wrote an Overwatch, or rather Blackwatch fanficion...enjoy?)

Blackwatch mission report: 35-E

Source:  Digital reconstruction of the Mental Image Recording from [REDACTED]

Designated operation title: ‘Moonshine’

Mission site: ‘The gutter’-East London

Date: 07/04/2058

Time of commencement: 0200 hours GMT

Active agents: Gabriel Reyes, Genji Shimada, Jesse Mccree,  Technical specialist [REDACTED]

  A spring breeze snaked its way through east London’s herds of sleeping houses. Lending its frosty bite to the street ridden Omnics, who huddled in every nook and cranny, and scarpered when met with human eyes. The Scents of the days industry where wafted away and shepherded into one, particularly dark corner, bogging it down in a mire of oil and sweat so thick what few stars were still visible above London town would seem snuffed out. The cloud was constant, unflinching against the nightly storm of angry shouts and spilt Omnic fluids. Unflinching even still, as its veil is pierced by series of lights, from which dropped 4 silhouetted figures, before vanishing just as quickly as it came. The shadows stood on the edge of a defunct factory, scanning the landscape.

“Well...” Jesse Mccree lit a vintage cigar, and warmed his hands on the lighter’s flame before stepping to the rooftop’s edge. “Not hard to tell why they call it ‘The Gutter’.” A second figure sat leaning over the edge. Binoculars in hand, Gabriel Reyes. “It’s well known for its violence between humans and Omnics, especially at night. And we don’t wanna’ provoke any more tension than this place already harbours. So stay out of sight, especially you tin-man.” He ordered half jokingly. The third, more slender figure kept its distance from the pack and let out only a   disgruntled Hmph. Finally I spoke up “So what exactly are we doing here sir? You were all pretty hush hush on the way over here, and I get the distinct feeling this isn’t going to be mentioned to commander Morrison is it?”

 “Nope.” Reyes replied nonchalantly before rising. “Don’t worry [REDACTED], it’s not the first time. If anything we’re  saving him the extra paper work.” He pointed to a more remote warehouse of some kind “That’s the place. And we’re just here to investigate.” Without warning the trio took off, and I followed,  diving and sprinting from roof to roof. I noticed a faint rising from the structures roof windows and, as we drew closer, that it was flickering. Once we arrived we peered through inside, Genji scoffed in disgust but the others watched un-phased. Below us was a table, on it was an Omnic, half stripped of its parts but still functional, a crowd of rough looking thugs, a gang of some sort, cheered and chanted from afar ‘SCRA-AP THE CLANKER! SCRA-AP THE CLANKER!’, whilst a man in an expensive looking suit paraded about beside the   Omnic. “This part of town is practically swarmin’ with anti Omnic gangs, but none more brutal than this bunch.” Mccree elaborated, his smoke fogging the glass slightly. “But we’ve got a hunch that there’s something more to these guys than just your bog standard Omnic hatred.”

 “We needed someone low-profile, but knowledgeable in the more technical surveillance stuff. That’s why you’re here [REDACTED].” Reyes passed me a data tablet smirking. “And if you tell Morrison, I’ll just have Genji kill you.” Sweat nearly erupted from my forehead, despite the cold. The cowboy and him laughed and he patted me on the back. “I’m joking...Mccree’d do it. Now, can you get us into the cameras? We need full audio and video feed.” I open the tablet and get to work, trying not to think too much about what was just said.

 After some fiddling it  and a fuzzy image crackled across the screen. Centred on the “Presenter’s” show. Behind him there was revealed yet another Omnic held in chains, its muddied clothes torn and even seared in places. The victim on the table squirmed and sparked violently from its wounds. ‘So whaddya’ say  boys? This one look about ready for the scrap heap!?’ He roared in a thick cockney accent, bashing and prodding with a crowbar, and shocking with a stun gun. Taking special care to drive it into the broken or missing sections of its faceplate. I’d never seen an Omnic die, I was almost surprised at how similar it felt to  watching a human suffer. I wondered if any of the others felt that way, then returned focus to the mission. After gratuitous amounts of riling up the crowd, the man revealed a small orb from his jacket, who whooped at its presentation. “It’s an EMP?” I question aloud, “No.”Even Reyes seemed surprised. “It’s called a ‘Bluescreen’. It’s an EMP, but specifically designed to terminate an Omnic component by component, to make it suffer. They’ve been outlawed since the crisis...” As the host crammed the device into a gash in the Omnic’s chest Mccree flicked his cigar aside and sighed “Makes ya’ wonder where the law’s    gone.” And as the Omnic spasmd violently, releasing a final garbled scream Genji scowled “It makes me wonder, why you are familiar with such things, Reyes.” Reyes ignored the comment, instead watching the feed even more intently. The host flung the scraps of the victim into the crowd, who cheered and clambered for pieces, And then spoke.

