Chapter 1

Playlist: 1. Evol Intent - Flipside. 2. Jennifer Haines - The Storm Begins

I always loved watching the news.

All the time I would soak up everything that would have been happening. The current events, the latest news.

A giant sponge.

Desperate for news from far away.

There was always a strange kind of need to know what was happening, a sense of control it gave me, keeping me in sync with the rest of the world.

The news would always revolve around death. Never a day without a murder, a natural catastrophe, a suicide bombing, a plane crash, a conflict.

The list goes on.

But something started to happen.

Murders became rare, suicide bombings non-existent, conflicts over.

The world couldn't have changed so quickly.

Human nature would not change.

The question became more and more important, the answer needed beyond words could possibly describe.

What was happening?

We were not prepared.

How could we have been prepared?

Prepared for nuclear war, yes.

Prepared to kill those threatening our very existence in this universe, yes.

But were we prepared for the invasion of the silent body snatchers? The perfect actors who kept us from knowing the truth, pretending to be us for months and years one end.

It was too late for us to act, by the time we figured it out, our world had been stolen.

The Earth was no longer in human hands, but something else.


It's been five years since I went into hiding.

Five years of cold nights, empty stomachs, long walks, stiff backs and constant fear.

The fear of being caught and then turned into a thief.

A murderer.

What right did they have to take our world, to eliminate our freedom, steal our bodies and simply throw our minds away?

None. None what so ever.

I haven't seen a human for five years.

Well, an alive one.

I'm beginning to think I'm the only one left. But with Seekers still about, it was unlikely that they were all searching for me.

Seekers.

The creatures who are running the rest of humanity off the map, into distinction. People like me.

The night is cold again, thankfully the wind has died down. Less shudders, less shivers tumbling down my spine.

I've been hiding in this loft for three months now, with two creatures leaving beneath me. They suspect nothing and if they do. . .

They'll be greeted by my sawed-off shotgun, my hunting knife and my 9mm handgun that I stole off a Seeker. The shotgun belonged to my dad, as did the knife.

Belonged meaning his mind has been stolen, belonged meaning a creature now controls the movements of his flesh, knowing everything my father knew.

I took the handgun about a year ago, and I would have stolen more of its weapons if I had the time. But five more Seekers were in pursuit, telling me not to hurt myself, whilst firing warning shots at me.

It was the thirty-seventh Seeker I have killed in my five years of service. Serving mankind, even at the brink.

The thought off those thirty seven creatures, those things, those parasites, puts a smile on my face.

They do not deserve compassion or kindness like fellow human beings do. They only deserve my wrath and my knife slitting their good-for-nothing throats.

My anger keeps me company most nights.

It gives me reason to live, to wipe the scum off this earth, gives me reason not to blow my brains out with my dad's shotgun.

I am so thankful that I have these weapons. They keep me safe, keep the fear of being found locked away somewhere in my unconsciousness.

I am grateful that my dad constantly went hunting, even though I used to hate it. The sound of that single shattering bullet hitting a poor, innocent animal made me sick to my stomach.

Still does, though now the irony amuses me.

I hated my dad when he killed things, and here I was now killing those fucking things without regret.

But they didn't steal our world like those parasites, that innocent little deer didn't destroy my family, take them away from me.

Leaving me alone.

So alone.


Two more minutes.

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Two more minutes until I leave this loft and move onto another place.

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Two minutes until midnight.

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The creatures are asleep now, have been for two hours, every night they go to bed at ten o'clock sharp, no exceptions. They keep our routines too perfectly.

Like machines.

Get home from work at seven. Watch Lover's Journey until eight. Quick snack of fruit after first break. Dinner for half an hour. Cleaning up until nine. Conversation until nine thirty. Ten minutes changing. Ten minutes in bathroom. Five minutes securing house and turning lights off. Five minutes of quick conversation and getting into bed.

Then sleep.

