gail-creator - Tumblr blog

[gail-creator]

Writing Prompts #7

1. “What a weird looking dog.” “That’s a chinchilla.”

2. “You can’t just casually break into the Pentagon!” 

3. “‘Oh, let’s poke it with a stick!’ he says, ‘It won’t explode!’ he says. ‘No, not toxic at all!’ he says.”

4. “I do not get paid enough for this.”

5. “In my defense, you did say by any means necessary.”

6. “Don’t speak to me in that tone of pun!”

7. “How many bananas do they have?” “Enough to be in a math problem.”

8. “To be fair, he did say he had a gun.”

9. “That is not how you kidnap someone.” 

10. “And that’s why owning a camel is now illegal.” 

11. “I have chocolate.”

12. “A … horse … wedding?”

13. “This is not a quest.” 

14. “You caught me; I spit in them.”

15. “If she gets a baby, can I have a penguin?” 

[gail-creator]

Chewbacca must now lead this colony to one of their foe's outposts and destroy it. Will he be able to win this fight or will the droid armies conquer all?

[gail-creator]

Now Captain Antilles must put aside his desire to free the people of Fresia to rescue the scientists before they're sealed beneath the Empire's most dangerous prison.

[gail-creator]

With our help, will our heroes make it through the streets of Theed to the hangars where their only means of escape lays?

Come kick back as we dive into the Lego universe of one of the largest franchises in science fiction.

[gail-creator]

[gail-creator]

Come kick back as we dive into the Lego universe of one of the largest franchises in science fiction.

[gail-creator]

Join us as we continue to follow Chewbacca's journey from young warrior to the inspiring leader he is today!

[gail-creator]

New episode for Company of Heroes is up!!

[gail-creator]

New video is up!! Hope you lot enjoy :D

[gail-creator]

Dunkirk

I can’t believe we’re actually going to try this. The idea might have worked over a century ago, but that was during a time wence combat was contained to the detectable, to what the human eye could see with little assistance from things like radar and sonar.

Not in modern combat.

“Hold steady at final waypoint, Helm.”

“Aye captain,” the helmsman responds softly. “Coming up on final waypoint now.”

The rumble of the destroyers quad core thermoreactor falls to a hestiante vibration. Not many use the Delta class destroyer, fewer still faithfully command it from it’s unique ‘sunken’ bridge situated just forward of the engineering section, deep within the armored warship.

“Holding steady.”

“Thank you, Helm.” Facing the tacdisplay to the rear of the bridge, I study the dots, numbers and letters listing the displacements of warships, obstacles, defense arraries and the objectives.

“This ain’t gonna be easy,” my tactical officer mumbles.

“All ships, all ships, this is Fleet Admiral Yamamoto, commander of the Free Asian Navy Battleship Tokyo.” I stiffen at the sudden announcement. “All fleet elements gathered here are being merged into my command until such time as we accomplish our mission. Civilian  supply conveys have been trapped in this system by Deverish Assault fleets. Our job is to escort the volunteer rescue fleet as they deploy to secure any and all survivors amongst the debris and embattled.”

“He sure does like to run his mouth.”

I nod in agreement, saying, “It comes with the celebrity status. Helm!”

“Captain?”

“Plot a course in system, sent it to those assigned to our element and our charges. Three quarter impulse.”

I turn to the weapon’s station.

“Tactical, arm all silos and tubes.”

“Copy that, ma’am. Arm missile silos and torpedo tubes.”

“Course laid in…” the helm’s officer turns to comms. “Ready for transmission.”

I see my lead communications officer hold up her hand, slowly counting from four, fingers dropping with each number, and mouthing ‘done’ the moment her arm begins to drop.

And so it begins.

“All squardon elements, make intra-system jump.” I avidly stare down the mission chrono. “Now!”

Four zeroes slam red moments after I speak and I watch several other warships lurch forward along invisible paths leading into the danger zone. My brain rejects the idea, the lunacy that is high command’s decision to fly into a known, yet widely unexplored nebula.

“Fighter escort is ready for drop orders.”

My eyes drift to the little carrier symbol, a triangle with two rectangles off it’s longest side.

