The low bleeping of the sensor alarm slowly roused Malyion from his short nap. He had started taking naps in the mess hall when he could get away with it. It wasnt that he was lazy, just that the normal lack of activity in his duties meant there was little urgency with his orders. Malyion slowly shifted his head off his overly cluttered desk, and sat back in his chair and stared nonchalantly at the cup of coffee on his desk. He stretched his arm out and grasped the cup in one hand, in one steady but slow movement he brought it to his lips, and took a sip out of it. He nearly spat it out in reaction to how cold it was, but managed to force it down anyway. More awake, he now remembered exactly what had woken him in the first place.
Malyion was stationed at the sector six watch post. Along with himself and a few others they were garrison whose duty it was to monitor the various surveying devices that were under their control, and report their findings if any back to the headquarters. Sector 6 was on the southern shore of the main land. They monitored the area, which at one time had been the only access to an island that contained one of the many now abandoned domes. Only a skeletal staff was stationed here at any one time, due to the low activity in the area.
The watch post itself was a small building constructed in the shadow of a large rock outcropping just slightly north of the sewer access next to a small canyon. Like many of the buildings of the time it had a dilapidated look primarily to maintain an inconspicuous appearance. Although small it managed to contain a small mess hall, living quarters and the surveillance room.
Something had activated the sensor alarm. Malyion thought it would probably just have been Dais accidentally triggering the alarm but it needed checking anyway. He pulled himself up off the chair, and staggered towards the surveillance room. Due to the general amount of inactivity, the surveillance room only consisted of a few cameras linked to each of the motion sensors, and a few weather-monitoring devices. Generally Malyion paid little attention to the weather monitoring devices, as they normally just gave the same low temperature read-outs, which he was accustomed to in this nuclear winter landscape.
The motion sensors were placed in positions so as to give a three hundred and sixty degree monitoring system of the watch post. Malyion slowly walked over to the monitors, and sat down at the chair in front of them. He started to check each of the screens individually, searching for what had set the alarms off. Then he noticed it about thirty metres of North West of the sewer access.
It was like nothing thatd had seen before. Whatever it was at least taller than an average human, and it central mass was bulbous with legs supporting what could be considered its abdomen, and two arms on either side. Malyion reached to his right and picked up the radio, kept in the surveillance room. Dais should be on patrol right now, he mused
He clicked in the button on the radio and held it up to his mouth. Dais, Dais! Come in! Malyion spoke in to the device.
What! Im on patrol, this better be important Mal Dais shouted down the radio.
Yeah something important. Weve got an intruder in zone four! Where are you?
Zone four! Dais shouted.
Ive been tracking it trying to find out if its hostile or not. Malyion lied.
Ok, ok. Im in zone two Dais responded.
Go and check it out, its only twenty minutes from your position
What is it? Dais asked.
Not sure, its not a monster on any of the known records. Ill get Yorke to provide you with support
Im going, Ill radio in when Ive reached it
The radio went dead as Dais, cut transmission. Malyion sighed, why did everything have to happen on his shift?
Wearily Magus dreamed, tossing and turning in his desolate shack. He sees the shimmer of a dimly lit and dank room, the smell of human waste is overbearing upon his olfactory sense. As if guided by an unseen force he starts moving forwards into the room. Its purpose is clear to him now a cell, a fetid residence of human misery. Chained to the wall he sees a limp figure. She huddles in the corner of her prison, cowering in a dark corner, hoping that by hiding in the dark she can just disappear. She tries in vain to remember the words that will protect her, but over time she has forgotten.
Through the bars of her cell the rays of the morning sun beam down on her forehead. Is it morning? Her memory fails her, time seems different her, displaced somehow. The light shines on her hair, the unkempt locks of her of her once beautiful azure hair. Subconsciously he screams, if only he could reach out to her and save her, to take away all the pain and torment and in doing so could he wash his own hands clean? His screams are broken by laughter, a cold heartless chuckle that sends a chill down Magus spine. She no longer screams the loss of liberty has broken and diminished her spirit. The laughter continues dark and coarse, enjoying the pain and misery it is causing.
