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Desolation: Anamnesis – The Jungle II

Posted in Desolation, Fiction on August 12, 2010 by GuNNhead

The vines continued to snake their way through the halls. There seemed to be a focus of them in one direction, while they sort of lessened in others. The dilapidation of the facility could not be ignored, however. The work was being carried out in the basement, I needed to cross the building to get to a separate stairwell. Just because the intel was wrong about the maintenance of the main floors of the facility didn’t make this place any less dangerous, especially in my state. I walked the corridors, when I heard something following me. I drew my gun, but only to realize that the sound was my blood bleeding from my broken arm onto the floor and foliage. Bone must have broken the skin. No matter, I have a job to do. Remembering the floor plan, I kick open a few doors that reveal even more confusing puzzle pieces brought to me by the shadowy workings of C.H.A.O.S., but not so confusing that I can’t find a first aid kit.

With the dripping stopped, I made it to the stairwell. If I hadn’t memorized the layout of this place, these vines would have done a fine job of guiding me, they’re really bunched up tight in along the stairs. I got to the basement, and the same voice broke out over the central intercom system.

“Ahh, so good to see you, my old friend.”
“Senton, this ends now, whatever you have planned in this facility, consider it gone.” I make it down the first hall, and turn a corner.
“C.H.A.O.S. is a force for good, F.A.T.E. works against the natural order.”
“You won’t convince me that the sky isn’t falling down, Senton.” I keep him talking, trace the signal with the universal interface now that he was close.
“That’s Emperor Senton to you, agent, and soon the whole world.” I turned a corner, saw a figure, and fired. A dead body, strangled by vines. Walking past it, I kick open the final door, and find the central control booth, and fire a bullet into the operator. Another dead man. Dead for years. I examine the computers, and find this facility worked on two projects in close contact with Senton. NX41-2, and JM-37-L, codenames for chemicals and toxins they’ve been working on. So what happened here? Did third-party take this place down, stealing the secrets? Some sort of toxic accident? My scanners don’t pick up anything in the air. All out of data and options, it’s time to check out the labs, see what I can find there the old-fashioned way. I signal for the helicopter.

“Oh, agent, if only I could see the look of disappointment on your face. Doesn’t seem like you get to be the hero today. That old place has long since been decommissioned, but, I guess I’m a bit of a pack rat, but a few things still work. If I may offer a piece of advice, though, don’t bother with those labs.” Ignoring him, I kick open a door to the NX41-2 lab. Nothing. Completely empty. I cross the hall, and the door to the JM-37-L sector is forced open by the amount of vines. I step over them, but soon the floor gets so sick with them that I can only step on them.
“We can taste your blood.” The words whisper through the dense jungle that has coated the large room. I stop, but get side-swiped by a broken down tree trunk, and hit into the thick greenness. I fire a couple of shots into the area, and the whole thing starts shaking and erupts, breaking through the walls and roof. With the light, I can see hundreds of people, combined as one with the plants. I can also hear the helicopter, I take a few more shots, then take cover as the pilot sends a few missiles into it. I put my gun away as he drops the ladder, and I take a running leap of this giant, flaming people-tree, latching on to the hard steel with my elbow joint, we circle. Once I’m back in the helicopter, we napalm the hell out of the monster.

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That’s What She Said

Posted in Fiction, Horror, Sci-Fi, The Permanent Mind on April 28, 2010 by GuNNhead

He casually slipped his eyeball out of its socket, held it up and said “You see, it’s not so difficult.”

He knew I’d had trouble with false reality simulators in the past. I reached in, slowly pushing past my eyelids, reaching behind my eye, and popping it out. Of course, the ocular nerve followed it, and allowed it to dangle gently and freely from the open hole, the eyelids left to frantically flutter about their business, impotent.

“It’s all pointless, isn’t it?” I asked him.
“The point is what you make it, just have a lot of fun, and try to score the most points.”
A maggot slithered out of his tongue as he formed the final words, and dribbled out of his mouth when he completed.

