Monster - Part One
DeepShadows
Join Date: 2003-02-11 Member: 13408Members, Constellation
Join Date: 2003-02-11 Member: 13408Members, Constellation
<div class="IPBDescription">The first Journalist "along the ride."</div> Hello. I keep this part brief -
My name's Edan Koch. I was absolutely fascinated by the atmosphere and gameplay of Natural-Selection. It's art, man. This wasn't done for money.
Let's all cheer and drink until we start picking up on the sulks in field.
Anyway, this is a story I will continue. This is the first part. Forgive the heavy ranting nature of it.
This is unofficial and, although I will do all I can to stick to the established plot, might have a flaw or two. If you ever notice any, feel free to inform me. The author name in this story is fictional.
So, here it is:
<b><span style='font-size:14pt;line-height:100%'> </span>Monsters<span style='font-size:8pt;line-height:100%'> </span>
Prologue</b>
There was a film in the late 20th century called “Alien.” It told the story of a commercial materials convey and its unfortunate demise at the hand of a single extraterrestrial being. You never found out what the creature was. You never found out where it originally came from. Despite this, its nature was entirely apparent: the sole purpose of its species was to annihilate. Murder. Destroy. There was no other resolution for something of its sort.
No God would have placed this creature in the universe. Only the perverted thought of something truly <u>insane</u> could have touched on such a concept.
Insanity: Exhibiting unsoundness or disordered of mind.
Disorder: “To depose from holy orders.” Dryden explanation. The idea that we begin with the basic logics and truths of reality, and over time recreate them to suit and survive in a flawed reality. In other words: the creation of the untrue.
If untruth doesn’t exist, then there must be one hell of a landfill to store all of the lies that form from the minds of man alone.
So what was this?
It escaped from that landfill. The deeper void, where all thoughts go that are too horrid for reality. A place for monsters. We live in a universe where no monster can be. Everything has a purpose, a reason, and a place. Something like this, in all the pureness of thought and logic and reality, <i>should not exist...</i>
...and yet it was.
How horrible, I thought, watching the ancient two-dimensions of theatre. How horrible that a person could come up with such a thing. How horrible the very dreams of a man can be.
How wonderful it is that they are just dreams. How wonderful that mankind, and mankind only, is deranged in this universe. Disordered. Insane. In all its horridness, no one could have ever realized how wonderful it is.
Oh my God, how wonderful it was.
<b>Excerpt from <u>The Frontier</u>, by Jack Eastman</b>
Needless to say, I was the last person anyone expected for this assignment. My peers will read this article, devoid of its content, thinking only to themselves “how in unholy hell did that **** get this job?” Simple, really: unbiased reporting. When the TSA finally came to a decision, they had already taken into account that almost everyone else is “favored” by one organization or another. Of course, this is not an accusation on my part. Still, let it be known that the TSA has access to information that writers and reporters alike only dream of acquiring.
This being said, the red pin finally jotted down my name. An X major company journalist, fired on the grounds of refusing to obey company policy. Writer, Neo-Politer prizewinner and 2 time runner up. I dare say my praise of the TSA’s new undertaking played some part as well. While most writers have focused their attention on the undermining of the TSA, I’ve stood alone in my understanding of what should be recognized. True, as with every human undertaking, it is far from perfection. However, the idea alone behind it is worth their every effort.
The safety of humankind. Who else uses such a term? Humankind? For too long we’ve segregated the human race by its region and government. Collectively, we have forgotten the brotherhood that bound us, and continues to bind us. That of our home world, that of our ancestry, that of our very race. Now, we are faced with a new enemy besides ourselves. The TSA is the first to acknowledge this, and accept the responsibility of the defending of the race. Not the region. Not the government.
The men that honor this position are also honored with the title. The title for those standing on the edge of the unknown, between humanity and whatever would threaten it. The title of the Frontiersmen.
<b>The Short and Long Departure</b>
This is the first I have published since <b>The Frontier</b>. For those who are unfamiliar, <b>The Frontier</b> was a documentary of my time onboard the Rockstrike. I am the first civilian journalist allowed along on one of the new TSA military craft. That is, while the ship is on-duty. I was privileged with all the inner-ship functions that go on during a mission. Over the course of two months, I took part in two confirmed reports of Kharaa infestation from behind the scenes. By took part, of course, I mean observed intensely and tried to stay out of their way. Both incidents were contained in a matter of hours. The sheer competent of the Frontiersmen was astounding.
Perhaps that’s why I jumped at the opportunity to go along with them.
Having completed <b>The Frontier</b>, my two-month passenger ticket was nearing expiration. I knew the ship like the back of my hand. I had been with the crew, and knew most of the higher officers by their first name. I’d overseen the command methods and knew basically what happened onboard a contaminated structure. At least I thought I did. The most I ever actually saw of what went on was in little dots with different colors, on a pretty grid-map, in the cozy office onboard the Rockstrike. Of course, with the overconfidence of a famous journalist, I thought that was more than enough. So, when Lieutenant Bagley asked if I’d like to ship in with the Frontmen, you can guess what I said.
“Sounds like fun.”
What a naive **** I can be sometimes. Needless to say, I lived to regret it. I regretted it the moment I stepped inside the phase booth.
- tell me what you guys think (panics.) I'll post the part soon - - -
Ciao for now -
Edan -
My name's Edan Koch. I was absolutely fascinated by the atmosphere and gameplay of Natural-Selection. It's art, man. This wasn't done for money.