His view of her prison changes, he feels the heat of the sun on his brow. He realises what he sees now. The cell from her eyes, he looks up to see his captor. A dark shape shrouded in shadow, covered except for the eyes. They are watching him, viewing him with contempt, a baleful glare that could weaken armies. They shine with a bright glow, irises of deep blue. Just for a moment he senses recognition, but it passes quickly. He feels her fear, and her recollection of a name her saviour. She thinks of her brother, who has been lost to her for so long.
The dream seemed oh so real, before he realises it Magus finds himself staring at the brown walls of his hut back on the Earthbound Isle. He finds himself sat upright on his bed his torso caked in sweat. Quickly he throws the covers from himself, he moves his feet down onto the cold floor. The cold barely registers with him, as if by instinct he counters it by warming his toes by magic. Lost in thought Magus considers the events of the dream which has just past, could she still be alive? He thought she was lost to him, when Lavos destroyed Zeal. But just who was that other figure? It seemed like he was watching him.
Another thought occurs to Magus, just a small possibility. A remote chance more than anything else. He gathers his clothes and dresses. A dark leather tunic, and a pair of brown trousers and matching boots. He kneels at a wooden chest beside his bed, he opens it swiftly and reaches inside. After a few minutes he finds what he needs his scythe and the gate key. Lucca gave them each one, Just in case she had said optimistically. A wry grin crossed his face, he found himself thinking of Ayla. He wondered if the cave woman had any idea on how to use the device. Magus closed the chest, and rested both items atop of it. He walked over to the door of his hut, and turned to the chair in the corner. Strewn over it was his cape, a deep amethyst. He pulled it up over his shoulders and headed back to the chest. Magus grabbed the scythe and hung it over his shoulder, secured by a leather strap tethered to the base of the handle and just under the blade. He placed the gatekey inside the folds of his cloak.
Magus stepped out of his hut, pulling the ramshackle door closed behind him. He hadnt constructed the hut well when he built. The door kept out the cold well enough, it was never too secure but Magus didnt really expect visitors. The sun was making a meagre effort to break free of the clouds, and illuminate the island. Dawn had broken a few hours earlier, the light wasnt all that bright as of yet. Briskly he set off down to the shore of the island, a few hundred metres south of his home. He had built it near to the precipice of the North Cape. In the distance he saw a few of the villagers carrying out there mid morning activities. He ignored them as he always did. Magus stopped at the cliff edge, the waves violently breaking against the land below him. He stared at the solitary island in front of him, where a gate had once resided. Silently he mouthed the magics of a levitation spell. Magus pushed himself off from the floor as the spell rendered his mass weightless, and wills himself over to the island in front of him.
He his gaze fixed on the island in front of him, gliding easily through the air to his destination. A storm rages across the water, waves violently crashing against each other. Angry white horses tearing across the waters surface, the wind howling across the bleak land. Magus pays it no mind concentrating on the island ahead of him His thoughts turn to his sister again, could he have saved her when he was the prophet? He had let himself become too fixated on destroying Lavos, to pay heed to anything else. His selfishness had cost him. Magus feels his anger building inside him, consuming his other thoughts. Lost for a moment, he fails to realise his loss in altitude. Quickly he composes himself and concentrates on the island. It hangs below him, waiting for him.
Slowly he brings himself down onto the island, a short distance away from the cave entrance. Where a gate may lay. During the time of his quest with Crono, the island had held a gate to the prehistoric era. Could it now still contain a gate? Magus casts the doubt from his mind, he knows Lavos destruction should have meant an end to the gates but, what else was there now but the possibility of chance. Magus walks quickly, heading round to the cave entrance. Magus stops by it transfixed by what he can see on the cave floor. A blue light shimmering upon the bedrock of the cave, Magus stops thinking about what this may mean. He walks rapidly inside the cave, witnessing the truth in front of him. A gleaming blue vortex of a gate in front of him, crackling with various energies. Expanding from its centre lines of energy circle the gate, dissipating when it reaches the out edge of the gate. Magus approaches it drawing the gatekey from his cloak he holds it outstretched. The key reacts with the gate, somehow steadying the chaotic energies of the vortex, focusing them on a central point.
Caring little for his own safety Magus steps into the vortex. Gripping the key firmly he allows the gate to fully envelop him, falling into it. Unsure of where it will take, but reassured by the possibility that it may take him on step closer to his sister.
