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X-TREEEEEEME indifference.



Posted by Janus , Mar 04 2009 · 254 views
FOR SCIENCE! 2.0 (9)

This is an idea that's been floating in the back of my head since last week, and it was going to be the entry for Thursday--but I couldn't write to a degree that made me happy, so I scrapped it. Here is part one in all its glory.

Part two comes tomorrow.

Word count: 870



Samuel East—Sam, for short, was sitting quietly on a bench outside the park; with a small book open on his lap he sat unobtrusively.

To say that he was careful to ensure he was out of people’s way was an understatement. Sam had lived his entire life in this fashion, sitting quietly in the corners away from other people…usually with his nose in a book.

It wasn’t what most people assumed; that people simply weren’t interesting to him. No, it was the fact that he didn’t want to be a bother, and so he simply shuttled himself away into dark corners with a book for company.

On this day, however, something was different; even Sam could feel it…could feel that nervous prickle at the back of his neck. Glancing up from his book, Sam’s eyes darted around nervously, anxiously scanning the people gently moving around the park.

“You won’t find me that way” Came a disturbingly cold voice. A voice that somehow managed to hover just at the edge of Sam’s hearing…making it impossible to figure out where it had come from.

“Who…?” Sam murmured softly, half to himself as he again scanned the crowd that milled about the park.
“Me.” Came the voice, full of dark humor.
“But who are you?” Sam whispered, his eyes rapidly darting around as he tried to find a source for the mysterious voice.
“Interesting question” the dark voice chuckled. “Who am I?” There was a pause. “I’m someone on a quest…and I believe you can help me with that, Sam.”

Sam nearly dropped the book at this. His pudgy face flush as his hands scrambled to hold onto the book that had almost slipped from their grip.
“How do you know me?” He croaked quietly, his throat drying out quickly.
“You are full of questions, aren’t you?” came the voice. “Lucky for you at this point I happen to be full of answers. I know you, Samuel East, because I’ve been watching you for the past…oh…month or so, I’d say. And I’ve found that you will suit my purposes quite nicely.”
“…You’ve been watching me?” Sam said, voice cracking. “For…a month?”
“Yes.” The voice said simply.
“Why?” Sam murmured, almost dreading the answer.
“Because you can help me Sam, you can help me quite a bit.”

Sam wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and looked downwards—having long since abandoned his vain quest of discovering the voice’s owner.
“How?” he muttered.
“Look up.” The voice commanded. Sam obliged.

Sitting on the same bench as himself was a young child—a boy of no-more than six or seven. He had dark sandy hair and piercing green eyes which seemed to be boring directly into Sam’s own. Aside from his eyes, however, he seemed perfectly normal.
“Thank you, Sam” the boy spoke. Sam nearly wet himself.
“You’re…welcome?” Sam said questioningly.
“Tell me, Sam. How much do you know about myths? About Gods?”

Sam happened to be quite knowledgeable on this subject, having spent most of his life with his nose burrowed in a book he managed to read most myths at least one, and prided himself on his knowledge of the ancient Gods.
“Quite a bit” Sam half-grinned.
“As expected.” The boy said with a malicious smile. “Then you would know that often enough they appear to mortals in the guise of flesh.” Sam did a doubletake
“You can’t be trying to tell me…”
“That I’m a God?” The boy smiled again. “I won’t say anything then”

Sam rubbed his eyes repeatedly, all nervous somehow evaporated now that he knew he wasn’t dealing with a human—or at least that’s what he felt.
“Open your eyes.” Came the command—and Sam did as he was told.

The boy was gone.
“You see mortal, regretful though it is, your purposes is this. We as Gods cannot exist for a long period of time in this realm—we bend the fabric of time and space in such a way that we are able to force ourselves through the tiny pinprick that we’ve opened…but all too soon the fabric snaps back and sends us hurtling back into our own world.”
“I…don’t understand” Sam murmured, looking around for the boy.
“Of course you don’t. The simple fact is that if we want to do anything of worth on this world we need to find someway to avoid this slingshot effect—not only does it damage us, but it severely limits what we can do here in this realm. And so I have tried my own little experiment” The voice laughed darkly.
“And what’s that?” Sam said, pocketing his book and standing up. There was no sense in staying on the bench anymore, he just felt it.
“Why, having a helpful mortal such as yourself shield me, Sam.” The voice whispered.

Sam glanced around, the sense of panic returning to him threefold. He barely resisted the urge to run from that spot and never return, and, taking a deep breath he turned in a full circle to take in the entire park. The boy really was gone.
“Nice try, Sam.” The voice murmured. “But you and I are going to get to know each other quite well…”



Posted by Janus , Mar 03 2009 · 545 views

Well I missed two days last week, one of them was because of a testing at our academy (Which I had to judge for) and the second of which was I was lazy and making excuses. Seriously people, bug me if you want stories.

Is this short? Oh yes. Did I have to literally grind this one of out my brain? OH YES.

But it's done now. Now I can stop worrying about it.

Wordcount: 418



How then to describe it; the silvery craft that gently flowed through the air? It was sleek and smooth, vaguely oblong with a large protrusion towards the back of the craft. Or at least that’s all that I could see…it was distorted and distended, as though I was viewing it through some sort of inverted lense.

The air around the craft seemed almost liquid like, waves of…something radiating off from its smooth silver hull. It stayed there in the air for the briefest of instants, hovering there and causing the air to ripple in a way that I’d never seen.

Then it turned, its brilliant fuselage somehow not seeming to move…so much as simply appearing in a new place. From its new position I could see that two large sweeping wings emerged from the silvery hull. I marveled at this amazing sight before, this machine that seemed more organic that technological, this incredible wonder that floated in the sky and yet was unaffected by the suns rays. Somehow the silvery sheen of the craft was light internally—no beam of sunlight reflected off the marvelous thing.

And then all at once it was gone. It did not streak off in a ray of light, it did not loop around in the sky and vanish in a flash of light. It simply wasn’t there anymore.

I lowered the hand that had been shielding my eyes and simply gazed into the sky…

How then to describe it; the land below me that stretched abundantly outward?

Boring, quite frankly.

It was a veritable plain of nothingness—and the miniscule matchsticks that they must have called ‘skyscrapers’ were but the things of a race in its childhood. My vessel remained temporarily frozen in this primitive time, having been flung from the deeper time space and down into this trickling stream…a time from the past.

I grunted irately, taking note of the gawking faces below me. It was amazing that these people thought my ship was such a marvel—I mean I barely tolerated the lumbering hulk myself. It got me to the store and back, but it certainly wasn’t one of the more fuel efficient chronal-hoppers.

Frustrated, I kicked a bulkhead—causing my ship to blink into temporal space and immediately outwards again…same time period, just a different direction.

I sighed.
“Great, just what I need”

Then of course I realized I’d left it in neutral, and, mentally kicking myself sped out of that time period and back into the time stream.


Four Minutes To Live

Posted by Janus , Feb 26 2009 · 231 views
FOR SCIENCE! 2.0 (7)

Sleep happens now.

Wordcount: 897

Enjoy. Sleep.

Four minutes to live

Four minutes and counting. That’s what they said.

I’m scared…less scared than I expected, but still frightened enough that I’m unable to quell the nervous sweat that’s creeping to my skin. Nor am I able to take control over my breathing which has become more and more erratic as the seconds pass.

Four minutes and counting. Four minutes to live.

I can hear them all abandoning the room; the heavy thumps of their boots as they clomp down the hallways. I can even hear the them shouting to each other, panicked shouts—they’re just as terrified as I am.

But somehow I’m not as terrified as I should be. In mere minutes I’ll be dead…in mere minutes this entire facility will be nothing but ruins, and here I am. Bound to a chair and locked in a room. There’s no lights, no heat, no nothing….yet somehow I’m not afraid.

I suppose it could just be shock. You know, you never expect something like this to happen to you. Certainly it could happen to other people, but never you.

No, never.

Perhaps the brain simply isn’t able to rationally deal with it, and so it retreats into a sense of numbness—leaving me logically aware that I should feel petrified, but unable to feel anything.

Heh, listen to me. I’m dissecting my own imminent death, it sounds crazy.

The hallways outside are silent now. I can’t hear any more footfalls coming from them, and the cacophonous shouting has ceased as well. I’m alone now.

The fear has almost left now…but I’m not numb anymore, some vague sense of emotion is trickling into my body. Anger, that’s it. I’m angry about being trapped here in this room, angry at the darkness that pervades this room, and the sense of fury I have at the men who’ve left my here to die? Well, there are no words to describe it.

Still, somewhere in the back of my mind my imagination is running wild.
“What’s going to happen to me?” It asks, running through a variety of scenarios rapidly, attempting to determine which one will be the one that gets me.

It could be a bomb, I suppose. One planted in the facility—that’d make sense. Perhaps it’s even in the room around me. A localized blast would be the most effective thing for eradicating me. Then again these men are soldiers…they could have called in an air strike—that’d explain them scrambling to escape the facility as quickly as possible.

Of course it could also be a poisonous gas, but if that was the case then I’d imagine that they’d have put me next to a vent—just to ensure I actually perished.

I don’t even know how much time I have left anymore. And what am I spending my last precious few minutes doing? Trying to figure out how they’re going to end! I’d laugh if I could, as it is all I can do is feel the building rage within me. How dare they do this to me!

I hear some sort of hiss in the room, vaguely serpentine in nature—please tell me they didn’t put some sort of live snake in here—something that’ll slink and lurk all about by body before finally piercing me with its fangs….I shudder just thinking about it.

I can vaguely make out some sort of nozzle emerging from the wall. Somehow I’m able to see clearer now, the previously impenetrable darkness giving way to a dim foggy sort of light.

The nozzle must be some sort of poison distributor. I imagine that any time now I’ll be inhaling the toxins and then it’ll be a short period of pain and a long period of dead.

Wait, the anger is back now. They tied me up….they kidnapped me and threw me in here and tied me up!

There’s a snap, a resounding crack; I can feel that the ropes holding me have snapped, from there it’s a simple enough process to take the chair I was previously sitting in and demolish the door.

Light floods into the previously dark room, causing me to wince and cover my eyes, but I need to press onwards. I take a heavy step, my anger fueling me as I stomp down the hallway, I need to get out of here.

I hear voices, soldiers are all around me. They’re yelling in some foreign tongue that I don’t understand. They raise their guns, aim, and fire.

As soon as I saw the guns raise I knew there was no way to dodge, no way to do anything but sit there and be ventilated by the many bullets that will undoubtedly be coming my way.

But wait. The soldiers are looking confused…fearful? I’m waiting for them to fire but they seem reluctant to…but if they didn’t fire then where is all that acrid smoke coming from?

I look downwards, the floor is littered with bullets—and while my shirt has been quite ventilated, I somehow remain unharmed. I hear one of the soldiers scream out, I can’t understand anything he says except

So, I was an experiment to them, was I? I smile, it seems that their experiment failed…but I can live with being invulnerable.

Now, how long was it they gave me to live? Four minutes?

You know what they say, turnabout is fair play.


So I Did

Posted by Janus , Feb 25 2009 · 530 views
FOR SCIENCE! 2.0 (6)

I'm tired.

Very tired.

This is what runs through my head--except this is like, maybe five-to-ten minutes of a dialogue that runs all day long.

Wordcount: 536 (Anyone else notice the shrinking wordcounts? I do!)


So I did

A soldier screamed as he fell, clutching his arm where the magic still burned his flesh. All around his comrades were dropping, their primitive blades no match for the small band of mages that had surrounded their leader.
“Fools!” The archmage hissed, magical energy erupting from his body. “Taste my wrath!”

“Nah” I thought, mentally shelving the idea.

Almost instantaneously the battlefield melted away and I was left with a blank slab of sun scorched rock hanging high above a small winding river. Nearest the edge of the enormous stone was a figure cloaked in shadow, its eyes just barely visible through the darkness of its hood.
“Why have you come here?” the figure questioned, and my view shifted to a shaded enclosure where a young man stood, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
“To learn the truth” He muttered grimly.

“Nope” I thought to myself. “Not quite what I’m looking for”

As if it were a rubix cube my brain reassembled pieces of the scene until they resembled something completely different. Now I was in a deep pool, out of the corners of my eyes I could see my arms furiously driving in and out of the water---of course they weren’t my arms, and as my view shifted away I saw a young girl of about 20 pushing herself to her limit as she swam from one end of the large pool to the next. Then I found myself viewing the scene from underwater, large goggles filling my vision.

For a moment I pondered.
“I do love this feeling” I felt myself thinking “I really love the separation between above water and below. I love the way that line is so thin that all it takes to plunge your head in and it’s something completely different…and I love how peaceful it is under the water.”

Already I could feel pieces clicking into place, replacing and altering themselves. No longer was it a young girl in my minds eye, instead it was an older man with the body of a swimmer. The pool itself melted away, leaving a vast oceanic plain for the man to cut through with his body. But I could feel the weariness though it wasn’t my own, could feel the way his body ached—could even feel the bite of the cold water as it surrounded his body.

His face dipped under the water, revealing sights of beauty untold. Just beneath the surface lay all manner of life—but I could still feel the weariness, and could feel the man slipping further and further. My mind had already written the end to this tale, the man would die surrounded by the beauty of the ocean.

“Nah, too depressing” I found myself thinking.

For once my brain wasn’t able to think of anything further. The scenery of the ocean melted away into absolutely nothing, for the briefest of instants my brain was absolutely silent. Then came the image of me seeing the previous storylines in my head. A bit Meta, but I eventually figured it out

“Oh. I get it. I’ll write about the process I go through to make a story for For Science! 2.0”

So I did.


Regular As Clockwork

Posted by Janus , Feb 24 2009 · 243 views
FOR SCIENCE! 2.0 (5)

Not such a fan of this one, though ironically enough I feel quite similar to the character in the story.

Maybe I'll feel her sense of relief tomorrow?

Wordcount: 602


Regular as clockwork

Colour splashed across the canvas as the painter began her work, the soft tip of her brush dipping into the thick paint that spilled across the previously blank cloth.

She gently drew her brush across the white canvas; making elegant lines with the red paint that stained the material. When at last she had finished with the web of lines on the canvas she carefully washed her brush, watching offhandedly as the paint dissolved in the thinner.

She had been painting like this for three days now. On and off spurts of creativity that nearly forced her to work, an immovable wall of force that bowled over any flimsy excuse her mind could muster. Naturally she took breaks, every three hours she would rise from her hunched over position; popping her back and massaging feeling back into her tired limbs. Every three hours, regular as clockwork.