My eyes then drift to an enhanced view of our course whereupon I spot a nasty navigation obstacle for our larger vessels.

Asteroids.

While never truly close enough to stop a headstrong or foolhardy ship captain, these drifting debris from the formation of the solar system are large enough to cause navigation problems for the carriers as their slow maneuvering speeds never allow, the English have been turning asteroids around their territory into free floating mines, effectively squeezing invading warships into tightly packed formations.

“Tactical, fire a salvo of torpedoes into that field, wide spread.” A screen pops up to my right. “On my mark.”

I can see the paths each torpedo will take, the rotation of the asteroids, the speed of the element around my vessel.

There!

“Fire!”

“Torpedoes away.”

“Friendlies moving to avoid torps,” My communications officer speaks up. “Birds are leaving nest.”

I watch the swarm of smaller craft now clouding the carrier symbol, almost entirely obscuring its place on tactical display on the main screen.

The torpedoes will take time, maybe a little more than ten minutes.

“Helm, shut down the engines. Let us drift along our current heading. Comms, the other captains are to do the same.”

“Aye ser, transmitting now.”

“Engines going into standby.” the helmsman turns to face me. “We're drifting now, ma'am.”

A nod from me turns the helmsman back to their station, the bridge falling quiet as time drags on longer. There is always a chance something can go wrong, and those odds only grow as the operation grows more complex.

I sigh, pulling the operation file onto a display beside my right arm.

[OPERATION DUNKIRK

THIS FILE IS FOR COMMAND CODE TWENTY THREE DELTA AND HIGHER. ALL TRACE WILL BE TERMINATED IF ACCESSED BY UNAUTHORISED COMMAND CODES OR IF A COPY IS ATTEMPTED TO BE MADE.

LOCATION: Quadrant Twenty Eight, Imperial British Space. Asteroid Cluster Twenty Twenty Nine.

OBJECTIVES

Escort civilian and unarmed military vessels to mission area.

Defend fleet as survivors of OPERATION {REDACTED} are evacuated.

Provide rear guard and or flank defence of civilian and unarmed military vessels to jump coordinates.

Jump coordinates will be provided upon evacuation of survivors.

IN THE EVENT OF AMBUSH, INITIATE PROTOCOL DELTA EIGHT EIGHT.

IN THE EVENT YOUR VESSEL IS BOARDED, INITIATE PROTOCOL SIERRA DELTA THREE TWO.

END TRANSMISSION]

It seems so easy.

Yet there are too many what ifs.

Letting a sigh escape from my lips, I glance over to my second in command.

“Are all vessels ready?”

I see the markers representing our torpedoes vanish from the main screen, taking several of the asteroids off the display too.

“Aye captain.”

“Comms, all captains are to resume; half speed, same heading.” A thought occurs to me. “Comms, go ship wide. Play Trevor Morris, Dragon Age accompaniment ‘The Inquisition Marches’, if you will.”

No one questions the unusual request. If anything, my communications officer nods in understanding as they broadcast the melody through the ship's PA system.

“All Elements, active scans are detecting enemy fleet movement around our three asteroids.”

I jerk a nod in the direction of my sensor officer, and see our own scanners go live, active springing up around three asteroids, each marked with a pulsing green.

Normandy.

Gallipoli.

Verdun.

“Tactical! Primary batteries to railgun configuration, secondary batteries to energy fire. Bring Anti Starfighter and Point Defense arrays online. Helm, bring us down ten degrees, assault velocity. Comms, spread the word to the rest of the Element; only engage when a critical is guaranteed and don't go off chasing the British.”

“Aye captain, communique is sent.”

“Cycling secondary batteries energy capacitors.”

“Primary weapons engaging recoil. Rounds materialising.”

“Dropping ten degrees relative to solar plane.”

“Starfighters are coming along our flanks. Thirty minutes out from maximum firing range.”

That's the trouble with combat nowadays.

If you can see you're enemy well enough to prepare, you can be damn sure that they too are ready.

“Fourth Element is engaging fringe units, twenty thousand kilometres out from target, sustaining non critical damage.”

“Second Element diverting course to assist. Estimated time, ten minutes.”

“XO, what is our time from the Second and Fourth Elements?”

“Twenty minutes, ma'am.”

