Pop. I puked. Space spiraled down my mind frame and I remembered the vastness becoming a hallow vacuum with a one way ticket to smack the earth.
Well, not Earth. Check the oxygen tanks. No, how many days has it been?
Blood was smeared in the cargo bay, slithered entrails sliming a path to a gaping hole where there once was the west wall of our ship.
I puked again. I've forgotten. As sleep wears off, I realize I am still armed to the teeth, still waiting for whatever is out there to come for me. So this is what it feels like to be fucked.
Yuzu was dead. I had to watch Elisa, sliced and skin graffed into some sort of sick fucking living machine, foaming at the mouth as she was slowly being consumed by something I could never understand.
Convinced by a disgustingly wealthy, bored son of a wacked Yakuza mobster to pleasure cruise on his personal extraorbital yacht and here I am.
What is this planet? What do I even call these...things...that are coming to claim me? Does anybody know we crashed here? Does anybody even know about this world?
________
Sitting on top of the ruined mess that was the observation port, I smoke a Parliament. The sun casts a purplish hue, causing the shadows to crawl over the ridgeline and the mountains in the distance. Two moons wait, quietly biding their time before the sun dies and they rule the sky once more.
Rising above the peak of the valley is the tower, a gleaming composite of flesh spliced into mummified circuity. It makes no noise. I've tried scanning it probably fifty times. I know the refrain: This Station Is Nonoperational.
I counted the days again. By the sheer mathematics of everything, tonight I am proper fucked. I have no more decks to hide in or mines to plant. For three nights, all hell has broken loose, and for three nights, I have prayed to Jesus, if he operates in this nightmare of a world. But the things...the aliens...seem to go out of their way to avoid the temple.
I am still baffled by it. Out of a bleak biomechanical landscape scorched by hybrid beings, a Roman temple gleams, perfect. I imagined the Ceasars bearing offerings to Mars, high priests chanting under an Ionic freeze, legions forming a phalanx barrier to protect me. What was this seeming relic of ancient Earth doing on this planet?
I need to be there.
Well, not Earth. Check the oxygen tanks. No, how many days has it been?
Blood was smeared in the cargo bay, slithered entrails sliming a path to a gaping hole where there once was the west wall of our ship.
I puked again. I've forgotten. As sleep wears off, I realize I am still armed to the teeth, still waiting for whatever is out there to come for me. So this is what it feels like to be fucked.
Yuzu was dead. I had to watch Elisa, sliced and skin graffed into some sort of sick fucking living machine, foaming at the mouth as she was slowly being consumed by something I could never understand.
Convinced by a disgustingly wealthy, bored son of a wacked Yakuza mobster to pleasure cruise on his personal extraorbital yacht and here I am.
What is this planet? What do I even call these...things...that are coming to claim me? Does anybody know we crashed here? Does anybody even know about this world?
________
Sitting on top of the ruined mess that was the observation port, I smoke a Parliament. The sun casts a purplish hue, causing the shadows to crawl over the ridgeline and the mountains in the distance. Two moons wait, quietly biding their time before the sun dies and they rule the sky once more.
Rising above the peak of the valley is the tower, a gleaming composite of flesh spliced into mummified circuity. It makes no noise. I've tried scanning it probably fifty times. I know the refrain: This Station Is Nonoperational.
I counted the days again. By the sheer mathematics of everything, tonight I am proper fucked. I have no more decks to hide in or mines to plant. For three nights, all hell has broken loose, and for three nights, I have prayed to Jesus, if he operates in this nightmare of a world. But the things...the aliens...seem to go out of their way to avoid the temple.
I am still baffled by it. Out of a bleak biomechanical landscape scorched by hybrid beings, a Roman temple gleams, perfect. I imagined the Ceasars bearing offerings to Mars, high priests chanting under an Ionic freeze, legions forming a phalanx barrier to protect me. What was this seeming relic of ancient Earth doing on this planet?
I need to be there.