She stared into the inky thinner she had placed next to her, gazing languidly at the red paint slowly melting off the bristles of the brush. As she watched the water gradually cloud over in a shade of red she spoke out loud to herself, the sound of her own voice surprising her.
“Blood and water…” she paused, not sure where the thought was going.

A sigh escaped her lips and she removed the brush from the thinner, tenderly wiping it down and checking the bristles. Next she removed the lid from her next shade, a brilliant yellow to compliment the pre-existing red. She moved to dip her brush into the thick paint when suddenly a shrill ring pierced through the air.

She jumped. One hand clutching her chest and the other firmly holding the brush she glanced around the room… and realized that the annoying sound was coming from next to her. Her timer set for every three hours had trilled loudly.

She made to stand up, her muscles groaning in protest, before a groan from her own lips joined them. In her previous panic she had knocked the brilliant yellow paint onto the canvas, and now her elaborate spider web of red was being overwhelmed by an onslaught of the bright colour.

She cursed loudly, her shriek matching pitch with the still beeping timer. Dropping to her knees she desperately attempted to save the painting, drawing the best patterns she could with the viscous paint.

She lost track of time, sweat forming all across her body as she gently traced forms out of the bright yellow paint. At last she finished, a final stroke completing an incredible lattice of red and yellow intertwined with each other in an elaborate pattern. And in the very center of this lattice were two large globs of paint mixing and creating a new colour.

She smiled. For once she was really satisfied with a work she had done, for once she had really felt ‘in touch’ with her artwork. It was an incredible feeling for her, something that she had yearned for since she had first begun art.

All throughout her working life she had been painting commissions for people, never truly feeling like her heart was in it—but this…accident made her feel a sense of satisfaction she had only dreamed of.

She stepped back to glance at her work, unmindful of the now silent timer laying on the ground behind her, and with an earsplitting crack the timepiece announced both its presence and its demise.

Oddly enough, she felt unperturbed by this. Bending down she gently cradled the ruined thing in her arms before turning and tossing it in the garbage.

She had art to do.


Great Big Sea

Posted by Janus , Feb 23 2009 · 481 views
General Crazy
Is amazing.


If you can listen to songs like Lucky Me, Let it Go, Love, and Something Beautiful and not feel happy with life--there is something severely wrong.

Look beyond the cut for my favourite bits of each song.

Lucky Me

Who would have thought for a moment
She'd have to grow up so fast
The school beauty queen with a child at sixteen
Swore that her fortunes had passed

But blessings can hide in the strangest disguise
And I know she would agree
As long as the river still runs to the sea
Hey lucky you, lucky me.

Hey lucky you,
Lucky me.

Let it go

Hey man
There's no time for crying now
You've made your bed
but you don't think it's fit to lie in

You're wasted on the ground
when you know you should be flying
What are you waiting for?


How many more of our children have to fall
And just how high do we have to build these walls
In fighting there's no dignity
it's such a waste of time

Take my hand
I don't think god will mind

Something Beautiful

The years'll make us older
The winters make us colder

And there's one more thing I've come to know for sure

There's no bitterness that smoulders
No chip on any shoulder

That a random act of kindness can't cure.


Just Some Kid

Posted by Janus , Feb 21 2009 · 314 views
FOR SCIENCE! 2.0 (4)

I'll be perfectly honest with all of you. I had absolutely no idea where I was going with this.

The opening sentence "What can I say..." popped into my head and I began to write...from there the character just directed the story. I got a brief idea of what went on towards about halfway through, but even I was surprised at the way it turned out.

Wordcount: 813


Just some kid

What can I say about Frederick Rollen? He was a punk, a snot-faced little brat who made my life a living nightmare. Am I glad he’s dead? No, of course not; no sane human being would be. But am I glad he’s finally out of my hair? You’d better believe it.

Fred first entered my life ten years ago, just as much a punk then as on the day he died. I remember the reaction I gave him, the first words I ever said to him…heh, I told him I had no money for bums. He laughed at that, can you believe it? He, some punk teen of seventeen in his torn jeans and stained jacket; with his dirty hair and greasy skin, he laughed.

“Man, I ain’t here for your money,” he said, drawlingly, rubbing his dark hands on his torn jeans. “I’m new to the neighborhood. Name’s Fred.” And with that he extended his hand, his dark, grease-stained hand. Surely you can’t blame me for shutting the door in his face?

But I still remember what happened next, I remember it with a clarity that surprises even me. I shut the door on that young man, but I watched him through the peephole…I rationalized this to myself by saying it was to make sure he didn’t become violent, but nevertheless I watched. For a moment the young man seemed taken aback by having the door slammed in his face, then a grin crept to his dark face and he turned his back, raising a hand in a half wave.

I don’t know what it was about that motion, but it broke my heart. I still remember the unfamiliar pain, which even now remains as a dull ache. I still remember the fact that I turned away a young man who simply wanted to be accepted. Albeit he was a punk, and he certainly didn’t belong—but nevertheless a man of my upbringing was taught never to turn away someone.

I suppose it should come as no surprise that after I led the charge, the rest of the neighborhood was also reluctant to accept this dark stranger; and one by one doors slammed in his face. Nevertheless, young Fred still smiled.

He was a mechanic in those days, can you imagine? Someone on a mechanic’s salary living in our neighborhood? Preposterous! Or at least that’s what I and the others told ourselves. We told ourselves it wasn’t the young man that we had issue with, it wasn’t the colour of his skin, or his hair. It wasn’t even the fact that he was constantly covered in grime and filth…it was the fact that he was a mechanic. Even in those days our words sounded hollow, even to ourselves.

Now admittedly, Fred wasn’t exactly a saint—nor did he earn many friends on our block. He had the frustrating habit of playing his music too loud…even in the late hours. He also scandalized the women of the neighborhood (and shamed their husbands) by frequently walking around sans shirt. Heh, I suppose it was a simpler time.

He did his best to fit in, he really did. But try as he might he simply wasn’t one of us. He didn’t have our upbringing, our education—he just didn’t belong. He was a punk…a punk living like a king, but nothing more than a punk.

It came as no surprise, really, when it happened.

I can only suppose it happened over money…maybe women. I couldn’t really tell you. All I do know is that Fred had been working late at the shop when a group of hooded men entered and demanded something of him. Fred didn’t know what they were talking about, he tried to calm them down—but they wouldn’t be sated. He tried to run…but they caught up. Two held him tight as one of them administered a savage beating to him…

It…it wasn’t supposed to end the way it did. They were supposed to scare him, to show him that he was a punk! That he didn’t belong!

I know I said that I didn’t know what happened…but unfortunately I wasn’t being truthful. I saw it all. They beat Fred until he was close to losing consciousness and then turned to leave.

Fred was stronger than they expected, more resistant. He struggled to his feet and grabbed a wrench. He charged towards his assailants, knocking two of them to the ground with the wrench…he wrestled with the third before finally being taken off balance and losing control of the wrench.

He looked at me with pleading eyes as I raised the wrench.

I’m….I’m so sorry for what I’ve done. He needed to understand, he needed to see that there was a difference between us…I never meant to kill him…He was just some punk. Just some kid.

And I was a monster.


Zero Hour

Posted by Janus , Feb 20 2009 · 232 views
FOR SCIENCE! 2.0 (3)

I was going to write a part two to Days of Future past (You better believe I have ideas for the Phantoka and Mistika), but was unable to because of time constraints. Maybe tomorrow, we'll have to see.

In the mean time, I enjoyed this, it was a nice little distraction from everything else.

Wordcount: 652


Zero Hour


The countdown started. In my head I went over the past 24 hours rapidly, remembering all I had managed to accomplish in those last short hours.


Those now time-lost hours were quite possibly the last time I would spend on earth. Selected as I had been for the top-secret colonization project I had been training and preparing for over ten years—and it was all culminating on this night. I had naturally celebrated like a king.


I had wined and dined the finest of women, spent money like it was going out of style (And while it wasn’t, I very much doubted that dollars would be in plentiful supply on the moon. We’d need to find some other sort of money-substitute), and had more than enough to drink. Luckily I was in a project that really was the heart of everything scientific. A glass of water and a hangover pill and I was good as new.


I double checked the consoles all around me, barely paying attention to the readouts. I knew the computer would handle most of the difficult stuff, I was really just along for the ride until we made it into orbit. Only then would I actually get to do something worthwhile.


I allowed my thoughts to drift to the hazy memories of last night. There had been women, that much I remembered. Some sort of expensive food…lobster maybe? Normally I wouldn’t have been so blasé about blowing such a huge chunk of change, but frankly it was on the government’s dime. And they owed me.


I felt a shiver of excitement run up my spine. Partially out for the fact that soon the rocket engines would kick in and I’d be forced into my chair as an immense weight settled upon me—and then I’d be in the stars. Partially because I was remember some of what went on, and some of it wasn’t as hazy. A smile crept to my lips.


All things considered, I felt I spent my last few hours on earth quite well, after all, as my friends used to say “Any night you can’t remember is a night worth living.” Of course I always thought it was rather silly if you couldn’t remember anything. I made sure to maintain some memory of what went on—otherwise what was the point?


I gave the readouts another cursory glance as thoughts floated tepidly through my mind. Something was nagging me, but it didn’t hold much force. At least not as much force as the joke that had been bandied about by us ‘colonizers.’ That we’d have a nightclub and bar up and running within a week.


With that grin-worthy thought out of the quagmire of my mind I was able to think slightly more clearly. Of course all that really did was give added urgency to the stray thought that I was unable to remember. I wracked my brain, mentally reading through everything I had done and was supposed to do. What was that thought that was dancing out of reach?


I closed my eyes, forcing myself to think. Inside my head I saw images of the past week I’d spent on earth. Women, elaborate clubs, gorgeous swimming pools, intense sports, and of course large bills…all of these things and more flashed before my eyes. Still that thought remained infuriatingly indistinct, like a word on the tip of my tongue. So close yet not there.


I felt the rocket boosters ignite, felt the intense pressure force me into my comfortable seat. I even vaguely noticed the ships’ computer taking over and controlling the various readouts. Finally the thought clicked smoothly into place, as thought the force of impact had knocked it loose.

As I sped away from earth and to my destination amongst the stars I remembered.

I had a casserole in the oven.


Days Of Future Past

Posted by Janus , Feb 19 2009 · 440 views
FOR SCIENCE! 2.0 (2)

Yes. I missed yesterday. I was so ill that I fell asleep at 8:30 PM and still felt tired and ill upon awakening. I am feeling better-ish now.

I need to make some sort of header for my FOR SCIENCE entries. its got to be easier than constantly typing out all that code.


Word count: 1,393


Days of Future Past

Six mighty Toa, elemental guardians of the Matoran stood at the ready; their faces grim and their bodies tense. Though no Kanohi masks were being activated, and no weapons were drawn, the Toa were clearly gearing up for a challenge.

“Together we stand” Murmured Onua, Toa of Earth.
“Do we really want to be together here?” joked Pohatu, Toa of Stone.
“No.” Was the curt reply of Toa Kopaka, Toa of Ice.
“Absolutely not” Growled Tahu, Toa of fire.
“Nooooot really” Toa Lewa of air said with a half smile.
“I don’t know, I don’t think it’s that bad…” Toa Gali, Toa of water, said with a slight frown.

“Attention!” Came a loud and shrill voice, drawing all of the Toa’s gaze towards a small Matoran clad in a black Rau.
“Attention! Would the Toa Mata please enter the theatre!” The small Matoran shouted loudly, seemingly oblivious to the shudder the Toa gave at being called “Mata.”

One by one the Toa shuffled in a grim funeral march towards the large stone construct that the Matoran referred to as the ‘theatre.’ All except Toa Gali who simply frowned at each of her despairing brothers and muttered
“I don’t think it’ll be that bad!” One by one each Toa handed in a small stone tablet that the Matoran assured them was called a “ticket,” (They had to wait a few minutes as the Matoran chiseled half of the “ticket” away. They also had to wait longer as the Matoran needed to explain to Tahu why he needed to do this.”

After the last dying shouts of “But now there’s only half!” and “I need to do it! Company policy sir!” faded, the Toa found themselves in a large, dark enclosure. Noting rough seats carved out of the stone of the building, the Toa seated themselves and…stared in silence at the large black screen that dominated the entire wall in front of them.

“Remind me again why we’re doing this?” Pohatu moaned.
“Contractual obligations” Kopaka grated out, dropping the temperature in the room a few degrees.
“I hate contracts” Pohatu muttered in response. The rest of the rest of the Toa, minus Gali, simply nodded their heads grimly. As for Gali, she simply sat with her arms crossed and stared at the screen, seemingly ignoring all of her brothers.

“I’d like to welcome all you Toa to the theatre” came a slick voice. Turning their heads the Toa could see that the screen had lit up and…what they supposed was the face of some sort of pink fleshy…thing was speaking to them.
“I think we’ve got something very exciting for you today. As you know we’re in our first few years of BIONICLE, but through advanced time travel we’re able to show you what you’ll look like in the future. And in place of your bonus this year, that’s what we decided to do!” The last sentence was spoken incredibly rapidly, and it was a few seconds afterwards that Lewa, finally understanding piped up with a
“Hey!” but it was too late. The bizarre pink thing was speaking again.

“We’ll start with your first transformation. Circa 2002 you’ll be dealing with a new threat, the BOHROK. Sounds scary, eh? But fear not, you’ll be turned into a new form at the end of it…hmm, guess I kind of spoiled that storyline, huh? Oh well, on with the show!” The screen flickered briefly and faded to black while some heavy drums kicked in. The Toa unconsciously began to nod their heads in time with the music, being unexpectedly pumped up by the event going on around them. Then the first slide appeared.

“What the heck is that!” Pohatu shrilled, pointing one of his two fingers at the screen, his mask practically falling off his face.
“Pohatu Nuva” a different announcer spoke “Toa Nuva of Stone, he wears the Kakama Nuva, the mask of speed”
“…A moment of silence for Pohatu” Lewa said with a small laugh, patting his brother of stone on the shoulder.
“I really hate contracts” Pohatu sighed, putting his face in his hands.
“Next slide!” Lewa shouted loudly, a large grin on his face.

The screen responded in kind, bringing up the image of a White-clad warrior.
“Kopaka Nuva. Toa Nuva of Ice, he wears the Akaku Nuva” The announcer said clearly. Kopaka analyzed the screen, the various different booms of his telescopic lenses clicking in and out as he gazed. Finally he spoke.
“Not bad. Where’s my sword?” said coolly, his single visible eye showing relief at not having a repeat of Pohatu’s fate. Lewa on the other hand was anything but pleased and grumbled “next!”