I looked down towards the play field.
“I know six people down there, and don’t give a damn about any single one of them. Tell me why.”
“Permanence, the consciousness is trapped in permanence while the physical body is fleeting.”
“This is what you needed. You are entirely superfluous.”
“Knowledge is power, disappear as a god?”
“Return in the body of a savior…”

We transported down to the arena, game already in progress. It was really a game of numbers; the scoreboards didn’t lie, but the truth in it only mattered if you cared. It was a path of bodies. None would be alive, never needing to have been. It was a small part of life, a new way to reimagine. A grand prix of self-destruction. The rules were based in reality, as they all are, for it’s what most go off of; gravity, physics, all mostly non-altered, expect for entertainment value, there was no positive or negative affects to discern.

One life, countless deaths. The computerized apocalypse. A simulation of the tenacity of the dead alive. Levels of distance, the dead rise from the graves. How many have died? No matter. How many have joined life? Since the apocalypse? Millions, more every day. Once the dead win, will they reboot, or will the dead truly inhabit the entirety of this world? Maybe a new server. A new change at life, a new opportunity to die.

A friend request from beyond the grave. She was so pretty when she killed me. Revenge. Fuck. I accept. It feels so good to love the pain. I invite her to transport to out location. It’s dangerous if there are factions of hunting parties, but I know my friend, he plays it safe for the first while, spawning in uninhabited locations. The travel across the plains is what interests him, gets him into character. I think it does affect your mind, the craving for flesh. I should remember to check that after. I sigh out my lamentation of death, causing all other Zeez around me to do the same, only my friend is within earshot. She appears.

“Oof, lost an arm?”
“Shut up, I killed you, didn’t I?”
“Can’t make it very far without ammo, especially when you’ve been bitten.”
“24 hours, no cure.”
“There never is.”
“How’d you find me? I thought I was held up pretty well.”
“The nose knows.”
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t know.”
“Just beyond the forest, but we should curve around first, there might be hunters.”
“After this long?”
“Never hurts when you play it smart.”
“That’s what I thought until he found me and bit me.”
“Shouldn’ta been alone.”
“That’s what she said. After I bit her. Then she shot me.”

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Make Us Insane

Posted in Fiction on April 26, 2010 by GuNNhead

“Have you ever had an original thought in your entire life?”
I sat there at the table. I’d heard her question, she wasn’t upset, just exasperated. She was standing in the doorway between the two rooms in which we were carrying on our conversation. It didn’t bode well for me. After a pause, I answered.

“Have you?”
She looked at me. My response did not improve the atmosphere as I had thought it would. I’ve always been a bit distant, pensive. I didn’t hear her question in the way she thought I did. I, wrongly, was being more philosophical. It was only after the words had left my mouth that I noticed the discrepancy between our thoughts. I thought of explaining myself, apologizing, but stopped caring immediately. I figured that I’d just continue right on with my conversation.

“Think about it, the futility of understanding the human mind. Put in the simplest form, it is to ask to the truest sense: why do people do what they do? Why does anyone do anything? Studying the subconscious motives of a person, even the self, is as impossible as attempting to understand something larger than the self with no verifiable, empirical facts on it. There is even a fear associated with knowing. What if we actually knew what other people were thinking? Would we even want to know? Do we enjoy, or, prefer, rather, our delusions, our ‘images’ of people? Often times, we could find this preconceived notion of who someone is more enjoyable than the actual person, so much so that is placed over that real person. Then we can no longer see them for who they are, only who we want them to be.

A frame of mind can be a powerful thing. It can change one person’s entire world. One can alter what may be, what is, and what was, change the point of reference. Then, in doing so, manipulate death, show that there is no truth, and that there are only different possibilities to be mused upon.