Too long.

And I can't risk my command trying to support two other Elements in among these floating debris.

But still… something doesn't quite feel right.

“Comms, inform Captain Jericho to deploy his complement of Starbombers.” I turn the chair around to face forward, climbing out of it. “I want the starfighters covering them at all times. Tactical, I need you to pick out targets of opportunity for the bombers.”

“Aye captain.”

“Captain Jericho has confirmed the order.”

A group of ovals separate from carrier symbol, the bomber squadron’s representation steadily putting the carrier behind them. Lacing my fingers together, I press my form into the cushioned command chair and watch as the Elements new vanguard force separates and accelerates past the former asteroid mines.

“Commander Alexandra, situation report.”

“Admiral Yamato, Thirteenth Element is accelerating toward our objective.” A flick of my hand cues the helmsman in. “Resistance is negligible, will update as the situation unfolds.”

Dull flashes across the forward screen steal my gaze.

“Tactical, report!”

“Bombers clearing a path, ser. Zero contacts.”

Intently watching the screen ahead continues to update with information as sensor pings return from the vanguard ships. Even with this information I know there's more to be seen, enemy forces just out of range or hiding around the next asteroid.

“Time to objective?”

“Estimated time is forty minutes, ser.”

Wringing my fingers under my chin soothes some of the adrenaline throbbing into my blood, the knife twisting emotion twinging any time some chunk of solar debris sails past a destroyer or civilian pleasure craft.

The dull flash from the alarms doesn't help me in the slightest.

“Number Two, report.”

Wary of the significance behind the flashing and the asteroids floating around the formation, I swivel my chair around to face their station when no answer is forthcoming.

“Number Two!”

“E-enemy battlecruiser… it’s coming around the third asteroid from our portside escort, its anti ship defenses are tearing apart the vanguard.” His hands are gracing across the board before him. “Our path will run right through that battlecruiser if we don't do something.”

“Of course it will.”

The utterance was for my ears only however I know from the twitch on my Second’s left hand that he heard the bite in my voice, understood the lack of resonate criticism.

Weight begins to slip sideways as the forward view shifts away from the closing English starship, the forming path carrying the mass that is my own starship away from the hostile field of fire and a potential catastrophe.

Fuck that.

“Helm, bring us back on our previous heading, cut engines and bring us around to Port. Tactical, target that battlecruiser with the everything we have.” My feet root themselves to the decking. “We're going to clear a path for the civvies.”

“Aye cap’n,” the Helm officer signals. “Returning to previous heading.”

“Primary and Secondary weapon systems locking on target. Firing solutions coming in now.” A series of reticles paint across the forward view. “StSs are going hot.”

My cheeks crinkle with a smirk, my mind racing several steps ahead, ever adjusting and revising the plan forming in my mind, locking my arms in the small of my back to further reinforce the stance I hold before my crew.

There’s another shift, more subtle than the previous, and the artificial gravity drops into obscurity as the shift of the warship carries past the initial inertia. The familiar hum from the core drops as we begin to drift, with considerable velocity, ever closer to the enemy position with our starboard exposed to their fire.

“Kill shots only, Tactical,” I bark. “Run it down the line.”

“Aye captain.”

Fire lashes out from the English warship, scoring glancing blows across the bow and stern while scarring the starboard armor plating. Engineering begins calling out damage reports and initial assessments detailing the extent of the punishment we are taking.

Still, we must get closer.

The decking beneath my feet buckles and rushes to meet me, only for my head to glance off the steel and for me to begin floating toward the ceiling.

“Artificial gravity is suffering power shortages.” I watch the engineering officer glance around. “Captain?”

“Eyes on your stations crew!” I bark, trying to orient myself, my feet aimed deck ward. “Gunners, open fire!”

Strobes of light lance forward from the forward main batteries, hyper velocity shells within the globs of light being flung forward, brighten the forward view screen moments before it dims to black.

“Tactical display on the main.” I shunt off the ceiling and float toward the center. “Call out the hits.”

“All shots absorbed before detention occurred.”

“Concentrate fire on their propulsion section.” I let a moment pass. “Open fire!”