He stares blankly at the wall in front of him, on occasion it brings him stark moments of rationality. The moments of clarity when he tries to put everything back together again. But every time he fails, try as he might. It was as if his mind had become a jigsaw, but none of the pieces fitted together or if they did hed forgotten how they were meant to be assembled. It was as if something inside his head was keeping it a secret from him, a dark secret too terrible for him to understand. He stares at the wall, he notices that the wall is covered in scratches and marks, he cant remember why they are there. But he knows that they hold some importance, but what? Numbers? Letters? Names? A name did he have a name once? Like everything else he cant remember it.
This all he is and has now blank recollections of what once was or might have been. Faint memories come back to him. A red headed boy with the power the storm, the great beast that could tear worlds asunder on a mere whim, the truthsayer clad in black and the princess. What did they mean to him? How did he know any of them, if he couldnt even know his own name? Were any of them real? Or were they just apparitions he had dreamt up in one of his many nightmares.
He tries to remember, pushing himself, trying to unlock the secrets in his head and heart. But his memories come with agony, his head hurts a blinding flash of pain. But why? What was it he didnt want to remember? A tear rolls down his cheek, it he starts to cry again. His eyes sting, what was it the he feared so much? He puts a hand against his cheek to brush away his tears. Then he notices his fingers, bruised and broken, stained with blood. Was it his?
Why does It hurt too much to remember these days? He knows that what little he has left of himself, he will lose if he pushes himself too hard. What is he know but a pale shadow of the man he once was. Thats what he remembers the shadows, the formless things. Then he remembers the pain. When they had played with him, when they had tested him, experimenting with him. It comes to him slowly what he was trying to recall. The name, that name.
He screams, as if remembering a thousand sufferings at once. He loses himself in the cacophony of his own voice. That name, why did he remember that name?
814 AD (Guardia Reckoning)
In a remote area of charted space a small blue green planet orbited a star. It was the third planet in a solar system consisting of nine other planets of varying sizes. Out of them all it was the only one to develop life. Its future was sealed, a singular event set off a cataclysm which inevitably led to the planets doom. For centuries it lay in its orbit undisturbed by anything passing through this region of space. Untouched by any of the space faring races, which had encountered it, they had shown little interest in a dead planet.
This had not always been the case during the planets past it had been settled by various races with the capability of transdimensional travel. In time they either left or lost their knowledge, which had brought them to this place. Some of them left when they had realised the truth about what else had also colonized the planet. Those that stayed eventually forgot their true history. In doing so the magics they had brought with them faded over time, as they lost the knowledge of what they once had. Eventually this later led to legend and myth about their true history, the fabrication of these legends became the foundation for several of this planets religions.
As the years went on the advances in technology overtook what magic there was in this world. The idea that races from beyond the stars had settled this planet, was quite laughable. Theories on the evolutionary history of the planets ruling race were rife, as well as certain ideas that they had been created by an omniscient omnipotent being. Yet below the surface of the planet lay a malevolence far greater than anything that would exist on the surface of the planet. During the worlds prehistoric era, a comet had crashed into the planet severely affecting the ecosystem. This of course was a theory, which had developed later in the planets history. However the real truth was that this comet was something far worse a Lavoid.
Unfortunately unlike Guardia this planet had no heroes or warriors, who would save it. And so when the Lavoid emerged upon the planets surface, nothing stood in its way. Eventually everything on the planet died.
In a geosynchronous orbit above a man-made island, off the coast of the one of the major landmasses of the planet a small spacecraft held a stationary position. Anyone watching it simply thought it was one of the many satellites in orbit above the planet. Jobe sat slouched in the central seat in what could be considered the ships bridge. He idly puffed on a cigarette, while the computer sent him various reports from the planets surface. The ships computer directly sent the information to his neural interface. He took another drag from the cigarette, while mentally scanning the reports. Jobe was dressed in jet black shirt and trousers both had faded immensely giving the impression that he hadnt changed in years. In contrast they were both in immaculate condition despite the aged looks of his clothes. The shirt fitted him tightly, as over the years hed let his figure go. This was more out of laziness due to the fact he could easily adjust his physical appearance with the various devices discreetly inserted inside his body. He rather enjoyed looking slightly husky rather than appearing thin. Jobe always thought it showed character. His fellow workers just saw it as strange quirk. His face was quite rounded and steeped in lines of age all topped off with a crown of silver hair.