 ‘Now, before we entertain our next guest, I’d like to give a special mention to our sponsor, the ones who see  the truth! Who paid for our wonderful toys, and to keep the cops from stickin’ their nose in! Please put your hands together for the ones who see things as We do! Talooon!’ with this a holographic video began on stage, displaying row after row of soldiers in red and white armour, in the style of Omnic crisis propaganda, I had heard of Talon, but only in joshed tones. There was a series of k-tink’s behind me as Mccree loads his     revolver “Looks like you’re lead was right boss, dunno’ what business a hacker has with any of this but at  least they’re reliable.”

“I-I thought this was just surveillance?” I stammered. Reyes drew his shotguns and inspected them closely, dismissing me “For you, it was. If Talon is involved, and I presume you’ve heard of them, then we need to change our mission parameters a bit. To interrogation. You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Mccree grinned, his revolver’s laser sights flickering to life. “Let’s make this quick.” Shimada counted his shurikens before retracting them back into his mechanical hand with what looked like pain. Gabriel pressed the barrel of his gun to the glass before turning to me,“[REDACTED], you did good. Now just stay put and tomorrow you can forget this ever happened. I stood back from the window and nodded. “Mccree. Flash bang, On my mark.” Mccree drew one of several from a clip on his belt. There was a moment of silence, the wind howling softly and the faint monotone ramblings of     the film almost  overtook a shared deep breath.

 Then, there was a bang! Mccree casually tossed the flash bang down, and in an instant the trio were down there. The chill of night seeping in behind them. Amidst the shocked roars I can make out Reyes. “You’re coming with us.” He snarls. There is the clatter of weapons being drawn and the half blind crowd erupts into a violent stream of battle-cries. I watch over the scene from the window. The host drew a machine gun. Spraying at Blackwatch. Bullets tearing through the blood red hologram. The gang members charged. Reyes gestured and Genji immediately drew his blade and dashed back, whilst Mccree steadied himself, taking aim.The captive Omnic curled up in panicked screaming. Reyes ran for the ringleader, bullets grazing his chest piece. As the wave of bodies hit him, Genji leapt, sprinting across the wall, his sword dancing from neck to torso to limb in one fluid motion. Any stragglers were swiftly met with a precise Pitew! As Mccree unloaded into the crowd. All the while Reyes threw a barrage of punches at the leader, sending them flying. Cackling maniacally, he unloaded another hail of bullets, this time at the ceiling. Shattering most of the lights. And the window.

The pain hadn’t finished shooting through my midriff when I hit the floor.

 The glass shards jammed themselves into my hands and face. The already lightning fast skirmish was now a blur, cut into brief segments where my consciousness and the flickering of the remaining light fixtures aligned. The noise was just a static fuzz of yells, and the sights just blood and muzzle flash. Broken only by a bright streak of green. My sight finally focused enough for me to make out Genji stood before me, repelling the stampede of bullets headed for me with a miasmic flurry of his blade. “Stay. Awake.” Is what it sounded like he said. But by that point all but my sight and sound were faded...

Everything came rushing back once more, if only for a minute. I saw the corpse of the gang leader strewn beside me, and the Blackwatch team standing ragged and bloodied over it. “Well that got...ugly” Mcree sighed, lighting another cigar. “Doesn’t matter. We got what we came for. We know at least some of what talon is up to. And we can start making some progress where Morrison won’t look. ” Reyes was examining another data tablet.

“But at what cost?” Genji sank his head, observing the body count, including me. Mccree whistled “Now that’s why we should’ve brought Moira.” “Damn, [REDACTED].” Genji leant over me. “They won’t make it.” He said.

“At least take his M.I.D.” Reyes sighed. “It’ll make the report much easier.”

The End

[bad-idealist]

Icarus heights (The intro to a story about superheroes and villains, think X men meets Farcry) Enjoy :)

The evening sky was dim, the grey obelisk that was Icarus heights rose far above the neon haze of the cityscape. The only source of light on the buildings matte skin being a single tacked on-sign, bright blue, that read “Long live the king”. Its bold words flickered faintly, taunting the world below, and bathing the rooms behind it in a seas of light. If one were to view it from street level the words would be barely legible, as if to further cement its status as above the people, and the many corpses of buildings, scrapped to make way for its construction, served as a reminder that it was an unstoppable force, an inevitability, and that’s its occupants cared not for the struggles of the common folk.

