Darkoor

[Shadow of the Fallen]

Your eyes snap open, and panic grips you through your sluggish thoughts. Blindness... you think, before the reality of the matter hits you. You are not blind, it is the shear darkness around you that makes it seem so. You take a deep breath to calm your nerves, but instead they spike up in warning, the air catching in your throat as you rush to expel it. The air in this cursed place is heavy with the stench of death. So thick that it suffocates and poisons the lungs, the eventual death of the victim only adding to its potency. As you gag on another gulp of air, your body convulses forward, forcing you to put a hand to the cold metal of the floor to steady yourself.

 

However, your hand meets more than cold fiber steel. Something squishes and pops as your weight shifts to your arm for support. Between gags and fuzzy thoughts, amidst the stench, you know it was another maggot. You can feel several of them crawling across your chest now, more popping on your back as you rack out blood. Your whole body is reeling away from this place, trying to escape, but such things are futile. You roll over in agony, trying to stop the coughing that tears at your insides and forces you to drink in more of the defiled oxygen. In your thrashing, you hit something cold and slimy. Immediately, you push away from the dead body, but your hand only finds another, and your body weight punctures your hand into what you guess was the chest of something wholly unsavory even in life.

 

Immediately, something is wriggling up your arm. Your hand has to sink further into the slimy mess to shove you away from the two bodies. Now, your whole arm seems to be squirming around, as though your skin has come alive and is trying to peel itself off of you. More maggots, you guess as the hacking and coughing comes in another wave. The only thought you have is to get them off, despite the choking you are experiencing. On all fours now, you sputter and cough up blood while slamming your forearm against the metal floor. As your arm hits the solid fiber-steel plating, pain splits up your arm and you feel the "squish-pop" of at least fifty of the disgusting worms.

 

Each bash sends more of them fleeing up your arm and under your shirt... Or at least what's left of it. As they wriggle twisting paths across your skin, they pass over boils, flaring them anew. The coughing has died down into gasping, the air to heavy and thick to draw any good breath. The pain that now rips through your lungs, however, makes breathing nearly impossible. Your roll over in desperation, hoping to kill them and stop the pain, but adding pressure to the wounds only makes them worse. Something within you gives out, and the last thing you remember is cursing into the darkness and realizing for the first time that tears were stinging your face. They were running down your cheeks as darkness added to darkness, and time stretched on endlessly with the pain...

 

--------------

 

Eventually, recollection finds you again. You are flat on your back, just as you were an indeterminable time ago. As you were an indescribable amount of time before that. You have no remembrance of the coughing and sputtering, but you draw a breath carefully, knowing by instinct that anything less would surly drag you back into a bout of unstoppable choking. Even breathing through your mouth, however, the rancid stench of death burns your nostrils. Each breath is ragged and labored, the air being too heavy to breath well.

 

In the cell above you, a scant meter from your face. You hear someone thrashing about. Through the metal, you can hear the muffled ring of their screams as they fight off the invasive worms. Against your will, your bicep twitches, causing an uproar of movement to burst across your skin. You can feel the tiny critters skittering and sliming their way up your arm, over your sensitive armpit, and down your side towards your crotch. You dare not move your leg for what might stir down there. You close your eyes hoping to fall asleep and forget again... But the darkness you seek never comes. Something in your hair moves, entwining itself further into the greasy strands.

 

You try to remember how it was you got here, but its beyond your mind's reach. The last light you saw was tinted gray from endless cloud cover. You remember thinking that morning, in broken pieces, that it would be the third day in a row that it rained. You cant remember if it really did rain or not, or even if you woke up that day. There seems to have been no time before that morning... A needle, you remember a needle. Then the moment comes to you, you remember as if all at once the arm that slipped around your neck and held you in place while your arm was pricked and you felt something injected under your skin. You tried to turn your head to find the culprit, but you had barely started to twist your neck before your legs began to feel like Jell-O. Your body crumpled to the damp ground in a heap.