Jobe flicked the ash from his cigarette onto the floor, hed made a neat pile next to his chair. The bridge was a streamlined design, with very few systems, which were operated by hand. Most of the ships systems were directly interfaced with his neural programs, so there was little need for physical controls. A little too reliant upon certain technologies but the chance of failure was quite remote. He switched his neural programs to monitor the surgical room, their intended target lying on top of a grey table. He switched again, this time checking the living quarters.
A small room large enough to sustain two people himself and Sumner. Sumners field of expertise was surgery, he knew just about every piece of medical knowledge in existence. This was what hed been created for. They were of course clones, each and everyone of them created for a specific purpose. Jobe had been created for combat, an irony considering the physical appearance he choose but this was never a problem given the technology they had access too. Jobe set off the alarm clock built into the area Sumner was sleeping in. A wry grin crossed his face, as the alarm woke Sumner suddenly.
Jobe opened a communication channel to Sumners Neural interfaces. Back so soon? Sumner groaned sleepily down the link.
Yeah didnt take as long as I thought it would. Your subject awaits
Give, me a couple of minutes and Ill meet you in the surgical room
Jobe closed the link, and stubbed the cigarette out on the floor next to him. He brushed the few bits of ash off himself, and stood up walking out of the bridge. The door connecting the bridge to the rest of the ship had no, visible means of opening it. A slight indentation in comparison to the rest of the wall was all that made it noticeable. Jobe instinctively sent a command to the ships computer to open the door, it was a near automatic response. Like the rest of the ship the corridor was bereft of any physical controls, all of it just a streamlined grey. He turned to face where he knew the door to the surgical room was and mentally commanded the doors processors to open. It swung open, and the grey corridor was filled with light from the room. The optical implants in his eyes, automatically adjusted Jobes vision to suit the light he was experiencing.
Jobe walked into the surgical room to see Sumner stood in front of him. Although the same age as he was Sumner took on the appearance of a slim twenty year old. Sumners face was quite square he chose to contrast this by having his chin sculpted into a curved figure. Adorned on his chin was some black facial hair, showing that he hadnt shaved in the past couple of days. His irises were a bright crimson, which suited the rest of his face, which was quite plush with colour. Hung down his back were the matted locks of his dark hair, which Sumner usually chose to keep tied back. A few strands loitered across his face, obscuring his eyes on occasion. Sumner was dressed in a white medical smock, which he was unbuttoned just under his chin.
Unlike the rest of the ship the surgical room did contain a decent amount of equipment. Lining the walls and on top of several tables were various different types of medical equipment, most of it was primarily for the purpose of monitoring the people that were brought into the room. In the far right corner was a cabinet, which contained some supplies. Jobe noted that most of the equipment was outdated and fairly useless in comparison to the most of the technology they had access to, he refrained from making these comments, as Sumner was something of a sentimentalist when it came to old medical equipment. The centrepiece of the room was the large operating table, it was a grey metallic table securely attached to the floor of the room. Along its side were several straps used to secure his patients, Sumner always tended to get annoyed if a patient fell off the table when the ship was hitting high speeds. On the table was a body covered by a white sheet.
So what is it youve got for me? Sumner asked.
Jobe momentarily ignored him and reached into the hip pocket of his trousers. He pulled out a slim brown leather cigarette case. He opened it and took out a cigarette and lighter. He quickly put the cigarette to his lips and lit it, replacing the lighter and case in his pocket. Jobe took a slow drag, from it a smile crossing his lips as he removed the cigarette. Jobe slowly looked up to see Sumner frowning at him.
What? Jobe moaned.
Have you got any idea just how unhealthy that is? Sumner asked rhetorically. Sumner opened a channel to the ships computer and accessed the environmental controls for the surgical room. He altered the air filtration for room adjusting it to get rid of the smoke from Jobes cigarette.
Fuck off! You should try telling that to Winston! He replied while puffing on the cigarette. Jobe walked over to the one of less occupied desks, and sat on it. He grabbed a petridish nearby, and used it as an ashtray.
Those things will kill you.
