Post by RandomJester~RLV on Jul 13, 2006 21:13:47 GMT -5
OK, ignoring the spelling, grammar, and punctuation, I think this is going OK lol. Also I have no named any of the characters...yes I am that lazy
Title; Desecration
Chapter; Terror
Introduction
War, Peace, Revolution
Pain is the dance in my head
The Pain Never goes away,
Turning sweet to sour,
Turning time to dust,
The dance of pain in my mind goes to the beats of war.
The war we all fight, the war we all win, lose.
The dance of pain is the day I mourn you,
Time is sour, time is sweet, a granted release.
The day I mourn you, is the day I die, the time I find you
The day I fly.
Soon to die, soon to rise, the pain goes on, like the eternal beats of war, peace, and revolution.
Chapter Start;
Humanity, that ever failing race that can't be stomped out, in the years to come we ourselves changed, from Humans to something else, mindless kings and killers, drug users and abusers, this is the face of humanity.
Many fear us, many mock us, a race with a home, a race with a home no more, driven from it by our own abuse of the planet.
Killing off everything we could, leaving what we couldn't. Stripping it of it's lush greenery, and it's vibrant blue waters.
I grew up on that planet, now only a barren desert, and gape-ing holes we ripped in it, with bombs and missiles.
I now live on the hellish prison on mars, most say they don't belong here, I do. After fighting in the 'great' 'valiant' or 'ages' war as some call it, I came to live on the moon, watching the planet that I fought on all my life, bled on, and cursed on being ground to dust by politicians, drug lords, and interplanetary syndicates of such massive proportions they controlled life and death like it was a toy. Cutting the air from people who couldn't pay, or starve the people of food and water.
Then use there soulless bodys and fodder for the war effort, to 'inspire' recruits from the upper classes to fight for them in domination of that barren ball of mud we used to call home. Two small company's, a biogenics lab run out of Alpha Centauri, and a Cosmic Ice mine-ing consortium tried to make a 'stand', if you can call it that. Lets just say there is a lake were the buildings were on Alpha Centauri, and the head of the Ice miners company had a un-timely end, his suit breached in the dead of space. As it has been said, no one can hear your screams in space.
I can hear the guards coming now, the dull thud of there metal boots resounding through my cell. If you can call it that, I am bound and chained to the floor, with a stun bolt through my shoulder. Who knows, maybe today they will kill me, I don't even care, after all of my 37 years of existence, I am a pitifully and broken soul, nothing more nothing less. Once my mind was sharp and eager for the 'final frontier' now only a shattered echo of the past sounds in my head.
While here on mars I have learned that some guys from my company were here too, about a year into there imprison-ment they got sent to the iron mines, although we all know that is a joke, we use bio-organic foams that harden into substances harder then pure pressed carbon. More then likely they were ejected out a air lock, and there bodys used as floating targets in space for the grizzly bastards that we call guards. Now, you may be wondering, who am I? Not even I remember that, just a simple number I was given wen I entered here. Prison Inmate 7769-001, My rank in the war before, and my number there was limited, I was a standard infantry man, killed and murdered as I was told to. My Military Number, oddly enough was 7769-000, I often thought that there was a reason for my prison number, and my military number being the same. But I lost track of all those thoughts ages ago, now my mind rips back to the thumping of guards boots out side the rusted door. the only illumination is a slim strip of glow-pak around the edge of the room, surrounded by far to close together to get your hands inside. The stink of my own flesh, and of the food they server is permeated into the walls and into the floor. I feel my chains tighten to the floor, I lose all ability to move, head forced up by the sound of fresh air running into the room. I look up to the blinding slight of two guards, one with a stun stick, to attach to the bolt in my arm so I can't move any muscled with out a high voltage, low amp, shock. The other has a strange gun, being in the military ages ago, my mind trains my eyes to examine it, it doesn't look right, reminds me more of a medical device. I sneer alittle, only to feel a small amount of pain run through my body. Having gotten used to it, I don't even mentally think there is anything different then the normal aches and pains. The chains around my ankles and the band around my waist tightens, while the chain goes slack.
'Move' crackles a strange voice from the one with the weapon, I stand up, a jolt of pain rushes to my head, the guards laugh, and the other one pulls his stun stick off the end of the bolt. I continue to stand, although my full height I came to later know, was 6'1, I felt dwarfed by the guards in light powered combat gear. The gear is a self contained, and pressured existence, the guards almost live inside of them, only take-ing them off to eat, sleep and shower. The 'glass' were the eyes are, is always scorched earth black, and the voices always the same. To prevent us knowing the guards, the only thing to tell us who is who is a small three digit number on there right shoulder, just out of sight this time. I am standing there, waiting for orders from them, as my mind wanders the butt of the 'weapon' slams into my chest, I fall to the ground, the other puts his metallic boot on my chest, while the other kneels down, places his hand on my head, pushing hard enough to leave a imprint, place-ing the weapon next to my neck, the last thing I hear before I fade to black is a crackle-ing chuckle, and a hissing noise coming from the gun.
