Hawkzombie
09-07-2010, 11:18 PM
In a manner most foul!
It seems I want to write horror. It's shit, so I warned you:
“I can’t fucking believe this, you asshole! It’s three in the goddamn morning!” She screamed at the top of her lungs at the man behind the glass. The cool floor felt even colder to her bare feet; she was pulled out of bed for this bullshit, and she wrapped her robe even tighter around her small frame. Sighing deeply she looked at the now locked entry to the cargo bay, shot the man behind the glass another dirty look, and turned around.
Apparently there was a malfunction with the air purification system right under the cargo hold, and it couldn’t wait until morning. Of course this is what she was around for, being the main engineer on the ship, but it was still annoying as hell not even being given a chance to dress. Her eyes went wide the moment she turned around, not from seeing the problem, but because the doors were open, and pulling her towards them as the air left the small hold almost immediately.
There was a almost a quiet solace in the final moments of her life. The cargo hold was now devoid of air and a complete vacuum, and her air had been forcibly pulled from her lungs. The resulting expulsion also pulled some of her lung out with the air, causing it to stick in her throat. Had she been alive longer, this may have started to choke her to death. But the coldness of space was a far more forgiving killer, and took her quickly. The moisture of her eyes was solidified within seconds, and her extremities followed moments after.
Her last thought was cut short due to shock, but she found herself wondering if her dog back home had enough to eat. Not of her impending doom, or the sound of her beating heart slowing to silence, nor even the man who did this to her. No, she thought of her dog and if he’d be eating well as she drifted out into space, following the frozen droplets of moisture from her last damning breath out into the nothing.
The man at the controls wrung his hands, hard. He wondered how he could do such a thing, and how he could do it so easily. He watched her now lifeless body leave the cargo hold and out of sight and proceeded to bring the doors close and re-pressurize the area. He hadn’t noticed her left arm had caught on the door, and became severed, falling to the floor with a sickening thud as it slapped against the metal floor once the doors were fully shut and gravity re-established.
Slowly, almost fearful, he walked towards the appendage. The blood trickled from the stump where the arm had been severed; it was still semi-frozen. On her ring finger was a simple engagement ring, which he carefully tried to remove. He succeeded in breaking her finger due to the stiffness, but not off which surprised him. Though he was unsure why it would; she didn’t have enough time to freeze that much. He looked at the ring, reading the inscription:
There isn’t enough space in all of space to keep us apart. Forever yours, Conner
He placed the ring into his breast pocket, flapping the pocket closed and showing his name badge: Conner. He wiped the torrent of tears from his eyes and quickly left the bay, knowing he did what he had to, but wondering who else might be infected, who else might be a threat. or maybe no one was and it was all in his head.
Either way, he’d cast the first stone. And he’d be damned if it was going to be the last. But he knew he was damned already.
Conner grabbed a large wrench from the maintenance hatch on the sub level next to the cargo bay exit, and headed for the medical wing of the ship. He knew the ship’s medical staff would still be around even at this hour, tending to another of his failed attempts at purification. He’d attacked the second officer in his quarters, but managed to make it look like an accident. Unfortunately he’d managed to only severely wound him, not actually kill him, and the medical officers were making sure he pulled through the night.
He entered like a hungry beast, lunging from one surprised piece of meat to the next. He almost enjoyed the look on their faces before he blotted them out forever. Unlike the execution of his fiancee, this came far too easily for a man who’d given up eating meat over ten years ago. The surgeon was the first to feel the crack of iron against bone and flesh, instantly dropping as his blood splattered against Conner with a warm, sticky splash. The gaping wound in what was left of his forehead spurted blood with a set rhythm as the body spasmed before him. The doctor turned a moment too late to see what was causing the commotion behind himself.
The wrench sailed through the air and landed just above his cheek, instantly crushing the delicate bones and causing his eye to rupture. This was not a killing blow, however. His howl of terror and shock was like a siren’s call as Conner stood over the stumbling man, as he tried to crawl away desperately.
Conner was the tiger in the night now, burning brightly like a white hot super nova, his energy bristling across his skin as he brought the wrench down into the middle of the man’s back, giving him a most satisfying crunch, and ending the man’s futile attempts at getting away. He reached down and slipped two fingers into the hole the first blow created and roughly pulled the dying man up, causing him to emit sounds that sounding almost like a baby’s mewling.
His tongue hung out of his mouth, drool, tears, snot and blood trailing down to the ground as he tried to beg for mercy, for something. His mind a chaotic mess as it slipped into shock fully, the pain making him blackout as Conner bit down hard onto his nose, the crunch of cartilage being the last nose the doctor heard.
