Wraith : the origins.
Disclaimer: the Stargate franchise and aliens that they created are the property of MGM. This is just a fictional story made out of fun and has no profit or commercial value derived from it.
The purpose of this story follows in part the Atlantis canon on Wraith and some pure speculation on my part. There are some original characters which are owned by myself. Any constructive comments are welcome in this pilot.
P.S. Ancients are the bad ones in this fiction. So are any Lanteans. Misanthropy aplenty here.
This takes place before the Wraiths became what they were. Edited 2016
(Pilot) Chapter 1: Silence.
The splintering ashes from afar illuminated the skies. Screams amidst the loud explosions from the distance could be heard from a distance. Agony. Pain. Burning alive. Dark little shadows dropped against the bright blinding backdrop of what once used to be a city. Acrid smoke plumes filled the once crisp cool atmospheres, creating an eerie cloud of suffocating and biting wafting fumes. The once clear night starry skies had the machinery of doom laying waste with the destructive beams of fiery temporary pillars. The attack was swift and brutal, the inhabitants caught unawares. Cold blooded annihilation. Every single being who failed to make it to the hills before the second ship arrived could not have survived.
Why? Her large brown eyes looked silently in confusion from the hill side as she curled up as the telepathic floods of immeasurable suffering assaulted her being, twisting up in pain. Lies. They lied to us. Our creators betrayed us. A lump formed in her throat as she struggled with the mind assault. The voices in her head fading. They are dying. With each growing silence, she felt wrenched from within as though her innards were torn from inside. She grabbed her temples mournfully. Her mind could shunt them out but something within her stopped her. She had to feel it etched forcefully into her memory. Vengeance needed fuel. To their creators, they were nothing more than an experiment of something they called Ascension. They were little more than garbage to be discarded at will.
Muffled whimpers from the little ones surrounded her as they instinctively bit on their lips, avoiding any escape of loud noise which may alert the attackers to their location in the hills. She carried one in her arms as the child held out her tiny fingers towards the city and whimpered "mama", golden tears streaming down the child's glowing eyes. Loss. The children felt it. Sorrow. She felt their emotions. They escaped the city into the nearby glistening webs of the jungle. None of the attackers will follow. Her creators called the jungle cursed and spread tales of horror which laid within. Creatures which take lives readily. Creatures which were the monsters.
Yet, her creators were the bigger monsters. Ancients, they called themselves. Lantea, they hailed from. The four great races which span the stars as the myth was passed off by the most pompous one. Superior in all ways, they said. Yet their technology was dead. No sound, no pulsing life force. Nothing to be felt. A branch brushed her long hair as she walked on.
Come, children, we must go further. Safety is there. Her mind presence swiftly imprinted on theirs aloud. Survival was an immediate priority. The straggling group of six small bodies followed her. Sniffling and weeping accompanied the shaking tiny forms as they struggled through the overgrowth. They were all that was left of the once glorious city. The City of Life. Pulsating buildings which were filled with thoughts of the population. Now silent.
"I want Mama" whimpered the female child in her arms, clutching at her long ebony hair. Silence , child, emotions are a weakness now. Your survival and of the rest are paramount. She sighed softly as the child held her tightly, tears flowing as the tiny body struggled to muffle the grief.
The cold air was no good to her group. She was taught to regulate the temperatures in the dead place. In fact, she was taught a lot but the knowledge was at best, worthless now. The Ancients called the dead place a facility. A facility for the young who lost their parents in duty to those monsters. The young were susceptible to climate changes. Her oldest memory was of the cold dead place with blinking dead machines. Compassion, they told her for those who served the Ascension cause. Oddly, she did not feel their compassion there. She did not question them but the City felt warmer and alive - a bond. Now gone.
Despite her differences, the City did not mind her. She grew up differently amongst them yet she could hear the occupants near and far. They accepted her. Treated her like theirs. Fruits, blandless but nutritious, were shoved into her hands as she wandered about on one of those rare free days. Strange beings patted her on the head in an almost likeable way. Always with their left hands. Never the right.
A yelp interrupted her thoughts and she returned to the dank darkness. Help. He cannot go further. A soft but sharp plea of an older child echoed to her mind. Tiny glowing pairs of eyes followed her.
How bad is he? She looked at the three children trying to prop their fallen companion up as she walked towards them. The murmurs of the group grew louder in her mind. Cold. Hungry. Weak. The situation did not look good and the temperature was still falling. They were exposed to the cold. Their mind presence were weakening. A bad sign. Fire would alert the attack ships in the skies to them. Not an option, she sighed. Her weary eyes scanned the landscape. A cave was near but there was an unsettling hum to them.