Open eyes. Dome above your head. Lying on the cold hard concrete floor among other unconscious bodies. The dome above your head groans and begins to open, revealing a black sky spotted with stars. Then everything explodes.
You see your fellow travelers jerk awake, upright, running, hiding, searching for weapons. You run too. When you look back, the centre of the domed area is empty beneath the open night sky and the descending ships – except for one body. You swear and run back, grabbing her arm and pull – she’s heavy, but you drag her out of the way behind a pile of rubble. She coughs and opens her eyes as you shake her, pulling her to her knees. Glancing around wildly, you spot a piece of metal pole or pipe, and you grab it. Running back to her, you place a hand on her shoulder and ask if she’s alright. She nods. You nod back, and run off the field into the tunnels.
The corridors are full of rubble, sometimes you’re in the open air and sometimes you’re not. You run jerkily, always looking over your shoulder. Suddenly, in a large semi-open space full of rubble, the explosions still overhead – little alien creatures are swarming you. You lay about them with your impromptu staff, but it’s unwieldy and you can’t pull off a Neo – they’d just grip your ankles anyway. Spying a broadsword in the rubble, you drop your pipe and grab that instead. That’s better. Lay the unholy smackdown upon the little alien buggers, they seem to be getting thinner, disappearing. You see other people, but they have their own problems.
It’s her. The one you saved. She has a sword too, and a paranoid gleam in her eyes. You approach her and she charges you wildly. You are proficient at sword-fighting, but she has brute strength and overpowers you. You feel your sword pushed to the side, a blow to the head, you are on the ground. Her sword is touching the base of your throat, just above the collarbone. She smiles and thrusts – you jerk, gasp one breath and lie still. Death is cold.
The party is an impromptu one, a sort of mute coalition attempting to help the injured. The big one is a sorcerer of some kind, the others don’t know – none speaks her language. They come across a body, lying by a pile of rubble. It is quite obviously dead, although the only mark upon it is the ragged hole at the base of the neck. Beyond saving, but the sorcerer places a hand upon its shoulder and points. They lift up the body and carry it to the designated safe place, one leg dangling. Before they leave again, the sorcerer mutters something and touches the body’s forehead.
A numb prickling, like your legs have gone to sleep. Then suddenly you jerk awake, gasping for breath, and practically summersault to your knees, coughing and gasping. You put a hand to your throat. It comes away wet and sticky with cold, red blood. Very cold. The wound is open but not bleeding Your skin is clammy, like you’ve just recovered from a fever. Your eyes feel dry, but at the same time you can see more than you could before. Strength warms your body, you stand and feel the new power of your muscles. You grin.
Finding another sword, a thin sharp piece of death like a long dagger, and you walk out into the storm. She killed me. I saved her, and she killed me. How could she? You walk through the battles as though they are not there, and they don’t notice you, each fighter engrossed in their own enemy. As you are in yours.She will die for this. Her eyes widen when she sees you, she gasps. You advance upon her, she turns and runs. You follow. She will not escape. You are a machine, cold-blooded revenge is your only programming. She finally reaches a corner, whirls to fight you, but you are the stronger one now. You grip her throat. Her yes roll up and she breaks free, but you slash across her belly and she falls. You are standing over her.
Oh, how the tables have turned. This is the same position she had you in before she killed you. Now I shall have my revenge. Your sword pricks the base of her throat and you freeze, a momentary tableau of death. I’ve won. I should kill her. She killed me. The dead killing the living… could set a dangerous precedent. I should kill her… You cannot. With a jerk of the elbow you send the sword flying, and stalk away.
The battlefield turns your mind. You walk straight through it like a ghost (haha). There is a large pile of rubble. You climb it. Seated at the top, you can see the entire battlefield. There seems no side nor purpose. Small groups band together momentarily only to turn on each other or be destroyed by someone with superior weaponry.
There is movement on your mountaintop. You vaguely recognise the sorcerer who brought you to life before, although you never actually saw her. She hands you an impromptu cup made of a broken plaque – you can just make out the words "D of the West W" from the rim to the red liquid inside it. She pushes it upon you. You drink, and feel the strength coursing through your veins – hot strength. Real blood. Raising a hand to the wound in your throat, you find it gone. You feel alive again, and more than alive – but not human. You allow them to pull you off the mountain.
Again, you wander through the battlefield, half-seeing it as your vision swims with newfound power. So much power. You feel new muscles rippling, you stretch and grin and – they are on either side of you. They seem so small and insignificant now, as they try to pull you away, so alien in their – they want help? Or what? Let go of me. They try to drag you away. They! What right have they? What power have they? Your eyes cloud over. Everything is red. You feel the blood lust rise up in your newly repaired throat. Slash. What’s this? Metal claws extend from your fingertips, the small pain nothing in your state of blind rage. You grin. That’s more like it.
Before you even think about it, the sorcerer and her accomplice are dead. The blood drips from your claws, and you want more. Well, you are on a battlefield, right? You run, and you slash, and you kill.
Suddenly you feel fire graze the side of your abdomen. You look up, the red haze aprtly clearing from your vision. They’re shooting at you. Who let them shoot at you?! You try to run, but they surround you on all sides. You feel bullets rip through your shoulder, your leg, your stomach, and you fall to the ground, writhing in agony.
You stagger upright, teeth bared, they will DIE and there is a short girl in front of you. A metre and a half distance, out of claw reach.
Your eyes meet. She raises her gun.