Again the screen switched, bringing up the image of a Toa wielding two large weapons.
“Wait…are those?” Pohatu questioned, eyes wide.
“….Chainsaws?” Onua finished, clearly aghast at what he was seeing.
“Onua Nuva. Toa Nuva of Earth, he wears the Pakari Nuva.” There was a pause in the theatre as the various Toa turned to face Onua. Even Gali looked sympathetic and simply put a hand on his shoulder while mouthing the words “I’m sorry.” For his part, Onua took the news like a real Toa. Only once screaming
“CHAINSAWS?!” before turning and staring at the floor. Even Lewa wasn’t able to crack wise about this, and so the burden fell to Tahu to angrily demand “Next!”

The screen seemed happy to oblige and changed again, the earthy hues of Onua’s land morphing to the bright greens of the jungle.
“Lewa Nuva. Toa Nuva of air, he wears the Miru Nuva” At this announcement even Kopaka couldn’t hold back his snicker.
“Your mask looks like a chipmunk.” He said with a snort of laughter.
“…He’s right, you know?” Tahu said, staring intently at the image.
“….I hate you all” Lewa murmured before looking at the image himself and screaming loudly.
“MY MASK!” was all that he was able to get out before Gali put a hand over his mouth and glared
“Shh! It’s not over yet!” Lewa simply whimpered in return.

This time the screen changed without urging from the audience, the verdant greens of Lewa’s jungle being replaced by rivers of fire and high mountains of volcanic rock.
“Tahu Nuva. Toa Nuva of fire, he wears the Hau Nuva.” Came the soothing tones of the announcer. The Toa simply stared at the image.
“It’s…not bad, actually” Kopaka stated plainly
“Why does Tahu get to look good?” Lewa whined plaintively
“Well your sword certainly seems big enough” Gali said, eyeing the picture warily.
“…I like it” Tahu said, surprising himself. Then he and Kopaka turned to each other and high fived over the heads of their brothers, large grins on their faces.
“We don’t suck!” they both said, clearly relieved.
“Shh!” Gali said “It’s my turn next!”

And indeed it was. The screen changed for the final time, altering the intense reds for a softer palette of blues, and in the midst of those blues was a figure swimming serenely.
“Gali Nuva. Toa Nuva of water, she wears the Kaukau Nuva.”
“I….I….what?” Gali mouthed wordlessly.
“I’m so sorry” Pohatu said with a sigh.
“On the plus side, you got propellers” Lewa said with a grin. “I’d kill for some propellers”
“All in favour of not letting Gali Transform?” Kopaka grunted. The Toa raised their hands unanimously. As this happened the screen faded again, and the pinky fleshy thing came back on screen.

“I hope you all enjoyed this peek into the future, Toa! We’ll be testing these in focus groups soon, so don’t be surprised if the weapons get bigger…oh, you might get some guns too. Just a heads up!” And the screen went blank.

The Toa walked wordlessly out of the theatre, past the black Rau’d Matoran and into the jungle that surrounded the large stone building. Various mutterings of
“I want my money back” and “I hate contracts” could be heard through the thick foliage as the Toa wandered dazedly back towards their home Koro’s. As the Toa faded from view the Matoran took out a small walkie talkie and pressed it to the side of his mask.
“It’s me lord Makuta, our plan worked perfectly.”

On the other end of the walkie talkie a dark voice growled in response.
“Wonderful. That’ll show those execs for making me look so terrible as a set!”


Quite A Team

Posted by Janus , Feb 17 2009 · 300 views

Lame name, I know. It was either that or the overused and terrible "Fire and Ice"

Anyhow, this was spawned by boredom and by the fact that my fight scenes are always attrocious, so I tried this.

It's not really that great, but it's something. It may have been better if I wasn't ill all day.

Word Count: 1,169


Quite a Team

“This cannot be good”
The words escaped the warrior’s mouth before he had a chance to stop them. Mentally he ran over the facts in his mind.

Fact one: He was trapped on a lava flow
Fact two: He was a Toa of ice
Fact three: Things were about to heat up quite a bit.

The warrior known as Kopaka grunted as his Golden Kanohi Akaku’s telescopic lens shifted and brought into focus the incoming threat.

A warrior near-identical to himself, but clad in crimson and amber was bearing down on his position with immense speed. Riding a spit of volcanic rock atop the crest of a massive wave of Lava, the Toa of fire was closing with speed.

Kopaka stood entirely still, allowing Tahu to close the distance. He had calculated that if he allowed the Toa to make it all the way to his position, then the Toa of fire would have the advantage in this bout. Something Kopaka simply could not accept. The Toa of ice shifted his masks’ long range vision to Tahu’s eyes, angry red coals that eternally burned from behind his own Golden Kanohi Hau. Kopaka wanted to see the look on his face.

With a single elegant motion the Toa of ice had drawn his blade and gently touched the tip to the raging stream of lava all about him. The effect was instantaneous; the quickly flowing molten rock began to harden and cool rapidly as ice overtook the immense heat. Spreading quickly like some infectious disease, the ice crystals made their way up the crested wave that Tahu was riding.

Kopaka got a single glance at the Toa of Fire’s surprised eyes before the red Toa was sent hurtling ungracefully through the air. The Toa of ice grinned, he had ensured that the ice would be enough to hold the lava flow for a brief moment—brief enough to freeze the wave, but allow Tahu to maintain his trajectory—and speed.

The moment passed, the frozen flow began to crack and split as angry rivers of fire began to emerge from underneath it, with a single resounding crack the weakened ice split, the pieces that remained being quickly devoured by the hungry lava. Kopaka ran over the calculations in his head one final time before watching the stream of lava rush towards him with renewed intensity.

He was quite aware that his own spit of land would never hold against such a furious wave of molten rock and so had been running plans in his head while the lava was frozen. As the wave crested and built, rushing towards him, Kopaka leapt from the blackened ground beneath his feet and focusing his elemental energy downwards, created a slick slide of ice that he rode until he reached a large circular area of volcanic rock—roughly ten steps away from the calming lava flow.

No sooner had he landed than a growl met his ear.
“That wasn’t very nice, Kopaka” the Toa of fire muttered. Flames erupted all about him, their heat intense and the smell acrid. Acting in a moment of instinct Kopaka released his elemental energy in all directions, freezing the massive flames into an enclosure of ice stalagmites.

A sudden crack drew his attention and he whirled to face his opponent…but found no one there. He paused, listening, thinking he heard a footstep he struck blindly, swinging his sword behind him to catch the intruder. Instead he found his blade burrowed deep within the ice. Reluctantly he let go of the hilt, wary of using precious time and effort to struggle with his encased sword.

He didn’t have time to react. Too late he felt the shattered fragments of ice bouncing off his armor, too late he felt the intense heat from the Toa’s elemental energy, and too late he felt the sharp blade of the ruby hued blade pressing into his side.

“Match.” Kopaka spoke simply. Raising his hands in a gesture of defeat he turned to face the crimson Toa and found himself looking directly into Tahu’s eyes. He seemed to be smiling.
“You’ve taught me well, Kopaka” Tahu said, putting his hand on the Toa of ice’s shoulder.
“You’ve been an excellent student, Tahu” Kopaka said with a small smile, then he retrieved his blade with a mighty heave.
“And now I am to be the student”

He had hardly spoken before he felt the first impact. Tahu’s fire sword slashing downwards upon his upraised shield—he had reacted instinctively.

Pushing forwards to knock the Toa of fire off balance, Kopaka swung his own blade in a downwards arc, watching carefully as Tahu’s Kanohi Hau automatically activated and prevented the blade’s descent.

Reacting quickly Kopaka drew back for another strike and, tracking Tahu’s eyes, found his attention completely focused on the blade.
“Perfect” Kopaka murmured to himself, and with a torque of his body he thrust his shield into the side of Tahu’s head, knocking the Toa to the ground.

Flames sprung to life around the fallen Toa, preventing Kopaka from accessing him further, but rather than calculate and wait he instead activated his own Kanohi Akaku, tracking Tahu’s form through the burning flames and thick smoke. Satisified he hurtled his shield through the fire, watching it strike the Toa in his midsection, doubling him over. Then the Toa of ice launched himself through the flames and into a second ring of fire, his blade arcing downwards.

Sparks of metal flew as Tahu’s own fire sword parried the strike, though down the Toa of fire was not yet out. Tahu launched a vicious kick at Kopaka’s own midsection, but the Toa of ice nimbly sidestepped it, nearly tripping over his own shield in the process. Mind working rapidly, Kopaka kicked the shield towards Tahu, watching as the barrier field of the Hau was activated. In the split seconds that his shield attempted to penetrate the protective barrier of the shield, Kopaka focused his elemental energy around him, freezing the roaring flames as he had before.

Tahu grunted
“The same trick won’t work twice, Kopaka!” he said, the barrier fading as the Toa of fire launched himself forward in attack. Kopaka remained focused on the ice around him, his sword raised to parry, but his eyes closed in concentration.

All at once the ring of ice split into thousands of fragments that hurtled towards the Toa of fire, unable to have forseen such an attack the barrier sputtered to life too late, already hundreds of razor sharp crystals had struck the Toa of fire and brought him to his knees, his chin resting lightly upon the tip of Kopaka’s blade.

“Good match” Tahu said breathlessly raising his sword in salute of the Toa of ice.
Kopaka simply smiled and helped the Toa of fire to his feet, reflecting on the irony of the two most diametrically opposed Toa secretly teaching each other.

Then again, he thought with a smile, Fire and Ice together made quite a team.


Well, Folks.

Posted by Janus , Feb 13 2009 · 207 views
Well folks, I've been quite....untruthful, huh?

I haven't been doing my writing for quite some time...however I've found that's mostly because I just haven't been inspired by the concept of writing, and so until the point that the inspiration returns, FOR SCIENCE will change.

I will no longer do 2,000 words minimum.

I'll do however many I want, be it 10, 15, or 3,000. I'll do it until the story is complete, or until I have a satisfactory chapter break.

I'll be starting this new copy of FOR SCIENCE! on Monday.

See you then!





Posted by Janus , Jan 21 2009 · 477 views

I'm not sure where the inspiration for this one came from. Perhaps it was the fact that as I left the office today the sun had burned away the morning mist and left only beautiful blue sky with a brilliant sun shining down. Of course the fact that my music swelled at that exact moment could have also helped.

Regardless, the entire originating point of this story comes about midway through. See if you can find it!

Anyhow, as usual, gimme challenges and stuff. C'mon guys D=



Light streamed through the trees and dappled the rough soil with a menagerie of colours, had it been any other moment he would have stopped to savour the beauty of the moment. He would have removed the tough sneakers from his feet and allowed his skin to enjoy the moistness of the damp ground, he would have stretched his back up against the rough bark of a tree and basked in the marbled light that shone on the ground.

Instead he ran on, forcing his tired beyond its limits and being rewarded with the pain of aching muscles. He doubled over, gasping for breath and feeling the ragged jets of hot air blasting from his throat and into the cold, crisp air. He waited there for less than a minute, then ponderously moved his leaden muscles and forced himself deeper and deeper into the wood.

The young man’s name was Elliot, a sandy-haired youth full of exuberance and an adventurous spirit—which was what brought him to the woods bordering his town. Elliot was born in a small backwater town, so tiny and so relatively unknown that he thought it didn’t even deserve a name. In fact the boy refused to refer to his hometown by name, instead he derisively called it “Nowherever.” He picked his rather unique name because he felt the town was simply nowhere, not deserving of any particular title—and because he felt that despite all of his efforts, he would be trapped there forever.

Elliot had always been a dreamer and a creative spirit. He had a record of getting into trouble with various other residents of the town, because of his outspoken beliefs…or, to be more specific, his belief in things of old. In his youthful explorations Elliot had come across a multitude of strange and fascinating things, oddly shaped lines that bordered the town, strange lights that could be seen cresting the mountains all around, even mysterious writing on ancient stone. This things captured his imagination and drove his curiousity to its limit. It wasn’t long before the young Elliot had begun to find books dealing with mythology, with ancient and powerful magic…and the various disconnected events around the town finally made sense.

It was that epiphany that had him running full tilt through the woods, mindful of the many dips and ravines, not minding the swinging branches and nettles that brought tears to his eyes or cut him. It was that epiphany that had him force past all of these obstacles and distractions deeper and deeper into the woods, far deeper than he had ever been.

He passed the ruinous stones that he was certain had once been a tunnel, passed the borderlines that marked the edge of protected territory, and continued to run. The trees and shrubbery becoming nothing more than a mottled view in the corner of his vision, he was wholly focused on his end destination.

It was sudden, the way his foot suddenly felt resistance, the way his centre of balance gradually shifted from vertical to horizontal, the way one moment he was flying through the woods as though he were Hermes of the winged sandals…and the next he was lying face down in the dirt. He sneezed angrily and tried to force himself up, his arms shaking with the effort it took and his body protesting every moment. Finally, after various failed attempts, the young man was able to heave his tired body off of the ground and roll his body over, laying down flat on his back, unmindful of the dirt now clinging to his hair.

He breathed heavily, watching the slight cloud that formed, and attempted to move his foot. Pain shot through it, not terrible or unbeatable pain, but pain nonetheless. He sighed and propped himself into a sitting position to examine the damage. Elliot’s eyes widened as he looked down…he had tripped and twisted his ankle quite badly but that wasn’t what drew his attention, no, it was the piece of stone he had tripped on.

It was slightly larger than his fist, brilliant blue, and almost luminescent. However it was the ornate carvings in the stone that attracted him. Shifting himself into a more comfortable position he reached down to heave it from the earth and found it stuck fast. He grunted with frustration and tired again, using all of the effort that remained in him. Instead his hands slipped from the cold stone and he was sent to the ground, arms flailing.

Pushing himself rather angrily from the sodden earth, Elliot changed his tactics, grabbing a large dull grey stone from the earth he began to hack at the ground surrounding the stone. He didn’t care about the dirt and grime that was now smeared across his face and clothes, didn’t care about the large fragments of earth that he was displacing, all he cared about was the fact that the more he drove his stone into the earth the more of the blue stone he revealed.
“In fact” Elliot thought to himself “This is more than just a stone…” dropping his own stone-turned-tool he began to dig furiously through the loosened earth with his bare hands, his fingers scrabbling across the hard, smooth, and somewhat warm surface of the strange stone.