 

In a last moment, men wearing gasmasks, and body armor, an insignia on their chests you had never seen before crowded around you. The emblem was of a crow, with an upside-down spire of rock piercing its heart. The symbol was set in a circle of red that was slightly shorter than the bird, not quite reaching the tip of the beak or tail feathers. The gruesome image stood out starkly against the bright white, synthetic material of the body armor. The armor itself was made up of two parts, a light but dull blue undersuit, and a series of fibrous plates that attached themselves to the undersuit. You only ever had seen that type of armor a few times before. Each time, it incited fear without fail. It was a design typical of The Emperor's legions.

 

The first few drops of rain had begun to fall when you slipped away into unconsciousness. If only you could do that now.

 

The man above you stops his rabid hunt for escape, likely drifting into the same sort of coma you still sought. A refuge against the undying solitude of this place. Even nightmares did not compare to this wretched hellhole. Every moment you still remained here was a thousand years to your soul. No one came or went. The dead were the only company, if company one could call them. Their "friends" spoke more for them than they spoke themselves, and the messages were never pleasant. If only there was a way you could join them, if only there was a way...

 

A small sound pricked your ear, a miniscule noise in the silence of the dark. Someone talking? No, it was a different kind of sound. Shaking yourself violently to free yourself of some of the bugs, you begin to crawl towards the source of the noise, it grew a little louder as you neared a wall, though whether it was the wall or the door, you could not tell. All the sides of this half-room were the same, the only different factor was the number of bodies piled against each. Your space was little over a meter tall, and perhaps eight feet along the sides of the square. Under you and above you, you assumed other prisoners were stacked, like sardines in a multilayered can.

 

You stopped out of reflex, you mind telling your face not to go any farther. With a hand, you reached out tentatively into the darkness before you. No more than three centimeters before your face was the chilly metal of the wall, and beyond it, the source of the sound. With even more deliberation, you shifted your body around so you could press your ear up against the plating and listen.

 

Your heart stopped. It pondered a moment... And then it resumed its unsteady, and quickening, pace.

 

Beyond the wall, you could hear a sound of warning. Sluggish thoughts tried to put together the muddled pieces of its meaning. For the life of you, you couldn't have remembered what the repetitious buzzing could be, but without a doubt you knew it had some grave significance. Thoughts moved like molasses, struggling for that one important fact, struggling through an almost synthetic haze that obscured the mind. Something within you was tearing to get out as your mad quest for the answer to this riddle drove you into a state of panic. This must have been something... Something... What was it?! What could be so evasive to even your own mind?! What could--

 

All at once, the wall began to move. There was a release of hydraulic clamps, a grating of steel, and the wall your cheek was pressed against sort of popped out an inch or two. Immediately, air within the small cell begins to be sucked out, replaced by lighter, somewhat fresher, air as the pressure equalizes. Then the door begins to lift out of the way, more hydraulics kicking into action as it did. More maggots squirm away from your body at the rumbling creak the movement has produced. Finally, you can remember what that blasted noise was for, and you try to wriggle into the recesses of the small cell along with the worms. Your arms reach up to protect your face from the hands that you know will reach out of the never ending darkness to grab you by the shirt.

 

Your keepers have come for you again, to go back... To the torture, to the endless hours of irrational thinking and missing memories. You struggle to hide from the hellions that have returned to take you away to that place of darkness. You remember, for the first time in a long while, something besides the cold darkness of your cell: you remember the horrendous pain, you remember the instruments of immortal terror. Thoughts bombard you like hellfire, the vicious animals, rabid for blood, set loose upon your skin to rend you with their violent claws. In the madness that now consumes you, your rush to get away, you remember the needles they stuck under your skin like cruel acupuncture. Then, laughing as they did so, you remember the tearing of flesh as they ripped the needles out, hooked ends deployed. In shrieking fear, you remember a thousand upon ten thousand methods of torture, each one having been personally experienced, as a firm hand grips your shoulder and drags you out of the cell and onto the dark, cold floor of the hall.

 

The person never drags you away though, they just leave you there to wait, while groaning comes from another man as he is pulled out of the cell above you and set nearby. Several others can be heard behind you, already pulled unceremoniously from their holdings. Before you can think, you are somehow on your feet, being pushed by the man behind you through the darkness. You stumble forward and push the man before you, surprisingly on his feet as well. Without an explanation, you are lead down the hall through absolute dark, penetrated only by occasional grunt from behind you and the gentle shove that followed. Your legs felt like wet noodles, to put it best, but somehow you managed to trudge along that long, dark hallway.