Let's all cheer and drink until we start picking up on the sulks in field.
Anyway, this is a story I will continue. This is the first part. Forgive the heavy ranting nature of it.
This is unofficial and, although I will do all I can to stick to the established plot, might have a flaw or two. If you ever notice any, feel free to inform me. The author name in this story is fictional.
So, here it is:
<b><span style='font-size:14pt;line-height:100%'> </span>Monsters<span style='font-size:8pt;line-height:100%'> </span>
Prologue</b>
There was a film in the late 20th century called “Alien.” It told the story of a commercial materials convey and its unfortunate demise at the hand of a single extraterrestrial being. You never found out what the creature was. You never found out where it originally came from. Despite this, its nature was entirely apparent: the sole purpose of its species was to annihilate. Murder. Destroy. There was no other resolution for something of its sort.
No God would have placed this creature in the universe. Only the perverted thought of something truly <u>insane</u> could have touched on such a concept.
Insanity: Exhibiting unsoundness or disordered of mind.
Disorder: “To depose from holy orders.” Dryden explanation. The idea that we begin with the basic logics and truths of reality, and over time recreate them to suit and survive in a flawed reality. In other words: the creation of the untrue.
If untruth doesn’t exist, then there must be one hell of a landfill to store all of the lies that form from the minds of man alone.
So what was this?
It escaped from that landfill. The deeper void, where all thoughts go that are too horrid for reality. A place for monsters. We live in a universe where no monster can be. Everything has a purpose, a reason, and a place. Something like this, in all the pureness of thought and logic and reality, <i>should not exist...</i>
...and yet it was.
How horrible, I thought, watching the ancient two-dimensions of theatre. How horrible that a person could come up with such a thing. How horrible the very dreams of a man can be.
How wonderful it is that they are just dreams. How wonderful that mankind, and mankind only, is deranged in this universe. Disordered. Insane. In all its horridness, no one could have ever realized how wonderful it is.
Oh my God, how wonderful it was.
<b>Excerpt from <u>The Frontier</u>, by Jack Eastman</b>
Needless to say, I was the last person anyone expected for this assignment. My peers will read this article, devoid of its content, thinking only to themselves “how in unholy hell did that **** get this job?” Simple, really: unbiased reporting. When the TSA finally came to a decision, they had already taken into account that almost everyone else is “favored” by one organization or another. Of course, this is not an accusation on my part. Still, let it be known that the TSA has access to information that writers and reporters alike only dream of acquiring.
This being said, the red pin finally jotted down my name. An X major company journalist, fired on the grounds of refusing to obey company policy. Writer, Neo-Politer prizewinner and 2 time runner up. I dare say my praise of the TSA’s new undertaking played some part as well. While most writers have focused their attention on the undermining of the TSA, I’ve stood alone in my understanding of what should be recognized. True, as with every human undertaking, it is far from perfection. However, the idea alone behind it is worth their every effort.
The safety of humankind. Who else uses such a term? Humankind? For too long we’ve segregated the human race by its region and government. Collectively, we have forgotten the brotherhood that bound us, and continues to bind us. That of our home world, that of our ancestry, that of our very race. Now, we are faced with a new enemy besides ourselves. The TSA is the first to acknowledge this, and accept the responsibility of the defending of the race. Not the region. Not the government.
The men that honor this position are also honored with the title. The title for those standing on the edge of the unknown, between humanity and whatever would threaten it. The title of the Frontiersmen.
<b>The Short and Long Departure</b>
This is the first I have published since <b>The Frontier</b>. For those who are unfamiliar, <b>The Frontier</b> was a documentary of my time onboard the Rockstrike. I am the first civilian journalist allowed along on one of the new TSA military craft. That is, while the ship is on-duty. I was privileged with all the inner-ship functions that go on during a mission. Over the course of two months, I took part in two confirmed reports of Kharaa infestation from behind the scenes. By took part, of course, I mean observed intensely and tried to stay out of their way. Both incidents were contained in a matter of hours. The sheer competent of the Frontiersmen was astounding.
Perhaps that’s why I jumped at the opportunity to go along with them.
Having completed <b>The Frontier</b>, my two-month passenger ticket was nearing expiration. I knew the ship like the back of my hand. I had been with the crew, and knew most of the higher officers by their first name. I’d overseen the command methods and knew basically what happened onboard a contaminated structure. At least I thought I did. The most I ever actually saw of what went on was in little dots with different colors, on a pretty grid-map, in the cozy office onboard the Rockstrike. Of course, with the overconfidence of a famous journalist, I thought that was more than enough. So, when Lieutenant Bagley asked if I’d like to ship in with the Frontmen, you can guess what I said.
“Sounds like fun.”
What a naive **** I can be sometimes. Needless to say, I lived to regret it. I regretted it the moment I stepped inside the phase booth.
- tell me what you guys think (panics.) I'll post the part soon - - -
Ciao for now -
Edan -
Comments
Ciao for now <!--emo&::sentry::--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/turret.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='turret.gif'><!--endemo-->
Thumbs up for chapter one <!--emo&:D--><img src='http://www.natural-selection.org/forums/html/emoticons/biggrin.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='biggrin.gif'><!--endemo-->
<!--emo&::asrifle::--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/asrifle.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='asrifle.gif'><!--endemo--> Always remember - friendly fire isn't friendly.