Moments later he was rewarded for his efforts when his fingers scraped painfully against more stone, this time lying flat. Removing his now bleeding hand from the hole he had dug, Elliot peered in. It was exactly as he had expected, the stone stretched out further…it wasn’t just a stone, it was either a complete layer of strata, or some sort of strange dais…and given all that Elliot had learned recently, he wouldn’t have been surprised by either.

He thought of taking out the small leather bound journal that was fit snugly in his breast pocket, but decided against it. He wouldn’t take it out until he had reached the end of the wood. Gingerly raising himself to his feet he hesitantly took a step forward, and discovered that while painful it was in fact livable. Smiling somewhat grimly to himself he set out deeper into the wood at a much decreased pace.

Finally he could see it, see the light glowing brightly behind the last few remaining trees. He could hear the tranquil sounds of the sea all around him, and could even smell the harsh smell of Salt Water…he was almost there. He was mindful of the border lines all about this area, making sure to step around their intricate designs rather than risk removing whatever power they contained.

Then, suddenly, the greenery vanished and he was standing at the edge of a peak that overlooked the ocean. He glanced down to check the colour of the rock and was unsurprised to find that while the stone itself was the standard dark grey, there were rivulets of crystalline blue running through it. He caught himself, although interesting, the stone wasn’t why he was here.

He moved his head slowly, a gentle incline upwards. His eyes strained for a moment, the brightness of the sun causing them to work harder than they had to previously in the dark wood—then he saw it, though it was miles and miles out to sea, he still saw it.

It must have been at least one hundred stories high, a massive silver apparatus that exited seamlessly from the waves below, golden light seeming to shine all around it. Elliot sat down slowly, breathlessly, and simply watched the waves roll in the ocean, and watched the monolithic tower stand as it had always stood. After a brief moment he found the journal in his pocket and slowly opened it, mindful of the symbol that had been etched into the front.

He had read it all before, his eyes pouring over the transcripts contained within, but somehow he had never grown tired of it, never grown accustomed to the strange truths that were written in its pages. He flipped to a page, which, like the rest of the journal, bore no date. On it was a rough pencil sketching of the very crag on which he stood, and a detailed and labeled diagram of the tower that stood in the distance.

The tower, so said the journal, was an enormous solar collector. The central spire being connected deep beneath the waves, and the golden light simply being the reflection of countless solar panels absorbing the light. In fact, Elliot thought it must have been the largest solar collector in the world, a genuine man-made wonder that the world over would be in awe of. However he knew before he flipped the page over why that would never be.

His eyes darted from the page to the tower and returned to the page, following the diagram of the incredibly massive central tower and its eventual connection to its place of origin. He read the word in his mind, finding his breath catching in his throat as he did so. He studied the architecture of the buildings, somehow so modern and yet so ancient all at once, then he closed the journal, placing it down upon the warm stone beside him.

His mind raced furiously as he sat there quietly; somehow within him he had always known there was truth to the words written in the journal, but he had never expected to witness it with his own eyes. To be staring at the solar collector that had been made hundreds-of-thousands of years ago, to be stumbling upon ruins of ancient technology and magic, both woven together intricately. It was unbelievable.

He began to piece together what pieces he had gleaned from the journal and from his own findings, fitting everything together in his mind and forming a picture of what had happened—and was still happening today.

It was centuries ago when they had decided that the peoples of the world were too deeply rooted in hatred and war. Centuries ago when the nation as a whole had decided that the world was not yet ready for the gifts they offered—yet to seal its borders and become isolated presented the risk of causing war to break out amongst the rest of the world.

Instead they had decided to mask their departure with a false calamity, a display that hubris topples even the mightiest mountain…but how to pull of such a ploy? They sent scouts into any location near them and at last they found it, a location that would allow them to set forth their plans. It was his very own “Nowherever.”

With the scouts called back they began sending in scientists, mages, and even a select few of the royal family who had chosen to stay behind. With their combined wealth and power they began to erect the temples and carve the runes and border lines that Elliot had become so accustomed to seeing. Then, with the task complete they destroyed the temples and left them as nothing more than ruins in the deep forest.

The runes were apparently to seal the town the forest, to make it impossible to enter. Somehow anyone entering would always find themselves feeling ill it they stayed too long, only those born of the proper heritage and marked would be able to make it inside without feeling the adverse effects. The border lines, on the other hand were for a completely different purpose, they, along with the magic that had once been contained in the temples managed to create a field that shielded the massive solar array from view. Anyone viewing this area from the air, or even from the ocean itself, would be unable to see anything but the rolling waves. Only someone who had crossed the border lines would be able to see the array—and only one set of border lines existed that could be crossed. The ones just prior to the ledge that Elliot was standing on.

With all those preparations made, the plan was finally set into motion and the great continent sunk beneath the waves never to be seen again. The gargantuan solar array collecting all the energy they needed to run their various life sustaining systems.

Elliot sighed leaned back against the warm stone. He had already pieced together the fact that he was born of proper lineage, otherwise he would have been unable to cross the forest barrier without incident. In fact he imagined that one day his mother would have taken him and shown him the jewel of the royal family as was described in the small leather bound journal.

He found it funny, though, how the scientists had been unable to let go of their proud traditions, even naming the new colony after the fallen homeland over which they kept silent vigil. He was certain that one day it would rise again, though whether it would be in his lifetime was unknown, all he knew is that it would rise again.

Atlantis would rise again.

Word Count: 2,169



Posted by Janus , Jan 20 2009 · 140 views
General Crazy
This is a tiny mini-entry dedicated to all the many people who asked how I format my FOR SCIENCE! entries, or more particularly, how I get the "More..." button.

Look it up yourself.

Seriously, it's right in the code list, that's how I found it. I trust that all of you can do the same.

But, because I'm way too nice. If you are unable to find the proper code I will include below the cut.

[extract] TEXT [/extract]

Yeah, that's it.

Don't you feel silly now? =B



Posted by Janus , Jan 20 2009 · 231 views

This is a ramble, this is just random jibberish. If you can make any point of the below story I truly commend you because I started writing at 11:00 PM and finished at 1:26 AM with a barely sensical story. I really should start on these earlier in the day.

Attempt to enjoy!


Tick, tick, tick

The sound came from everywhere, emanating out from an immense source and echoing into the world; it resounded through streets and up tall towers, it boomed around deep valleys and water-filled ravines.

It was a clock. Or rather, it wasn’t a clock.

You see, those of you reading this think of a clock as a small little (sometimes rounded) object which fits snuggly on a wall or desk, and ticks away quietly in a corner. Essentially it’s a something almost always forgettable.

This wasn’t any of those things. In fact if anything it was a city in the corner of a clock—in fact it was a city on the corner of a clock. The city was called Tenolck and it was a bustling hive of industry, with all sorts of people constantly bustling around doing their assorted tasks; their gears whirring and clicking smoothly as they went about their days.

…What? Oh, my apologies. I had so forgotten that for the people reading this, the concept of people with gears is a strange and foreign one. Oh yes, the people of Tenolck had gears, as did all the people who resided in the various cities across the massive clock: Elevetia, Twelston, and all the rest were filled to the brim with various different shapes and sizes of geared occupants.

I see that some further information is required. There are four different ‘brands’ of the people of Clox, and of those are brands they are divided into the standard male/female pairing.

The first brand is the most common, they’re the Copparst: as their name implies they are coated in a brilliant copper sheen all across their bodies. Their faces are, on average, the most dented of the people of Clox and they are second-to-none in terms of being warriors for the Clox kingdoms. Unfortunately their gears are also the most exposed of all the brands, leading to the rather common and unfortunate fate of a jammed gear.

The second brand is the Steelde: Shining a bright silver they are the second most common brand on Clox. While on average shorter than the Bronzst, they are also skilled craftsmen and a highly intelligent people. Steelde’s are also, unfortunately very xenophobic when left to their own devices and tend to cluster around the cities of Sixten and Forson, only occasionally leaving their cities for any other. Only the best materials on Clox are made by Steelde hands.

Next is the Ironen, a proud and strong brand. Whilst they eschewed most major cities on Clox for quite some time they have gradually moved out of their primitive ways and developed into the best farmhands in all the land. The Ironen are a squat and, some would say, ugly race; their features being roughly carved out of the harsh metal that makes up their bodies. However due to decreasing iron levels in the planet, the Ironen are in far shorter supply than either the Steelde or the Copparst. Luckily the Ironen also live the longest, having the most solid coating over their intricate gears.

Lastly are the most mysterious brand: The Quartzot. Very little is known about the Quartzot except that they reside only within the central continent of Clox. Unlike the rest of the brands who tend to stick to the outer cities of Onel, through Twelston; the Quartzot refuse to set foot outside of the central spite of Clox…given that few explorers have returned from this spire, it remains unnamed. However it is said that the Quartzot are summoning a particular city to dine with them when one of the massive bridges swing from the central spire. The Quartzot are also practical jokers and enjoy giving a large celebration, and announcing their plans to bridge to a certain city—and then releasing a special bridge that only stretches halfway to said city. Due to this nature the cities of Twole and Fivate have refused to allow any Quartzot ambassadors within their walls. The Quartzot are also the strangest brand in terms of appearance, it is unknown if they have gears or not, but their outer shell contains no metallic sheen, instead they are almost translucent, with light seeming to shine through their pale white bodies.

And now, with that background information out of the way, let us get on with our story. Where were we?

Ah yes!

Tick, tick, tick

The sound came from everywhere, emanating out from an immense source and echoing into the world; it resounded through streets and up tall towers, it boomed around deep valleys and water-filled ravines.

It was a clock. Or rather, it wasn’t a clock.

You see, those of you reading this think of a clock as a small little (sometimes rounded) object which fits snuggly on a wall or desk, and ticks away quietly in a corner. Essentially it’s a something almost always forgettable.

This wasn’t any of those things. In fact if anything it was a city in the corner of a clock—in fact it was a city on the corner of a clock. The city was called Tenolck and it was a bustling hive of industry, with all sorts of people constantly bustling around doing their assorted tasks; their gears whirring and clicking smoothly as they went about their days.

It was in one of the lesser traveled streets of Tenolck where a young male lay quietly. He was an Ironen by the look of him, the coarse, rusted metal of his form giving him away almost immediately. He lay shading his eyes with one hand, listening carefully to the tick that boomed all around the city. Even his gears were silenced in the face of that incredible sound.

After the last tick had sounded, the young male stood up, his metal form screaming in protest as his gears whirred madly, pushing his body upwards. When at last his body had ceased its remonstration he began to move from the street and into a darkened alley, his face firmly facing downwards.
“You hear that, Crass?” came a mocking voice. Looking up the young male saw a Steelde female leaning up against a wall, her silver joints shining faintly in the darkness and her eyes vaguely beckoning.
“’course I heard it, Fel” came the mumbled reply from the male called Crass. “ain’t nobody who din’t hear somethin’ like that.” He continued, walking slowly into the shadows where Fel was waiting.
“Yes, but do you know what it means?” Fel asked, her eyes glinting sharply.
“Na” Crass replied slowly, gently lowering himself to sit cross legged on the smooth ground.
“It means that the bridge is going to be extended to Twelston. The Quartzot are coming out of their self-induced seclusion and are willing to make contact with the world again” Fel responded with a smile, her eyes passionate.
“An’ if s’ajoke?” Crass grunted, not bothering to look upwards. Fel sighed and made a small ‘tsk’ing sound before offering a gleaming arm to the sitting Ironen.
“How many times have I told you not to blend words like that? You’re a perfectly educated citizen of Tenolck” she said, somewhat harshly.
“Yes’m” Crass responded dully. Fel shook her head and grasped his hand, slowly heaving him to his feet.
“Come on, Crass. If we leave today we can catch transport to Twelston. We can be there for the bridge!” Crass’ response was an unintelligible mumble, his eyes cast towards the ground as he spoke.
“…What?” Fel responded, displaying all the beauty and frustration of a Steelde female.
Crass mumbled again, refusing to avert his eyes from the smooth plastic street of Tenolck. Luckily Fel’s keen hearing barely managed to catch it this time “N’money”

Fel smiled a gentle smile and stroked the top of Crass’s rough head.
“Silly Crass, I know you have no money. But you live with me now, and I do!” Crass looked hesitantly into Fel’s silvery eyes, his own dark eyes filled with doubt.
“You…mean it?” He said slowly, clearly enunciating every word as it came out, moving his mouth oddly in order to get out the unfamiliar sounds. Fel grinned brightly at the smaller Ironen
“O’course I do!” Crass smiled brightly and wrapped his strong arms around Fel in a tight hug.

It was a few short hours later that Crass and Fel found themselves in the transit station from Tenolck to Twelston…along with just about every other resident of Twelston—and Fel could have sworn there were even a few from Elevetia. The narrow building was crammed with gleaming shades of various different metals and filled with the noise of thousands of gears all whirring at various different speeds. After ten minutes Fel put a hand on Crass’ shoulder and they both left the incredibly crowded building.

It was Crass who suggested that in lieu of attempting to board the transit line, or make any other attempt to get to Twelston, they simply go to the beach instead. Fel became amicable to this after seeing the growing quantities of people who were rapidly moving to every available source of transit to the city of Twelston.

From the central transit center it was but a short jaunt to the water’s edge, its empty whiteness lapping up onto the black plastic shore. On the other side of Tenolck bay they could see the industrial sector of Tenolck, large black plumes of smoke dotting the sky from all the heavy machinery.

Fel lightly took Crass’ hand and together they walked onto the rounded dock which offered a nearly unparalleled view. Looking straight forward Fel could dimly see the large spire that jutted into the sky, the centre of all of Clox and the Quartzot homeland—and just south of that was the enormous bridge: Previously linked to Eighre, it was now slowly being pushed towards the bustling city of Twelston

Fel and crass walked along the rounded dock for some time, simply enjoying the view of the expansive white ocean, and the hazy views of the other cities, all of them divided by the white waves. Fel smiled at the view and lightly patted Crass on the back, he grinned weakly back at her and sat down cross-legged on the hard metal of the dock.
“Fel, why do you let me live with you?” He murmured quietly. “Ironen aren’t well-liked in this region.” Fel crouched down, her silvery faces mere inches from his own.
“Because, Crass. You’re like a brother to me.” She sighed softly and sat down completely, her bright eyes fixed to the dark metal beneath her. “I admit, when I first found you I was looking for a skilled laborer, a hired hand. But you’re so much more than that, Crass. You’re family.”

They sat there, comfortably quiet for the space of an hour before a loud blaring sound shook them from their stillness. Jumping to her feet, Fel glanced around warily and saw nothing. Crass also stood, slowly, and walked to the very edge of the rounded pier, laying his thick arms on the guard rail silently. Fel glared around her at the unseen threat, but turned gracefully on her heel and walked to where Crass was leaning.