 

All the way to the elevator. Stepping close, the doors began to open for you. From them, light poured forth like a blinding tidal wave. It was as though the silent doors slid apart with the very intention of burning away every sensory nerve in your eyes, just to blind you out of spite. There was a click as the massive doors were opened fully, and your group was pushed into the unspacious elevator behind a figure that was only recognizable as the silhouette of a heavily armed guard. The elevator was made for small numbers of people, and the nine or ten people crammed into it were not an easy fit. No one spoke, content to simply shield their eyes from the bright overhead lights while eyes used to only darkness remembered the feel of color. Something told you that today was not your day.

 

This elevator was short ranged, it was meant for transportation between a small number of floors in the prison. You remembered somehow that the whole complex was underground, the main holding shaft being a couple hundred floors into the ground. You knew also, from your many trips to the torture chamber, that you would have to go to on of the control centers to get to the main elevator shaft. The control rooms were positioned every ten floors into the complex, each guarded by men in the same type of body armor as the one next to you. The same kind that they had worn the day you were apprehended. You realized, probably for the first time, that these short range elevators only went down from the control rooms. It was a security measure that allowed the guards to lock down a single floor and therefore lock down a whole section of the prison. Just another measure to ensure that there was never a possibility of escape.

 

The elevator stopped its descent, and the doors opened. The masked guard gave out a single command in a digital voice fabricated by his facemask and helmet. "Move. Let me through," it ordered in a harsh tone, forcing men to creep out of the elevator and into the short hallway. Ahead, you could see the passage went around a dark corner, and another order came as the figure reached that edge. "Stay here." In the span of a blink, the man then disappeared.

 

There was a long pause... Oh, if only it had been longer.

 

What erupted forth would haunt you for the rest of your living days. Not screams, but shrieks, cries of pain beyond words tear through your body. The despairing wails reverberate off the metallic walls and cut your frail body to the very core with their hopeless loss and agony. Hot, red blood splashes from around the corner, lights flicker on and off. Energy weapons are heard charging up, but their bolts are never fired as their owners' bodies go slack with death. Heavy objects can be heard crashing to the floor with echoing strikes. Lights flicker and go out, electrical equipment fizzles and sparks, the melee beyond invoking images of destruction.

 

Without warning, two figures sweep into the hallway. The rusty smell of blood entering your nose as the first guard is slammed into the wall by the other, impaled by the sword the man is carrying. The second man's armor is drenched in blood, and you know almost instantaneously that this is the guard that brought you up in the elevator. As swiftly as he came, he disappeared back down the corner to enter the melee once more. More screams bursted forth amidst the groans of the dying. In another moment, someone's disembodied head, with the helmet still on, hit the wall opposite to you. Blood splattered on the wall at the point of impact, and then was smeared downward as the head fell to the ground. The red eyes of the mask seemed to watch the group even in death, like some sick omen of their own demolition.

 

Silence. The air is still. The rusty smell of blood tingles your nose as your mind tries to imagine the gore that must be beyond the corner. You feel sick, knowing that the head on the floor might be the one that started the fighting, but it does not appear to be so. The wound is as though from a sword, as you saw the man using. Fear grips you again as you picture the guards about to burst forth from around the corner and fire upon your scarcely defendable group. Each one of you looks more disgusting than the next, as you glance around at the others, it might be a worthy endeavor to remove them from the world. Their skin is sickly yellowed, covered in swollen bruises and soars. Bugs still skitter across some, weaving in and out of the ragged remains of the peasantry the once wore. A white maggot stands in contrast to one mans dark hair, his hunched, skinny form nearly unmistakable from those around him. The smell was disgusting.

 

The ringing of steel being sheathed caught the wind in your throat. Your blood ran cold. The sudden noise had scared you, your incontrollable bladder leaking. A spot of clear piss formed below your groin, hardly even a puddle. Everyone else had just done the same, in the collective disarray of your clothing, it was hard to miss the fact that you were all as good as naked.