This wasn’t right. Conner looked at the chaos he’d just caused. One man had barely a head left, and the other was a broken, beaten and even partially eaten mess of his former self. This wasn’t what he planned to do. These were the enemy, not the prey. It was then he realized what had happened. These men were not infected. He was. Or was he? Was this an infection or a greater understanding of his world and everything in it? A rebirth in the blood and violence? Much like a natural birth, there would be pain, and lost of it. But who was to say it had to be his own pain? No, this was the natural order. These men were weak, and Conner knew it. He did them a service, they would be the blood of his baptism.
The last, nagging doubt melted away as he turned to the second officer, barely holding onto life as he slept in his suspended chamber. Machines pumped fluids and drugs into his system, he’d never feel a thing coming. It was then Conner had pause. No, this was not how he would take the man. This was no challenge, nor was it worthy of his rite of passage into his new life. The broken man before him was now the only to survive his onslaught, and thus a worthy adversary. He would live, for now.
He stripped until he was nude, covering his body in the blood of his last victims. This would give him strength and fear, but he was not done yet. He opened a large vat of reconstructive synthetic gel and shoved his left hand into it, he then grabbed the wrench and waited.
The effect was slow, but after the burning started he knew it was working. His hand was soon fused with the metal, and the burn had become a white-hot pain. He howled at it, relishing in the pain as man and metal became one in an unholy merge. Looking at his handywork, he noted it was crude, but effective after giving the leftover meat of the surgeon a few cracks. It would do.
He walked out into the rest of the ship, a crimson beacon from hell. The blood-lust had set in, and nothing would sate it except more pain, blood, and suffering. Aside from the second officer, and those he’d taken already, only five remained. Only five until he would be whole. Then the hunt would begin.
-----
Garret was standing on a plateau, looking out over an endless ocean horizon. The water was clear and clue, and the air was crisp and light. It was a paradise he was viewing and he never wanted to leave it. Of course, in the back of his mind he knew this was a by-product of long stays in the suspended chambers. Without heavy amounts of interactive REM sleep, the effect would be like acute sleep deprivation.
He climbed down from his vantage point to the campsite he’d made near the pure white sands of the beach. Two women were waiting for him next to the firepit, both incredibly gorgeous, and both quite nude. They were busy pleasuring one another when he approached. He sighed slightly to himself. The first few hundred times this happened he rather enjoyed it, but he wished they used dream sequences other than the sexual ones. Just once he’d enjoy it if he got to explore a forgotten tomb, or fight off impossible odds without a scratch. But, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. He started to disrobe when he jolted awake.
His eyes slowly adjusted to reality, and he blinked several times, hard. It was still pitch black, and that wasn’t good. His sides hurt, but it was a dull pain. There was a tube down his throat and when he realized this he immediately began to gag, and grabbed it and tried to pull it out.
Given the limited space of the chamber, he wasn’t able to really pull much and he started to panic. His fingers found the safety release on the side of the chamber, and he quickly performed the somewhat complicated pull and push to release the door. Once free he quickly pulled it out, as well as an air tube he hadn’t noticed until it slide out of his nose and he was hacking and coughing stale, dirty air.
Stale dirty air? This wasn’t a good sign. Had the purification system gone down while he was out? And this wasn’t his quarters, well, he wasn’t sure where the hell he was immediately, as the lights were almost completely out, except for a few emergency ones here and there. He closed his eyes, and reeled as the pain in his sides grew a little, and his head started to pound. It was starting to come back, but he was still a bit out of it.
Once he was sure he wouldn’t keel over from getting fully out of the chamber, he stepped out and onto the cold floor. Well, it was supposed to be cold. It felt sticky in all honesty, and the bottoms of his feet seemed almost to glue themselves to the floor. Blinking rapidly his eyes adjusted to the low lights and recognized the medical bay. Immediately he thought of the vat of synthetic reconstruction material and if it had fallen over in an accident or something and kept moving quickly to keep his feet from binding with the floor. One horror story of that sort of thing was enough. It was when he stepped into something that gave to his weight and caused him to slip that made him rethink this.
He stumbled, and caught himself on a nearby table, but was now face to face with the doctor. It was then the smell decided to return and hit him full force. The body was badly decomposed, skin barely hanging onto the putrid flesh. The blood had long since congealed into a black viscus fluid, and had pooled around the doctor. This explained the sticky floor. Garret quickly flew back, falling on his ass and retching, hard. The nutrient broth he’d been living on for God-knows-how-long splashed onto the floor and mixed with the thick blood.
It's just a rough copy, not sure where I'll go with it, so feel free to critique things like pacing, story, etc.