In the distance they could see the enormous bridge landing at the entrance at Twelson.
“The alarm must have been because the Quartzot arrived ahead of schedule” Fel said quietly. Crass said nothing in return, his dark eyes peering intently at the large black bridge that stretched from the Quartzot spire to Twelson.

Fel also watched interestedly as a dim procession of lights made their way onto the bridge. Then, with a sudden movement the bridge swung directly in front of her and Crass, the wind from its arrival blowing over them powerfully and kicking up waves. Squinting her eyes Fel could see that the bridge to Twelson was in fact the half bridge, and the procession from Twelson (including, she assumed, the ambassador from Quartzot) were splashing around in the water. Luckily the Quartzot joke was an old one, and water rescuers were standing by. Even Fel was aware of that.

Then it boomed out again, that incredible cacophony of sound.

Tick, tick, tick.

Crass paused and looked up at the sky, his previously blank expression dissolving into laughter, the metal of his face crinkling as he laughed merrily. Fel watched him and laughed herself, not knowing why.

At last Crass’ mirth had faded away, leaving his gears sputtering slightly and his metal warped only the tiniest bit around his mouth. Fel, experiencing similar effects simply sat next to him and breathlessly asked.
“What was so funny?” Crass looked ready to laugh again as she spoke
“It’s an old Iron’n joke, I ne’r thought it wa’ true.” He said, slipping into his old speech pattern. Fel gazed at him intently through hooded eyes
“What was the joke?” He paused and thought a moment before looking skyward again.
“That sound, it ain’t letting us know they’re ready to bridge a new city.” He said slowly, carefully picking his words and speaking properly. “It’s their laughter. They’re laughin’ at us. Isn’t it hilarious?”

Fel paused a moment and allowed this to sink in, the Quartzot were not some mysterious force who would occasionally allow other cities to access their promised land. They were a bunch of practical jokers who had managed to present the veneer of sophistication to the rest of the world.

She had to admit, it was pretty funny.

With their energy spent Fel and Crass slowly picked themselves up and walked home in the darkness, laughing the whole way, as the Quartzot had laughed at them.

Word Count: 2,272



Posted by Janus , Jan 19 2009 · 209 views

Okay, yeah. I was late. I know.

Truth be told I was crazy-mega-ultra busy and tired on Friday, super busy and exhausted on Saturday, and even crazy busy and tired today. But such is my commitment to you lunatics that I have completed my requisite torture.

I will say that this is, by far, the cruelest challenge that someone can ever assign any author ever. So I gotta give mad props to the Admiral for forcing me to really challenge myself. Thanks dude.

I will also admit that I totally cut it short and only did 1,000 words because, quite frankly, nobody would read 4,000 words of ramble.

That and I would go inredeemably insane after completing it.

a full list of banned words is contained immediately following the cut.



All, another, any, anyone, anything, both, each, each other, either, everybody, everyone, everything, few, he, her, hers, herself, him, himself, his, I, it, its, itself, little, many, me, mine, more, most, much, myself, neither, no one, nobody, none, nothing, one, one another, other, others, ours ourselves, several, she, some, somebody, someone, something, that, theirs, them, themselves, there, they, this, those, us, we, what, whatever, which, whichever, who, whoever, whom, whomever, whose, you, yours yourself, yourselves.

Well here is an attempt at completing an incredibly difficult challenge. The author has been challenged to write a 4,000 word Essay containing absolutely no pronouns, and seeing assaid author is insane, the individual in question was left with no choice but to comply. However two immediate problems were raised by in regards to the challenge, the first was the incredibly unexpected stream of appointments, work, and an assortment of various distracting factors. In addition to the above, please take into account the author’s severe exhaustion, leading to the incredibly large delay of the piece’s completion.

The second immediate problem was quite simply, the author had no idea as to the true definition of a pronoun. A limited solution was found by searching Dictionary.com, however the author still has only a limited understanding on the subject, meaning said author expects the piece will receive a large amount of editing via the friends of the above-mentioned author.

However under the two of the above mentioned immediate problems lays a tertiary, less pressing problem, but a problem no less important. With the business problem temporarily solved (The author will have a far higher abundance of time today), and the pronoun quandary being somewhat dealt with, the author finds the dreaded task of groping around in the dark for a subject able to be written about

In fact, the author just attempted to write a story-within-a-story and found the task was nearly impossible, and the author almost immediately interjected with a personal pronoun. The author would like to curse said lack of pronouns incredibly heartily. The author would also like to say, as a writer, the author finds the inability to refer to the author in first person very difficult. In fact the author’s head is nodding like a bizarre sort of crazed bobble head, in order to show the depths the author agrees with the statement above.

The author is quite certain, quite certain indeed, the piece will only draw a small percentage of people, and even fewer will, in fact read the story…except of course the sadistic individual assigning the cruel challenge to the author in question, however, said author has determined said individual’s humanity is lacking at best, and will therefore instead refer to the cruel person as Mandrew.

Ah, the author appears to have discovered an alternative way to refer to the person writing the story. In fact the author’s name appears to be Robert, and as Robert is not a pronoun, Robert is staying within the firmly established guidelines of the challenge. Robert is crazy pleased.

Robert, Robert, Robert, Robert, Robert.


Now then, Robert is still struggling with coming up with an interesting enough subject, a subject interesting enough to please the cruel and sadistic mind of the evil and villainous Mandrew. However Robert doubts the existence of such a thing. Additionally Robert would like to point out Robert just went through the above page for editing and was immediately assailed with minimum three pronouns. Robert is crazy displeased.

The author would also like to note: as of the above paragraph the story contains only 485.. The author imagines the individuals reading said story are just as disappointed in the fact mentioned above, as the author is. Robert would like to say to these individuals, please don’t cry, simply stop reading. Perhaps eventually Robert can stop writing also.

Robert is frowning now, in fact, Robert looks insanely displeased. Apparently Robert is very upset due to the fact the essay still has not found a sort of purpose. Robert will now attempt to actually make the large sum of these disparate words have meaning. Robert would also like to add: Robert will eternally curse Mandrew’s name.

Robert would also add: upon further research and editing, Robert found roughly 20 pronouns. Robert would like to point out the teeth contained in the skull belonging to Robert, are grinding so badly said teeth are expected to explode shortly in the immediate future. Robert smash.

Robert has just discovered the extent of the challenge assigned to the author under Robert’s authorial duties. Upon discovering said torture, Robert has decided to ‘wuss out.’ The author will complete a story of 1,000 words pronoun-less, however said author is unable to go on for a period of time longer than 1,000 words. Partially due to the immense pain of rambling on like a deranged lunatic happening to own a blog. Partially because the list of the words the author is unable to use numbers in the double digits. Contained in said list are seventy three words the author finds unfit to use (or unable to, rather).

The author discovered beforehand, as a lucky search provided said author with a list of, let’s call said list, ‘prohibited words.’ The author also found, upon a large amount searching and discovery, almost half of these words had been used on at least a single occasion in the rambling, sprawling, horrid thing the readers are currently reading.

Robert is gleeful, having reached the point of 820 words as of the last paragraph. However Robert is also painfully aware 820 words is not 1,000 words, and therefore the punishment Robert is enduring will continue until the point wherein Robert can finally die. Why won’t the story let Robert die?

Robert is beginning to question the sanity belonging to Robert, the fact remains the challenge laid down before the author is, without a question of a doubt, incredibly, incredibly difficult. Robert is even aware the author has resorted to cheating in a variety of places, such as using words over and over and over.

Robert can see the light at the end of the tunnel. The horrible piece of tripe stitched together out of brain tissue and keyboard fragments will come to an end shortly. Then Robert can die happily. Robert is quite certain Robert’s brain will cease to function immediately following the completion of the project, therefore Robert is waiting for said moment, said glorious moment wherein the author’s brain can simply implode and die.

The author is pleased to say: Said moment (originally) happened on the word ‘die’ (however following editing it now falls firmly five words before ‘die’)

How ironic. (Orignal line. Much better with original ending point. Such a shame)

Word count: 1,044 (No, that does not include the expansive list at the beginning)



Posted by Janus , Jan 16 2009 · 522 views

Okay, this is a big occasion for me, I must admit. I hadn't even thought of until now, but It is a gigantic thing for me to say that FOR SCIENCE! has now reached the double digits. For me that is a momentous occasion.

However I'm sure that some of you are quite displeased with this being late, so it's time that I explained. Every Thursday night I go to a seminar in downtown Vancouver, this is quite a distance from my native White Rock and thus I end up getitng home incredibly late, usually around 11:30

Now normally this would be no problem, in fact I find I write best late at night, however, upon realizing that I would be coming home so late I began to write my story on the bus (yes, write, as in using paper and pen) and had about 946 words or so before I got home.

The problem was this, this story creeps me out, like, quite a bit. It's certainly not the most horrific story I've ever written, and it's quite rough in places, but the whole idea is just very creepy to me...and additionally in my minds eye I was seeing this story taking place in my home. So at about 12:55 I called it quits because I actually wanted to sleep last night.

But here you go, the first story of Friday, the second will be updated when the votes are cast.

Speaking of votes, because all of you suck, that means we only have two suggestions for this week (and the week before, and the week before).

bio djinnie: Also, how about a story involving Furbies, Death-rays, and an ancient orginization of ninjas?

Bossman: Write a 4,000 word essay on the topic of your choosing without using a single pronoun.

At this time no new suggestions are accepted. Please vote on one of these two suggestions for my 4,000 page story.

Anyhow, if you're weak of stomach don't read this one. If you're twisted, like me, then please feel free.



I first heard the voice when I was alone in the bathroom and getting ready for bed. I was washing my face and oblivious to the world around me; all I was aware of was the rough feeling of the damp cloth on my skin, and the rushing water pouring from the faucet.

Then there was some sort of shifting, grinding sound—the sort that drags and catches, the sort that has that slight metallic scream that rings inside of your head. I sighed and reached down, gripping the tap handle and feeling the slightly warm metal in my hands. Then, with a sudden motion I twisted the knob and cut the flow of water. We’d been having too many problems with our water supply, things ranging from supply, to temperature, and disgustingly enough…even cleanliness. I wasn’t about to have the water turn putrid on me now.

I replaced the damp face cloth on the ledge of the sink carefully and listened to the remaining water work its way through the pipes…I had always loved to listen to water in its various forms: From a burbling creek to a torrential rain, even just the simple pleasure of hearing the sounds it made as it drained down the porcelain sink and into the labyrinth of pipes below.

With that complete I studied my reflection in the slightly dirty mirror, noting the gentle curve of my jaw and being pleased by my sparkling green eyes. However I also noted with displeasure my disheveled hair, and a single large zit forming directly where my ear met the skin of my face. I sighed and idly poked it with my finger, as if trying to push it back beneath my skin.

Unable to do anything about the unsightly visage of the zit, I instead reached for a comb to remedy my hair; that’s when I heard it, hissing and bubbling but still somehow with a faint metallic tinge. It made my stomach turn just listening to it. I glanced around the enclosed space of the bathroom, attempting in vain to catch sight of whatever was making the horrid noise, but was unable to find anything. Worse yet, though the sound was putrid enough, I found that when I listened carefully enough (in an attempt to find out if yet another thing had gone wrong with our water) I heard what sounded like words… or rather, one single word. Whatever it was it was…speaking…continually repeating one word over and over, slowly dragging out the syllables in a rasping and horrific manner.
“Sarah.” My name.

Unconsciously I dropped the comb, all thoughts of appearance and beauty banished from my mind as the sickening sound continued. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, the comb contacted the white porcelain of the sink with an almost melodic sound, and the terrible illusion was shattered.

I say it was an illusion, because it wasn’t the first time something like this had happened to me. For all of my sixteen years on this earth, thirteen had been plagued with horrific imaginings of life unseen, hallucinations that encroached upon my mind. It wasn’t that I enjoyed frightening myself, but that somehow my subconscious literally craved that feeling…or at least that’s what my therapist had told me. I wasn’t sure I fully understood… something about adrenaline.

I put the incident from my mind and prepared for a restless night—usually when a single hallucination occurred it meant that several more were to follow. Regardless I decided it was best if I took the medicine I had been prescribed. I was supposed to use it just this sort of situation, whenever a strange or frightening hallucination occurred, my doctor said
“When anything happens that you know cannot be real” I was supposed to take it…apparently it would dull my senses and make it easier to sleep…but I doubted anything would be able to stop the nightmares that would be coming.

I sighed wearily, allowing myself to focus on reality, and gingerly picked up the medicine bottle; reading over the instructions as rapidly as possible. I groaned mentally…it needed to be taken with water.

I battled myself for a period of about 30 seconds, fighting with myself as to whether to risk the night terrors that would surely raise me from my sleep, or attempt to use this pacifier, and risk the return of the water…thing. Finally my rational side won over and I popped the lid of the small container, drawing out a single tablet and placing it on the side of the counter. With that done I grabbed my glass and looked tremulously at the empty sink. I could do this.

Finally I reluctantly gripped the now cold metal of the knob, turning it almost violently, and watching warily as the clear water filled my glass. With a shaking hand I held onto the knob and gently eased the pressure down. Then I stared at my glass laying in the sink as though it would burble my name again—though I have to admit, the idea of my glass of water speaking to me brought a grin to my face, instead of a shudder of fear. With that done I took my pill and walked sleepily to my bed, where I quickly fell asleep.

I didn’t know what time it was when I woke up from my dreamless slumber, my head groggy from the hard work of producing nothing. Breathing in deeply I allowed my head to loll to the side placidly, my eyes tiredly scanning over the illuminated numbers on my alarm clock…it was 11:30 PM. Somehow I’d only managed to sleep for an hour and a half.

I grimaced and rolled back over, feeling the comforting warmth of my blankets wrapped all around me. Only and hour and a half? That was unheard of, even without these supposedly calming drugs I had always slept soundly.
“In fact” I thought wryly, “It’s always a pain to get me to wake up”

I felt my mouth turn to a frown, as my mind, gradually recovering its acuity, began to grind into action; pondering the reasons for my strange awakening. All sorts of strange and disjointed thoughts whirled around in my head, but gradually, gradually the chaos ceased and my mind settled only on known facts. A simple base would allow a more precise answer, I thought to myself tiredly.