I doubt it, the nanos in my body filter it all out anyway.
So, just what is it youve got for me anyway?
Jobe jumped down off the desk approached the operating table and grabbed hold of the corner of the sheet covering the bodys head. He pulled it back quickly dropping the sheet on top the bodys chest. He walked back over to the desk and resumed his position, flicking some more ash into the petridish The body was that of a twenty year old male or rather the corpse of one. It had begun to decompose slightly, and had it not been for the environmental controls would have smelt rank. The right temple was missing as if it had been blown off most of the flesh surrounding it had been removed. Closer inspection showed the inside of the skull to have been damaged as well, and a high portion of the brain close to the temple had been destroyed. Sumner switched his gaze onto the other temple, and noticed what appeared to be a metallic implant grafted into the skin.
What happened someone kill him? Sumner asked.
Not exactly. Jobe replied.
What, did he kill himself? Sumner asked, grinning slightly.
Yeah, shot himself point blank. Jobes response wiped the smile from Sumners face.
What does Gaiim, want with a suicide?
Who knows, the records state him as being some sort of computer genius. So reckon you can fix him? Jobe asked.
I thought you said a challenge? Sumner asked arrogantly. Whats the implant on the other temple? Sumner asked pointing it out to Jobe.
I think its a device used to interface a human with a computer network. Sort of a very basic version of our neural technology. Jobe answered, in between drags on the cigarette.
I guess Ill get to work then. Ill need to reverse the decomposition before I do anything else.
Jobe put the cigarette out in the petridish, and got off the desk. Ill leave you to it then. He walked back over to the door, and paused it opened quickly. Sumner watched Jobe leave, and then set about working on the body.
A lone figure stands in the middle of a midnight Truce village. It stands there taking in the surroundings, staring at the houses, watching the few people wandering the streets at such a late hour. Strangely anyone passing the figure seems, not to notice it. Basked in moonlight oddly it goes unnoticed. As if it was merely a part of the darkness of night.
Nyarlathotep grins, for the first time in millennia he is free. He smells the night air, intoxicated by the various smells he experiences. It has been so long since he has experienced anything of this kind, his senses are overwhelmed by it. Despite his nature and disdain, he cannot help but enjoy what it is he sees. He stares at his surroundings, despite the time he can make out the colours, something he has not truly experienced for so long. He looks down upon the grass on his feet, a vivid green against the darkness of his foot. Coated entirely in black, for the moment he has taken on a humanoid form to suit his locale.
He sniffs the air, the scent faintly there the scent of magic, the scent of his prey. The smell fades, he stays where he is letting himself become lost in the euphoria of his experiences. After all what difference will a few minutes make now, when his actions have been thousands of years in the making. Revenge such a simple concept for a being such as himself, but then he always did consider himself different from his brethren. Nyarlathotep had always for some reason taken some pleasure out of his actions, he was a being older than the stars but he enjoyed his time. Not of course that he took his enjoyment from happy experiences, before the exile Nyarlathotep had corrupted the ideals of thousands of mortals and brought chaos to hundreds of worlds. He had loved every single drop of blood spilt in his name.
Now he was free again, because of a foolish mistake by a mortal who had tapped into a power he had never fully understood. Faithfully Nyarlathotep had waited and watched for thousands of years, for a simple chance for revenge. He laughs, a harsh caustic laughter. It echoes around the village, sending shivers down the spines of anyone who hears it. He moves silently, staying in shadows hunting his prey. He moves between backstreets, and alleys.
He passes by a man searching through some bins. The man although he has slept rough on the streets for the last five years, he has never felt anything like it in his life. He clutches his chest as it feels like a shard of ice has pierced his heart. He tries to gasp for help, as he realises his heart has stopped. With his last few breaths, he collapses onto the bin he was looking through. Nyarlathotep smiles as he senses the old man die. He continues his plight, the scent of magic becoming stronger as he nears his prey.
He stops at the house in front of him, the scent of magic all around him crackling in the air. The house is a two storey wooden building. Finely constructed, but the wood has weathered with age. Nyarlathotep pays it no heed, he is lost in the euphoria he feels from the magical energies. A simple but crude magic but there is some raw power to it. He floats upwards, stopping at a window. He stares through it casting all other thoughts aside.