Much harder to notice, was the small veiled figure clinging to the face of the tower, carefully scaling it like a determined flea on the back of a great hound. The winds were getting stronger with every foot he ascended, and the first droplets of an oncoming storm had already soaked into his crude fabric mask. He had lost count of what floor he was at a while back, every pane looked identical, and he was surprised he hadn’t been seen by now. For all the goons the bastard has they aren’t the brightest. He amused himself with the ridiculousness of the situation, but the soft roar of distant thunder prompted him to make fast his ascent. He counted the remaining floors till the top. Around 5 left. With the storm fast approaching he couldn’t stay out in the open, he’d have to scale the rest from the inside. He’d hoped to conserve his energy and save himself for his target, but his suction cups couldn’t operate if the glass was slicked with rain. So he took a reluctant breath, concentrated and slowly phased himself through the black window. The room he landed in was empty, Thank god, and lavishly unassuming. He patted himself down to ensure he had brought all of his effects through with him, phasing required total focus, and having only possessed such a trait for a month he had not long to master it. Dagger-check, clothes-check, Gun….

He frantically checked the many pockets that lined his homemade cloak. It wasn’t there. He imagined the silenced pistol tumbling down from the high-rise and knocking some innocent out cold. He’d have to find it again after, if he survived. There was little time to examine the room as the grumbling of guards could be heard nearby. And soon enough the door to the room swung open, and the cloaked boy dove beneath the room’s central table. The grumbling stopped, Had they seen him? Their heavy footsteps grew closer, so he silently unsheathed the small dagger from his boot.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing. The boss don’t pay us enough for this, what’s he so paranoid about anyways?”

The voices where clear now, and the table creaked as one of the men leaned on it. The boy decided he may as well practice with the dagger, he’ll need it.

“Me” he growled as menacingly as he could, before leaping out over the table and slashing at the nearest one’s neck. He dropped his rifle and went to scream, but the boy muffled him with a gloved hand. The second guard swung. Only to have his fist slip through the boy. Who quickly dispatched him in similar fashion to his companion. He considered picking up the firearm, but hesitated. That would just draw attention to himself. He then noticed just how much blood splattered his garments. Good thing he was wearing red. Down the sleek halls he lurked, having to find each new floor’s entrance due to the peculiar lack of an elevator or consistent stairwell. By this point the storm was gaining momentum, thunder shook the air, lightning danced across the tower’s metal frame. And the sounds of blood hitting floorboard were masked by the spattering of rain against the windows, which were just as dulled from the inside.  The guards were definitely not the brightest, the invader thought as he silently carved through three more who were previously engaged in a poker match. There wasn’t far to go now.  By the time he’d gotten to the entrance to the final floor he was dripping in the blood of what must’ve been twenty men. But that didn’t matter. He’d made it. He assumed there was no more need for stealth, How many guards could the man have? He lightly tried the ornate double doors. Locked. So, now in a rush to finally meet his prey he walked through the sturdy oak, and into a penthouse. It was modern and geometric in design, oddly homely compared to the rest of the place. The centre being a rather large fireplace, paired with a grand leather chair with its back to the entrance. In which sat the one this whole ordeal was about.

The boy hadn’t been noticed, and so slowly crept towards the chair. Dagger in hand.

“Hello. Mr ashton.” Came a smooth, confident call. “Although amongst my men you’ve become known as ‘The wraith’.”

Was he mocking him? It was hard to tell. The boy approached the chair. Teeth grit and arm raised.  “Yeah well your thugs aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed.” Came the boy’s retort. “Besides, I saw the sign. The king? Really?”

“Oh don’t you like it? I thought the blue would brighten up the place.” The chair rotated, like something from a spy movie, to reveal a slick looking young man in a rather luxurious suit. He leaned forwards, almost eagerly and continued “And to you. I am the king.” The boys patience had worn thing. He held the dagger to the tyrants neck, only pausing for one last question.  “Why?”

“ Why the tower, the guards, the gangs in the streets? Why did you take our city from us?” The man chuckled. “If I recall correctly when people like yourself started popping up you weren’t exactly considered welcome, normal people don’t want you in their city. I on the other hand, say everyone is welcome, provided you know your place.”

“You left the streets in ruin and hundreds dead!” The boy growled. Only to be met with a condescending look and retort. “Actually, I said live however you see fit, provided they follow one rule: Don’t fuck with the king, you people did the rest yourself.”

