The Beginning of the Nightmare
Gren awoke to the eerie sound of silence. It was a rare thing
in a military encampment, and he sat up with a start, wondering if
he'd been left behind. Climbing out of the small trench, he brushed
some of the sand and dust off his uniform, and looked around.
A chill wind blew around the camp, stirring the tattered remains
of a Ganymede flag. But nothing else was moving. He could see the
other men sleeping in scattered tents, sand blowing over them without
their noticing. Glancing over at the water tower, Gren saw that even
the guards of the precious water supply were sleeping. All around
him, they sat slumped against rocks, their heads resting limply on
their chests.
"Hey, Biggs," Gren said cheerfully, spying someone he
recognized. The man didn't respond, and Gren knelt down in front of
him. "Biggs, wake up." He gently shook the man's shoulders, the
realization hitting him like the jolt out of hyperspace. Biggs wasn't
sleeping. Biggs was dead. Gren rose slowly to his feet. He knew he
was on the verge of something terrible. It was as if an invisible
sandstorm were racing toward him, and he couldn't stop it. He
couldn't even see it coming. All he could do was watch as his entire
world blew away around him.
Dead. They were all dead. Gren sat down again, cradling his
head in his hands, trying to fight back the overwhelming fear that
maybe he was the only living, breathing thing left on this entire
planet. What on earth had happened? How could they all be . . .dead?
Not a word, or a scream, no evidence that anything had happened at
all. It was as if something had merely swooped down upon them,
silently sucking the life out of them all. So then why had it missed
him?
Gren's throat tightened, his mouth suddenly dry as the desert
around him. He fumbled for his canteen, glad he had remembered to
refill it.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Gren paused, the mouth of
the canteen halfway to his lips, and looked over to see Vicious
standing a few feet away. He had abandoned his uniform in favor of
strange, black garb, his sword still at his side. Gren immediately
dropped his canteen, thanking the stars that at least he wasn't alone.
"Vicious! I'm so glad you're here! Where did you go? What. .
. what on Earth happened here? Vicious, everyone's dead!"
"I know," Vicious replied, his voice low and calm. "I'm the one
who killed them all."
This was not at all the answer Gren had been expecting. What
did Vicious mean? He wasn't telling the truth, was he? And why was
he dressed so strangely? All those black clothes, and that long
trenchcoat, what was he thinking?
"Vicious. . .that's not funny." Gren said, laughing nervously
all the same. His laughter faded at the cold look in Vicious' eyes.
"But. . .how? Why?"
"Oh, there must have been something in the water. . ." Vicious
replied casually. Gren's eyes widened in shock. He had poisoned the
drinking water? Their one source of survival on this godforsaken
place, and he had defiled it. He had used it to kill his fellow
soldiers, the men who followed him loyally, who fought beside him.
"They were your comrades. . ." he said, at a loss for words.
"I don't need comrades."
"Then why did you leave me alive!" Gren shouted, fighting back
the tears that had sprung into his eyes.
"Simple. I need a scapegoat." The wicked smile on Vicious'
face, coupled with his words, struck a blow to Gren that went straight
through his heart.
"At least tell me why. Why did you do this?" He asked
brokenly, choking the words out through his tears.
"I was sent as a spy for the Syndicate on Mars."
"The Syndicate?" Gren repeated, stunned. "What do they have to
do with the war?"
"They are the ones behind it. The Lunar Colonization and
Development Corporation is nothing but a front for the Syndicate. I
was simply sent here to protect the Syndicate's investments."
"No, it's not true!" Gren screamed, falling to his knees. This
wasn't happening, it couldn't be. How had things changed from normal,
to chaotic in just a night? These men, men he had talked to, shared
stories with, they were dead. And the man he had admired most was the
one behind it all. He was the cause of their deaths.
"Think whatever you wish. But I wouldn't stay here long if I
were you. The military police will be by very shortly, to capture the
spy." The second realization came like a wave of cold water, and it
threatened to pull Gren under. Vicious was gone, but his words echoed
in Gren's mind.
:: "Simple, I need a scapegoat.":: And that was him. Vicious
had somehow made sure this would all be tied to Gren. After all, with
the entire camp dead, the commander missing, all signs would point to
the one man left standing. Gren knew what had to be done. He had to
escape somehow. He had to get off Titan.