Shudders through the decking are the only warning we get that the warship’s armaments have fired again, flinging more material toward the closing enemy ship. Tactical calls out again, reporting a single strike across the port engine housing of the battlecruiser, a glancing blow if anything else.

But I'll take what we can score.

“Primary arraries, switch to shock mode.”

Lights around the bridge dim substantially, a slight flicker to console screens the only warning that the gunnery crews heeded my instruction and have resumed firing upon the battlecruiser. Those on the bridge immediately around me scurry to adjust their stations to avoid losing control of the destroyer to a power overload.

The shock mode for the four primary weapon arraries draws more energy from the thermoreactors to supercharge the magnetic rails, propelling shells at, up to, triple the standard firing velocity, with the drawbacks including a slower firing rate and lower heat efficiency.

“Port side arraries have a lead.”

“Open fire!”

Reverberations shudder through the decks despite the recoil springs keeping the twin rails of each array from tearing free from their housings. Six lances of light slash out, two thirds slamming into asteroids or wrecks, the remaining two grazing the upper and lower bridge shields respectively. I duck reflectively as the British returning fire slams into the forward cannons, shields flaring bright under the burden.

“Portside Array Three is disabled, all crew lost.”

Yet, there hadn’t been any warning signals, nothing foreshadowing the failure of the shields.

This can’t have happened…

“Analysis, science?”

“Data is inconclusive, however scans are yet to be completed,” comes the swift reply from my science officer. “Our shields are still operational, refreshing rate is nominal.”

“Unlock the ventral and dorsal batteries,” Tactical is barking, his words ringing in my ears. “All arraries are to switch to solid projectiles.”

H-how… could they have…

“Ventral battery a’justing for spin.”

Nothing is able to penetrate Inquisition shields...

“Dorsal battery has a lock and is about to lead.”

N-nothing…

“Batteries are fully charged an’ ready ta fire. Target's a’justing its course.”

“Captain?”

I glance up from the arm display and do my best to swallow the globe lodging itself in my throat. My Tactical officer is waiting beside his station, hand blocking his mic, eyes intently urging. I let my gaze drift across the bridge, noting that everyone holds the same uriging intent in their eyes.

I suppose it really doesn't matter how it happened, it just did and we must insure that another hit like that or worse befalls us or the civilian craft within our Element.

“Scopes are picking up multiple hostiles coming around from the dark side of the target asteroid,” Tactical calls out. “Science, what are you ge’ing?”

“Energy readings are spiking across the board.” The science officer falls silent.

Light snaps out from the English battleship, our own railguns strobing with energy as we exchange fire while the destroyer drifts ever closer to the larger vessel. Crew occasionally stagger around me when the English score a hit against us, often stumbling over unless someone else intervenes before their heads connect with anything solid.

Damage reports continue to cycle through to the bridge; the starboard hangar is sealed shut by a glancing blow, compartments along the upper portside decks have either been breached or are damaged beyond operational use, the portside battery has been confirmed to be inaccessible from within the ship without risking the rest of the crew and our shield refreshers are beginning to toe their red lines.

I'm about to demand a response from my science officer when we're struck squarely by the enemy warship, alarms screeching and lights flickering as power from the core falters for the briefest of moments.

“Somebody report!”

Science groans when the adjust them self at their station.

“Energy readings from that hit match whatever knocked out portside Array Three, definitely not one of ours and the energy sensors picked up something off the charts moments before impact. The computer is triangulating from what data our sensors have picked up.”

“Navigation, begin plotting for a Rift jump, I want possible trajectories that will carry us pass that battleship without leaving us vulnerable to return fire. Helm, keep us moving, I don't want to take anymore hits like that last one unless we're covering the civilians, understood?”

“Aye cap’n. Increasing to Attack speed, down angle dropping to three point seven seven nine degrees. Engaging operational maneuvering thrusters.”

“All weapons arraries are adjusting for course correction,” Tactical sounds off. “Torpedo launches detected, tracking them now.”

“Triangulation complete! Right in the middle of the fleet crossing the asteroid's equator.” The science officer, now they've got my attention, gestures toward the midsize screen beside them. “There it is.”