“Yeah whatever” Said the boy, and thrust the dagger forth. It froze.  Just shy of the self proclaimed king’s chest.  His entire body froze, and a sarcastic clapping could be heard from behind. “You know I didn’t expect you to buy such a cliché mob boss shtick but wow! You are STUPID.” The voice, which couldn’t have been much older than the boy’s was almost hysterical. The boy’s head turned, not of his own will, to face his speaker. It was another young lad, not much older than himself, donned in a simple hoodie and some cheap jeans. Who the fuck are you? The boy thought, but couldn’t bring his lips to move.  “My name is Stane, Christian Stane. And I’m the king.” Was he in his head? The boy willed himself to move, but to no avail. “Yes I am.  pretty cool huh?” Stane looked his captive up and down amusedly, trying not to laugh. “You like my puppet?” He gestured to the man in the chair who, simply sat blank faced and dead eyed. “I think it’s great” It spoke.

“See, he even answers when spoken to. So speak up.” It was hard to tell if he was mocking or genuinely expected him to sleep.  The former was confirmed when he once more laughed and moved even closer to the paralyzed boy. “But what he said was true, I’m simply acting in my best interest, the people down there don’t seem to have the biggest sense of community either.” He paused, composing himself for a second. “Ok you’ve been a massive pain in my ass lately, and now your beginning to bore me. Say what you need to say. I’m gonna kill you regardless.” He drew a chrome handgun and squared it at the boys forehead.

“YOU GODDAMN PHSYCOPATH!” The boy roared, surprised at his own ability to speak again. He went to say more But his lips tightly sealed before he could get the words out. Stane frowned in mock hurt. But his words were thick with genuine rage. “ I can assure you I am NOT a psychopath.” The boy felt his legs move, but not how he wanted to. Instead they walked him towards the large window overlooking the murky skyline. The windows here were clear from inside, allowing for perfect view of the entire city.  Once there the boy turned to face Stane “Psychopaths feel no emotion. But what I’m about to do is gonna make me real happy. There was a gunshot, but no pain, no nothing.  The bullet had phased  through him. Without him focusing on it. “Good” Stane chuckled, “Your blood everywhere would just ruin the whole vibe of the room ya’ know.” Just as the helpless wraith realised what he meant, a second shot was fired.  Directly into his gut. He fell back, phasing through the window and into the cold storm.  Stane chuckled, then sighed . He went to watch the body plummet. But couldn’t make it out amongst the rain. Slightly annoyed, but satisfied he watched the lightning strike the rooftops and he recited the blue neon reflected against the many buildings. “Long live the king”.

END

[bad-idealist]

The library, continued...(Guess this makes it pt 2)

And on the topic of that thing, I can assure with utmost confidence that it was there. Every waking hour ( I did not sleep very often at all during my stay, mostly to the bizarre and unnerving nature of my dreams) I felt it. And what a peculiar feeling it is, that of sharing ones mind with something else. Only, it never felt fully manifest within me, instead it wormed its way into my thoughts like many invisible tendrils, existing only as a series of mental whispers, and what one might call reflexive urges. Most prominent amongst these was a hunger. A hunger to keep reading. I dismissed such happenings as paranoid delusions at first, as any sane man would. But as i ventured deeper and deeper still into the old library, I found the idea of there being some sentience driving them to be quite tame, in comparison to the horrors that stalked its derelict halls.

And it is these horrors, whose repulsive countenance lay confined in the furthest fathoms  of my mind, which drove me out of that place. I know not exactly when such foul things beset my studies, but much like falling asleep, They slowly crept in, but then escalated all at once. Those small inklings of potential danger matured into great fits of sweat and panicked gasping as every available sense was flooded with pure dread. But still i stayed and read. It was as i had finished an especially lengthy text on a forgotten pantheon of gods worshipped by pre civilised mankind that the thought occurred to me, or rather was handed to me by my unseen companion. I had by that point read far more than any human mind could retain, and yet i could remember and even recite word for word the very first passage i had examined what must have been months ago. and as I Hurriedly  re opened the lofty book before me i realised, it was written in a language that was far removed from english, or any language i had seen at the time, and yet i had gleamed meaning from every uncanny line. I don’t know exactly how such a thing was even readable to me, but I theorise that just as it had access to my mind, I could make use of my companions, and this must have granted me memory retention far beyond that of the ordinary, as well as allowing me to understand such alien characters. Unfortunately, these gifts came alongside the wretched fits, and would do poorly to prepare me for the library’s more physical occupants...