Having heard the guards entering the other room, I calmly continued to work at the edge of the lock on my left wrist, having no name other then my number, I had to call my self something to keep from breaking, I was a military sniper, at least during the war I was, I was imprisoned on war crimes, I kept going over the trial in my head, although knowing it was all false, I had nothing else to do, I could have killed everyone in the room, but I didn't. I was to well trained, and to skilled in killing to do anything else, so it was either be the lackey to a drug lord or death in this prison.
Having lock picking skills picked up as a child, I worked fever-ishly almost all day and night on my locks, I got one almost done, the one on my left wrist. Being left handed this was hard to do with my right, but soon became quite dexterous with my right and left, I heard a click, and a small alarm went off in my mind, knowing that the camera behind me had just turned on. They must have detected my cuffs being worked on, I prayed not, I heard the small of a body to the ground and the familiar crackling laugh of the guards.
My eyes, they have grown so cold the genetic manipulation gave me low light vision. Now even in this dim room I could see everything, from the bars running over the strip of glow pak to the doors and it’s locking. Even the attempts of the earlier person who ‘lived’ here had worked on it, which I could open in a heartbeat if I wanted.
But that would only be giving them a excuse to shoot me too. Early-er that day, I had heard four gun shots ring out, not because it took four shots to kill a man, but because four men had just died. I knew what this would cost me, working at my cuffs, more then likely my food for a month, they would put me on nutri-pills again, and those, in the doses they give you, barely keep the average person alive.
Now my training, was both a curse and a gift, I was trained in escape, but that was known by my captors, so everything in my cell was triple strong, triple thick, triple touchy, if I touched the door a heat sensor would go off, if I touched the glow-pak, I would get a massive shock. If I touch anything but what is already touching me, something would happen, only the floor and my cuffs were standard, although I doubt about the cuffs, because they were quite a complicated lock.
Finally, the vid cam behind me turned off, and the prison went into total electronic silence, nothing could get in or out.
In other words, it was out proverbial night lock down. The doors secondary bolts kicked in, just in case some one opened the magnetic lock and seal on the door. But even so the action of getting the door open, is pointless, because it alerts the guards, and they will shoot you on sight. Now my problem was getting killed, I could escape, but I would never make it out alive. I personally feel that unless I could over power a feeding guard, the ones that deliver the slop they call food here.
Title; Desecration
Chapter; Terror
Introduction
War, Peace, Revolution
Pain is the dance in my head
The Pain Never goes away,
Turning sweet to sour,
Turning time to dust,
The dance of pain in my mind goes to the beats of war.
The war we all fight, the war we all win, lose.
The dance of pain is the day I mourn you,
Time is sour, time is sweet, a granted release.
The day I mourn you, is the day I die, the time I find you
The day I fly.
Soon to die, soon to rise, the pain goes on, like the eternal beats of war, peace, and revolution.
Chapter Start;
Humanity, that ever failing race that can't be stomped out, in the years to come we ourselves changed, from Humans to something else, mindless kings and killers, drug users and abusers, this is the face of humanity.
Many fear us, many mock us, a race with a home, a race with a home no more, driven from it by our own abuse of the planet.
Killing off everything we could, leaving what we couldn't. Stripping it of it's lush greenery, and it's vibrant blue waters.
I grew up on that planet, now only a barren desert, and gape-ing holes we ripped in it, with bombs and missiles.
I now live on the hellish prison on mars, most say they don't belong here, I do. After fighting in the 'great' 'valiant' or 'ages' war as some call it, I came to live on the moon, watching the planet that I fought on all my life, bled on, and cursed on being ground to dust by politicians, drug lords, and interplanetary syndicates of such massive proportions they controlled life and death like it was a toy. Cutting the air from people who couldn't pay, or starve the people of food and water.
Then use there soulless bodys and fodder for the war effort, to 'inspire' recruits from the upper classes to fight for them in domination of that barren ball of mud we used to call home. Two small company's, a biogenics lab run out of Alpha Centauri, and a Cosmic Ice mine-ing consortium tried to make a 'stand', if you can call it that. Lets just say there is a lake were the buildings were on Alpha Centauri, and the head of the Ice miners company had a un-timely end, his suit breached in the dead of space. As it has been said, no one can hear your screams in space.
I can hear the guards coming now, the dull thud of there metal boots resounding through my cell. If you can call it that, I am bound and chained to the floor, with a stun bolt through my shoulder. Who knows, maybe today they will kill me, I don't even care, after all of my 37 years of existence, I am a pitifully and broken soul, nothing more nothing less. Once my mind was sharp and eager for the 'final frontier' now only a shattered echo of the past sounds in my head.