Here’s food for thought: we’ve all seen The Thing, They Live, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, and a ton others. There is no actual way to trust anyone. It is impossible. What if all of these things exist, what if there are people being controlled by things out there with some sinister purpose? What if you or I are one of these things, or your friends. Anyone could simply be waiting for the moment to turn you to them. Heck, even, maybe, we’re already being controlled. What if we were just supposed to be like all the other stupid animals on this planet, but some parasite or alien virus infected us, changed us, made us receptors for some grand cosmic plot? That’s how the animals know we’re different. You see them, all of the animals, they look at us differently from any other animal, they treat us differently. What if all of our drives and ambitions are just arbitrary tasks to support some grand infrastructure to make us slaves to terraform this planet?

Random synapses firing? Success can be gauged on how well one can ‘connect’ on a global scale, tap into the culture. Those who are the most popular or make the most money are the ones who are the most connected, and so then, we are programmed to like them, for whatever reason. Think of fame, and the ‘guilty pleasure’ shows that are popular, there could be something bigger going on, and the current accepted reality is too afraid of knowing about it to admit it, it would freak too many people out. But maybe people need to be freaked out. The possibilities of the world are truly frightening and mind-boggling if you think about it.”

“Thank you, Jake, thank you; for you have, once again, proven my point.”
She left.

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Deep-Sea ARTbook

Posted in Fiction, Horror on April 23, 2010 by GuNNhead

Hey, y’all, my sister made these based off of Deep-Sea Daybook! Great stuff!
Deep beneath the sea that we all know, I continue deeper; my submarine groans under the strain, but holds strong.
There are depictions of what appear to be some creatures fighting, whether this is fiction or an accurate depiction remains to be seen.
The only way left to for me to explore is further downwards, but by radar detects no bottom yet.
Something is attacking my submarine; it’s shaking and is beyond my control. I can see what appear to be the suction cups of a giant cephalopod arm against the viewports.
Here’s me at the art show!
- Dr. Willibald Fievel Richardson, colleague and dear friend.

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Underdeath

Posted in Fiction, Horror on April 21, 2010 by GuNNhead

A morning mist rests upon the lake. Loons call out into the early morning air. A figure breaks through the mist, and shambles onto the shore. Enchanted by an ancient magic, something in the world has reawakened its water-logged corpse into reanimation. What goes through its soggy mind? It cannot be known, even if it does have thought. A summer day’s walk along an abandoned path dries out its soggy innards. A gurgling and spurting turn into a haunting moan as the air flows through the inlets, valves, and flaps of decomposing flesh, acting as a sort of gruesome bellow.

The autonomous cadaver continues down the path, until it meets a paved road. A slow turn and a shuffling of feet realign its mysterious yet deliberate course. Cars zoom by, thinking nothing of this figure. Minds distorted between reality and fiction, what is real has been turned to fiction, and subsequently ignored in reality.

It continues to walk down this long stretch of road. A mission from elsewhere. Its feet drag along the sand and dirt by the roadside. No one stops. He walks on into the night, into the a new day, and once more into the night. A wolf begins to gnaw on this jerked bit of animated meat, but soon gives up, it is not a flavor worth savoring.

One watching this death march would perhaps boldly and openly wonder why is it doing what it is doing; what is it doing? The simple answer is that it is unknowable. As for what, that answer does not arrive to us, and not even for this drone. It will arrive, to be sure. It has an unflappable tenacity to achieve, like all of its kind. It must do what it must do, whatever that may be. It is both frightening and heart-warming, the way in which it unlives.

It crosses paths with another. This is the only recognition they receive, for their masters exist within them, externally, commanding things they do not understand, it simply gets done by them with no realizations. However, for this moment, there is a recognition between two who live under death. Socket contact, for the most part, but eye contact, in essence. A nod forcing out mutual moans. In large groups, these moans would be overpowering, a cacophony. Mindless in the company of others, doing what must be done.

Eventually, its task is complete. It is sent to rest. At the bottom of a lake, it is safe below the water, deep underdeath.

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