[bad-idealist]

The library (an extremely short sample from an idea for a story I have revolving around a lone detective, a murder mystery, and lovecraftian nightmare creatures from dimensions unknown) enjoy

If I recall correctly, it was around week 5 that my feelings on the library had begun to change, though Not to boredom of course. The veritable labryinth of dusty cases, each a catacomb brimming with row upon row of abandoned (or even banished) fountains of knowledge was enough to captivate me endlessly, no. With every fresh page turned or isle uncovered I could not quell a rather nagging sense of loneliness. At first I simply shrugged it off, in my mind I couldn't possibly be missing anyone from out there. The thought of the outside world had begun to repulse repulse me. The fleeting mess of ignorance and constant busyness they called "life" seemed fruitless to the point of irritation. And yet still, I longed to commune with its inhabitants. A hello, a passing smile. I would've taken the most profane insults so long as they came from a voice other than my own.and that of whoever, or rather whatever eldritch thing had taken an interest in me...

[bad-idealist]

The Circus Freak

It was a morbidly stormy evening when I decided to search for my brother. Mom and dad where growing anxious because he hadn’t been home for almost a day. I wasn’t worried though, it seemed typical of him to do something like this. Plus I knew where he most likely was, he’d talked about breaking into the ruins of an old local circus. According to him it was meant to stay for a week then pack up and move, but it never did. Instead all of the performers disappeared within days of arrival leaving the place to rot. So of course he and his idiot friends wanted to spend a night there. I decided not to tell our parents of my brother’s plans; he would’ve received lecturing enough upon his return. So shortly after dinner I was on my bike trying to remember the way to the field the circus rested upon. Cursing the weather as rain pelted my thin jacket. I had no reason, but I was already unnerved. The intermittent booms of thunder didn’t help.

Within a minute of frantic peddling I was there. At this point furious with my brother for making me come out and find him, yet as I laid eyes upon the place I felt a twinge of something else. Fear? No, I told myself to stop being ridiculous. This attempt at self reassurance was quickly dashed as an arc of lighting clawed its way across the night sky, highlighting the broken silhouette of the run down tent, and the frail fence supposed to keep people out. But there was something else, a figure? I again scolded myself for letting my mind play tricks on me and reluctantly got of my bike and approached the structure, lighting continuing to crackle in the fog ridden sky behind the enormous main tent.

I approached the thin mesh fence to discover a hole had been cut. My brother had to be in there. So I ventured in. It was then that I got the sense of being watched, watched by the worn posters scattered about the place, and by something else. I knew I wasn’t alone. As I wandered towards the main tent I found all manner of abandoned equipment, hoops, confection machines and even animal cages were left scattered about the floor at random. Someone had definitely been there, and I wanted to call out to my brother and be done with the whole unpleasant search. Yet some odd paranoia compelled me not to. I eventually made my way to the main tent, reading posters as I went. “Come see Mr marvellous and his dancing lion” one read, another imploring me to “behold the amazingly flexible human ragdoll”. The place seemed like it would’ve been fun had it been functional, but any sense of child like joy had been drowned out by the march of time, and the whole place reeked of decay. The storm gnawing away at everything it touched. I finally ventured to the main tent, the once bright red had faded, and the vines of fairy lights that once lined the structure now drooped low. I was surprised it was still standing considering it looked like a harsh wind would be enough to knock it down. I circled the structure till I came to a flap which I presumed to be an entrance and slipped in. I expected to find a large empty arena such was usually the setup in circuses, but I found something much, much different.

