This is shorter then the others, but I'm quite happy with it.
A little bit of back story; this is loosely based on part of the plot of a Mass Effect 2 mission. More at the bottom, so I don't spoil anything.
Review Replies;
Movie-Brat: I'm glad I'm not the only one who saw it then. More clips would be helpful, thanks :). Thanks for reading!
unknown20troper: Just you wait - I'll scam her scam of my scam yet! XD Thanks for reviewing.
Cartooniac55: Wait and see. I have an idea, but I don't want to reveal it yet. Thanks for the review!
Zim'sMostLoyalServant: I'm glad you liked it, I'll do a part two later this month. Thanks very much!
7/10/10: Dead Gods
Final Journal Entry of Dr. AJ Ibrehim – January 2020.
My only hope is that someone will read this.
I can't say my entire team is dead, but I wish I could. They're worse then dead. I can hear their moans outside my van.
I am not going to join them. I have gathered three things on my desk – a pen, some paper and a .45. I'm not going to live, but I intend to decide my own fate.
It all began three or four weeks ago, in London. Some guys were widening the Circle Line (one of the underground or 'Tube' railway lines) when they unearthed an ancient tunnel. It was searched, and they found this.
It's an alien machine, so large that it could cover the whole of Greater London. It was shaped like a bug, a cockroach, and carbon dating got it at around fifty-thousand years.
A dedicated team was sent into the tunnel. My team.
I was the head science officer. The leader of the team was Lieutenant-Colonel Dash Baxter, of the 75th US Rangers. The rest of the military component consisted of twelve other rangers. My science team numbered seven, and there were fourteen civilian workers. There were thirty-four of us all together.
We moved into the machine, setting up camp at what I estimated was two miles inside. I set to work studying its construction, its mechanics. It was incredible; I couldn't even comprehend a lot of its workings. What I could would have revolutionised science as we know it.
But it also seemed a bit…wrong. Not in the construction, but in the feel of the machine. You always felt like something was watching you, seeing everything you did, maybe even influencing you.
I remember on day three, one of my scientists, Dr. Neutron, was talking to the psychiatrist, Dr. [Jazz] Fenton, about his brother. I thought nothing of it until later that evening, when I realised that Dr. Neutron didn't even have a brother. When I questioned him, he adamantly insisted that he had a brother and – confusingly enough – that Dr. Fenton was in fact mistaken about having a brother.
It all went downhill quickly from there. Many of the crew began complaining of 'voices whispering in the back of their heads'. Before long, all of us heard them. We couldn't understand their language, but I deducted that they were urging us to succumb…it was attempted indoctrination.
It worked. Before long, most of us were forgetting to eat or sleep, just focusing on the voices. Colonel Baxter, one of the few who remained level-headed, gathered together his rangers and suggested that we make our way out.
We took the vehicles, but even then most were on foot. We moved at snails pack, back towards the tunnel to freedom. But we were getting more and more irrational. Many of the group peeled off, wandered back inside.
We were not far from the tunnel when one of the soldiers – Private Tontini – pulled out his pistol and fired two shots. The Colonel fell, dead.
I ducked into my caravan and shut the door. I heard unearthly, horrible moaning from outside – I fell into despair and cried.
They've been clawing at the door for an hour now. I can see them. They're not even human anymore. Hideous, blue-skinned…husks of creation, each emitting a horrific, pitiful moan. Their faces…they're not even faces anymore. They've got glowing blue eyes and their features…it looks kind of like wires outlining them.
If anyone ever reads this, then blow up the tunnel. Hell, if nuking this machine (and by extension, London) is required, do it without hesitation. This thing is an abomination – it must be destroyed.
People will question me. They'll say I went insane, that thing is dead.
It's dead, alright…but dead gods can still dream.
A/N: Right, explaination time!
Reapers are a race of sentient machines with rediculous power that come out of Dark Space (the space between galaxies) every 50,000 years to wipe out all spacefairing civilisations. Rinse and repeat, ad nauseum. One of thier abilities is to 'indoctrinate' organics, particularly those who board a reaper, in which one of two things happens - being turned into a zombie husk, or Indoctrination.
If I wrote about that latter, you would shit bricks.