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Chronicles Of Elydia > Prose > Lost Future


Title: Lost Future
Description: Sci/Fi - Rated R [WIP]


bpult - June 7, 2005 11:18 AM (GMT)
Title: Doomsday Deliverer
Rated: R

Forfeited Labor

Lieutenant Seers ran. He dared not turn and look but he felt his enemy closing in on him with super human speed. He knew he wouldn’t make it across the desert to Atlas Bunker.

He heard a terrifying scream. A cry of war that made his stomach sicken and his heart cower. His chest was thumping furiously, his heart pumping frantically. He was only delaying the inevitable. CAPTURE. death – if he was lucky, or the worst fate of all…assimilation.

He heard his hunters – at least three, maybe as many as eight. Suddenly Seers froze. His chasers guffawed. Seers saw he had run straight into a sheer cliff face. He had reached a dead end and was now helplessly trapped. He knew what had to be done, and he felt around his belt until his fingers found the small metallic pocketknife. He flicked out the blade and held it to his throat.
“See you in hell”
He brought the knife up, paused for a moment…but he couldn’t do it1

Disgusted. He was disgusted it had come to this, and now he was in the palm of his enemy. He wasn’t able to save himself, or even end his life to prevent a fate worse then death.
He sensed one of his hunters approaching slowly behind him. His muscled tensed in anticipation, a warrior now with total focus. In a flash Seers turned and had sliced the throat of his pursuer, neatly and accurately with the small blade. More of his enemies then he could count converged aggressively on Seers who accepted his fate without resistance.


Seers awoke. From this he could assume he wasn’t dead. His head was in the sand. He tried to spit but his mouth was too dry. Seers began sitting up but sharp pain began to surge through his lower body. Seers could only guess how many of his bones were broken as his face once again hit the sand.
“2nd Lieutenant Seers, 18th Mounted Battalion.”
This lone small piece of information ran through his head over and over, he grasped to this last piece of information. A tiny shard of his identity.

He senses began to return to him. He felt a hot sun bearing down on him and came to the sudden realization that he was totally naked. He also began to sense another presence, he was not alone.

“Got you to mate.”

The voice sounded foreign. It reminded him of British commanders he used to hear on the radio, before the radios were jammed by the beasts.
“Gee you fell pretty hard”
Seers tried to turn his head and at least capture a view of his company. Struggling Seers saw a short lean man wearing a loose fitting cape of some description. Seers also saw the metallic lustre of a solid titanium wall. He immediately knew his was in a cell.
“Who are you?”
“Who me, the name’s Winston, mate.”
“Lieutenant Seers.”
“Yeah, I heard you the first time”
“Where are we?”
“They call it a place worse then hell!”
Seer’s deepest fears were confirmed. He was walking a nightmare in the captivity of the beasts.

“Will they kill us?”
“We can only hope so mate.”

Seers felt a rag of coarse leather fall on him. Winston’s small but robust hands grasped his limbs and Seers was dragged against the hot hard metallic wall. He finally had a good view of the cell, In the middle he saw Winston beaming at him. Winston was short around five and a half feet and was well tanned. Seers speculated he had been in captivity for quite some time.

Seers examined the room in more detail. There were 4 high metallic walls in a perfect square approximately 5 meters in length. Directly opposite him were two large clay pots of simple cylindric design. Their purpose was unclear but they certainly weren’t for gardening.

Seers looked up to see a clear blue afternoon sky and decided there wasn’t much else to see. From this position there were two possible courses of action to take, escape was the preferable of the two. Seers realised there were no doors like regular prisons. Seers now supposed that his injuries were sustained having been dropped into this cell.

He knew he could not scale these walls even if he was fit. In frustration he curled his hand into a fist and launched a gut-wrenching blow against the wall. Pain, pure agony coursed through his body. His bones shuddered and muscles froze in utter anguish.

“Christ, not trying that again!”
“Didn’t think so.”
“Ever tried to escape?”
“It’s impossible, no one has ever escaped.”
“How about digging?”
“Hit rock about a meter down.”

Seers was hardly one to sit around and wait for the doom that was assimilation. He would find a way to manufacture his own death, as was the standing orders to all captured men. Seers would not fail this final task. If not through suicide, which he had already failed, perhaps he could recruit Winston to end his mortal life. Anything was better than his scheduled fate, a fate worse than death.

Seers regathered his mind and tried to lift himself, the effort drained him of his last energy. He battled to hold onto his consciousness but the effort was too great. He quickly descended into the great black depths of unconsciousness.


Seers awoke feeling a cold chill on his left arm. The feeling quickly spread, unexplainable despair began to coarse through his veins. He felt paralysed to a spot and quietly he whimpered in his helplessness.

Seers opened his eyes but couldn’t make anything out. He searched the sky for the moon and stars but nothing could be found … until a blinding floodlight illuminated his cell beyond visibility. The sound of helicopters were suddenly apparent, no not helicopters only one. Rescue! It had to be. But a single glance at Winston’s face quickly sunk any hope Seers briefly had. The horrible truth now became all too apparent to him. He heard the notorious guffaw of his sworn enemies. They had come for recruitment – to assimilate Seers against his will into becoming one of their number. A great black claw extended like a snake. To Seers it was the embodiment of terror. His eyes fixed on the mechanical beast that was winding its way calmly but purposefully towards him.

Seers tried to move but it was a feeble attempt for a futile cause. The mechanical claw was only 2 meters away now, it’s solid and unforgiving pincers opened in anticipation. Seers sighed to himself and tried to remember inspirations in his life. His mind was blank – there was no ideology to hide behind, no happy place to run to – he was now alone with an unstoppable metal trap waiting for its pray.

The claw jerked sharply towards the right heading now for the cowering figure of Winston. While still physically fit Winston was unable to move. Despite his whimpering and shivering he accepted his fate without objection. The claw grasped him tightly and jerked him into the air. Before the snake had even recoiled the helicopter was flying away.

It was only a moment before the dark and silent solitude was restored to the cell. But this time Seers was in solitude. Alone.

Katana - June 7, 2005 11:33 AM (GMT)
Hmm, interesting.

bpult - June 13, 2005 12:49 AM (GMT)
Science fiction has been, can be, and will continue to be described as a form of speculative fiction principally dealing with the impact of imagined science and technology upon society and individuals.

It is a popular theory in today’s society that any possible story has been thought of and written. It is impossible to have a truly original idea without it bearing at least some similarities to another idea. Science fiction explores a world that is equally probable as any other. If all possibilities have already been thought of then it is almost certain that a science fiction story somewhere in the world may come true. We can only hope that this story is not one of them.

It is a popular belief that the universe that we know it is only one of an infinate number. Some will be almost exactly similar, and others so different we cannot comprehend them. There will be some where you were never born, others where the only difference is what you ate for breakfest on March 2nd.

These leads to the chilling thought thad there would be an infinate number of universes that almost congruent to this story – one will be exactly the same…

bpult - June 15, 2005 09:06 AM (GMT)
There are the best of times and there are the worst of times. In the best of times one surrounds himself with company, success and happiness. You do not have to rely on your mind as you find yourself in effortless bliss.

In the worst of times your objective is to leave this predicament and return to the best of times. You are alone without comfort. You have failed in all your efforts. You examine your situation and can’t find a way to save yourself. You are left with only your mind as often your body deteriorates. When you start to loose your mind the end is near.




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