The stench of waste hit me immediately. I found not a massive hall but a tight, dark hallway, or at least a manmade one, clumsily thrown together out of trash and wood from god knows where. It had seemed as though my brother and his friends had constructed some sort of fort out of what seemed like garbage, and if I was lucky he shouldn’t have been far. But this was weird, even for him. Regardless, I took out my phone, using it as a torch as I crept warily down the tunnel. As I walked I noticed many tiny holes and tunnels, I pondered there use as certainly nobody would want to crawl though the junk. I also began to notice a mysterious fabric dotted about the peculiar hallway, there appeared to be grey sacks of varying size scattered throughout the collection of waste. I presumed that they were probably full of the old food, which explained the rotten smell. A wave of relief washed over me as the tunnel came to an end. This relief was short lived. As I stepped into what can only be described as a makeshift room, somehow weaved together out of junk, with bits of rope hanging from the ceiling and even more sacks dotted about the place, some particularly large ones even scattered around the floor. Yet still no sign of my brother. I swore to myself that he’d be receiving a punch in the face when I found him. Whatever dumb prank he and his friends were playing it wasn’t funny, and I considered simply returning home, mom and dad were probably doubly worried by now. But that’s when I saw it. By a collection of the mysterious sacks, amidst the junk that littered the floor. A phone. His phone. I could no longer subdue the panic that had been slowly boring into me and I dashed forwards to grab it. He would never go anywhere without his phone, much less leave it lying in a pile of trash. It wouldn’t turn on, something must’ve gone wrong. I couldn’t quell the barrage of possible accidents that could’ve occurred, I wanted to run. But my brother had to be here somewhere. I look to the far end of the makeshift cavern. A dead end. But I did glimpse something on a one of the sacks, I lent in close and there was no mistaking the smell. Rotting meat. But there was something else, something about the shape. It was almost cocoon like. Then it hit me. No. It couldn’t be. There’s no way. There can’t be…a person in there. My heard began to race and I could feel the adrenaline surging through me. I looked where the head would be, to try and see if there was any opening, any sign of life. I turned it over to find no such opening. Instead, a crudely painted on smiley face where the person inside’s face would be. That had done it, the joke was over, I waited for my brother to jump out at me, or a friend of his to grab me from behind.

And that’s when I noticed the breathing.

It was faint, mostly drowned out by the raging storm outside. But it was there, and it was close. Who was there? Had they followed me in? My heart began to pound and I whipped around to face my pursuer. Yet I could only see the entrance to the cavern. So I went to point the slight light my phone provided at the roof.

And then that thing dropped down before me.

With a soft thud it landed, uncoiling before me. I could do nought but stare, transfixed. Its figure was humanoid, but its proportions…It was at least twice the height of any man. Yet so skinny, frail even. My shuddering hands cast light upon its enormous hands, with long bony fingers that stretched as it stood, examining me just as I was examining it. Its ribcage could be seen clearly and it had little to no waist. And the whole thing appeared covered by a layer of that same grey fabric, stitched together haphazardly. I hadn’t time to look at its face before it lunged at me. Wrapping its tendril like fingers around me and lifting me to its head. It had no visible face, just yet another crudely painted black visage upon the tightly hugging fabric. Cold, raspy, breaths forced their way out of where its mouth would have been, dust and that same rotting stench clinging to it as they drifted out. I wanted to scream, but couldn’t, for fear of angering the dreaded thing. I no longer cared what happened to my brother; most likely that monster ate him.

And it was going to do the same to me.

It continued gazing at me, the cold black smile burning itself into my retinas. I was Terrified. But not enough to simply do nothing. And so, gathering all my will, I kicked the beast in the chest and it dropped me instantly, unleashing a pained shriek as it did. My phone dropped as I hit the floor. But at this point I didn’t care. I had just one thought. RUN. So I did, I darted Straight back out of the cavern completely blind. I could feel the tickle of fingertips on my neck as it tried to grab me again. I hurtled onwards. Half running half stumbling my way through the blackness. Deafened by the continual howling of the creature. I ran through what I thought were piles of rubbish. Things whipping against my face as I ran in desperation. The shrieking, and the sound of footsteps growing ever louder. The mental image of the deformed thing bounding towards me drove me onward, And as I turned back I could see it, not sprinting but scuttling down the hallway, Clinging onto any available surface and launching itself screaming after me, its spider like arms reaching out for me, barely missing, even just brushing my face. But the sound of the storm also grew louder as I neared the exit. I was almost free, I could feel the cold winds blowing in from the entrance, which shined light through With every crack of lightning. And then I was out. But I was just as blind as I was in the dwelling, droplets of rain relentlessly assaulting my eyes.

But the screaming had stopped. Not that I had much time to notice as I continued legging it straight to the fence. I could see my bike, I’d made it. I dove through the small hole in the fence, snagging my jacket on it for a second I thought it was the beast so I thrashed and struggled until I was free. I dragged myself across the wet grass to my bike, and before I could even breath let alone think upon my experience I was off. My mind racing, with one thought over and over. Don’t look back.

But I looked back. And the old tent looked exactly the same as it did when I arrived, aside from one key difference, a silhouette pressed up against the fence. And as the lighting flashed again I could clearly see it. A thin, spindly figure and That black, ever smiling face, watching me, waiting, and still hungry.

The End (For now? maybe? possibly? if I can be bothered?)