 

The computerized voice brought your mind from the gutter once more. "Come," was the only order. Cautiously, you moved around the corner, nauseous by the stench and still weary on your legs. The command was repeated, "come," and you moved a little faster at the impatience in the tone. You were all a sorry lot, but the scene that was revealed to you in flickering electric lights, like strobes, and the chaos in the room would have brought you to your knees even in good health. Men, wearing the nearly impenetrable armor, were ripped open, splattered across the walls, hewn in two, rended into slices and torn into individual body parts. It was not like the rotting dead in your cell, not something that had been there before you had arrived, but something that just happened. It was an annihilation you had witnessed, and you were glad you didn't have the opportunity to see it happen. The screams were echoing in your head already.

 

Amidst the death before you, the lone figure stood, dancing lights reflecting off of glistening blood splatters across the snow white armor and blue undersuit. The figure was a little more slender than you had remembered, but you had not had most of your sight when last you saw him. At his side, his merciless weapon was sheathed, around him the example of its power. Where he stood, was the only clean spot on the floor. Everywhere else was covered in blood.

 

He reached a hand over and hit a button on a nearby computer panel. A small, blinking light flashed green, illuminating another splash of blood an odd color. The person took a step forward, into the blood, and took off one of the pauldron plates from his armor. The arm revealed seemed much to skinny to wield a weapon with the sort of efficiency, but it would be treason to oneself to doubt it. Your concern, however, was more with what the man was digging out of the hollowed underside of the plate. In a moment you knew, as he held them out in a hand, like cards in a game. Needles.

 

"Each of you has been poisoned," he told you, "this is the antidote. I will set one before each of you. By taking the antidote, you are telling me that you are trueblood, and you wish to escape this godforsaken place. By declining, you will earn only death." The voice was measured and even, this person held no high position with either side of the choice before you. How could you possibly trust him, though? Wasn't he a guard? No, he couldn't be, he just massacred them... But the emperor is a ruthless man, he could have found displeasure with them, and...

 

The needle was placed before you on the floor. Still on your knees and watching the ground in concentration, you hadn't noticed the man move up to you. Bloody footsteps were on the ground where he had been only a moment before. Now, there was only you and that needle. You could see the orange liquid settling in the tube, it was thick, like a syrup... What was it you put syrup on again? Pan-... no, waff-... no, fre-... You couldn't remember. Whatever it was, it reminded you of your memory, it just moved around in a thick, slow manner, settling on the bottom of your thoughts. You couldn't remember what had woke you this time, only that you were now awake. With pleading eyes, you looked up at the guard. Eyes pleading for answers to these questions you so long wanted to have. Then something unexpected happened.

 

It made your decision for you. You picked up the needle and stabbed it into your arm without even feeling the pain. Your thumb depressed the liquid into your body, and you waited.

 

The guard had grasped her helmet by the facemask, and reached back for the bottom of the back of the helmet. Like a second skin, they peeled both off, revealing an astonishing fact. It was not a man at all, but a woman. A thick mane of dark hair was held up on her head in a coiled braid, which she readily undid, allowing it to flow down her back like glossy silk. Delicate, beautiful features held an expression of reassurance, but in those eyes, there was something more... Determination, willpower, strength, and most of all, something you couldn't place. She nodded slightly, deep emerald eyes locked on yours.

 

At first, you thought that it was a lie, a joke. The antidote to the "poison" was failing to work. The Emperor had assassins, you knew, that were trained in the art of seduction, of impersonating someone. Somehow, in those eyes, you saw something that immediately threw out the thought. Then you felt it. A tingling that ran from your tailbone up your spine and into your head. It was a warm sensation that filled you with... Thoughts. Memories. Events and time cascaded back into your mind like a whirling vortex of power. You felt lifted, whole, once again. From a time that you remembered. For the first time in what seemed like ages, your mind felt clear. Your thoughts were getting smoother, more fluid, and realization was hitting you about what had happened over the last month. Yes, you remembered how long you had been here even.

 

You also remembered having this feeling before, with perfect clarity, you remember the horror of every moment that it had happened before. Just before you were "interrogated" for a crime you never committed. The grotesque quality of every one of those moments came to you in haste, followed quickly by the torture that ensued. At last, however, as you had once vowed in your madness, you saw the world for what it was without the constriction of these guards or of their serum. You rose to your feet, firm in your ability to stand, and looked down upon the littered corpses with the same disgusted disposition as the woman before you. Smiling to see the intelligence once again back in your eyes, she handed you another unexpected object. A small yellow crystal.