It was in that space of mental clarity that I finally heard it, before it had been hidden by the electric buzz of my alarm clock, by the rustling of my sheets as I shifted, by my dulled senses. But now I could clearly hear it, the steady rush of water splashing loudly; the echo reverberating repeatedly in the enclosed space of the bathroom. Even in my clear state of mind, however, I was unable to come up with a reason for why the faucet would be running at this hour. After all, I knew well that both my parents had long since retired for the night. I willed my mind into action, attempting to force it to take these disparate pieces of information and somehow make them make sense. Anything, anything except the fact that the drugs had failed, that I was trapped in a horrific hallucination—or that I was still asleep.

Finally my struggling brain seized upon an idea: My father, being occasionally absentminded, must have simply left the tap running by mistake when he went to bed. That made sense.

Unfortunately it didn’t fix the problem, the rapidly rushing water was not only wasteful, but there was no way I’d be able to sleep with the sound—not only was it distractingly loud, but it also summoned disturbing memories from earlier this night. I groaned pitifully and with the slow, ponderous movements of someone woken reluctantly, I raised my tired body from underneath the warm covers and walked haphazardly to the bathroom.

Yawning tiredly I flicked the light switch, and, covering my eyes to protect them from the harsh light that spilled out, reached blindly toward the sink. Grabbing hold of the hard wooden counter, I gently eased my eyes open so that I could stop the water’s relentless stream.

I blinked. Then I blinked again. The faucet wasn’t turned on, there was no water pouring out of it at all…but I had heard it, I was sure of it. I shook my head as if to clear it of any lingering dreams and then walked slowly to the kitchen, checking the faucet there as well. It too lay silent.

I had turned my back on the darkened kitchen when I heard it.
“Saaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaahhhhhhh” It made my blood run cold and a violent shiver start at the base of my spine and go through my entire body. I pivoted to face the empty kitchen and could hear that strange grinding sound from earlier…but the voice was gone. Frightened I turned on the light and walked slowly into the kitchen, my entire body now alive with real fear.

I thought I saw something and whirled to face the sink, watching as a small, wriggling tendril disappeared through the drain. I shuddered violently, I’d heard the stories of snakes and other such things coming up through drains or toilets. That must have been all it was, maybe I’d just caught the tail end of a snake wriggling its way through the pipes—a very thin, almost gelatinous snake…

“Ssssssssaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh” This time it was coming from the bathroom, somehow sounding even creepier as it echoed down the empty hallway. I caught myself hyperventilating and slumped against the wall, willing this away, willing this horrid hallucination to leave me be. Instead it persisted in calling my name beckoning me.

I thought, in a moment of panic, to go to my parents, to wake them up, beg them to check the pipes for monstrosities…but that thought was fleeting. I knew my parents wouldn’t want that, they’d been dealing with my hallucinations long enough, I couldn’t wake them up just because I was panicking. No, I had to confront this head on, I had to be unafraid. Unfortunately I was terrified.

With trembling legs, I pushed myself forward, willing myself to walk to the bathroom, from where the horrible voice emanated. I walked slowly, as if drugged, dragging my feet as I moved and feeling the rough carpet across my skin. Why couldn’t this just stop? I paused, I had left the light on in the bathroom, I was sure of it…but somehow the light was off again. I reached for it, my arm moving as if reaching through molasses.
“Ssssssssssaaaaaaarrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh” It sighed again, then, something new “Dddddooooooooonnnnnn’t”

Something clicked in my brain, of course, every time I had turned on a light this thing had disappeared. That was the solution, it might not stop the hallucination, but it would give me an advantage over it. After all, I had no choice but to play the game, I may as well use it to my advantage.

With a quick motion I flicked the light switch, now seeing the little tendril waving around in the sink. Then, without a backward glance I sprinted towards the kitchen to turn on that light as well. The thing, whatever it was, gave out a shriek as it was blocked from entering either drain. Now all I had to do was wait until the morning when I could talk with my therapist, I was triumphant.

I whirled around; my hair moving crazily about my face. Where had it come from? I had turned on the lights in the bathroom and the kitchen…there was no place for it come up.
“Sssssssssssaaaaaaaarrrrraaaaaaaahhhhh” I realized with dawning horror that there was one more sink in the house—my parent’s bathroom. I attempted to resist, attempted to just go back to bed and forget all of this…but something held me, something made me stay. I’d explain to my parent’s the intensity of this hallucination and they’d surely understand, maybe they’d get me a better prescription too. Yes, this would work.

I knocked hesitantly on their door, hearing nothing from within. Then I heard it and a wave of revulsion passed through me, I could almost feel it through the door somehow.
“Sssssssaaaaaaarrrrraaaaaaaahhhhhh” I shuddered and pushed open the door, pausing a moment to allow my eyes to adjust to the darkness. When that had passed I glanced around the warm room…my parent’s weren’t in bed. There was the sound of running water coming from the bathroom, and I caught a glimpse of my dad moving around. I’d just go talk to him, we’d figure this out together.

I’m not sure when I realized something was wrong. Maybe it was when I became aware of the fact that my dad wasn’t washing his hands, or doing anything, really. He was just standing there in the darkened bathroom with the water running.
“Dad…?” I called questioningly, and almost instantaneously he turned to look at me, I expected to see confusion in his eyes, maybe for him to rationalize what was going on, to say.
“Oh, hey sprout, I must have zoned out for a bit there” but instead I saw something that caught my gag reflex. My father’s eyes were rolled up in his head, only the milky whites of them shining in the darkness…his entire body was slouched, as though exhausted, and I now noticed that his skin was pasty white and covered in sweat. He opened his mouth

I screamed, I screamed and screamed and screamed, attempting to lunge from the room when I felt a vice grip around my ankle. My father had fallen on the ground and was gripping my tightly—and that’s when I saw the small tendrils that had attached themselves to his spine, the tendrils that pulsed and spread across his back. I forced myself to keep moving, dragging my body slowly forward—amazingly enough my father—or rather, that thing controlling my father, didn’t make any move to pull me back, instead he…it…just remained with the vice grip on my ankle.

There was a resounding, and sickening snap and my father’s hand went limp, freeing me to move again. I turned, concerned I had broken his hand but instead I saw that the tendrils that had once reached from the sink and into his back had each split in two, with the still waving tendrils retreating into the sink. Had I hurt it?

That’s when I saw it, the tendrils still attached my father’s back began to shudder and pulse violently, burrowing themselves deeper and deeper into his skin until all that could be seen was a series of angry red welts across his back. I realized now that this was no hallucination with the same certainty that I realized my father was dead…and likely my mother as well.

Shaking violently I walked from the room, pausing only when I heard that shifting, grinding sound. Like an enormous stone being moved, slowly scraping across something. I knew it wouldn’t leave me alone.
“Ssssssssssaaaaaaarrrrrrraaaaaaaahhhhh” it called, and this time I could hear it from each sink, that disgusting voice filling my entire house.

And somehow it came to me, somehow I remembered my teacher telling me years and years ago. Somehow in that moment of absolute horror I remembered her voice
“The human body is actually composed of about 80% water, you know?” The thing in the sink was just a feeler, drawing in its victims…until it could use them as incubators. That’s what had become of my parents.

I don’t know what happened next, I truthfully don’t. I simply remembering waking up screaming, a torrential downpour soaking me as I ran down the road. I could still hear it, though, I could still each of those drops whispering my name.

The police caught up with me after it was discovered I was missing. It wasn’t hard for them to, after all, people on the street were quick to report a crazed, disheveled girl who ran through city attempting to flee something unseen. They took me to the mental health ward.

I went through meeting after meeting, test after test. They had come to the conclusion that my parent’s unexplained deaths had simply driven me over the edge. I was given all sorts of different drugs in order to calm me down, in order to float me on that euphoric state of absolute nothingness. None of it worked for long, the numbness would fade and I would come back and the terror would return.

It would return because every night I went to sleep I could hear it. Curled up tight in my blankets with my eyes clamped shut I could still hear it, I could hear the water burbling merrily from my private bathroom, I could hear the pipes creaking as water was forced through them. But most of all I could it whispering my name every night. Whispering

Word Count: 2,834


Super Metroid

Posted by Janus , Jan 15 2009 · 158 views

This story I'm actually relatively pleased with, it's really not much--in fact it's basically just the intro to Super Metroid (hence the name), but I always loved the intro to Super Metroid with a passion (then again I loved all of Super Metroid with a passion)

The funny thing with this story is it didn't turn out at all like I expected. I had expected to deal with Samus' planetfall and subsequent discovery of a ruined Space Pirate base, I always found that part of the game ridiculously creepy. Instead I ended up enjoying writing about Ceres station far more than I expected.

Maybe this means there's another Super Metroid story down the line somewhere.



Super Metroid

Sirens blared, alerting me to the immense shockwave that was washing over the surface of my ship, buffeting it about like a tiny schooner in the midst of a tidal storm. Remembering my training I made no attempt to control reach the control console, instead remaining in my quarters, tightly gripping an emergency handrail until the shockwave had passed and a relative tranquility came over the tiny vessel.

Letting go of the handrail I floated effortlessly to the hatch that led from my quarters to the corridor and from there into the bridge. Upon reaching the bridge of the ship I checked the various instruments, inspecting temperature, speed, and of course, damage. Strangely enough the ship was seemingly untouched. Whatever had caused that shockwave had to have been moving incredibly rapidly, but whatever it was it hadn’t damaged my ship. That’s all I cared about.

I was about to leave the bridge and go rest in my quarters when the telltale shrill beeping of my communicator filled the silence aboard the ship. I sighed and sat down at the communications console, fitting myself snuggly in-between the control panels that took up most of the space on the bridge. With an idle mind I flicked the switch that activated the communications rig, expecting to find someone wanting expert bounty hunter Samus Aran for whatever reason—instead I found a dropdown screen informing me of an S.O.S. in large blinking letters. Flipping up the navigations console I scanned for any nearby vessels that could have been scuttled, or had their power cut, but the only thing that came up was the research station I had just left. Ceres Station was under attack.

Without a second thought I shifted my seat to the piloting controls, dialing the speed to maximum and sending my ship hurtling through space towards the distant speck that was Ceres Research station. There was no way I was allowing anyone to get away with attacking that station, not when I knew what was on board. Setting my ships navigation safely to autopilot I left the bridge to suit up, I had no intention of walking into a trap unarmed.

The door to my small armory hissed open, revealing my most basic armor suit—had I had more time I would have been able to return to HQ and use one of my many upgraded suits, but as it was all I had on me was the recon variety for an upcoming mission. I sighed
“Better this than nothing, I suppose.”

I had just finished checking my suits’ diagnostics when my proximity alarm alerted me to the fact that we were on approach to Ceres. It was a few seconds later that I realized my hailing signals weren’t being responded to. This was not a good sign. I took a deep breath and activated my ship’s gravity, using one of the various subsystems routed directly into my suit. In an instant there was a sudden lurching feeling, and then the heavy clang of my armored boots hitting the floor of the armory. I smiled grimly, systems check all green for pressure sensors.

By the time I had reached the bridge again I could see Ceres Station through the view screen, the massive gear shaped oval filling my view with a thousand twinkling lights from its various different ports and windows. Taking hold of the controls I gently steered my ship towards the central hollow, where even from this distance, four massive red lights could be seen flashing brightly. Guiding my ship into this hollow I fired my retro rockets and found a docking port nearest the sector I wanted to go to. Using another subsystem of my suit I interfaced directly with Ceres’ docking computer, feeling the dull reverberations of the heavy docking clamps slamming shut around my ship and drawing me into the station’s plated hull.

Once the station had automatically docked me, I drew up a map onscreen and found that I was just one tier above where I needed to be. I double checked my arm cannon and set my ships’ defenses to their highest level—there was no telling what could be out there. With that done I opened the hatch in the roof of the ship and allowed the platform to carry me from the warm comfort of my own ship into the cold metal vastness that was Ceres.

Almost immediately I was on guard, using my passive scanners and radar to begin searching through my immediate area, and tracking everything with my arm cannon. I stepped off the armored hull of my ship and into a service dock, accessing the blueprints of the station from there I took the nearest service elevator down into the third tier of Ceres Station. While I had been here recently I wanted the blueprints in case anything unexpected happened.

The ride down the service elevator was uneventful, however it did confirm a fear of mine. Upon reaching the bottom of the shaft I found no-one there to greet me. Having just recently left them, and especially considering what I had left in their care, this was unthinkable. Whatever was attacking was after this section specifically.

I entered one of the armored doors, which took me into the oxygenated and comfortable area of Ceres proper and looked around slowly—everything looked exactly as I’d left it. The only difference was that there were no hurried bustling scientists, in fact it was as quiet as a tomb. I picked up my pace and made my way deeper into the station, walking down a flight of stairs and into the ‘experimental research’ department—where I hoped I’d find the scientists huddled, scared, but alive.

Instead I was greeted with the sight of three scientists’ dead, their bodies viciously slashed and bleeding profusely. In the center of the room a large apparatus lay in ruins, with the subject of experimentation being nowhere to be found. I gritted my teeth, it was possible that this was going to get much worse than I expected.

Wishing I could have spared a moment to mourn for the dead, I instead sprinted across the room, entering another heavily armored door and finding myself in a narrow corridor. One described in the blueprints as leading to the storage room—if ever there were a place to find living scientists, it would be the storage room. I only hoped I was right.

I entered the storage area, tracking with my cannon, and found it completely bare of anything, light included…except a large containment unit containing the gift I had left for the scientists on Ceres. The hatchling Metroid from planet SR-388. I breathed a sigh of relief, whatever had attacked the station hadn’t known about the hatchling, and the scientists must have given up their life to get it to safety here. I lowered my cannon and allowed my scanners to fall silent, I already knew there was a life form here, the hatchling in front of me. I took a step towards the containment unit, thinking of various other research stations that would be happy to continue Ceres’ work, but was shocked to hear a voice speaking.
“Not quite that easy, Samus” came a dark growl. All of a sudden a baleful eye flared above where the canister that held the Metroid was, and using my visor’s heat tracking I was able to make out the hulking form of one of Mother Brain’s generals, the cruel and intelligent Ridley.

“You actually thought you’d won, Hunter?” The massive dragon crowed. “Thought you’d beaten us? That we’d just give up and die?” The enormous claw holding the containment unit squeezed it tightly. “No, Samus. We’re not dead yet!” And with that the massive beast hurled itself into the air, blasting a stream of fire directly towards me.

