Darkside55
The Freeman
- Joined
- Jun 12, 2009
- Messages
- 12,083
- Reaction score
- 93
I am flesh and bone.
My muscles tense as we fall in line. My skin tingles; alert, conductive. I feel a charge run through me, feel the air around me pop. Distant words invade my head, shrill and forceful. Some of my brothers, more nervous than I, shift in place. We are given the briefest moment to acclimate, to memorize our role, then we are off.
I am fodder, and my will is imposed.
I get the sensation that I am rooted in place, yet all around me the world moves by. I hear the rush growing louder as it comes toward me, then grows fainter as if I have moved ahead of it. There is an explosion of color and a whiplike crack, and I nearly stumble forward as the ground lurches beneath my feet.
I am property, indentured by birth, bound to serve as I live and breathe.
The air here is as alive as it is back home, but the surroundings are foreign. This place feels cold, sterile. I watch another put his hand to the wall and feel his shiver. Another suggests we move, and I nod in agreement.
We move down the hallway, checking ahead and behind. We grow anxious at shadows. Lights and closed portals line the area, yet nothing stirs. Our formation becomes less rigid; my brothers and I become a loose cluster. We travel like this for several minutes until the hall opens up to a rotunda, a blue-gray room filled with unrecognizable technology. And there, we are surprised to see our targets, who look at us tremulously, both sides unknown to the other, not knowing what the other is capable of.
The briefest of glances are shared between my brothers and I, and we open fire.
I am my master's hand, and through me he stretches forth.
We give them no time to retaliate. They scream and fall to the floor, backing away. Some raise their hands as we do, and we cut them down. They begin to run, to scramble away from us, and we move further into the room, emboldened. We get in close, and my skin tingles again, because I can feel panic emanating from them. We have cut off their only path, and they are trapped.
I step closer, and one of them turns to face me. I see something in his features I do not understand, something alien. It gives me pause. And seeing my hesitation his face slackens and his posture becomes slightly less tense; my hand flashes across his face and he falls dead. I still cannot understand what that look was, and it troubles me for reasons I do not fully comprehend; yet his body told me the fear in him was subsiding, and he might have retaliated.
There is much blood now. A few of my comrades revel in it, their inner warrior exploding to the surface. I take no joy in it, accepting it only as necessity. When our enemies move no more, we continue on down another hallway to our right, an exit we blocked them from taking. And for several more minutes, we walk.
We have killed a room full of them, and so we are no longer afraid when we see a shadow at the far end of the tunnel define itself into the shape of a man. Our blood runs hot, and we charge forward, crying out in challenge, heedless of danger. We bellow even as the man rounds the corner.
For the second time this night the air around me pops, but this time I hear it instead of feel it. Something in me seems to shut down; I look to my side as one of my brothers drops to the floor. I feel sickened, and even as I raise my head to face this one my brothers fire upon him. We scorch the walls, burn the steel, but he does not fall like the others. That thing he holds gives another report, and another of my kin screams. The thing clicks and he rushes me. His other hand comes up, and for the first time I notice the red stick he holds.
My brothers scatter as he nears, but I am the target of his focus, and fear has gripped me. Briefly I wonder about this man, wonder whose hand he is. Whose will does he obey? Whose aspirations does he carry? To whom is he a slave?
I wonder no more as his hand swoops down, exploding white-hot against my head, freeing me.
My muscles tense as we fall in line. My skin tingles; alert, conductive. I feel a charge run through me, feel the air around me pop. Distant words invade my head, shrill and forceful. Some of my brothers, more nervous than I, shift in place. We are given the briefest moment to acclimate, to memorize our role, then we are off.
I am fodder, and my will is imposed.
I get the sensation that I am rooted in place, yet all around me the world moves by. I hear the rush growing louder as it comes toward me, then grows fainter as if I have moved ahead of it. There is an explosion of color and a whiplike crack, and I nearly stumble forward as the ground lurches beneath my feet.
I am property, indentured by birth, bound to serve as I live and breathe.
The air here is as alive as it is back home, but the surroundings are foreign. This place feels cold, sterile. I watch another put his hand to the wall and feel his shiver. Another suggests we move, and I nod in agreement.
We move down the hallway, checking ahead and behind. We grow anxious at shadows. Lights and closed portals line the area, yet nothing stirs. Our formation becomes less rigid; my brothers and I become a loose cluster. We travel like this for several minutes until the hall opens up to a rotunda, a blue-gray room filled with unrecognizable technology. And there, we are surprised to see our targets, who look at us tremulously, both sides unknown to the other, not knowing what the other is capable of.
The briefest of glances are shared between my brothers and I, and we open fire.
I am my master's hand, and through me he stretches forth.
We give them no time to retaliate. They scream and fall to the floor, backing away. Some raise their hands as we do, and we cut them down. They begin to run, to scramble away from us, and we move further into the room, emboldened. We get in close, and my skin tingles again, because I can feel panic emanating from them. We have cut off their only path, and they are trapped.
I step closer, and one of them turns to face me. I see something in his features I do not understand, something alien. It gives me pause. And seeing my hesitation his face slackens and his posture becomes slightly less tense; my hand flashes across his face and he falls dead. I still cannot understand what that look was, and it troubles me for reasons I do not fully comprehend; yet his body told me the fear in him was subsiding, and he might have retaliated.
There is much blood now. A few of my comrades revel in it, their inner warrior exploding to the surface. I take no joy in it, accepting it only as necessity. When our enemies move no more, we continue on down another hallway to our right, an exit we blocked them from taking. And for several more minutes, we walk.
We have killed a room full of them, and so we are no longer afraid when we see a shadow at the far end of the tunnel define itself into the shape of a man. Our blood runs hot, and we charge forward, crying out in challenge, heedless of danger. We bellow even as the man rounds the corner.
For the second time this night the air around me pops, but this time I hear it instead of feel it. Something in me seems to shut down; I look to my side as one of my brothers drops to the floor. I feel sickened, and even as I raise my head to face this one my brothers fire upon him. We scorch the walls, burn the steel, but he does not fall like the others. That thing he holds gives another report, and another of my kin screams. The thing clicks and he rushes me. His other hand comes up, and for the first time I notice the red stick he holds.
My brothers scatter as he nears, but I am the target of his focus, and fear has gripped me. Briefly I wonder about this man, wonder whose hand he is. Whose will does he obey? Whose aspirations does he carry? To whom is he a slave?
I wonder no more as his hand swoops down, exploding white-hot against my head, freeing me.