[bad-idealist]

Utopia

Utopia started as an idea, the concept of a place in which everything is perfect. No wars, no hunger, no worries. And this idea originally took the form of a cobbled together device in a dusty basement. It was the genius mind of an unknown inventor that had devised the system, a system in which animals, and the creator hoped eventually people, can upload their consciousnesses to a carefully crafted and digitally stored virtual reality. Through some technical marvel people could even be  given bodies in which to traverse the computerised landscape, which itself had to be meticulously coded using a language known only to its creator.

And  like all good ideas, it was swiftly stolen.

Through an unfortunate series of events the original mastermind was found in his basement, dead by suicide, limply hanging from the ceiling with a note detailing how “the world is better off without me” left on a nearby table. But his unknown masterpiece was gone. It was in the months after this that Utopiacorp appeared, as if from nowhere. However, the existence of the company was known only to few, as it seemed to market to only the elite of the elite and humanities richest. When they heard about a fully functional digital paradise many were at first sceptical, but eventually they were swayed by the constant demo videos along with the promises of limitless pleasures and an escape to another world.  And so they offered countless millions in exchange for a month long stay at Utopia, the first residents in a perfect world. They were so desperate to enter this new world that they never even bothered to ask if this world was finished, and spared no thought to the numerous confidentiality contracts forbidding them from discussing Utopia with anyone.

And in truth, Utopiacorp had never shown any of their real technology in action for a reason. You see, the technology for uploading human minds to a virtual plane had been perfected. The problem lied in that the technology and coding language necessary to both remove people from, and construct a world for them to inhabit was damaged during its...acquisition. Fortunately Utopiacorp had ambition, and resources.

So corners had to be cut.

And then the big day came. One thousand of humans wealthiest where escorted to Utopiacorp’s facility. They where swiftly taken directly to what the staff( who barely registered the guests presence, much less talked to them) referred to as ‘the gate’ with not so much as  a tour. The gate consisted of row after row of seats and helmets, like some early 2000s science fiction movie come to life. They were given a brief video presentation instructing them to sit, put their helmets on, and informing them that “Utopia, is now a reality”. And with that they were in.

Utopia was, for a time, a reality. Seemingly endless decadent plazas intertwined with fantasy landscapes, impossible structures and moving artwork dazzled the guests, who could barely comprehend the experience. They couldn’t even feel as their empty, mindless bodies were removed from the seats, and incinerated. Of course there were still problems, subtle wavers in the reality, objects disappearing at random and occasionally, muffled sounds with no apparent source. However these went completely unnoticed by the guests, as they where enthralled by the sheer variety of possibilities: Endless banquets at which one could eat but never get full, sections in which people could fly through the digital clouds, movies in which every scene was tangible and fully 3 dimensional.

Nobody even noticed when people started to disappear. Utopiacorp simply coded messages in stating that some participants may leave early due for family matters or business.  But slowly, one by one, the numbers started to dwindle. And by the third week, there were only 500 participants left. And that is when the bugs appeared. Or at least that’s what the Utopiacorp staff called them, in a desperate attempt to downplay the situation. But these were far more than simple errors in code.

Even the staff monitoring Utopia’s activity couldn’t help but wince as the remaining 500 realised just what was happening. The half that had supposedly left on business had returned, but they were far from human anymore. They were broken. Digital phantasms phasing into and out of the world seemingly at random.  Trapped in a perpetual state of digital reconstruction and deconstruction. Their distorted features writhing sickeningly, as if their very existence was agonising. And all was outlined with a haunting blue haze. It was on the day after their appearance that the Utopiacorp staff fell silent, and all who remained in that forsaken place new they wouldn’t be back The survivors never stood a chance, helpless, and at the mercy of the bloodcurdling electronic moans that echoed through the halls as the glitches sluggishly chased the living down. Stumbling through walls as if they were ghosts, even sometimes managing to blurt out a word or two before disintegrating any living flesh with their very touch until nothing remained. Until every human was either dead, or twisted into another one of the countless abominations that now stalked utopia.

Whilst Utopiacorp was surprised at the extent of the mishap, rapidly searching for any possible way to reverse the damage, but to no avail. Quite soon the disappearances of some of the richest people on the planet had provoked investigation into the company, but Utopiacorp was swiftly dissolved, aside from a small unofficial team, who had managed to transport the core utopia system  to an unknown location. Perhaps they were driven by lust for profit, or some sick obsession, but they were determined to fix the flaws of the system. To make utopia a reality. However they had a very  good idea of what had caused the faults. They never actually reconstructed the means to build their own digital realm. So they cut corners. They had to create a space in which they could construct a world as well as fill this world with objects and attractions. A realm of limitless possibilities that could be understood and processed by a human consciousness.