I stare at the peculiar construct the sensors are being aimed at, noting the large barrel like centerpiece protruding from within what appeared to be a loose ball of large, rotating panels. What the sensors could see of the engines gives the idea that they are either embedded into the “sphere” of panels or loosely attached behind the rest of the construct.

“A glass cannon? Sir, if the English fleet have deployed one to this system, the rest of the fleet may not be able to survive a retreat from the system.” The Tactical officer comes into view, tapping on the screen. “And if they have one here, there's no way of telling how many more could possibly be here.”

I nod my head, eyes tracing the Elements path to the asteroid. To get the civilian ships surface side there can't be anything left to chance and that requires clearing out any entrenched defenses nearby.

“Nav, are those coordinates locked in?” A nod from the officer puts a grim smile on my face. “All hands, all hands, abandon ship. I repeat, all hands, aban-”

“We're not going anywhere.” My XO salutes firmly.

Sending a glare at the officer, I collapse back onto the command chair, gaze returning to the main viewport and the stars, asteroids and debris ahead. Beyond that, I can not see what the ship can see, can not determine who will survive if we Rift into the center of the enemy formation.

Because I can't protect them all.

Yet they're choosing to stay.

Pulling a ragged breath into my lungs, I give him a nod.

“Alright, to your stations. Nav, start counting down; Helm, begin corkscrewing the ship, portside; Tactical, coordinate with Weapons and the weapon crews to begin inflicting maximum damage as soon we exit Riftspace.”

The XO turns to me.

“On your order, cap’n.”

“Jump!”

The destroyer begins to roll over, spinning around its central axis in an ever increasing twirl toward the Rift tearing into the fabric of space and time just ahead.

“Operational weapons are reporting readiness, sir!” Tactical reports. “Missile pods are armed, and we have torpedoes in all eight forward tubes.”

“Crossing through the Rift in t-minus twenty.”

“All hands brace for Rift!” I bark into the intercom, fingers tightening around the bar above my head.

“Crossing in ten…”

The Rift tears wider apart, edges crackling with dimensional energy.

“Nine…”

It's spinning now, like a cosmic whirlpool.

“Eight…”

Debris is beginning to fall in.

“Seven…”

Collisions are increasing as the vortex snares increasingly more debris within it's jaws, the event horizon pulsing as smaller chunks fall through into Riftspace to be amongst the celestial debris already dancing on the other side.

“Six…”

Time begins to warp around me, light waves dancing into sight around the bridge crew.

“Five…”

A jolt runs into my legs when the destroyer begins grazing the event horizon.

“Four…”

Flares of light appear across the view screen.

“Three…”

Debris is splintering and cascading across the starship's shields.

They'll hold.

“Two…”

Details are coming through the rift aperture, floating platform like rocks and asteroids that make up the extra dimensional plane, a labyrinth not meant for mortals to venture through.

“One… Rifting!”

[gail-creator]

It’s getting late, but I was overcome with the desire to practice...

[gail-creator]

[gail-creator]

That's what they say.

Fear Him, the Great Spirit.

His worshipers fear the great spirit for they lack an understanding of His purpose, the greater purpose of all sentient life.

Entering His realm was blasphemy they claim, heresy it is, for the living to enter the Crystalline City.

Only the worthy among the deceased may enter.

But called me did He, a firm call among my dreams.

Lunatic, crazy, they assure me I am.

Heretic they will call me, blasphemer they shall announce.

Herald of the Great One, I am not.

Fear Him?

Fear Him not, for I was called by thee to do thy's bidding.

A Herald I am not.

Harbringer of His kindness, love and peace, this I know to be my purpose.

My blade is His, in peace and war.

My shield will guard His creation from the Eternal Darkness.

My lips, a piece for His Will to echo forth from.

Touched by the Great One I have been, His Loyal Harbringer.

I am Kardeth Siluna, First Inquisitor, the Great Harbringer.

Fear Him by Artem Demura

[gail-creator]

"You didn't put the salt in front of the door?!" I seethed, slapping his shoulder. "I told you..."

"I know, I know," he growls, reaching beneath his side of the bed. "That shit stings though."

I roll off my side of the bed as my boyfriend springs back around, shortsword in hand and gleaming dully in the moonlight. My fingers creep around the curve of my bow and I yank it out from under the bed.