Laid in bed Crono sleeps heavily unaware of the world around him, and the threat that is looming over him. Nyarlathotep approaches the window, he finds it to be closed, fixed in its frame with no way of opening it. He knows breaking it will draw attention to himself, or at least to the fact something is wrong. Stealth is the key here. He studies the window, and notices a small imperfection in one corner of the window a small gap, just wide enough to let in a miniscule draft. He presses himself against the gap, allowing his form to flow through it like liquid. He drips down onto the floor, his essence pooling on the ground as the last of himself passes through the gap. Fully through he recomposes himself again, standing fully in the darkness of Cronos room.
Once again he silently glides, this time the cold wooden floor of Cronos room. He stops at Cronos bedside. Nyarlathotep looks down on him watching Crono in his slumber. The red headed youth sleeping heavily, wrapped up in his covers. Crono clutches them tightly as if to protect himself against something. Nyarlathotep chuckles darkly, but stops not wanting to disturb Crono.
Nyarlathotep puts a hand down onto Cronos forehead. He feels a few drops of moisture brush against his hand, as he feels Cronos flesh. Crono shudders, feeling something dark and foreboding. He wakes quickly feeling something is wrong. He opens his eyes suddenly and notices the dark hand upon his brow. He tries to move free himself, but finds he cant. Crono looks round and sees Nyarlathotep for the first time, a dark presence stood over him, two dark eyes watching him malevolently. An evil grin crosses Nyarlathoteps face. His hand reaches out to Cronos eyes covering them. Crono brings a hand up to try and fight off his aggressor but finds his strength is futile. Nyarlathoteps essence streams into Crono through his eyes, his irises darken until they fully encompass his eyes. It carries on travelling down, Crono covering his spine. Crono feels it trying to fight it off whatever it is. Every nerve of his body seems to be awash with pain as he feels Nyarlathotep flowing into him. His mind starts to feel hazy, he cannot truly remember what is happening, and just that he can no longer control his body.
Nyarlathotep feels Crono scream inside as he takes over his body. Nyarlathotep stretches out his arm no Cronos arm. He concentrates taking over the last few pieces of Cronos mind. Pushing his host down into some small subconscious prison. He stands, the bed covers falling from him. Nyarlathotep feels the cold of the room against him, he realises that he is naked. He thinks, and his body is covered from head to toe in a dark black cloak. Only two small pinpricks of dark red show from inside the darkness of the cloaks hood.
Despite his great power Nyarlathotep was unaware of his actions being watched. Half a galaxy away, Nyarlathoteps movements were shown on a large monitor. Gaiim sat back in his chair, and studied the images. He had seen this event thousands of times, but it still seemed strange to him whenever he happened to see one of his visions becoming truth. He blinked, and leant back in his chair.
And so it begins Gaiim murmured. With a thought he switched off the monitor. He brought up Jobes latest status report.
Dais had been tracking the intruder for the last half an hour, hed caught sight of it a few times and found it matched the description Malyion had given him. He was still unsure of what it was as Malyion said it didnt match any thing that they had on record, from a distance he was sure its skin had been pale blue. Dais was quite short but he was also very stocky. He was one of the youngest recruits as well he still had a lot to learn as hed only served on a few missions. His hair was a light blonde, which he intentionally kept short. His face was quite blocky and very youthful. Although Dais was nineteen he had the looks of someone a few years younger, which his fellow officers were quite happy to bring up all the time. Dais was dressed in a khaki uniform, standard issue shirt and trousers. Hung around his neck was a small assault rifle capable of taking down most monsters they came across in the area.
He had been following the intruder through zone four, and was approaching the outskirts of zone six. He kept it in his sights but kept his distance, and tried his best to keep his presence concealed. As Malyion had said Yorke had been sent out to provide him with support. Yorke was holding position in zone six about a hundred metres from his own position. Dais opened a radio channel to Yorke.
Ive got a sighting. Its about twenty metres from my position. Dais told Yorke.
The gruff voice of his comrade came over the radio. Yeah, I can see him from my position. Im maintaining a sniper position in case you need covering fire. Yorke replied.
Confirmed. Im going to approach the target. Dais said closing the channel.