It seems I want to write horror. It's shit, so I warned you:
“I can’t fucking believe this, you asshole! It’s three in the goddamn morning!” She screamed at the top of her lungs at the man behind the glass. The cool floor felt even colder to her bare feet; she was pulled out of bed for this bullshit, and she wrapped her robe even tighter around her small frame. Sighing deeply she looked at the now locked entry to the cargo bay, shot the man behind the glass another dirty look, and turned around.
Apparently there was a malfunction with the air purification system right under the cargo hold, and it couldn’t wait until morning. Of course this is what she was around for, being the main engineer on the ship, but it was still annoying as hell not even being given a chance to dress. Her eyes went wide the moment she turned around, not from seeing the problem, but because the doors were open, and pulling her towards them as the air left the small hold almost immediately.
There was a almost a quiet solace in the final moments of her life. The cargo hold was now devoid of air and a complete vacuum, and her air had been forcibly pulled from her lungs. The resulting expulsion also pulled some of her lung out with the air, causing it to stick in her throat. Had she been alive longer, this may have started to choke her to death. But the coldness of space was a far more forgiving killer, and took her quickly. The moisture of her eyes was solidified within seconds, and her extremities followed moments after.
Her last thought was cut short due to shock, but she found herself wondering if her dog back home had enough to eat. Not of her impending doom, or the sound of her beating heart slowing to silence, nor even the man who did this to her. No, she thought of her dog and if he’d be eating well as she drifted out into space, following the frozen droplets of moisture from her last damning breath out into the nothing.
The man at the controls wrung his hands, hard. He wondered how he could do such a thing, and how he could do it so easily. He watched her now lifeless body leave the cargo hold and out of sight and proceeded to bring the doors close and re-pressurize the area. He hadn’t noticed her left arm had caught on the door, and became severed, falling to the floor with a sickening thud as it slapped against the metal floor once the doors were fully shut and gravity re-established.
Slowly, almost fearful, he walked towards the appendage. The blood trickled from the stump where the arm had been severed; it was still semi-frozen. On her ring finger was a simple engagement ring, which he carefully tried to remove. He succeeded in breaking her finger due to the stiffness, but not off which surprised him. Though he was unsure why it would; she didn’t have enough time to freeze that much. He looked at the ring, reading the inscription:
There isn’t enough space in all of space to keep us apart. Forever yours, Conner
He placed the ring into his breast pocket, flapping the pocket closed and showing his name badge: Conner. He wiped the torrent of tears from his eyes and quickly left the bay, knowing he did what he had to, but wondering who else might be infected, who else might be a threat. or maybe no one was and it was all in his head.
Either way, he’d cast the first stone. And he’d be damned if it was going to be the last. But he knew he was damned already.
Conner grabbed a large wrench from the maintenance hatch on the sub level next to the cargo bay exit, and headed for the medical wing of the ship. He knew the ship’s medical staff would still be around even at this hour, tending to another of his failed attempts at purification. He’d attacked the second officer in his quarters, but managed to make it look like an accident. Unfortunately he’d managed to only severely wound him, not actually kill him, and the medical officers were making sure he pulled through the night.
He entered like a hungry beast, lunging from one surprised piece of meat to the next. He almost enjoyed the look on their faces before he blotted them out forever. Unlike the execution of his fiancee, this came far too easily for a man who’d given up eating meat over ten years ago. The surgeon was the first to feel the crack of iron against bone and flesh, instantly dropping as his blood splattered against Conner with a warm, sticky splash. The gaping wound in what was left of his forehead spurted blood with a set rhythm as the body spasmed before him. The doctor turned a moment too late to see what was causing the commotion behind himself.
The wrench sailed through the air and landed just above his cheek, instantly crushing the delicate bones and causing his eye to rupture. This was not a killing blow, however. His howl of terror and shock was like a siren’s call as Conner stood over the stumbling man, as he tried to crawl away desperately.
Conner was the tiger in the night now, burning brightly like a white hot super nova, his energy bristling across his skin as he brought the wrench down into the middle of the man’s back, giving him a most satisfying crunch, and ending the man’s futile attempts at getting away. He reached down and slipped two fingers into the hole the first blow created and roughly pulled the dying man up, causing him to emit sounds that sounding almost like a baby’s mewling.
His tongue hung out of his mouth, drool, tears, snot and blood trailing down to the ground as he tried to beg for mercy, for something. His mind a chaotic mess as it slipped into shock fully, the pain making him blackout as Conner bit down hard onto his nose, the crunch of cartilage being the last nose the doctor heard.
