ElectronX
09-11-2007, 12:48
There exist spectrums the human eye cannot comprehend: Gamma ray, infrared, ultra-violet; the eye was only meant to see so much. In truth it sees very little, only the surface. Literally the eye can only observe the surface of things when a photon happens to bounce off them when not absorbed by the material. With such a limited view of the universe, so much remains hidden without the aid of technological supplements to unveil what exists in those spectra that we have hitherto been ignorant of.
With false eyes the world took on an entirely different countenance. Some objects were nigh on transparent; others were completely opaque. The infrared world was inhabited by ghastly morphing specters of heat, while the universe around them pulsed through a myriad of soothing tints and sometimes enraged shades.
It was somewhere, hiding in the maze he cautiously moved through, perhaps behind a crate of medical supplies, or masked by the hot vapors wafting through the vents. Or was it just beyond the periphery? No, not there either.
Boots made a terrible racket, possibly masking the sound of that thing approaching from any direction where the eyes could not warn of its movements first. They were heavy, too heavy, but they gripped the floor well enough in case there was need to sprint over the smooth, metal floor. Still, each step rang through the halls like an oppressive raucous laughter that tormented the mind as it tried to ignore it, tried to filter it out, tried to hear anything but that sound - well not just that sound.
Each steady inhalation, each dreaded exhalation, reverberated around the helmet like a domdaniel cacophony that repeated over and over and over again till there was an urge to stop. But that was worse.
In this situation, logic says it should be beating faster, so fast it might explode at any moment. No, its slow, rhythmic, almost soothing in its own way, if only it was not so hard. Each palpation of the heart could be felt everywhere. It droned out the universe for that one instant, then it was all clear; anything could be heard. Then the clarity was lost, and it would pulsate again, and against.
In, out. Breath steady, calm the nerves. The eyes moved too much, they never focused on anything for more than an instant so short it was meaningless. The mind raced too. Thoughts dashed about, never with any coherence of sense to them. They just were. It was not madness; it was too obvious to be madness. It was just instinct, the will to survive, the urge to run taking over, trying to take over. It will not though, that would mean death.
The legs want to run, the arms want to fight. Why must everything rebel? They want to survive, but they will only bring death, a quicker death maybe but it is still death. Only the mind is rational, if only everything else was not saying the opposite.
The pistol is also heavy, but it's powerful. It's the only defense. The suit is too thin, the armor too fragile. It's more of a burden, but it's a crutch, a needed crutch. Everything feels safer in it. The finger rests on the trigger impatiently, ready to squeeze at the slightest provocation.
Maybe one of the overhead lights will flicker to life for a quick second before dying again, or some structural support may dislodge itself from the ceiling and crash onto the dark floor. Anything could happen. Maybe it will finally come out, pouncing from some dark corner, or from behind a container the x-rays cannot pierce through. The pistol is ready, but it's not a guarantee.
It's like a skittering sound. Somewhere to the left - down that dark corridor where each sound permeates the air like an echo chamber and light dares not enter. It's faint, but only for a second. It's far away, but only for that same second. Run.
The legs were right, maybe. It's too late to second-guess now. Just run. The keypads to the doors no longer function. Hit them anyway, the door might shut and force that thing to find another way. Why is that sound getting closer?
It's all around. How did this terrible abomination escape? Who would let such a hadeous horror out of its confinement? The medical lab was supposed to be secure, the science wing was supposed to be guarded, security was supposed to be enough, the drones were supposed to suppress it. How can everything go so wrong at once? Does the universe really want to maintain its distance from human understanding that it would create a demon just to prove a point?
Their bodies were shredded, and they are hard to avoid. Jump over, jink around, there are too many. Somehow there all behind - where that beast is. It returned to the hell it had created earlier, running brought it back. Maybe it will defile their graves? Another talon, or another gnarled claw. Perhaps it will use its teeth instead, those iridescent white fangs, those abhorrent things that are monsters in their own right, covered in a disgusting translucence that flows like sickly oil around them.