And so Utopiacorp decided. What better realm was there for creation than the human mind itself?

I don’t know how they did it, I don’t even know why. Perhaps they were driven by lust for profit, or some sick curiosity. They pried my mind open, Hooking my barely alive body up to some machine. I can still hear the never ending whir of its cooling fans. They then moulded my thoughts into whatever form they saw fit. Next they placed other consciousnesses  inside my mutilated mind. It started with animals, but then the people came. I could hear all their thought, every one, always. And the pain, I can never forget the pain.

I think, for a time, it drove me mad. Not that madness would have been out of the ordinary given the situation. But I think it was this madness that created the glitches. I still think about those poor people, they disappeared when I was removed from the system, I just wish I could apologise. I just wish it could end.  But it won’t, that is why I am writing this,  i have somehow managed to figure out how to move parts of my consciousness into computers in order to make them do things, so I’m writing this on a nearby laptop, and it should upload to the internet, but I know not were. But I have to let people know what happened, what these people did to me and countless others, I know not where I am stored, I could be in a basement, I could be in your area, and My barely alive corpse is hooked up to a computer, used by people who want to place countless people within the machine, I’m not asking anyone to come and save me. But if you hear about anything even remotely similar to the Utopia project, do not get involved, and if anyone approaches you about it, run.

Utopia is a lie

[bad-idealist]

i think imma post once a week, but honestly i didn’t exactly plan any of this. so i’ll see how it goes.

[bad-idealist]

The End

What if, about 20 years ago, the world faced the apocalypse. But not some big, all consuming blaze. No gods descended from on high with fire and brimstone, no rapture, “end times”, no grand finale. Just suddenly, on a day like any other.

Piece by piece, reality just started to flake away. Not in an instant oh no. It was slow, the veil of nothingness spreading almost mercifully slow. Subtly, pieces of the world disintegrating, like the edges of long worn pages in an old book.

So naturally, people rioted. They partied, they drank, they indulged. Embracing the freedom that the end of days had provided. Or at least they did, for a while. But humanity very quickly realised. It wasn’t that easy. Once the feelings of freedom fell away, they were quickly replaced by existential fear. Despair, for everyone knew what was coming.

But it never seemed to come.

Now, imagine what life would be like for a child to be raised in this dying world, a young boy perhaps, no more than 16 by the time things finally flickered out Having to grow up knowing that he would never enter adulthood, he should have turned 16 in the final year, just three months after the end of time itself. Imagine the parents, desperately trying to put a positive spin on life, despite the oncoming nothingness. To add to the anticlimax of it all, the world didn’t even descend into anarchy. Society functioned on, just as it always had, despite the choking uneasiness that encapsulated it. Right up until the last year, the last day.

Finally, imagine those last few seconds, the last ever seconds.

The young boy sat in a hallway, his back to his bedroom door. Yet he does not cry, he does not run. Instead he just sits, and watches. The slow creeping of empty blackness just down the hall, sucking the light, the very air from the shrinking space. Imagine the feeling when it finally reaches him. The first touch of non-existence. The edge of reality itself at his feet. Not being able to feel it but watching as his legs drifted away.

Still, he does not cry.

He remembers his family, his friends, maybe a girl. All of which were surely gone by now. He’d like to think that he’d be joining them somewhere soon, somewhere nice. But the feeling as the abyss crawls over his heart tells him that this is it. This is the end. And has his brief, seemingly pointless life flashes before his eyes, the lower half of his face beginning to tear away into the dark.

And finally, he sheds a single tear.

It rolls softly down his cheek, only to fade along with his eyes, then his hair and the door behind him, until nothing remained.

But still, the boy was not sad. For the tear was a tear of joy. Joy because all he had seen in life, despite the ultimate futility of it all. Because in those final moments. He saw everything that had ever happened to him. Everything he had ever cared about, no matter how small, everything and everyone he had ever loved. His friends, his family, his passions, all the times he’d smiled.

And he had decided that all he had, was good enough for him.

The end, of everything

[bad-idealist]

so lets start by adding a lil context shall we? I am just another confused teen who doesnt know what to do with their life, However I know what i love. That would be writing, or at least creating, stories. I could sit and ponder all day, thinking up worlds, races and characters. Although there is a slight problem. I don’t know if they’re actually any good. so this blog will act as sort of an experiment to get opinions on my ideas and, hopefully, improve. Now, i’ll stop rambling and actually post something (possibly) worth reading.