 

"Hang on to that, it will give you strength," she said in a buttery smooth voice that didn't fit the stern tone that accompanied it. She didn't lie, simply touching it made you feel rejuvenated. As you look around to your allies in this solemn hell of a place, you see they too are holding the crystals. They all stand straighter, and despite their lack of covering, they look confident. It makes you feel confident along with them. You also notice that their skin looks a little bit more colored. It's still yellowed and grimy, but there seem to be fewer boils and soars, the bloating seems to be down, and they look like they're much healthier then they once were. Your mind is boggled that their skin doesn't hang from their bones like the rags they wear, and looking to your own skin, astonished that it is the same.

 

There is no time to worry about it though, as the woman put her helmet back on and removed the rest of the armor, save for the undersuit. Wasting no time, she points to an overturned cabinet, "get those undersuits on, you wont be able to carry the armor pads yet. Then," she points to another rack, tilted on its side, a corpse propped up against it, "see if any of those weapons over there are programmed in yet. Chances are they are. Your things are over there," she points to a final cabinet, in the back corner of the room, untouched by the bloodshed around it, "if you have anything of value or importance. Be quick! We must leave here as soon as the elevator arrives. Enough time has already been wasted."

 

Above you, the elevator, powered by magnets, is speeding downwards at a blistering pace. As the little green light blinks, your escape ride, comes ever closer. And so does the enemy.

 

 

 

EDIT: I seem to have not specified the type of "weapon" on the racks. It is the gaurd's standard energy carbine. Few of them are unprogrammed with genetic information, having been used previously. PM me if you want to know if your carbine is usable, or just go for your standard weapons in the cabinet.

[Keeper of Lives]

The images that come forth in my mind from your words *shivers* ..... theres no word to describe it without risk of an understatement. Amazing.

[Peregrine]

Strangely, Ryan Tabanne seemed entirely unaffected by the sudden changes in his situation. After all, dreams weren't supposed to make sense. What difference did it make, if a dream shifted from one weird image to another? Morning would come soon enough, and even this nightmare would be just a fading memory.

 

"Your things are over there!"

 

The stranger's order made little sense. What else could his dream-self own? Tonight, he acted the part of a poor prisoner. What else could he have, but rags and sorrow? But he might as well look anyway, perhaps his "things" would provide an interesting plot twist?

 

It was no surprise at all to Ryan when he saw his real-self's equipment in the cabinet. Of course it made no sense that a prison would keep any of it, and even less sense that he'd ever see it again. But it didn't bother him, far stranger things had happened in his dreams. Somewhere in his unconscious mind, he decided that he approved of this plot twist. At least a battle would be a refreshing change from the earlier torture.

 

A quick check of his equipment showed it was all there. Rifle, pistol, armor, spare ammunition, radio, everything he'd normally carry. And better clothes, he noticed with a happy thought. Not rushing at all, removed the old prison clothes and threw them aside, then began replacing them with his own. It was a calming ritual he'd performed so many times it came without conscious thought. Armor on, tighten the straps, a spare magazine here, a hidden knife there. Even in a dream as odd as this, some things still worked the same.

 

When he reached the small radio transmitter, he stopped for a moment. For a second that seemed an eternity, he held the device, lost in the memories that it brought. Carefully, giving those memories their proper respect even in a dream, he slipped it into a pocket. I'll see you again soon, he promised silently.

 

The rifle on the other hand, brought an entirely different improvement in his mood. Its comforting weight promised an entirely different kind of dream. A full load, how many will I get tonight? he wondered as he slipped its spare ammunition into his various pockets. Pockets full, he locked the final magazine into the rifle and slapped the bolt handle to ready his first shot. Even among "allies", in a dream as strange as this one, there was no point in waiting.

 

Finally satisfied with his preparations, he turned his attention to the others. Completely lacking the stranger's worried haste, he began studying what his mind had produced for companions tonight.