Dais was leant up against a small outcropping of rock, which was jutting out of the canyon wall he was stood. The canyon was over a mile across and covered several security zones. He leaned out from his hiding place, and surveyed his location. About fifty metres southwest of his position he could see Yorke atop the canyon wall, looking down on the target. He twisted slightly and got a better look at his target. It was over six foot in height, at least a foot taller than himself. It stopped for the moment, and seemed to be looking for something.
Dais studied the canyon. There was a clear path to the target but it would mean moving over open ground. Hed only seen the target walking but was uncertain if it could match his own speed. Dais noticed that above him the outcropping broke into a small ledge, which although not very wide led towards the target. He turned to back face the wall and stretched his arms upwards. He reached up and grabbed the ledge, he moved his hands until he found a large stone. Dais gripped the stone, and slowly pulled himself upwards. He climbed onto the ledge and flattened himself against it. He stole a quick glimpse of the target, and saw it was still unmoving and facing away from him.
He decided not to risk it and crept forwards on his stomach, the rifle digging into his chest. He grimaced at the slight pain, but it was necessary for the objective. As he neared the target he noticed a few feet away the edge of the ledge, a large boulder that he could use for cover before he approached the target. He silently came to the edge of the ledge, and slowly spun round. He carefully lowered himself to the ground, landing with only a little noise. He turned, and edged towards the boulder. Dais speedily headed for it and flattened himself against its surface. The target was only a few metres from him stood near to the other side of the boulder. Dais readied his rifle in anticipation.
Slowly he rounded the boulder taking small stealthy footsteps so as not to alert the target. He cleared the boulder and stood facing the target. It stood in front of him facing away from him. It was at least six foot five. Its main body was spherical, with stocky arms on each side, and two quite spindly legs. He wondered how the legs supported its mass, but his thoughts were overtaken by the fact it could probably pack quite a punch with those arms. As a precaution Dais took a step backwards, and brought the rifle up in front of him. He held it firmly in both arms.
Stop right there! Dais shouted at the intruder.
The target swivelled round to face Dais. He studied its face to look at it. Dais was quite perplexed by it. It had two quite large orange eyes which were set apart from each other on the upper part of its body, lower down were two small nostrils and lower down a wide mouth. Dais wondered if it was sentient or not. It began to take a step towards Dais.
I said stop right there! Dais shouted again.
The creature stopped in its tracks. A look of puzzlement seemed to cross its face. I apologise I meant no vexation to be caused by my actions The creature said in a metallic tone.
Youre trespassing in a secure area Dais responded as if to emphasis his point he brought the rifle up higher as if to aim for the creatures face.
Then I must further apologise for my actions. I intended no hostility, I did not know that this was an occupied area.
Who are you? asked Dais.
That is a question which I am unable to answer. My data files do not suggest that I have nomenclature. Where this to be on record I would willingly submit to you such information.
A look of confusion crossed Daiss face. What are you?
My records state that I am a Nu. My data files also suggest extinction of this species. This creates a quandary for my as I do not fully comprehend as to why I still exist, but my analysis of my own form seems to suggest that my physiology has also been altered in some way. I sincerely hope that this information is beneficial to you. The Nu answered.
Ok, I think I believe you but why are you wandering through our territory? Dais asked.
I have spent a certain amount of time in slumber. My last records before inactivity state I that I was in Keepers Dome. My investigations of the dome led me to discover it had been devastated, by what was uncertain but all the computer systems in the dome had been destroyed beyond repair. Finding nothing there I left the island via the Sewer Access. I was attempting to seek out the inhabitants of another dome. This led me through your territory.
Interesting. Keepers dome been dead for a long time. No one goes there now.
Suddenly Daiss radio kicked into life.
Dais, youre going to have to cut the conversation short Malyion said over the radio.
Why? Whats up? Dais responded.
Youre not going to believe this but I just had a call from high command. They say the intruder isnt to be harmed. Malyion explained.
What? Dais exclaimed.
Yeah, but it gets weirder. I didnt radio anything into high command, but they say the intruder is to be brought into the main base immediately. Get back over here quick. Malyion continued. The radio went dead.
What the fuck? Dais shouted. It seems that Im to take you to your watch post. Someone seems to think youre important. Dais told the Nu.
This development perplexes me.
Youre not the only one. Dais replied.