The ocular aides shut down for a brief instant; overpowered by the blast from the pistol. There was no time to aim. Just point the pistol behind and squeeze, several shots. None hit, none deterred the menace. There were a few explosions; a burst of energy hit a dead soldier, another impacted a ripped open medical container that used to be part of a failed barricade. The rest hit the walls; vaporizing large chunks of metal that had been stained by the omnipresent darkness, but now the world was awash in excited luminescence casting cruel and macabre shadows throughout the twisting narrow halls.
There were only two shadows that were important; one was closing on the other. One was the absurd caricature of a man. The other was the twisting embodiment of hate, of evil, or pure malevolence that send a wave of dread through the body like a sudden winter chill.
More shots, more misses. The barricade ahead failed too. A mangled mass of wires, grating, floor tiles, and anything believed to be large and heavy enough to stop something beyond human comprehension. The space is narrow, but it's manageable. No slowing down. Made it, but something cut the suit, and blood is flowing from the wound. It's a blessing almost, the legs push harder now that actual pain dances through the nervous system so strongly that it's revolting.
Can it breath? Sounds like it can, it's a horrible sound. It's heavy, rapid, almost sounds like a gurgle. Don't think about it; just don't think about it. Just keep running. Keep firing until the ion-cell is dry and the hallways are nothing more than a perforated mass of seething metal. Almost there, the white light is beautiful. It's the last escape pod, covered in the blood of thirty other crewmen that thought they were lucky enough to escape.
Why does that sound keep getting closer? Why does it have to be so fast? Those steps are so heavy, it's too big to move so fast, but it can. Why can't the mind filter it out and focusing on running; that's what's important.
It can also shriek, a banshee like wail that shakes the world. The ears can't hear anything else, and now they can't hear anything at all; it was too loud, now blood is running from them. The goggles have been shattered too. Somehow the legs are still pumping, though the other muscles feel so limp, almost like they were now a liquid. That paralyzing scream, somehow the legs survived. There it is again.
The floor is so cold, and the world is so dark. No more running, no more skittering, no more sounds. Just that doorway flooding my eyes with the white light of salvation, with the promise of reprieve from this tortuous hell that I have endured for what became eternity in its own right, only a few feet too far away.
With false eyes the world took on an entirely different countenance. Some objects were nigh on transparent; others were completely opaque. The infrared world was inhabited by ghastly morphing specters of heat, while the universe around them pulsed through a myriad of soothing tints and sometimes enraged shades.
It was somewhere, hiding in the maze he cautiously moved through, perhaps behind a crate of medical supplies, or masked by the hot vapors wafting through the vents. Or was it just beyond the periphery? No, not there either.
Boots made a terrible racket, possibly masking the sound of that thing approaching from any direction where the eyes could not warn of its movements first. They were heavy, too heavy, but they gripped the floor well enough in case there was need to sprint over the smooth, metal floor. Still, each step rang through the halls like an oppressive raucous laughter that tormented the mind as it tried to ignore it, tried to filter it out, tried to hear anything but that sound - well not just that sound.
Each steady inhalation, each dreaded exhalation, reverberated around the helmet like a domdaniel cacophony that repeated over and over and over again till there was an urge to stop. But that was worse.
In this situation, logic says it should be beating faster, so fast it might explode at any moment. No, its slow, rhythmic, almost soothing in its own way, if only it was not so hard. Each palpation of the heart could be felt everywhere. It droned out the universe for that one instant, then it was all clear; anything could be heard. Then the clarity was lost, and it would pulsate again, and against.
In, out. Breath steady, calm the nerves. The eyes moved too much, they never focused on anything for more than an instant so short it was meaningless. The mind raced too. Thoughts dashed about, never with any coherence of sense to them. They just were. It was not madness; it was too obvious to be madness. It was just instinct, the will to survive, the urge to run taking over, trying to take over. It will not though, that would mean death.
The legs want to run, the arms want to fight. Why must everything rebel? They want to survive, but they will only bring death, a quicker death maybe but it is still death. Only the mind is rational, if only everything else was not saying the opposite.