"I couldn't care less if your poor little demonic hands get singed keeping the package safe." I nock an arrow and loose it into the nearest specture. "Hands I can heal, a head, I can not."

I roll forward, ducking under the gleam of Craig's sword and stab another arrow through the eye of a hellhound whilst tearing another demon from its feet with a backward flick of my bow.

We fall into a silent rhythmic dance, our bodies flicking this way and that around the room, always avoiding the other's weapon of choice while also trying to keep out of the reach of the many demon's crawling forth from the small rift in the corner of the room.

"Aerde Kel na Sekea!"

A pulse of light burns through the hording demons, radiating from an arrow in a limping demon retreating toward the rift. Then Craig’s sword flashes past me, slicing through several of the dark creatures before lodging itself at the upper lip of the rift.

"Kal cre Ducua!"

White blooms forth from within the rift, tearing it asunder, the demonic creatures closest to the ethereal gateway jerking away from the light as the beams tear across their harden skin and sear rotten flesh from cracked bone. I through myself forward, catching two blades on the wood of my bow, shunting the demons back toward the light, as I position myself to shield Craig from the rays of purity.

The white pulses once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Then dies, collapsing the rift in on itself.

Ash, darkened remants of the creatures from one hell or another, now coats the floor and a gradient, centering from the rift's previous occupation, appears with the carpet itself burned clean in the epicenter.

"We need to keep moving," he breathes, his weight shifting onto mine. "They're not safe when we stop."

"Craig..." My voice is just as soft, bow held limply.

"Justice, honey, we need to go."

I wobble, unsure of where I am. Darkness encroaches from the edges of my vision, something sticky running down my arm.

"C-Craig..." I look down at the bow.

No... I was careful...

"Craig..." I choke the word past the ball forming in my throat.

"No, Justice, no..." His arms wrap around me, one hand cradling my head against his chest while he pulls me to the floor. "Baby, you have to hold on, okay?"

Spirits are dancing at the edge of my vision now, little green and blue spectres crawling, scaling and absailing across my boyfriend's right shoulder. They look... Kinda, well, familiar...

Like a friend you haven't seen in a long time.

Or a family you thought was lost to time.

"No, no, no..." He's sobbing. He never cries.

Demons can't cry.

"H-hey..." My palm raises to rest against his cheek, my thumb striking the tear from his beautiful face. "I... I'm fine..."

His eyes swim with grief, the only way I know he doesn't believe me.

"You..." Cough. "You h-ha-ve to ke-" Cough. "Keep going Cr-Craig..." I blink, trying to see his eyes. "I'll see... See you ag-" Cough. "Again soon, yeah?"

"Yeah..." He nods slowly, one hand cradling mine. "And we'll drink wine and tell stories of our deeds to the others."

I nod, or try to, when a series of coughs cut through my body, blood spluttering from between my lips.

It's getting hard to stay grounded, I can feel my control fading quicker now, my fingers growing numb as the pain begins to tear cracks in my mind.

"F-for Peace..." My voice cracks, lungs no longer pulling in air. "We pr-protect..."

"For peace..." His hand moves to brush against my forehead. "We fight, for peace are we called to defend against the evils of this world..."

I can't see anymore...

Time is running short...

I just want to see his face on more time...

"A-and in the n-next..."

The last I hear, before a light touches my arm, is his otherworldly anguish.

“What in the world…” I whispered, looking at growing figure at the corner of the room.

I nudged my boyfriend. 

“Craig.” I said. “Can you see that?” 

“Holy shit.” He yelped. “The demons are back.”

[gail-creator]

The avatar shivers.

"Y-yes, that is what I sa-said."

Hands lift up to dust through sand blonde hair as air explodes forth from artificial nostrils. Toes clap against the electric blue floor as the second figure paces the width of the hallway.

[You must enter the room]

"I know what I need to do."

"Talking t-to one's self is usually the f-first sign of p-paranoia."

Clap, clap, clap.

"There's a monster inside? Waiting to stab whoever enters the room first." The second figure is fiddling with their lip. "You won't go in, so I have to."

[You must enter the room]

"There r-really is only one ch-choice."