He had to get back home.
Gren awoke to the eerie sound of silence. It was a rare thing
in a military encampment, and he sat up with a start, wondering if
he'd been left behind. Climbing out of the small trench, he brushed
some of the sand and dust off his uniform, and looked around.
A chill wind blew around the camp, stirring the tattered remains
of a Ganymede flag. But nothing else was moving. He could see the
other men sleeping in scattered tents, sand blowing over them without
their noticing. Glancing over at the water tower, Gren saw that even
the guards of the precious water supply were sleeping. All around
him, they sat slumped against rocks, their heads resting limply on
their chests.
"Hey, Biggs," Gren said cheerfully, spying someone he
recognized. The man didn't respond, and Gren knelt down in front of
him. "Biggs, wake up." He gently shook the man's shoulders, the
realization hitting him like the jolt out of hyperspace. Biggs wasn't
sleeping. Biggs was dead. Gren rose slowly to his feet. He knew he
was on the verge of something terrible. It was as if an invisible
sandstorm were racing toward him, and he couldn't stop it. He
couldn't even see it coming. All he could do was watch as his entire
world blew away around him.
Dead. They were all dead. Gren sat down again, cradling his
head in his hands, trying to fight back the overwhelming fear that
maybe he was the only living, breathing thing left on this entire
planet. What on earth had happened? How could they all be . . .dead?
Not a word, or a scream, no evidence that anything had happened at
all. It was as if something had merely swooped down upon them,
silently sucking the life out of them all. So then why had it missed
him?
Gren's throat tightened, his mouth suddenly dry as the desert
around him. He fumbled for his canteen, glad he had remembered to
refill it.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Gren paused, the mouth of
the canteen halfway to his lips, and looked over to see Vicious
standing a few feet away. He had abandoned his uniform in favor of
strange, black garb, his sword still at his side. Gren immediately
dropped his canteen, thanking the stars that at least he wasn't alone.
"Vicious! I'm so glad you're here! Where did you go? What. .
. what on Earth happened here? Vicious, everyone's dead!"
"I know," Vicious replied, his voice low and calm. "I'm the one
who killed them all."
This was not at all the answer Gren had been expecting. What
did Vicious mean? He wasn't telling the truth, was he? And why was
he dressed so strangely? All those black clothes, and that long
trenchcoat, what was he thinking?
"Vicious. . .that's not funny." Gren said, laughing nervously
all the same. His laughter faded at the cold look in Vicious' eyes.
"But. . .how? Why?"
"Oh, there must have been something in the water. . ." Vicious
replied casually. Gren's eyes widened in shock. He had poisoned the
drinking water? Their one source of survival on this godforsaken
place, and he had defiled it. He had used it to kill his fellow
soldiers, the men who followed him loyally, who fought beside him.
"They were your comrades. . ." he said, at a loss for words.
"I don't need comrades."
"Then why did you leave me alive!" Gren shouted, fighting back
the tears that had sprung into his eyes.
"Simple. I need a scapegoat." The wicked smile on Vicious'
face, coupled with his words, struck a blow to Gren that went straight
through his heart.
"At least tell me why. Why did you do this?" He asked
brokenly, choking the words out through his tears.
"I was sent as a spy for the Syndicate on Mars."
"The Syndicate?" Gren repeated, stunned. "What do they have to
do with the war?"
"They are the ones behind it. The Lunar Colonization and
Development Corporation is nothing but a front for the Syndicate. I
was simply sent here to protect the Syndicate's investments."
"No, it's not true!" Gren screamed, falling to his knees. This
wasn't happening, it couldn't be. How had things changed from normal,
to chaotic in just a night? These men, men he had talked to, shared
stories with, they were dead. And the man he had admired most was the
one behind it all. He was the cause of their deaths.
"Think whatever you wish. But I wouldn't stay here long if I
were you. The military police will be by very shortly, to capture the
spy." The second realization came like a wave of cold water, and it
threatened to pull Gren under. Vicious was gone, but his words echoed
in Gren's mind.
:: "Simple, I need a scapegoat.":: And that was him. Vicious
had somehow made sure this would all be tied to Gren. After all, with
the entire camp dead, the commander missing, all signs would point to
the one man left standing. Gren knew what had to be done. He had to
escape somehow. He had to get off Titan.
He had to get back home.