The pistol is also heavy, but it's powerful. It's the only defense. The suit is too thin, the armor too fragile. It's more of a burden, but it's a crutch, a needed crutch. Everything feels safer in it. The finger rests on the trigger impatiently, ready to squeeze at the slightest provocation.
Maybe one of the overhead lights will flicker to life for a quick second before dying again, or some structural support may dislodge itself from the ceiling and crash onto the dark floor. Anything could happen. Maybe it will finally come out, pouncing from some dark corner, or from behind a container the x-rays cannot pierce through. The pistol is ready, but it's not a guarantee.
It's like a skittering sound. Somewhere to the left - down that dark corridor where each sound permeates the air like an echo chamber and light dares not enter. It's faint, but only for a second. It's far away, but only for that same second. Run.
The legs were right, maybe. It's too late to second-guess now. Just run. The keypads to the doors no longer function. Hit them anyway, the door might shut and force that thing to find another way. Why is that sound getting closer?
It's all around. How did this terrible abomination escape? Who would let such a hadeous horror out of its confinement? The medical lab was supposed to be secure, the science wing was supposed to be guarded, security was supposed to be enough, the drones were supposed to suppress it. How can everything go so wrong at once? Does the universe really want to maintain its distance from human understanding that it would create a demon just to prove a point?
Their bodies were shredded, and they are hard to avoid. Jump over, jink around, there are too many. Somehow there all behind - where that beast is. It returned to the hell it had created earlier, running brought it back. Maybe it will defile their graves? Another talon, or another gnarled claw. Perhaps it will use its teeth instead, those iridescent white fangs, those abhorrent things that are monsters in their own right, covered in a disgusting translucence that flows like sickly oil around them.
The ocular aides shut down for a brief instant; overpowered by the blast from the pistol. There was no time to aim. Just point the pistol behind and squeeze, several shots. None hit, none deterred the menace. There were a few explosions; a burst of energy hit a dead soldier, another impacted a ripped open medical container that used to be part of a failed barricade. The rest hit the walls; vaporizing large chunks of metal that had been stained by the omnipresent darkness, but now the world was awash in excited luminescence casting cruel and macabre shadows throughout the twisting narrow halls.
There were only two shadows that were important; one was closing on the other. One was the absurd caricature of a man. The other was the twisting embodiment of hate, of evil, or pure malevolence that send a wave of dread through the body like a sudden winter chill.
More shots, more misses. The barricade ahead failed too. A mangled mass of wires, grating, floor tiles, and anything believed to be large and heavy enough to stop something beyond human comprehension. The space is narrow, but it's manageable. No slowing down. Made it, but something cut the suit, and blood is flowing from the wound. It's a blessing almost, the legs push harder now that actual pain dances through the nervous system so strongly that it's revolting.
Can it breath? Sounds like it can, it's a horrible sound. It's heavy, rapid, almost sounds like a gurgle. Don't think about it; just don't think about it. Just keep running. Keep firing until the ion-cell is dry and the hallways are nothing more than a perforated mass of seething metal. Almost there, the white light is beautiful. It's the last escape pod, covered in the blood of thirty other crewmen that thought they were lucky enough to escape.
Why does that sound keep getting closer? Why does it have to be so fast? Those steps are so heavy, it's too big to move so fast, but it can. Why can't the mind filter it out and focusing on running; that's what's important.
It can also shriek, a banshee like wail that shakes the world. The ears can't hear anything else, and now they can't hear anything at all; it was too loud, now blood is running from them. The goggles have been shattered too. Somehow the legs are still pumping, though the other muscles feel so limp, almost like they were now a liquid. That paralyzing scream, somehow the legs survived. There it is again.
The floor is so cold, and the world is so dark. No more running, no more skittering, no more sounds. Just that doorway flooding my eyes with the white light of salvation, with the promise of reprieve from this tortuous hell that I have endured for what became eternity in its own right, only a few feet too far away.