[Vao]

Vao let out a grin, glad that someone had finally let them loose. Even if he knew not who his "allies" were, why should he care? As long as they have a chance of escaping, he cared not who it was with. Gleefully, he walked over cabinet, quickly slipping on his garments.

 

As he walked over to the weapons rack, Vao let out a smile towards his comrades, as if in pity of their sorrow. Hey, the situation could be worse. We could always be dead. Absent-mindedly, he grabbed a carbine, checking to make sure it wasn't geneticly encoded and that it had a fresh power cell.

 

"So," Vao asked, breaking what little calm their was before they left this godforsaken place,"What're all your names?" he asked inquisitively. "Mine's Vao," he said proudly, pointing to himself.

[Keeper of Lives]

"Enough time has already been wasted"

 

 

The fear was flowing through himself yet again. He felt the energy splash through through him, his strength regaining ever moment in possesion of the yellow crystal. Khevbik Klavmur yearned to leave this hellhole once and for all, so much even it felt more painful than the tortures, however unlikely accurate to say the least.

 

As quickly as his thoughts came to, he tried his best to rush to the cabinets where the suits and his equipment were. Off gaurd he wobbled his way forward, nearly falling to the ground, he clenched the yellow crystal tighter in his palm. Khevbik felt the warmth, the energy from the crystal, his head was in total clearity, but his body was still weak, his mind at least felt anew. He opened the cabinet, there it was, a stack of undersuits; dignity was something the crystal couldnt give him, luckily, undersuits offered the gift.

 

"Aha! My things.", Khevbik didnt any waste time wrapping the holster around his waste and strapping the knife in sheath on his left arm. His trenchcoat was here as well, a name it had earned him zestfully. Trenchcoat Killer. He would have stood to wonder who came up with the name, but fear pressed his attention to the prized weapon. He smiled holding his Glock36 pistol. This weapon was his life, the end of other's, this is what kept him alive.

 

Then it hit him, there were other people here in the same twisted circumstance as he. He knew they were with him, yet he seemed to have forgotten; perhaps his mind wasn't was as clear as he thought.

 

At least he wasn't alone in this ordeal, he preferred being alone really, but company now, never felt better. He nodded to the ones who looked his way as they went about their business in the moment. The fear had been gone for a few minutes, unfortunatly, it would wave through him once more any second; but for now he was calm, he needed to stay calm through this or at least try. His art was death, and too many times had it almost taken him, he should be used to it, yet he couldnt control it when it came forth.

 

The fear returned.

 

Trenchcoat on, gun and knife in hands, he was ready for a fight. He held his stance wearily, he hoped the gaurds didnt get in close combat, he was much stronger now than he was lying in that filth, but not strong enough to take on several men swarming him in close combat, much less one. He would have to make his shots count. Khevbik didnt think there would be bullets stocked with the latest gear in this place, being old fashioned might end up being his downfall. He grinned to himself shaking his head slightly at the thought. Old fashioned.

[MDRud216]

Ackon half fell back to the ground, clutching the crystal gift as though it was his lifeforce; which undoubtedly at this point was all too true. He crept foreward on his hands and knees, one leg dragging behind. When he arrived at the long rectangular wooden box he presumed to be stocked with his old posessions a few of the others seemed battle-ready- a sensation he had not felt in many weeks.

 

When at last his old clothes were back on they felt bigger, but his weight would hopefully return in the coming days, for now he would have to rely on hiding. He also now carried his damning rifle in its bodyhugging bag, his running shoes and butane lighter. His sidearm was in his hand, 4 bullets in the magazine, nothing was left of the rifle's.

 

When he stood he felt frail and vulnerable, he was watching from the inside as one shadow of a man introduced himself as Vao. "Ackon." the answer he gave reverberated in his skull and he closed his eyes, almost falling backwards.

 

A gentle hum was now felt in the floor through his feet- the elavator was close and he took (shaky) aim at the doorway that woulld soon open, quite unsure what would issue forth from it.

[Shadow of the Fallen]

The elevator was propelled by powerful magnets, much like a railgun. The magnetic shifts made by sending electicity through bars of positivly or negativly charged metal created the force needed to move the high speed car. Men had to be secured with helmets, belt strapps, and harnesses in order to keep their bodies in place and avoid deadly whiplash. The tiny car, with its payload of vicious souls, was at this very moment, heading on a deathcourse for the 28th control room--the same one the heros were now occupying.