A loud noise. And everything goes dark.
( Wanna know WTF I’m talking about? )
You see your fellow travelers jerk awake, upright, running, hiding, searching for weapons. You run too. When you look back, the centre of the domed area is empty beneath the open night sky and the descending ships – except for one body. You swear and run back, grabbing her arm and pull – she’s heavy, but you drag her out of the way behind a pile of rubble. She coughs and opens her eyes as you shake her, pulling her to her knees. Glancing around wildly, you spot a piece of metal pole or pipe, and you grab it. Running back to her, you place a hand on her shoulder and ask if she’s alright. She nods. You nod back, and run off the field into the tunnels.
The corridors are full of rubble, sometimes you’re in the open air and sometimes you’re not. You run jerkily, always looking over your shoulder. Suddenly, in a large semi-open space full of rubble, the explosions still overhead – little alien creatures are swarming you. You lay about them with your impromptu staff, but it’s unwieldy and you can’t pull off a Neo – they’d just grip your ankles anyway. Spying a broadsword in the rubble, you drop your pipe and grab that instead. That’s better. Lay the unholy smackdown upon the little alien buggers, they seem to be getting thinner, disappearing. You see other people, but they have their own problems.
It’s her. The one you saved. She has a sword too, and a paranoid gleam in her eyes. You approach her and she charges you wildly. You are proficient at sword-fighting, but she has brute strength and overpowers you. You feel your sword pushed to the side, a blow to the head, you are on the ground. Her sword is touching the base of your throat, just above the collarbone. She smiles and thrusts – you jerk, gasp one breath and lie still. Death is cold.
The party is an impromptu one, a sort of mute coalition attempting to help the injured. The big one is a sorcerer of some kind, the others don’t know – none speaks her language. They come across a body, lying by a pile of rubble. It is quite obviously dead, although the only mark upon it is the ragged hole at the base of the neck. Beyond saving, but the sorcerer places a hand upon its shoulder and points. They lift up the body and carry it to the designated safe place, one leg dangling. Before they leave again, the sorcerer mutters something and touches the body’s forehead.
A numb prickling, like your legs have gone to sleep. Then suddenly you jerk awake, gasping for breath, and practically summersault to your knees, coughing and gasping. You put a hand to your throat. It comes away wet and sticky with cold, red blood. Very cold. The wound is open but not bleeding Your skin is clammy, like you’ve just recovered from a fever. Your eyes feel dry, but at the same time you can see more than you could before. Strength warms your body, you stand and feel the new power of your muscles. You grin.
Finding another sword, a thin sharp piece of death like a long dagger, and you walk out into the storm. She killed me. I saved her, and she killed me. How could she? You walk through the battles as though they are not there, and they don’t notice you, each fighter engrossed in their own enemy. As you are in yours.She will die for this. Her eyes widen when she sees you, she gasps. You advance upon her, she turns and runs. You follow. She will not escape. You are a machine, cold-blooded revenge is your only programming. She finally reaches a corner, whirls to fight you, but you are the stronger one now. You grip her throat. Her yes roll up and she breaks free, but you slash across her belly and she falls. You are standing over her.
Oh, how the tables have turned. This is the same position she had you in before she killed you. Now I shall have my revenge. Your sword pricks the base of her throat and you freeze, a momentary tableau of death. I’ve won. I should kill her. She killed me. The dead killing the living… could set a dangerous precedent. I should kill her… You cannot. With a jerk of the elbow you send the sword flying, and stalk away.
The battlefield turns your mind. You walk straight through it like a ghost (haha). There is a large pile of rubble. You climb it. Seated at the top, you can see the entire battlefield. There seems no side nor purpose. Small groups band together momentarily only to turn on each other or be destroyed by someone with superior weaponry.
There is movement on your mountaintop. You vaguely recognise the sorcerer who brought you to life before, although you never actually saw her. She hands you an impromptu cup made of a broken plaque – you can just make out the words "D of the West W" from the rim to the red liquid inside it. She pushes it upon you. You drink, and feel the strength coursing through your veins – hot strength. Real blood. Raising a hand to the wound in your throat, you find it gone. You feel alive again, and more than alive – but not human. You allow them to pull you off the mountain.
Again, you wander through the battlefield, half-seeing it as your vision swims with newfound power. So much power. You feel new muscles rippling, you stretch and grin and – they are on either side of you. They seem so small and insignificant now, as they try to pull you away, so alien in their – they want help? Or what? Let go of me. They try to drag you away. They! What right have they? What power have they? Your eyes cloud over. Everything is red. You feel the blood lust rise up in your newly repaired throat. Slash. What’s this? Metal claws extend from your fingertips, the small pain nothing in your state of blind rage. You grin. That’s more like it.
Before you even think about it, the sorcerer and her accomplice are dead. The blood drips from your claws, and you want more. Well, you are on a battlefield, right? You run, and you slash, and you kill.
Suddenly you feel fire graze the side of your abdomen. You look up, the red haze aprtly clearing from your vision. They’re shooting at you. Who let them shoot at you?! You try to run, but they surround you on all sides. You feel bullets rip through your shoulder, your leg, your stomach, and you fall to the ground, writhing in agony.
You stagger upright, teeth bared, they will DIE and there is a short girl in front of you. A metre and a half distance, out of claw reach.
Your eyes meet. She raises her gun.
A loud noise. And everything goes dark.
( Wanna know WTF I’m talking about? )
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