Acting out of reflex I threw myself to the side, tracking and firing as I did so. Most of my shots simply bounced of the dragon’s black carapace but a single shot struck him in his sensitive beak, causing a shriek of pain to erupt from the creature’s mouth. Then he fixed me with his hate-filled eyes and spoke
“You’re not worth my time, Bounty Hunter. Now die here with all the rest!” With that he lashed out with his spiked tail, smashing into the metal of the station’s walls and breaking through effortlessly. Then he was gone, with the hatchling.

I cursed, exiting the storage area and intent on catching up with the giant dragon, intent on retrieving the Metroid. Then my suits’ internal warning system came to life and informed me that he had triggered the entire station for overload, essentially causing a self-destruct. Cursing even more I sprinted through the corridor, passing the gargantuan machine where the now-deceased scientists had studied the Metroid hatchling and up the stairs, becoming more and more aware of the blaring klaxons and deteriorating station all around me. Bursts of steam from overworked conduits were shooting out almost everywhere and even the structural integrity of the lab began to crumble. I cursed a third time.

I became acutely aware of just how bad the situation was when I entered the service elevator shaft and found the entire station beginning to tilt haphazardly from one direction to another, the stabilizers that once controlled it seeming have given out. Without thinking I launched myself onto the elevator, all too aware of the timer that was counting down the seconds until the entire station detonated.

With mere minutes left to spare I darted from one end of the airlock to where my ship still remained, luckily Ridley hadn’t seen fit to tamper with it before he left. Lacking the time to interface with Ceres’ docking system I simply fired my ship’s weapons, destroying the docking clamps and freeing my ship to escape from the station’s hull.

The countdown had hit ten seconds remaining when I fired my boosters to their maximum, forcing me back in my seat as my ship shot out of the station’s interior. Seconds later a massive shockwave washed over me, sending the ship into mad spirals as shrapnel and energy washed over it. Being in control this time I managed to steadily guide the ship away from the worst of the concussive force and avoid the deadly shrapnel that was being scattered by the massive explosion.

At last the explosion was over, and while my ship had taken a few blows from the shrapnel, it remained intact. With no time to think of anything else I immediately brought up my scanners and set them to the longest range possible. Ridley was out here somewhere, he’d likely had a ship stashed on Ceres just as I had…so all I had to do was pick up his heat signature and trace his path.

It was a full five minutes before I was far enough out of range of the still smoldering ruins of Ceres and my scanners were able to pick up a rapidly moving heat source. I smiled grimly. Ridley. I had the computer run a course trace on his heat signature while I moved back into the belly of the ship, using the precious few hours I had left before I caught up with the Space Pirate to run various combat simulations. I had faced Ridley before, and it had almost cost me my life, I refused to allow that to happen again.

It was approximately one hour later (and roughly 20 different combat sims) that I was broken out of focus by the rapid beeping of my navcom. It had determined his path, and with luck I could cut him off before he made it there.

I made my way to the bridge, moving slowly as I had to with my power armor on.
“May as well get used to it” I thought to myself. “After all, you’re going to be in it for quite a bit longer.” It was unlikely that Ridley would go down easily, and even he did, it was doubtful he had acted alone. Had the remnants of the Space Pirates rallied under Ridley’s flag? That was a distinct possibility.

Entering the bridge I checked the navcom results. Unable to believe them I ran a second check myself. The proof was undeniable.

He was going to where it all began. To the place where the Metroid’s had first entered my life.

He was going to Planet Zebes.

And I was going to follow him.

Word Count: 2,086


Of Mothers. Who Happen To Be Brains.

Posted by Janus , Jan 14 2009 · 279 views

Okay, not so happy with this one. It's supposed to be part one of a two part tribute to one of the first stories I ever typed. That being a naive attempt to make a Novel out of Super Metroid. I got maybe fifteen pages in before I dropped it and never picked it up again.

But I love Metroid, I love it so very, very much. So first of all we see a slightly different take on Metroid original, and then tomorrow there'll be something else. Thursday will be an all-original tale, though. So those of you who don't like this fanfic stuff don't have to worry, it won't be sticking around for long.

I'd also like to apologize for a few things.

One: I think the title sucks, but it's all I got, if you can think of something better please do suggest it.
Two: There are all sorts of Metroid fan injokes, some of this you probably will not get. Like, at all.
Three: The ending is both an injoke and a failtastic ending. I JUST NEEDED TO END IT.

Anyhow, enjoy as much as is possible!

Of Mothers. Who Happen to be Brains

I landed on the planet’s surface, rolling along the ground to cushion myself from the impact. Above me my ship flew on autopilot, the hatch I had emerged closing silently.

I raised myself into a half-crouch, carefully watching my radar and readying my arm cannon, I knew it was more than possible that I’d be swarmed by Space Pirates at any point and it was important I stayed on guard. Luckily I was only five minutes away from the entry point to their lair—though I expected it to be heavily guarded. Five minutes later I had arrived…and underneath my visored helmet…blanched.

It wasn’t heavily guarded at all. In fact there was a sign sticking out of the strange Blue-grey rock of Zebes that cheerfully informed everyone that this was in fact the express elevator into the Space Pirate secret lair. There was no way this was real. No way. I readied my arm cannon, waiting for the flood of enemies to wash over me at any point, I was most sorely disappointed when none showed up.

“This has to be a joke” I muttered under my breath. I’d been hired to take care of the Notorious Space Pirates and their leader Mother Brain before they did even worse things with their newly discovered weapon, the species known as “Metroids.” So here I was on their home planet of Zebes…a well known Bounty hunter with a well known ship flying directly into their radar space and they have a SIGN that tells me this where their layer is, you’re kidding me.

I sighed, there was nothing else on the planet’s surface, that much I knew, so unless I felt like making my own entrance (a tempting thought, albeit one that would take roughly 3 years by my calculations) I needed to take what I could get. Wary of any sort of trap I stepped into the elevator.

Talk about cramped. With a full suit of armor plus arm cannon I barely managed to squeeze in, and for one second I thought the doors wouldn’t close—as it was they just barely managed to scrape over my armor and close. Phew.

Then I heard it. I couldn’t believe it, but I heard it. How could Mother Brain have the absolute gall. How could it dare to do something like this? I sighed and dialed up my noise filters. There was no way in heck I was going to spend what looked like a long elevator ride listening to the tinkling, synthesized sounds of Muzac.

At long last the ride ended and the Muzac ceased. Exiting the metallic squeeze tube I had been trapped in I entered a vast underground cavern. I realized now that the elevator wasn’t a conventional type and instead was some sort of light-based circular platform which rode down a tube until the exit point. Namely this place.

There were two enormous stone pillars made of the same strange blue-grey stone that covered the surface of Zebes, each with a central tube running through it—maybe they controlled the elevator? If so perhaps If I could cripple the elevator I could prevent Mother Brain’s troops from escaping!

But wait, there was something moving at the top of one of the pillars. I aimed my cannon upwards, checking my target reticle as some sort of…thing entered into my view. It was primarily yellow with faded green on the tips of its…spines? I really wasn’t sure, all I knew is it was an enemy—but perhaps it could serve useful.

I tracked the thing’s movements then let lose a stream of fire directly ahead of it. The creature didn’t stop moving…in fact it seemed that it (and its partner, as I had realized there was another one on the other pillar) were only interested in crawling in a cyclical fashion, up one side, down the other. I fired again, speaking this time.
“Listen up, there’s more than enough power in this cannon to destroy you! Where is Mother Brain?” The creature responded somewhat predictably, and when I say somewhat I mean incredibly predictably. It just kept going around in its preset path.

I’d say it was a mercy killing, that I was putting the poor mindless thing out of its misery, but unfortunately I couldn’t even say that much, when I blasted the beast it sparked and exploded. They were some sort of Techo-organic security system. Great.

“Oh Samus, you always were so violent” came a…somehow sweet, almost sickeningly so, voice.
“Mother Brain” I grated out. I hate it when the villains play games with you, don’t they have any respect for all the effort it takes to infiltrate their bases and kill their soldiers? Jeese.
“Of course!” The voice responded, sounding chipper and upbeat. What. The. Heck.
“By the way if you’re looking for me I’m in Tourian, deepest layer of the Zebes Fortress. I’d come and greet you, but, you know. Giant brain in a jar and all that.”

Okay now I was getting creeped out, Mother Brain was…chatting with me? Like she knew me or something? Was this all some massive prank?
“You’re quiet dear, is there something on your mind?” She spoke soothingly. This was infuriating.
“…Well, I didn’t expect the leader of the Space Pirates to be so…” I spoke before realizing it, why was I speaking to her?
“Motherly?” She correctly intuited. And when did I start referring to it as a she?
“Um…yes” I mumbled. Why was I still talking?
“Well that’s how I got the name Mother brain, dear. Before that I was just brain. Oh by the way, we all pitched in and got a gift for your little attempt-to-kill-us-all party. If you check over on your left over the outcropping you’ll find it. Anyhow dear, my cannons are getting warmed up and I hate to let them get too hot. I’ll see you when you get down here!”

And then the communication was cut, and I was left standing in the middle of a suddenly not-so-hostile enemy base. I think that was the most terrified I’d ever been in my entire life. But maybe, maybe, maybe that had all been a guise, you know, to lower my defenses! Yes, surely that was what it had been. I’d go look for the supposed gift and find it guarded by thousands of well-armed space pirates, or the gift would be a bomb or something that would destroy my power-suit leaving me helpless to fend for myself. SURELY THAT IS WHAT WOULD HAPPEN.

I calmed myself, I hadn’t quite realized that I was hyperventilating—and fogging up my visor. I needed to remain calm, even in the face of such…I searched for the word, none of my usual ones fitting. Adversity? No, Overwhelming odds? No, Viciousness? Definitely not.

Ah, absurdity, that was a wonderful fit—given that this entire situation was absolutely, irredeemably insane. But with luck there would be a band of murderous space pirates just around the bend, I’d shoot them all, and everyone would be happy.

I glanced around the enormous cavern, the blue rock being weird enough at first, but with this fresh deluge of weird I felt like getting on the elevator and leaving. Of course when I looked at the ground I saw the circular platform of light wasn’t there anymore. Okay, so maybe Mother Brain was going to kill me and act like a villain should….Or maybe she just wanted to drive me to the brink of insanity.

However, I realized that standing here wracked with indecision wasn’t going to help me either way. Plus if someone happened to be watching my exploits, or perhaps controlling them through some sort of controller, it wouldn’t be particularly interesting for them.

I wasn’t quite sure where that last thought came from, but I went with it anyways. Then I turned to my left and exited from the ‘foyer’ and into the cavern proper. The first thing I saw was of course a gigantic stone outcropping with a tiny little tunnel underneath it…but it looked like it could be scaled, and in the lighter gravity of Zebes my jumps were nearly doubled. I was at the top in no time, scanning cautiously and seeing only one of those…strange…spikey things (I decided to call them Zebe-ites for sake of clarity.) crawling around on the farthest wall. In the center of the room, however, was a strange sphere that almost seemed to be made of glass, but shone with an intense light.

Quickly realizing that this was the ‘gift’ that Mother Brain (and I assumed the rest of the space pirates) had gotten for me, I dispatched the Zebe-ite with a few well placed cannon shots, and moved closer to observe the strange crystalline orb. It seemed to be almost wholly transparent, with only a faint ring of blue showing where the outer line of the sphere was. Then of course there was the strange light radiating out from it, obscuring the lines even more.

I scanned that thing with every scanner in my suit. Twice. And they all came up clean, upon seeing this verdict I hesitantly reached out with one armored hand and touched the sphere. Immediately the glow intensified and surrounded my suit (and I swear there was some sort of music playing ) causing all of the circuits to temporarily shut down and leaving me motionless—and without my visor, blind..

Slowly the suit began to boot up again, sending power throughout my limbs and restoring my various sensors, but something was new, there was a new suit function listed in my schematics. I grunted and with my restored vision saw that the sphere was gone. Somehow it had been absorbed into my suit. I mentally shrugged, that was the kind of weird I could deal with. With the boot-up process complete the suit set to explaining the new feature installed, it seemed rather interesting, some sort of matter converter so that I could shrink into small spaces, moving around as a ball in an energy format, this I could get used to!

I followed the instructions, I crouched down and then rolled, exactly as the suit had told me my armor began to fold and mould itself, turning into a spherical shape that wrapped all around my form and forming a shell around me. Next all that had to happen was for the matter converter to kick in and I’d be golden.

I waited.

And waited.

My spine got sore very quickly, sitting in a ‘morph ball’ and curled into a horribly uncomfortable position with armor plating all around. Obviously the matter converter wasn’t going to work. I unrolled myself and glanced around the area, after all, I could live without the morph ball, I just needed to get to ‘Tourian.’

Looking around the enclosed space I let out a stream of curses. On one side was the ending of the space pirates cavern, leaving only a sheer rock face that met the ceiling, on the other was the outcropping I’d climbed, but on this side it too was sheer and insurmountable. My only hope lay in that tiny little opening, which I could only fit through in morph ball form. I wanted to cry.

I got as close as I could to the mouth of the tiny cavern, evaluating it mentally and with a few of my scanners as well. Even if I lay flat on my stomach and crawled I would be far too wide with my power armor—and if I abandoned my power armor I had no guarantees for survival, I wasn’t even sure if there was oxygen here! I sighed, crouched, and rolled; my armor again activated and formed the armored ball. Easy part was done.

The problem with morph ball, I reflected, was not only that the matter converter seemed to be disabled, but also that when one is in a ball and curled into what was basically fetal position, one has no real means of locomotion—however I wasn’t the best bounty hunter in the galaxy for nothing. Sighing I heaved my body backwards, picking up just enough momentum that the morph ball slowly eased forwards and into the cavern.
“Now that wasn’t so bad,” I mused to myself, heaving my body again and driving the ball a tiny bit further into the mouth of the cavern.

All of a sudden there was a horrid screeching all around me. Instantly I was on my guard (though still trapped inside the ball) was this an alarm? Was Mother Brain attacking me now that I was trapped? Short answer: No, and also no.

Instead, a monitor inside the ball activated and showed me that the cavern was tighter than even I expected, leading the metallic surface of my armor to scrape loudly across it. Sighing I brought up a map and found I was less than a quarter of the way through it. I think I could have killed someone.

After an endless agony of that horrid screeching I finally escaped the tunnel, emerging into my fully armored form once again. I was going to make Mother Brain HURT for that.
“BRAIN!” I shouted at the walls, I was sure she had some sort of surveillance, otherwise she couldn’t have spoken to me earlier. “Brain, I am taking you down, you hear me?” The response was faster than I could have expected, a speaker crackled to life and Mother Brain’s strangely comforting voice began to echo around the cavern
“I’m sorry, I must have stepped out to raid some federation ships with my new army of Metroids, but your call is important to me, so please do leave your contact info and I’ll be sure to get right back to you! And if this is Samus, sorry sweetie, I guess you’ll just have to wait for me in Tourian, hate to leave you hanging like this.”

