GuNNhead

The man slowly walks in the opposite direction, not really knowing what to do with himself. Unbeknownst to him, synapses are reforming, and thoughts occur without knowledge… They think that commonly, there’d some sort of recognizable thing to do, but this place doesn’t quite lend itself to their regenerating neural pathways, neither does my situation. They believe for a moment that it’s all about perspective, perhaps they are simply bewildered. His thoughts turn to hunger as its memory wrenches about his gut. “I think I remember… food. The giant bugs ate, I should too”

He walks into the jungle, in search of something to eat, or some signs of civilization. Though he especially and unknowingly searches for his mind. He comes upon a tall tree, with a cornucopia of large, yellow orbs at the very top. They remind him of fruits. The tree is far too broad around to climb, and he does not yet fully realize who he is, who I am.
“Okay,” he says aloud, “Let’s see if I can find some way to get those down.”
He searches for materials through a fog of recollection. A strong tree branch right at his feet in the brush seems optimal. There are another few smaller sticks around, he thinks perhaps to throw. Looking around, there’s nothing else that sparks recognition.
“Well,” he says, looking up, holding and shaking his materials gently, “I guess the food’s there… now… shelter?” He stretches, and feels a familiar twinge at the base of his neck. His suit’s repairing itself, slowly, alongside his perception. I may have enough power in a few hours. “…and kindling, for fire.”

He walks with his batch of mismatched wood through the jungle, it is nightfall by the time he finds a large cave opening. He goes into it, knowing that while it’s not the best shelter imaginable, it is still far too small for that mantis, and that he’d hear anything else coming, as they’re so large, “so,” he decides, “it should be good enough for the night.” With his kindling gathered, an electrostatic discharge from his hand starts a fire near the mouth of the cave. Still unknowing about his surroundings and his place in them, he looks around the cave curiously, and walks a bit deeper, casually exploring it. His suit constructs full spectral viewing lenses on instinct, with him unrealizing. As he gets deeper, he gets to softer ground, colored off-white. Walking even deeper, the ground gets softer, and thicker, it is no longer a covering on the ground, it is the ground. He picks up a piece of it and finds out that it’s some sort of string. He pulls, but it seems endless, so he roughly cuts a long bit off, and ties it to his piece of wood for a make-shift torch.
The ground starts to gently vibrate. “Must be a small earthquake…”

A body is suddenly awakened by a splash of cold water; no, not a splash, a torrent. Drowning under water, and, while refreshing in comparison to being under three feet of sand and dirt, still means death if one remains under it. The man swims upwards, against the current, and breaks the surface. He’s behind a waterfall, in a small rocky alcove, the sound of the falls echoing peacefully yet forcefully all around him. He stays for a tick, catching his breath, gaining his bearings before going back under the water, to get to the other side. Once under and out, he re-emerges, and sees his surrounding: a dense jungle. Swimming for the beach, he wonders what he could possibly be doing here.

He reaches the wet sand, and lays there for a moment, composing himself. Then, he is slightly annoyed by a buzzing. It’s loud, so figuring it’s close, he swats it away, but it does not disappear. In fact, it gets louder. A gentle breeze cools his face, and he tries to ignore the buzzing and flapping of wings. The sound soon becomes deafening, and to his closed eyes it seems a cloud is blocking the calm sun. He opens them to see some sort of giant wasp hovering over him, as tall as the trees around, salivating over this morsel of food laid out before it. Its large pincers could easily slice him in half, and he would be worried about that, if the wasp could not swallow him whole with just as much ease. It strikes with its strong mandibles – he rolls to the side, and just barely evades an acid filled death inside the belly of this giant insect. Confused that it has missed its target, and gotten a mouthful of sand, it scuttles around, breaking down trees in its wake. It regains its bearings, as the man heads for the tree line for cover. It attacks again as he leaps behind the tree that its giant pincers cut in twain like butter. Disturbed, it scuttles around again, flapping its wings, sending a gust of wind the man’s way, knocking him off his feet. He gets up as the wasp-like giant hones in on him once more, staring at him, locked on his movements with its large compound, insect eyes. The man runs without looking for a path, his eyes locked firmly on the wasp. As it is about to strike, he runs into a tree, and falls down. The wasp takes this opportunity to go for the final death-blow. Its pincers are about to grasp the man, and tear him into pieces, when it stops suddenly…

A loud screech emanates from it, a tortuous, deafening screech. The man looks again at the wasp, as it lifts into the air, six arms flailing, its wings not twitching; a giant, green single sythen claw through its abdomen. An even larger praying mantis is the owner of this claw, and it grasps the wasp tighter, bringing it to its mouth, and it starts devouring it, head first. The man stares on in amazement. The sight is magnificent and terrifying. The mantis chews through the wasp’s body quickly, yet savoring every bite, the wasp’s legs twitching the whole time. When it finishes its meal it is left with only the wings, which it tosses to the side nonchalantly, before returning the way it came, its belly made large and black, filled with the chewed carcass of the now-digesting wasp.

“Deeper, deeper into the furthest reaches of the continually unexplored multiverses!”

“In the blackest of space, the demons, they lie in wait to take their rightful place, and seal our icy fate. When there is no more blood to spill, and there is no more air to breathe, there will blow a silent chill; none left alive to grieve. On this ghostly, ghoulish night, passing through this dark reign, a silent ship in flight, unaware of the arcane.”

GS-336 hurtles towards its destination at incredible speed. There is a sector of space that has been entirely disavowed by the Network, none allowed to travel in its vicinity. Crafts disappeared here, never to be seen or heard from again, not even a distress signal has ever made it out of here. I don’t believe in anything that could destroy me; I decide to travel directly through it. I’ll find out what’s causing this, and crush the life from it, or finally meet my end.

Suddenly, as I enter into this unknown triangulation, an uneasy feeling entirely unbeknownst in times before passes over me. Bombarded by immense psychic and ethereal waves, the ship loses power, disengaging the dynamo drive. This has occurred to countless crafts, never to be heard from again. This craft may just prove to be different, however, because this time, I want it to happen.

As I travel between the doorway towards the engines in an attempt to reengage them by hand, a strong chill runs through my body. I freeze. I switch through the light filters of my helmet to check for foreign intruders on other visible spectrums. Feeling uneasy, attempting to remain calm, I breathe, and brush off my arms while continuing to change the light patterns. The second my hands are about head width apart, the filter switches again, revealing a hauntingly terrifying apparition, holding on to my right upper arm and left elbow, screaming. It has no neck or ligaments, just a floating skull on blue fire with skeletal arms, and a tattered cloth shawl, all transparent with a blue glow. Holding it in my arms as such, I spin it around, to face the cockpit; only to see more visions. Visions of non-existent crew members being disembowelled before my very eyes; gore and innards hit the floor, and fly against the walls, leaving long hard trails of blood. Then it all goes black. I never expected this: ghosts, I’m not ready and am not prepared. I suspected it was some sort of marauder vessel, disabling communications and purloining the crafts and wares aboard, or powerful cosmic abnormality.

“From the outside, one can see the magnificent craft suddenly stop, trapped in the gossamer. Then, after a few short moments, drift, drift, and drift downwards, pulled by forces unknown, guiding this wicked descent to a ghostly ethereal planet below.”