The Depth Of Darkness
Ratfire
Join Date: 2003-03-31 Member: 15091Members
Join Date: 2003-03-31 Member: 15091Members
<div class="IPBDescription">A little short story</div> Then the pounding began.
Morgan Skymar Rocklin, one of only three civilian travelers aboard the TSAC Alice Riley rocked back and forth in his bunk. The bunk for his cabin, the fourth door from the left down the last crew quarters corridor, sat just under two meters behind and to the left of the door. The door was the only way in or out of the room, save for a small ventilation shaft that could comfortably fit a human arm and not much else.
All the muscles in both of Morgan’s hands were taught, dragging his fingers down into a clawed grasp that he slowly drew up across his face. As his cringing fingers passed his nose, they encountered small rivulets of liquid. Morgan’s body shook from the silent sobs, and he rocked back and forth even harder.
The pounding began again.
Morgan Rocklin screamed and fell backwards through the door to his cabin. His entire body burned with pinpricks from a thousand needles washed over by a nauseating cold sweat. Without thinking Morgan scrambled to his knees, crying out at the pain of merely moving. His hand slammed repeatedly against the doorframe, as he wildly sought the familiar four sided button that signaled his cabin door to close. After a few brief and terrifying seconds, Morgan’s palm came to rest over the square and he felt the gun-eagle symbol of the TSA. Still hunched over from the exertion, he breathed a sigh of relief as the door hissed shut in front of him. He stumbled back over to his bunk and nearly collapsed; his body still on fire.
Morgan gasped as he watched the man die. Both of his hands now gripped his pistol with white knuckles. The gun shook a little in his hands from the force of the grip, but in a closed hallway accuracy hardly mattered.
Then the head spun around the corner and screamed at Morgan.
He fired, or might have fired it didn’t matter. A bullet would have dissolved, or did, in the oncoming rush of matter that flew from the creature toward Morgan. The liquid hit him and he heard it sizzle, a light flashed for Morgan and with it came pain.
Morgan slammed his hand down on the gun-eagle symbol to the right of his doorframe. His cabin door hissed open and Morgan leveled his gun and stepped into the hallway. His eyes shone with fear and the sweat glistened on his forehead and slightly loosened the grip on his pistol, but behind the fear there was an undercurrent of anger. His life, his company, everything lay on the line for this trip and no stinking pile of where ever it came from, whatever the hell it was, would stop Morgan Skymar Rocklin he screamed to himself.
Morgan whipped sideways and quickly glanced to see what the screams had come from. In front of him, in the hall junction, a young TSA officer lay on the floor. The man gurgled and blood seeped from his neck, his face was awash with splotches of red and yellow and little tendrils of smoke rose across the side of his head facing the floor. The man’s eyes widened a little as he saw Morgan step from his room and then the light faded from the officer’s eyes and he slumped a little as his muscles relaxed into death.
Morgan looked up from his desk vidscreen and waited. It came again, a scream in the hallway beside his cabin. He quickly pushed back his chair and took two strides over to his bunk locker. A quick and curt voice command,
<i>“Open”</i>
and the reinforced metal casing door swung open, whistling by his left cheek. Morgan’s eyes scanned the inside of the locker ignoring the business suit, briefcase, proprietary documents and coming to rest on the metal case beside his papers. Morgan reached inside the locker and pulled out the case. He placed his thumb on the small black square on the case just to the left of the handle. The square lightened in color for a second and then, identity confirmed, the locks popped open and Morgan stretched open the case. Inside a cool gunmetal blue pistol sat, fully armed and operational.
Morgan pulled the gun out of the case and stood up.
In two strides he was back at his cabin door.
The yeoman led Morgan Rocklin to his cabin, the fourth door from the left down the last crew quarters corridor. He palmed the hand keylock on the front panel of the door and it hissed open. The yeoman motioned for Morgan to enter the cabin, and then after Morgan had crossed the threshold, he picked up Morgan’s bags and entered behind him.
Morgan dismissed the yeoman with a short wave of his hand, the man nodded at him, turned and left. Morgan took his duffel bag and quickly emptied it into the open locker near the back of the cabin. He closed the locker door, quietly ordered the <i>“lock"</i> command and waited a second for the voice recognition to authorize the lock. The door swung shut and clicked, satisfied, Morgan sat down at the desk and activated his vidscreen.
The pounding began again.
All around him Morgan could hear the screaming of steel tearing away as his door gave way and the noise reverberated through his tiny cabin. His pistol lay expended on the cabin floor, and Morgan tore his hands away from his face and leapt up from his bunk. His arms widely flailed in front of him, desperately grasping for something to use in his defense. His hands bumped against unknown objects through out the room and Morgan cried out in frustration.
All of a sudden Morgan heard silence.
The screaming of metal had stopped, the pounding, everything.
For the second time, all other emotion faded, Morgan had only fear, a fear compounded by the darkness he now faced, and the uncertainty of the silence.
The darkness was impenetrable, the acid had seen to that.
The silence continued.
Morgan prayed and feared for it to end.
Something that just sort of popped out, it's kinda a <a href='http://www.natural-selection.org/forums/index.php?showtopic=68718' target='_blank'>Dark Harbinger</a> idea that'll never get used in the main story so I thought I'd give it a try here.