 

The car could hold up to 15 men in standing harnesses. The harnesses were arranged in rows, five men to each, with a short space to either side to allow for passage. The harnesses were automated, but could be operated manually if they were disfunctioning. When the car stopped, there was a short pause to make sure it still wasn't going anywhere, and then sensors within the car released the bindings. A manual button opened the door. It was positioned to the right of the opening, a square red block that stuck out from the wall. "Door", was imprinted on the surface in embossed, black lettering. All in all, it took an average of thirty seconds to open the door once the car stopped.

 

The main elevator shaft was vacume sealed so that there would be no resistance to slow the descent of the cylindrically shaped car. The only thing that forced the car to move was the magnets, they kept it from bumping against the side of the shaft, they kept it from going farther then it should, they kept it from falling. Magnets controlled everything, without power, it would be a long fall for the occupants inside. The end would be quick enough, though, and at least they might have enough time to say farewell to this cruel world.

 

The woman's heart was beating furiously. Whether they understood the mechanics behind those small crystals, thinking them to use some sort of foolish nano-technology or whatnot, she did not know. Neither did it matter. Speeding down that elevator shaft, silently (sorry MDRud, but if you looked at a monitor you could have seen a visual representation of the same thing, my bad), was likely a payload of warriors. It would be only seconds till they arrived.

 

Seconds that were ticking away as the disheveled men around her obeyed her orders without knowing why. They did what they were told, for the postpect of escape, or for the hell of it, to weary from their time in this hell-on-earth to remember what was real and what was fake. She had to get them away from this place before it awoke in an uproar. Her worst fear was that it already had, and a fifteen man squadron would be the very least of their worries. The thought was filled with dread... Even if she did get them on the elevator, who's to say that they wouldn't be killed when first the door opened...

 

Or worse, if, in their acent to the surface world, they cut the power to the base. It was the most logical choice... Maybe.

 

If she was killed, in this prison where there were no escapes. If she were captured by these deadly villans, where would they take her? The would find out in short order who had sent her, even if she refused to tell them anything... Even if she endured that pain, that awful pain, like she had those many years ago. What would it earn her? The same death as that awaited these men... No, it did not await them yet. The methods of their destruction couldn't be known to them yet.

 

They still fondled with this ancient technology, outwarly appearing to know what they were doing, but inwardly the woman knew they had no clue what to do with the weapons and equipment. She hurried to show them how to put the suits on, "it stretches, see?" she asked them, stretching the neck of the suit to show how it contracted and expanded easily. Very quickly, her ugency to be away from here seeming to rub off on some, they were equiped with the skin-tight body suits. Sub-conciously, she caught her own embarassment at wearing such a garb, knowing that they were too out of their own minds to care... Even after the antidote. Hah, as though anyone could care after what they had all endured.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, the little blinking green light came on solid. She snapped her eyes to a monitor that showed its postition, which was right on top of them. "The elevator is here! Prepare yourselves for combat!" was all she could get out before she heard the elevator opening behind her. I hope those crystals do what they're really supposed to, she thought, drawing her sword as the first blast of energy tore through the room, gods, smile upon us this day!

 

With a roaring battle cry she turned upon the gaurds, deadly weapon already poised in a whirwind's arc.

[Shrogen]

Shrogen blinked. A completely different scene assailed him then the one he had been a part of just moments earlier. He blinked again. The same thing occurred. It was like his brain was unable to keep up with the changes going on around him. Suddenly there was a sharp sting of pain in his arm, and he looked in surprise to see himself injecting himself with an unknown liquid. Another blink and the needle was replaced by an odd yellow crystal.

 

His brain had been mentally scarred by the atrocities inflicted on him, and it compensated in the best way it knew how, by disconnecting with reality. However, the tendrils of an alien agent was now pulling on neurons, a spark of new thought sprang here, there, spreading quickly before turning into a lightning storm of thought.