While here on mars I have learned that some guys from my company were here too, about a year into there imprison-ment they got sent to the iron mines, although we all know that is a joke, we use bio-organic foams that harden into substances harder then pure pressed carbon. More then likely they were ejected out a air lock, and there bodys used as floating targets in space for the grizzly bastards that we call guards. Now, you may be wondering, who am I? Not even I remember that, just a simple number I was given wen I entered here. Prison Inmate 7769-001, My rank in the war before, and my number there was limited, I was a standard infantry man, killed and murdered as I was told to. My Military Number, oddly enough was 7769-000, I often thought that there was a reason for my prison number, and my military number being the same. But I lost track of all those thoughts ages ago, now my mind rips back to the thumping of guards boots out side the rusted door. the only illumination is a slim strip of glow-pak around the edge of the room, surrounded by far to close together to get your hands inside. The stink of my own flesh, and of the food they server is permeated into the walls and into the floor. I feel my chains tighten to the floor, I lose all ability to move, head forced up by the sound of fresh air running into the room. I look up to the blinding slight of two guards, one with a stun stick, to attach to the bolt in my arm so I can't move any muscled with out a high voltage, low amp, shock. The other has a strange gun, being in the military ages ago, my mind trains my eyes to examine it, it doesn't look right, reminds me more of a medical device. I sneer alittle, only to feel a small amount of pain run through my body. Having gotten used to it, I don't even mentally think there is anything different then the normal aches and pains. The chains around my ankles and the band around my waist tightens, while the chain goes slack.
'Move' crackles a strange voice from the one with the weapon, I stand up, a jolt of pain rushes to my head, the guards laugh, and the other one pulls his stun stick off the end of the bolt. I continue to stand, although my full height I came to later know, was 6'1, I felt dwarfed by the guards in light powered combat gear. The gear is a self contained, and pressured existence, the guards almost live inside of them, only take-ing them off to eat, sleep and shower. The 'glass' were the eyes are, is always scorched earth black, and the voices always the same. To prevent us knowing the guards, the only thing to tell us who is who is a small three digit number on there right shoulder, just out of sight this time. I am standing there, waiting for orders from them, as my mind wanders the butt of the 'weapon' slams into my chest, I fall to the ground, the other puts his metallic boot on my chest, while the other kneels down, places his hand on my head, pushing hard enough to leave a imprint, place-ing the weapon next to my neck, the last thing I hear before I fade to black is a crackle-ing chuckle, and a hissing noise coming from the gun.
Having heard the guards entering the other room, I calmly continued to work at the edge of the lock on my left wrist, having no name other then my number, I had to call my self something to keep from breaking, I was a military sniper, at least during the war I was, I was imprisoned on war crimes, I kept going over the trial in my head, although knowing it was all false, I had nothing else to do, I could have killed everyone in the room, but I didn't. I was to well trained, and to skilled in killing to do anything else, so it was either be the lackey to a drug lord or death in this prison.
Having lock picking skills picked up as a child, I worked fever-ishly almost all day and night on my locks, I got one almost done, the one on my left wrist. Being left handed this was hard to do with my right, but soon became quite dexterous with my right and left, I heard a click, and a small alarm went off in my mind, knowing that the camera behind me had just turned on. They must have detected my cuffs being worked on, I prayed not, I heard the small of a body to the ground and the familiar crackling laugh of the guards.
My eyes, they have grown so cold the genetic manipulation gave me low light vision. Now even in this dim room I could see everything, from the bars running over the strip of glow pak to the doors and it’s locking. Even the attempts of the earlier person who ‘lived’ here had worked on it, which I could open in a heartbeat if I wanted.
But that would only be giving them a excuse to shoot me too. Early-er that day, I had heard four gun shots ring out, not because it took four shots to kill a man, but because four men had just died. I knew what this would cost me, working at my cuffs, more then likely my food for a month, they would put me on nutri-pills again, and those, in the doses they give you, barely keep the average person alive.
Now my training, was both a curse and a gift, I was trained in escape, but that was known by my captors, so everything in my cell was triple strong, triple thick, triple touchy, if I touched the door a heat sensor would go off, if I touched the glow-pak, I would get a massive shock. If I touch anything but what is already touching me, something would happen, only the floor and my cuffs were standard, although I doubt about the cuffs, because they were quite a complicated lock.
Finally, the vid cam behind me turned off, and the prison went into total electronic silence, nothing could get in or out.
In other words, it was out proverbial night lock down. The doors secondary bolts kicked in, just in case some one opened the magnetic lock and seal on the door. But even so the action of getting the door open, is pointless, because it alerts the guards, and they will shoot you on sight. Now my problem was getting killed, I could escape, but I would never make it out alive. I personally feel that unless I could over power a feeding guard, the ones that deliver the slop they call food here.
