Post by Genocide on Apr 15, 2007 18:55:33 GMT -8
In the beginning, there were three. Now, only one remains.
Through bitter obligation they warred. A personal war, one where attaining victory was not the objective, only attaining much deserved vengeance. Warring until only one was left. When the smoke cleared, there was only a burning shell of a city where Anatolia once stood. A lone Next stood amidst the crumbling heaps of stone buildings, amidst the melting steel frames of recently constructed housing developments. The agonizing screams of the victims had long since faded, all but one. He screamed out, a strange mixture of rage and remorse accenting the simple "Aaagh!" He could feel the cold clutches of insanity gripping at the edges of his mind. It called out to him in a dreadful whisper, "Murderer! You killed them, you killed all of them! The destruction of humanity's last hope rests on your shoulders!" The dull whir of the Next's generator emanated from below him. Symbolic of his entrapment in this infernal metal coffin. He could have sworn the hulking metal behemoth was speaking to him.
Distress evident in his eyes, he glared at the monitor which depicted a burnt and ruined landscape. The once glittering blue river was now a ruddy and brackish brown, filled with the debris of the once proud city. It's citizens littered the streets in heaps reminiscent of the tales told by the elderly of garbage bags set out for collection. Blood flowed down the gutters along the streets and over spent bullet casings. The former green, rolling hill land was now a snapshot from an astronomer's photo book. Where grass and tree once grew, there was now nothing but sand tinted red from the light given off by the setting sun. Reminiscent of the Planet Mars people would come to say.
A forsaken dead land, every bit the graveyard it looked to be. He stood right in the middle of it, as if playing the part of the sole witness the authorities would suspect as the perpetrator in the old crime dramas. Except, unlike the old movies, he was the perpetrator. Though his hand was forced, the scene was unmistakably the courtesy of his handiwork.
He looked over the ruins of Anatolia once more, noting the humbled and smoking heaps of machinery that were the remains of Celo and Joshua's Nexts. He had killed them, his friends, perhaps the only two men who understood him at every given moment of the day. And her... He had killed her as well, Fiona, his beloved. The woman that he fancied to be the mother of his children, was now gone. Their memories were swept away like the plumes of dust and smoke rising from the city behind him in the wind.
He heard a few patters like those of rain hitting the ground and his thighs suddenly felt moist. Yes it was raining... It had been ages since he had last felt rain...
He deftly maneuvered his metal massacre machine out of the city and up the sloping hillsides that surrounded it. He stared out over the sea. He felt like ending it, like ending the tragic tale of the epic hero. The hero, who was supposed to free humanity from the clutches of monotonous and self-perpetuating slavery. Instead, the hero had fought his way through a thousand battles only to find out that his actions, and his alone, were the death of all those he held dear.
Then, it came to him like a voice from across time and space. A radio message on an allied frequency.
"T *kzzzt* ...ll those who have com *kzzzt* ...his far, we are about to embark on the one gr *kzzzt* ...st challenge of our lives."
Then the realization hit him like a ton of flying bricks. "There are still people left! The last elements of the Colonial Army... They must not know that the war is over. Where were they deploying to..."
He desperately fought back the choke hold insanity had on his mind and swam through the depths of his memory. He came upon a scene in a planning room. A map was sprawled out across a large table in lowlight, he could vaguely make out Fiona's face as she pointed to a location on the map and marked it with a large sweeping 'X'. "Colony Balkana," she said softly.
Within moments of this sequence ending, he had fired the boosters on his Next and now flew off over the Aegean Sea towards Balkana. There was one last battle left to fight, and on it rested the fate of humanity.
*Just an excerpt of a larger story that I plan on writing in the near future. If ya'll niggas (and I say that in the most lovingly way possible) have questions regarding what "Nexts" are or why places are called Colonies. Don't be shy.*
Through bitter obligation they warred. A personal war, one where attaining victory was not the objective, only attaining much deserved vengeance. Warring until only one was left. When the smoke cleared, there was only a burning shell of a city where Anatolia once stood. A lone Next stood amidst the crumbling heaps of stone buildings, amidst the melting steel frames of recently constructed housing developments. The agonizing screams of the victims had long since faded, all but one. He screamed out, a strange mixture of rage and remorse accenting the simple "Aaagh!" He could feel the cold clutches of insanity gripping at the edges of his mind. It called out to him in a dreadful whisper, "Murderer! You killed them, you killed all of them! The destruction of humanity's last hope rests on your shoulders!" The dull whir of the Next's generator emanated from below him. Symbolic of his entrapment in this infernal metal coffin. He could have sworn the hulking metal behemoth was speaking to him.
Distress evident in his eyes, he glared at the monitor which depicted a burnt and ruined landscape. The once glittering blue river was now a ruddy and brackish brown, filled with the debris of the once proud city. It's citizens littered the streets in heaps reminiscent of the tales told by the elderly of garbage bags set out for collection. Blood flowed down the gutters along the streets and over spent bullet casings. The former green, rolling hill land was now a snapshot from an astronomer's photo book. Where grass and tree once grew, there was now nothing but sand tinted red from the light given off by the setting sun. Reminiscent of the Planet Mars people would come to say.
A forsaken dead land, every bit the graveyard it looked to be. He stood right in the middle of it, as if playing the part of the sole witness the authorities would suspect as the perpetrator in the old crime dramas. Except, unlike the old movies, he was the perpetrator. Though his hand was forced, the scene was unmistakably the courtesy of his handiwork.
He looked over the ruins of Anatolia once more, noting the humbled and smoking heaps of machinery that were the remains of Celo and Joshua's Nexts. He had killed them, his friends, perhaps the only two men who understood him at every given moment of the day. And her... He had killed her as well, Fiona, his beloved. The woman that he fancied to be the mother of his children, was now gone. Their memories were swept away like the plumes of dust and smoke rising from the city behind him in the wind.
He heard a few patters like those of rain hitting the ground and his thighs suddenly felt moist. Yes it was raining... It had been ages since he had last felt rain...
He deftly maneuvered his metal massacre machine out of the city and up the sloping hillsides that surrounded it. He stared out over the sea. He felt like ending it, like ending the tragic tale of the epic hero. The hero, who was supposed to free humanity from the clutches of monotonous and self-perpetuating slavery. Instead, the hero had fought his way through a thousand battles only to find out that his actions, and his alone, were the death of all those he held dear.
Then, it came to him like a voice from across time and space. A radio message on an allied frequency.
"T *kzzzt* ...ll those who have com *kzzzt* ...his far, we are about to embark on the one gr *kzzzt* ...st challenge of our lives."
Then the realization hit him like a ton of flying bricks. "There are still people left! The last elements of the Colonial Army... They must not know that the war is over. Where were they deploying to..."
He desperately fought back the choke hold insanity had on his mind and swam through the depths of his memory. He came upon a scene in a planning room. A map was sprawled out across a large table in lowlight, he could vaguely make out Fiona's face as she pointed to a location on the map and marked it with a large sweeping 'X'. "Colony Balkana," she said softly.
Within moments of this sequence ending, he had fired the boosters on his Next and now flew off over the Aegean Sea towards Balkana. There was one last battle left to fight, and on it rested the fate of humanity.
*Just an excerpt of a larger story that I plan on writing in the near future. If ya'll niggas (and I say that in the most lovingly way possible) have questions regarding what "Nexts" are or why places are called Colonies. Don't be shy.*