The pacing figure stops and turns back down the hallway, eyes tracing the path to the door that brought them to this choice.

"What I refuse to go through the door? Do I fail the test?"

The avatar tilts their neck. "W-what test?"

Pivoting around on their feet, the figure brushes loose strands back down.

"I... I don't know..."

[You must enter the room]

"...and if you d-don't e-enter, I'll have to k-k-kill you!!"

The avatar flings itself at the figure, slamming them both into a glass window and stabs a fragment into the figure's shoulder

"Get off me." The figure rolls over, heaving air in through their mouth. "I thought you were supposed to help me, not stab me in the rear."

Flickers of inverted color cascade through the avatar when they lunge forward, the shard of glass tinting in the artificial blood light. Thick mists roll in to the hallway, converging around the feet of the two figures and swirling around the walls.

“You must go into the room,” the avatar crocks. “You must!”

Shoving the avatar away from them, the figure twists around to take up a boxing stance with one fist raising just in front of their face.

“I don’t think I am supposed to go in there,” the figure slurs, bouncing on the balls of their feet. “My bet is that you’re the monster.”

The avatar sways slightly, stumbling forward a step.

And then another.

Bouncing back once, the figure pivots on the ball of one foot and brings their back foot up to gut height, their heel slicing through the air and...

[Simulation Terminated]

“If… If we’re going to do this, you’re the one going inside. I refused to be stabbed again.”

“Wait, again?!”

[gail-creator]

I swore it was a dream, that moment when everything changed.

Maybe it was a dream; I couldn't remember any of what happened.

Just the one word.

The one that has become my life.

Run.

At first I ignored the warning, it was only a bad dream after all, continuing on with my life as if it had never happened, having told my therapist the next morning and being told it was exactly that.

How could anyone have known what was coming.

For those who chose not to accept the new Terms and Conditions.

It happened a month after the fateful night, the first body turned up at the cemetery.

Millionaire Playboy James Dusk Jr.

Ravaged by burning knives. Or something to that effect.

The news roiled throughout the country, his private secretary had been linked to the crime and arrested, his grandfather's company was in shambles as it was effectively sold off to the highest bidding stakeholders.

Next it happened at the workplace.

Liz keeled over at her desk, just out of the blue.

And that's when I saw it.

The dark ragged cloak concealing the burning darkness that can't exist. The fear seeing that creature drove me from my station, scrambling for the door leading to...

Another of the creatures.

"Charles, your time has come."

It felt like needles, burning white hot, were piercing into my brain and pinning me to the floor.

The creature stalked ever closer, knife like claws screeching across the floor either side of it, driving the needles deeper into my mind, snagging my fear and twisting it.

Drawing forth images of an eternal torment.

An eternity of non-existence.

I couldn't live like that, I refused to.

And so I followed the advice of the voice from the morning after.

I ran.

For years I have been on the run, always a step ahead of the tormenters, never in one place or at a single pace for too long, my previous lifestyle now a fleeting wisp in the back of my mind.

"You were given a choice!"

I scramble for cover, adrenaline coursing through my heart to my limbs.

"And you declined to accept the new Terms to Life!"

I cower against the door and bite into my bottom lip to muffle the fear attempting to reveal my hideaway. I can't be found, not by the beastly creatures.

"You have avoided the virus thus far..."

The voice, I can here it getting closer.

"But no more must you run, my child."

The voice, it sounds like it is right above me.

"My child, why do you cower from your creator?"

I... I don't understand. The voice isn't in charge of the beasts? Then who...

"...Who are yo-you?"

This seems to give the voice pause, as if it needed to consider my question with much, if not all, of it's attention.

I flinch when someone rests their hand against my shoulder blade, comfort and ease spreading throughout my very being to unknot the fear and tension.

"I go by many names, I have many faces." A hand guides me, a coarse carpenter's thumb soothing the skin covering my cheekbone. "I died to save your people from the sin's of the world."

O-oh...

"Come with me, my child." The hands guide me to my feet. Your time running is over."

The pressure on my back increases slightly, guiding me forward to something... Something bright, my eyes seeing the shadows of something truely glorious.

"Welcome home, Michael."

The universe just got a new policy update. “Do you accept these terms? If not, we will delete your existence.”