 

His eyes glazed over as he was assaulted by mental images, sounds, smells, memories, emotions, and pain. He was reliving his life, sometimes starting from now and going back, sometimes from the beginning going forward, most of the time jumping here and there, his brain reordering itself, filling filing cabinets and dusting off. He remembered his childhood, being tutored by various strangers as he had attempted to gain a trade in these dismal times. In the end, having failed at everything, he grew content with his worthless and purposeless existence. His recollection ended at his unexpected assault. It was a shame he had so little to remember.

 

For the first time in what might have been eternities, Shrogen was in the present and what might have passed as “sane”. He looked down again to find himself in the skintight synthetic armor and a weapon of near mythical proportions on the street. He turned it over and began to inspect it when a sharp cry of warning and an order to fight.

 

With a disengagement of clicks, the elevator door opened and out poured the enemy. The figure in front of a group of motley looking figures in the same synthetic armor (his brain identified them as “friends” for reasons he did not know) raised their own weapons to fire. Shrogen did the same, his hand finding the trigger after only a quick search.

 

There was a crackle followed by volley of hissing as air near the muzzles of the weapons of both side superheated, followed by the hiss of air rapidly heating as the deadly shots of death without mass filled the air. Shrogen tightened his finger on the trigger and heard quite a different sound.

 

“You are not the owner of this gun, please contact the local master at arms and have it returned to . . .”

 

As the weapon rattled off a name and serial number, Shrogen decided on using the gun in another way, a method he had observed personally a few times in his life on the street. He sprinted as fast as his legs would carry him to the elevator door, where another figure in the synthetic armor (his brain identified this on as “savior”) and brought the butt of the weapon down as hard as he could on the first armored figure he came to, having narrowly avoided death from his energy carbine. The victim of his attack slumped, and Shrogen joined the melee, wielding his energy carbine like a club.

[mrpyromania]

During the time spent in the prison,Elan had just disconected.Like whatching someone else's torment,someone else's madness. So when he put the needle into his arm,it had even been a suprise to him. The crash of memory's that had followed sent him to his knees,nearly dropping the crystal. Though he retained enough sense not to drop that precious gift.

 

Now he stood,waiting for his tormentor's to come,drawing a throwing knive in one hand,and extending the Katar for his other. The weapons felt odd in his weak hands,but somehow...right. When the door hissed open,admiting guards,Elan held his throw,waiting . It would have been a waste of knive,for the air seered with energy as both sides discarged there guns. A blast narrowly missing his head shook some sense into him,and he decided it was time to take the fight close range.

 

His decision was even more reinforced when one of his fellow inmates rushed foreward with a gun,using it as a club. Elan charged in,leading with his spinning throwing knive. As soon as the knive left his hand,he put pressure on his palm to extend his second Katar. Letting out a battle cry that sounded melodic,he lept into the fray.

[Shadow of the Fallen]

The skirmish lines met in a fearsome clash. The woman's blade dealt swift, fluid death to equal measure to every man bold enough to fire at her. Her movments were inhuman, her body no less that a fleeting specter that tricked your eyes into thinking she was in one place, when she was already in another. Regardless, your mind had far more important things, among them, your own survival, to worry about.

 

As Shrogen met the first warrior, he was disturbed to find that they carried basic combat knives. Within a matter of moments, it didn't matter. His club was heavy enough to knock the men unconcious, and the escapees held the initiative. If not for the masks, the gaurds' faces would have likely registered with disgust, such a complex device being used in so crude a manner--and then they would have been blank and bruised, and understanding that it was still an effective method of attack.

 

Elan's first knife, even amidst the hail of white hot energy, found a solid mark in the eye of one of his keepers, summoning forth a violent shriek of fury. The return fire was what missed his head... If the man was not half blind, it would have likely been a killing blow. His katars felt heavier then the once might have, probably from the lack of nutrition and the general weakness of his body.

 

In fact, everyone seemed to be having the same effects. Fired shots were not as accurate as they could have been, though the bursts of energy and solid ammuntion was tearing through the enemy ranks. The carnage around you was repeating itself again within the chamber of the elevator, the gaurds being partially caught by surprise.

 

The woman continued to rip through the attackers, forcing them on the defensive as the others continued to pound them with their weapons. The tide of battle for the weary group looked good.