Eight hours off sleep, without fault. Like clockwork.

One more minute until I run again.

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57

I have everything packed, the shotgun around my back, the handgun in my back pocket, the knife in my hands, my few belongings in my backpack. Two crackers. One litre of water. Three sets of clothing.

One picture.

The faded picture of my family. Back when they were humans. Back when the world seemed easy and effortless.

3

2

1

I stand, moving around the boxes of aged music albums and old items put away, left to rot here in this dingy hole above the living space. I am silent as I tip toe towards the window.

Opening it slightly, a creak sounds. I pause, hesitate and wait. Wait for Seekers to burst into the loft and shoot me dead.

I continue.

I'm out the window within a minute and I cling onto the frame as I position myself to jump. Twenty-five feet. First, I drop the bag and listen for any movement.

Everything is quiet.

My muscles tense when I examine the drop. I breathe deeply and reassure myself that I have done this many times before.

Fifty-two times in fact.

Air sweeps around me and a sudden charge of adrenaline invades my veins. Landing quietly, I roll forwards to save my legs the impact of the fall.

I grab my bag and sit for a moment, checking if anything heard me or saw me. Within seconds I am moving through the back garden and climbing over the fence.

London used to smell different. I remember the first time I came here with my family, it was so different from the countryside, so busy, so vibrant.

But London is now infected with them.

With the parasites.

The stench of pollution, sewage and fish and chips have gone with the fall of humanity.

I have to travel at night. Travelling in daylight's a death wish.

My feet take me through the back gardens of the next few houses, then climbing over another fence, I reach the pavement by a quiet road, devoid of life.

Parasite or human.

The stars twinkle their minimal light down on me. That's probably the only thing that hasn't changed. The sky. Well maybe except the thousands of shuttles flying across it .

Thousands of them land in the city, London being the main place for arriving shuttles from different worlds.

Other stolen worlds.

I have learnt this from overhearing news reports and advertisements of work for parasites.

Fulfill your calling now at Heathrow International. Welcoming our family home.

Home?! The bastards. This is our home, human territory.

The anger began to swell in my mind, propelling my feet forward. Taking the pistol from my pocket, I gripped it hard, my finger pressing gently on the trigger.

Too caught up in my rage, I fail to notice the parasite walking ahead.

Damn it.

It's too late for me to put the gun away, too loud for me to shoot the parasite in this empty street, only lite by alien lamps. These lights were placed by the sides of the road, emitting a strange turquoise light.

What happened the familiar orange colour of old street lamps?

The "female" parasite gasped, now about twenty feet in front of me, and placed its hands over its mouth.

"Do not be alarmed, Miss, I am a Seeker," I coax, putting the gun away. I continue my approach with a calm stroll and a worried expression on my face. "You should not be out so late, there are reports of humans not far from here and I wouldn't want the savages to harm you." My voice is calm, smooth and patronising, imitating other Seekers I have heard.

I watched its eyes flicker to the scar on my neck as I stop only a few feet from her. Relief swarms its expression and I ignore the undoubtedly strong urge to slit her throat.

"Oh that's okay," she commented, giving me a polite smile. Parasites were always polite, ridiculously so.

"My name is Blinking Shadow," I say, giving her my gloved hand to shake.

"You're from the Ghost World?" she continues as I give her a nod. "Wow, well I'm Leaf Crystal."

"A flower, I presume," I pretend that the parasite is an old friend, making polite conversation as they pass each other by on the street.

"Oh yes, it's so beautiful there," her smile stretched further, the twists in my stomach getting tighter.

Urgh, fucking parasites make me sick.

"Well, you should be getting home now, Leaf Crystal, please take care."

I had learnt this knowledge from living in many different houses, the homes of the parasites. I knew most of the planets that had been stolen, this helps me provide the perfect cover stories, though I avoid it as much as possible.

I nod the parasite goodnight and continue my journey, increasing my pace the second I round the corner.

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