My mouth dropped open, an answering machine? I got an answering machine? I realized two things right then and there. One: This was going to be a long and hard journey fraught with me wanting to kill things.
Two: I hated this planet. I hated it so much.

I sighed, some days just don’t end.

Oh well, I’d get Mother Brain in the end, and hopefully she wouldn’t activate some sort of base-destroying bomb that I only had precious few seconds to escape from.

But what were the chances of that?

Word Count: 2,416


Enter The Gurlfren

Posted by Janus , Jan 13 2009 · 176 views

Yes, yes. It has taken me far too long to get back into FOR SCIENCE! But the past is past, let's move on with the future, yes?


Truth be told, I don't actually feel that bad because I still wrote. Those of you who've seen my Streams of Conciousness entry know that, but I also spent most of yesterday writing a 7 page MONSTER of a story--those of you wondering why it's not going on here...well, let's just say it's not exactly BZP appropriate, and only those who know me well enough to know where I lurk and what I like will be allowed to see it. If they even want to.


I realized upon reflection today that "If they even want to" looks like me being a sobby whiney preteen angsting about how nobody wants to read my stories. NOT EVEN MY FRIENDS MY LIFE IS SO HAAAARD.

That wasn't my intent, I more meant to say that it deals with subject matter that not everyone who knows me wants to read about. Let's just say it's a Slash.

Yes, I've written a slash. I'm unsure if this will attract or repulse fangirls

Regardless, with such a long break I believe it's time for a refresher on the rules of FOR SCIENCE! So here we go.

Every day I will write 2,000 words on any subject of my choice, throughout the week I will collect various suggestions for what I should write about on Friday. Votes will be opened on Thursday in an entry prior to my story and the winner will be the subject of my 4,000 word story on Friday.

We up to speed?

Now, in order to be fair I feel that I should include the two suggestions from days of old (Or a few weeks ago)

bio djinnie: Also, how about a story involving Furbies, Death-rays, and an ancient orginization of ninjas?

Bossman: Write a 4,000 word essay on the topic of your choosing without using a single pronoun.

And now on with the story! (of questionable quality!)


Enter The Gurlfren

“Incoming!” My friend shouted as the red blip lit up my radar screen. Panicking I pressed down hard on the control panel and watched as my Mobile Suit just barely avoided the crimson flash of energy.
“That was way too close…” I muttered to myself, re-aligning myself to better glimpse the fierce battle going on all around me.

The mission was simple—or was supposed to be. We, as two Zeon soldiers were meant to attack the AEUG’s primary ship, the Argama, as well as an escape shuttle they had. Well, the shuttle had gone down quickly under a barrage of fire from my own Gaza-C class Mobile Suit, and my friend’s own Gaza-C was able to begin intercepting the lone defending suits they sent out, nothing more than some Nemo’s.

Unfortunately now things weren’t going exactly as we had hoped. The ]Argama had defenses superior to what we had expected, and worse yet, they had an Ace Pilot who was piloting the brand new state-of-the-art suit the Rick Dias. Barely dodging another shot I saw my radar light up with even more red blips, indicating more enemies entering the conflict. Just great.

“Cover me” My friend said calmly, his Gaza-C’s verniers lighting up with bright blue flames as he streaked towards the Argama and its rapidly firing cannons. Nodding mutely I selected a Nemo as my target and double-checked my battery charge for my laser cannon. 2 shots remained on this battery—that should be just enough for a Nemo.

Taking careful aim I fired: Once, twice, and….contact! Brilliant red flames burst from the wrecked suit, drifting slowly in the cold vacuum of space before exploding in a flash of light. One target down I selected the next, another Nemo that was using its boosters to great effect, dodging and weaving around and forcing me to be quick with the controls of my own suit.

“We’re running out of time!” My friend shouted as he began to engage the Ace in the Rick Dias, I could see that he was right, my mission timer counting down rapidly in the corner of my viewscreen. We had exactly 1:30 left to scuttle the Argama and her defenses…and that Ace pilot wasn’t making it any easier.

Lost in reverie I was woken rudely as two blasts smashed hard into my Gaza-C, bringing my critical warnings up on screen. I hoped I was going to be able to make it of this situation alive. Taking aim I fired with my replenished laser cannon, piercing the Nemo’s cockpit directly and turning the suit into a flaming ball of wreckage. Giving my radar a cursory glance I discovered that only one hostile suit remained—the Rick Dias.

Firing my verniers I launched myself into the conflict, targeting and firing on the Dias as it weaved about the space fighting fiercely to protect the Argama. I could see that the battle had taken its toll on all of us, the Dias’ reaction time was slower than before, and bright blue sparks of light leapt from its body in multiple place—likewise my friend’s Gaza-C was showing the same signs of damage, and of course I barely needed to look at my critical warnings to know that my own suit was heavily damaged.
“Look out!” I shouted as a blast from the Dias rocketed towards my friend’s Gaza-C. There was no way he would be able to survive a direct hit like that. Firing madly from my laser cannon I fired my boosters and launched myself towards the Dias. Unfortunately it happened to be firing its own lasers at that time.

“######, I’m dead” I muttered to my friend, watching as my suit floated lifelessly in space, sparks leaping across its shattered body.
“Yeah, me too” He grunted
“Again?” I asked, watching as the mission failure screen appeared on my PSP “ZEON IS DISSAPOINTED IN YOU” it read. Great, glad to know.
“Yeah, may as well. She doesn’t land for another few minutes. Plus customs. We’ve got a bit” he said, glancing at the flight times on the screen above.
“Sweet” I grinned. “But shouldn’t we move closer over there, so we can actually see her when she lands?” I said, nudging my friend. With a groan he stood up and stretched, his silver PSP catching the light shining down from above.

Grinning I stood up, carefully replacing my own PSP in my pocket and glancing at the screen above. Two more minutes for her flight to land. I couldn’t wait.
“Oh, she’s going to call when she’s landed” I said offhandedly, taking my usual large strides towards the central area of the airport where everyone was waiting on semi-comfortable padded chairs.
“That’s good, that way she won’t walk in on us playing Gundam. What a way to welcome her to Vancouver, huh?” He said, laughing.
“Yeah, and given that she’s not much of a Gundam fan…” my train of thought trailed off. I didn’t think she’d be upset, but I still wasn’t sure.
“Well, regardless, I’m going to be stealing you at least a bit so we can beat this stupid mission” he said grimly. I laughed at this and continued to walk, finding a pair of unoccupied chairs away from the incredibly cold wind blowing in through the automatic doors.
“If she has a problem, she can take it out on me” He said with a laugh, seating himself.
“She can, yes.” I began slowly, powering up my PSP again “But she’ll likely take it out on me. With her fists” My friend merely raised an eyebrow in response, powering up his PSP as well.
“You go select the mission this time, I’ll use one of my powerful suits” He said, eyes still glued to the opening screen of Gundam Battle Universe
“Sure.” I murmured, my eyes on my own screen.

It was another five minutes before the call came, just as I was being pelted by the enemy suits (of course), my phone began to vibrate erratically in my pocket. I quickly grabbed it and flipped it open.
“Hay” I said, watching my suit take many point-blank shots.
“Hey” she responded, sounding both tired and excited. “We’ve landed and I’m in the line for customs, it’s not that bad of a line, so I should see you soon.”
“Cool, I can’t wait” I said with a smile. “My friend is here as well, we’re watching for you but in the off chance we don’t see you, you’ll probably recognize us.”
My friend looked up from his PSP, his Sazabi having destroyed everything on the screen and won the mission.
“Say hello for me too” He said offhandedly. I nodded and passed along his greeting
“Say hello back for me!” She said, sounding happy. “I’ll see you in, like, fifteen minutes!”
“Kay” I responded, then, grinning maliciously said “We’ll be the ones playing on our PSPs”
“….What?” She sounded slightly confused.
“To recognize us. All you need to do is look for the two grown men playing PSP”
“Oh goody” she said, laying on false sarcasm thickly. “See you soon”
“Definitely. Love you” I said quietly, holding the phone to my ear.
“Love you too” She murmured, then the line went quiet.

“She’ll be out in about fifteen minutes” I spoke to my friend, dragging his attention away from the upgrades he was doling out.
“Got it. Fifteen more minutes to play” He said with a boyish grin, I returned his grin and looked to my own upgrade screen.
“At least.”

It was approximately fifteen minutes (along with multiple wins, and deaths) later that she actually walked through the automatic doors. After my head snapped up from the PSP for the thousandth-and-first time I was finally able to say
“There she is! For real this time!” completely oblivious to the fact that I was in fact being murdered most viciously by the Marasai swarming all around my poor Gerbera Tetra. My friend (under equal assault from various different aces) looked up as well and we both shared a glance that said “I won’t say we were getting our butts kicked if you won’t” and then turned off our respective games, moving to meet her at the exit of the walkway.

“Hey gurlfren” I said with a grin, hugging her tight.
“Hey gaifren” she responded, gripping me in an equally tight hug. After a few seconds we broke the hug and she said hello to our mutual friend and we were on our way….for all of ten seconds, before the first of many mock-arguments broke out.

“Aren’t you going to carry my luggage?” She said with mock impatience, indicating her wheeled bag.
“I thought you were a big enough girl to carry it yourself” I grinned back.
“Dude, you’re going to be sleeping outside” my friend murmured ahead of me.

After a resolution had been worked out (and by resolution I mean she frowned at me until I took the bag, feeling terribly guilty and horrible) we walked out the automatic doors into the nice chill wind—and of course rain.
“It’s freezing!” She whispered, shoving her hands in her pockets. I just laughed, clad only in a T-shirt and light jacket (AND PANTS OF COURSE. JEESE). Then again, I was used to the cold weather…she most certainly wasn’t. But being the kind gent I am I naturally offered to warm her hands up, and being the wonderful lady she is, she accepted.

Then she yelled that my hands were freezing—setting off another laughing session from me (with my friend joining in so we could make it in stereo!). Of course her mock-anger was perfectly justified as my hands were indeed blocks of ice—that’s just naturally how they get, I guess.

All mock-fights and freezing cold forgotten (Or mostly forgotten, she was still shivering like a leaf) we loaded ourselves into my friend’s car, where both of them began to berate me on not yet being able to drive.

Of course I reminded them that I could drive, there was just the minor technicality of it being legal driving. This was met with groans and disapproving stares. And then we were off, our adventure in the airport complete it was time to set out onto the open road.

She stared out the window, drinking in the beauty that was the city, and being quite shocked at the amount of snow (“Real snow!”) still left on the roads—luckily by this time it had stopped snowing otherwise the adventure would have been far more ‘interesting’ than it was.

The miles ticked by, and various comments were made by both my friend and my lovely lady. My favourite of which being a passing comment about a large temple:
“Is that a giant bouncy castle?”
“…I think it’s a temple”
“…Does it have a bouncy castle inside of it?”
I squeezed her hand and smiled, showing how much I adored her. This conversation naturally dovetailed into a discussion about how much better temples would be if they contained bouncy castles, but as it is religious in nature (What with the temples and all) it is hereby stricken from the record.

We drove on, passing various different buildings and landmarks, until my friend said what would spark a great adventure.
“…Um, can you get us back to your house from here?”
“…I think so, yeah. Go straight for now” I responded, wracking my brain. I knew how to get back from a certain point but we were well outside that point, time to see if I knew what I was doing.

Ironically it was well inside the area that I knew well that our adventure occurred. Driving up an incline we found ourselves on one side of a two lane highway, with one lane curving away into the darkness. My friend asked which way and I responded (Foolishly)
“Go straight”.

He did.

We took the curved path and drove in a straight line for some time, finally coming a tiny little spit of land that led to a tinier spit of land in America. We quickly turned around and drove back, ending that little adventure.

Naturally all of this was filled with conversation of the most wonderful sort, and me making googly eyes at my lovely gurlfren, but really, did you need to know that?

I didn’t think so, that’s why I wasted so much time talking about Gundam.

Which, by the way, is way less cool than my Gurlfren.

Yeah, you read that right.



Stream Of Conciousness

Posted by Janus , Jan 11 2009 · 293 views
Crazy Writing
This is verbatim transcription (That means all the spelling mistakes and errors are intact) of writing I did this morning at roughly 4:00 AM after being unable to sleep (And finding that WinAmp Skin I wanted. Until the point that I begun writing I was operating the computer essentially blind, meaning no glasses)

Well, this is quite the experiment. I’m writing blind here, literally blind. Eyes closed I’m relying only on mu drndr og youvh snf yhr dounf yo huifr mr.
Music is a rhythm, a flow, something that we can follow and be inspired by. That’s what I’m allowing to lead me now. I’m simple alloinw myself to sit here,eyes closed ed and completely in sync with the msuci playing. Heck, I have no ideda how many spelling mistakes I’m making. Likely hundres. But the fact remains that I cannot see what I’m writing and will not see until tomorrow.

And that’s beautiful, isn’t it?

Trying something new, just for the heck of it!

In fact I was trying to sleep before this massive surge of inspiration overcame me: So now here I am, at somewhere near 3:000 in the morning sitting on my computer and typing blind—why? Because I can. Because the world allows me to. Because this is what I choose to do.

Choose, not decide. To actually choose is to hdo it with no reason why. And that’s why I’m doing this. Because I choose to, because I just wanted to do it. And it’s interesting.

Seriously, the senstations one feels typing blind is incredible.
My blody actually sfells like its changing shape.

But the music stopped now. My guiding force has gone silent and so the moment of inspiration has passed. In fact I already feel the heavy coat of sleep settling over my shoulders, running up and ffown my neck. I can feel the bbuttons seeming to grow smaller and smaller anas my hands grow larger and large, inflating with the gross movements of a tired body.

It’s a strange feeling, in my minds eye I can seee all sorts of things, but then I feel them. My body senses them as though they were true. Now my fingers are inflated and swollen like some sort of strange sausisage, now the keyboard is curved and spherical. Now I’m skinny as a twig with long spindly fingers that can dance over the mite sized keyboard with ease.

I think I’m donw now. The keys have grown large and small, my fingers have shrunk and grown, and my minds eye has swollen and felcated. Everything’s run its natural course and so too is my stream of conciousness coming to an end.

Perhaps I’ll edit this tomorrow. Perhaps not.
Goodnight everyone,

My love find you and carry you forward.

June 2018

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