Ratfire
Morgan Skymar Rocklin, one of only three civilian travelers aboard the TSAC Alice Riley rocked back and forth in his bunk. The bunk for his cabin, the fourth door from the left down the last crew quarters corridor, sat just under two meters behind and to the left of the door. The door was the only way in or out of the room, save for a small ventilation shaft that could comfortably fit a human arm and not much else.
All the muscles in both of Morgan’s hands were taught, dragging his fingers down into a clawed grasp that he slowly drew up across his face. As his cringing fingers passed his nose, they encountered small rivulets of liquid. Morgan’s body shook from the silent sobs, and he rocked back and forth even harder.
The pounding began again.
Morgan Rocklin screamed and fell backwards through the door to his cabin. His entire body burned with pinpricks from a thousand needles washed over by a nauseating cold sweat. Without thinking Morgan scrambled to his knees, crying out at the pain of merely moving. His hand slammed repeatedly against the doorframe, as he wildly sought the familiar four sided button that signaled his cabin door to close. After a few brief and terrifying seconds, Morgan’s palm came to rest over the square and he felt the gun-eagle symbol of the TSA. Still hunched over from the exertion, he breathed a sigh of relief as the door hissed shut in front of him. He stumbled back over to his bunk and nearly collapsed; his body still on fire.
Morgan gasped as he watched the man die. Both of his hands now gripped his pistol with white knuckles. The gun shook a little in his hands from the force of the grip, but in a closed hallway accuracy hardly mattered.
Then the head spun around the corner and screamed at Morgan.
He fired, or might have fired it didn’t matter. A bullet would have dissolved, or did, in the oncoming rush of matter that flew from the creature toward Morgan. The liquid hit him and he heard it sizzle, a light flashed for Morgan and with it came pain.
Morgan slammed his hand down on the gun-eagle symbol to the right of his doorframe. His cabin door hissed open and Morgan leveled his gun and stepped into the hallway. His eyes shone with fear and the sweat glistened on his forehead and slightly loosened the grip on his pistol, but behind the fear there was an undercurrent of anger. His life, his company, everything lay on the line for this trip and no stinking pile of where ever it came from, whatever the hell it was, would stop Morgan Skymar Rocklin he screamed to himself.
Morgan whipped sideways and quickly glanced to see what the screams had come from. In front of him, in the hall junction, a young TSA officer lay on the floor. The man gurgled and blood seeped from his neck, his face was awash with splotches of red and yellow and little tendrils of smoke rose across the side of his head facing the floor. The man’s eyes widened a little as he saw Morgan step from his room and then the light faded from the officer’s eyes and he slumped a little as his muscles relaxed into death.
Morgan looked up from his desk vidscreen and waited. It came again, a scream in the hallway beside his cabin. He quickly pushed back his chair and took two strides over to his bunk locker. A quick and curt voice command,
<i>“Open”</i>
and the reinforced metal casing door swung open, whistling by his left cheek. Morgan’s eyes scanned the inside of the locker ignoring the business suit, briefcase, proprietary documents and coming to rest on the metal case beside his papers. Morgan reached inside the locker and pulled out the case. He placed his thumb on the small black square on the case just to the left of the handle. The square lightened in color for a second and then, identity confirmed, the locks popped open and Morgan stretched open the case. Inside a cool gunmetal blue pistol sat, fully armed and operational.
Morgan pulled the gun out of the case and stood up.
In two strides he was back at his cabin door.
The yeoman led Morgan Rocklin to his cabin, the fourth door from the left down the last crew quarters corridor. He palmed the hand keylock on the front panel of the door and it hissed open. The yeoman motioned for Morgan to enter the cabin, and then after Morgan had crossed the threshold, he picked up Morgan’s bags and entered behind him.
Morgan dismissed the yeoman with a short wave of his hand, the man nodded at him, turned and left. Morgan took his duffel bag and quickly emptied it into the open locker near the back of the cabin. He closed the locker door, quietly ordered the <i>“lock"</i> command and waited a second for the voice recognition to authorize the lock. The door swung shut and clicked, satisfied, Morgan sat down at the desk and activated his vidscreen.
The pounding began again.
All around him Morgan could hear the screaming of steel tearing away as his door gave way and the noise reverberated through his tiny cabin. His pistol lay expended on the cabin floor, and Morgan tore his hands away from his face and leapt up from his bunk. His arms widely flailed in front of him, desperately grasping for something to use in his defense. His hands bumped against unknown objects through out the room and Morgan cried out in frustration.
All of a sudden Morgan heard silence.
The screaming of metal had stopped, the pounding, everything.
For the second time, all other emotion faded, Morgan had only fear, a fear compounded by the darkness he now faced, and the uncertainty of the silence.
The darkness was impenetrable, the acid had seen to that.
The silence continued.
Morgan prayed and feared for it to end.
Something that just sort of popped out, it's kinda a <a href='http://www.natural-selection.org/forums/index.php?showtopic=68718' target='_blank'>Dark Harbinger</a> idea that'll never get used in the main story so I thought I'd give it a try here.
Ratfire
Comments
It is part of the story to have it read backwards, but for anyone who really missed it, the <i>actual</i> chronology of the storyline goes;
Paragraph 6 - 5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1 - 7
Ratfire