This wasn’t right. Conner looked at the chaos he’d just caused. One man had barely a head left, and the other was a broken, beaten and even partially eaten mess of his former self. This wasn’t what he planned to do. These were the enemy, not the prey. It was then he realized what had happened. These men were not infected. He was. Or was he? Was this an infection or a greater understanding of his world and everything in it? A rebirth in the blood and violence? Much like a natural birth, there would be pain, and lost of it. But who was to say it had to be his own pain? No, this was the natural order. These men were weak, and Conner knew it. He did them a service, they would be the blood of his baptism.
The last, nagging doubt melted away as he turned to the second officer, barely holding onto life as he slept in his suspended chamber. Machines pumped fluids and drugs into his system, he’d never feel a thing coming. It was then Conner had pause. No, this was not how he would take the man. This was no challenge, nor was it worthy of his rite of passage into his new life. The broken man before him was now the only to survive his onslaught, and thus a worthy adversary. He would live, for now.
He stripped until he was nude, covering his body in the blood of his last victims. This would give him strength and fear, but he was not done yet. He opened a large vat of reconstructive synthetic gel and shoved his left hand into it, he then grabbed the wrench and waited.
The effect was slow, but after the burning started he knew it was working. His hand was soon fused with the metal, and the burn had become a white-hot pain. He howled at it, relishing in the pain as man and metal became one in an unholy merge. Looking at his handywork, he noted it was crude, but effective after giving the leftover meat of the surgeon a few cracks. It would do.
He walked out into the rest of the ship, a crimson beacon from hell. The blood-lust had set in, and nothing would sate it except more pain, blood, and suffering. Aside from the second officer, and those he’d taken already, only five remained. Only five until he would be whole. Then the hunt would begin.
-----
Garret was standing on a plateau, looking out over an endless ocean horizon. The water was clear and clue, and the air was crisp and light. It was a paradise he was viewing and he never wanted to leave it. Of course, in the back of his mind he knew this was a by-product of long stays in the suspended chambers. Without heavy amounts of interactive REM sleep, the effect would be like acute sleep deprivation.
He climbed down from his vantage point to the campsite he’d made near the pure white sands of the beach. Two women were waiting for him next to the firepit, both incredibly gorgeous, and both quite nude. They were busy pleasuring one another when he approached. He sighed slightly to himself. The first few hundred times this happened he rather enjoyed it, but he wished they used dream sequences other than the sexual ones. Just once he’d enjoy it if he got to explore a forgotten tomb, or fight off impossible odds without a scratch. But, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. He started to disrobe when he jolted awake.
His eyes slowly adjusted to reality, and he blinked several times, hard. It was still pitch black, and that wasn’t good. His sides hurt, but it was a dull pain. There was a tube down his throat and when he realized this he immediately began to gag, and grabbed it and tried to pull it out.
Given the limited space of the chamber, he wasn’t able to really pull much and he started to panic. His fingers found the safety release on the side of the chamber, and he quickly performed the somewhat complicated pull and push to release the door. Once free he quickly pulled it out, as well as an air tube he hadn’t noticed until it slide out of his nose and he was hacking and coughing stale, dirty air.
Stale dirty air? This wasn’t a good sign. Had the purification system gone down while he was out? And this wasn’t his quarters, well, he wasn’t sure where the hell he was immediately, as the lights were almost completely out, except for a few emergency ones here and there. He closed his eyes, and reeled as the pain in his sides grew a little, and his head started to pound. It was starting to come back, but he was still a bit out of it.
Once he was sure he wouldn’t keel over from getting fully out of the chamber, he stepped out and onto the cold floor. Well, it was supposed to be cold. It felt sticky in all honesty, and the bottoms of his feet seemed almost to glue themselves to the floor. Blinking rapidly his eyes adjusted to the low lights and recognized the medical bay. Immediately he thought of the vat of synthetic reconstruction material and if it had fallen over in an accident or something and kept moving quickly to keep his feet from binding with the floor. One horror story of that sort of thing was enough. It was when he stepped into something that gave to his weight and caused him to slip that made him rethink this.
He stumbled, and caught himself on a nearby table, but was now face to face with the doctor. It was then the smell decided to return and hit him full force. The body was badly decomposed, skin barely hanging onto the putrid flesh. The blood had long since congealed into a black viscus fluid, and had pooled around the doctor. This explained the sticky floor. Garret quickly flew back, falling on his ass and retching, hard. The nutrient broth he’d been living on for God-knows-how-long splashed onto the floor and mixed with the thick blood.
It's just a rough copy, not sure where I'll go with it, so feel free to critique things like pacing, story, etc.