The lights are on
Veteran Member - Level 13
The following is an experiment from my creative writing I'm doing for school. It's done in second person, set in an original universe of my own creation. I merely post it here for your enjoyment, and so that something new can actually be on the blog since I've been busy with school. The story itself is a snapshot pilot for an idea I've been toying with for a while, although I don't actually expect to be taking it in this direction any further. Alright, on with the story!
You can feel the tears on your face as time seems to slow down. The
glass slowly blows around you, whirling around like little birds. You
can feel some scratch your skin, etching their patterns in your cheek
like an artist with a brush. There's the smell of ash as the
explosives go off behind you. It smells like the Inferno, but a
little less like it used to.
It's a funny thing, not knowing whether to laugh or cry as everything
goes to hell around you. There are people gunning for you left and
right – you can see the laser sights tracking on your coat as you
hang there in that moment in time. You'll be falling to the ground
hundreds of feet below in a minute, so good luck to them if they plan
on getting a clean shot.
There's a roar of the fire, but it almost seems sad as you manage to
flee. The weapons on your back rattle lightly, clinking together like
chimes. The pistol in your hand still has half a clip left, and it's
likely it won't get to finish.
You never imagined this sort of thing for yourself. You figured you'd
left this life behind, but it looks like that's not what God wants.
Well, if He wants you, He can have you, there's no argument there,
but you're going down swinging regardless.
Then time speeds back up.
You fire off two shots, taking out the nearest sniper on the catwalk,
sending him barreling over the railing. His rifle falls forward, and
you look as the giant metal menace that sent you running in the first
place jumps after you. As it tries to grab you, you slip past and
jump off it's back to grab the rifle, taking aim at the machine's
head. Two shots go through both its big glowing eyes, taking out is
central nervous system and leaving it a limp bulk.
You land on it and take the rifle, shooting off at the catwalk's
supports before any of the remaining snipers get a shot, sending them
falling. The clip display reads empty and you toss it away, ripping
out your pistol.
The wind is a torrent around you, the machine's body the only thing
shielding you from an updraft. The ground is closing in fast, so you
check the nearest windows.
That office level? No, security's already showing up to give a
welcome party. Maybe the reception level? Too low to the ground. Then
you see an opening in the restroom and make a jump for it, the ground
getting far too close for comfort. The green glows around you as you
make contact, taking the hit. You then rip out one of the stalls and
take a pipe, smacking it against a wall to break the few bits of
The first guard in the door gets the last piece wedged in his face as
you slam it into his head, using the collision to leverage a slide
under the next one's legs, shooting upward with your freehand to
As he begins to cringe you shoot him in the base of the neck, and
throw the pipe at the next one, smashing him against the wall. The
next squad coming down the end of the hall have got armor. How nice
of them to let the rookies run in first.
You dodge a shotgun shell and slide back, heading for the corner as
you fire off two shots, the third clicking empty – guess you get to
reload anyway. That's not a good sign. They're being slow, which
means there's something bigger coming down the road.
The blare of a flashlight makes you squint as a second squad come
around the corner. You've got no time to change your clip so you whip
out old Rosencrantz and stab into the nearest helmet with a shotgun
in its hands. You take it out and borrow the shotgun – it's
semi-automatic, so you empty the clip on the rest of the squad, and
rip the ax out of the first guard's helmet, slamming it around the
corner as the first squad tries to approach, sending them all
colliding into each other as it plunges into their man on point.
You take stock and grab the nearest sub-machine gun, taking your ax
out of the guard as his backup start to get back up from. You're half
way down the hall when they open fire, and you toss a grenade,
sending it bouncing off the glass as it goes off.
There's that smell again, of the Inferno. It's closer this time, it's
less like ash and more like pure nausea. You can feel it at your
back, coursing over your jacket like a hot jet of flame. It's
pulsing, angered, and ready to explode. You give it a flip of the
bird and keep running.
The hall ends at a semi-circle balcony floors above the main lobby.
You can hear the elevators coming down, plenty of more guards ready
to try their best. Rather than make them disappointed, you notice
there's a chandelier that looks pretty precarious.
You judge the distance and kick out the glass balcony so you can get
a running start. The glow starts to overcome but you try to keep it
back – you shouldn't need it's help for this. Still, it doesn't
hurt to overcompensate.
As the elevators ding at the ground level, you jump, grabbing onto
the chandelier and shooting off the cords holding it so high. It
jerks downward but it stops, additional supports flying out to keep
it from crushing the lobby below. Remember back when they didn't make
everything so 'safe'? You really miss those days.
You get around to being opposite the guards as they open fire. Half
of the supports are latched onto the front wall, which can't be too
thick judging by the various windows letting light seeth through. You
take out your last grenade and pray under your breath as you pull out
of cover, jam the grenade into the other side of the chandelier, and
whip around to the other side as it blows off the supports on the
backside. Physics goes to work as it starts to descend towards the
wall like a battering ram. You slide down as it collides, holding
onto the top as the chandelier careens forward.
It's days like this that make you wonder why the world lasted this
long. It's been ages since it last made sense, and it's so paranoid
now that any step out of line makes it break down into a panic
attack. Then when you try to suggest they've got it all wrong...
well, it seemed even with God's help, things weren't going optimally.
Maybe it is time to check out after all.
The chandelier rips the whole front wall down as it goes flying out,
tearing it all down with the remaining supports. You laugh as the
debris knocks out the nearest squads at the lobby's floor. You jump
off the momentary rocket as it grinds over the edge of the city's
level, falling to the depths of the Undercity below. They'll be at
your back any second.
You grab the nearest bike and jam a DNA counterfeit into the bike's
scanner and knock off its stand as you press the ignition. You can
hear the sirens blaring from behind, and you take a turn to the main
road and slide between traffic.
The wheels of supply transports grind all around you as you hide
amongst them, watching the sky for airborne threats. The route to the
nearest docking station appears on the bike's HUD, and you try to
find a way around the nearest transport. As you move forward, you
realize they're boxing you in. They start pressing closer.
You rip the DNA counterfeit out of the bike and jump off of it, using
Rosencrantz to grapple up to the top. As you get to the top, there's
a shot from above, and you jump to the other transport as the first
one is blasted to shrapnel. You take out your pistol and lock the new
clip in, getting a full view of the gunship above.
The transport grinds to a halt, and soldiers descend to surround you,
fully armed and ready to blast your head off. They're coming down
around you, and then the person responsible for all this lands down
alongside them, her gun firmly aiming at your head.
You'd know her anywhere. Charismatic. Type-A. She's obsessed with
looks, why else would she have armored modified into a green dress?
Ivory skin, doesn't spend much time in the sun. A short hair, she's
obsessive. Bright eyes... she's got spirit, but all she cares about
is you dying and her plan working out.
No, it's not time to checkout just yet. Not until this b*tch and all
her manipulative friends get what's coming to them.
“Hello Kara,” she says, contempt mixed with pleasure like a
You've seen people die because of this woman, you've known people
she's hurt, you've seen what costs she's paid to give the world
“I don't suppose you're going to make this easy?” she asks you.
It's time to get to work.
“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” you say,
Rosencrantz sliding into a good grip in your left hand as you get
back to work.
So this is what war feels like.
Cheers, Paradigm the FallenP.S. If you want to see more prose work, please let me know in the comments, as I am unfortunately not fully trained in my psychic abilities, and thus cannot read your thoughts.