The Dark Cell part 3 of 5.

3 of 5.

DK destroyed the last enemy tank, now a pile of molten metal and burning flesh. The dark miasma had lift under the heat of the main energy canon. The battle field was his, and DK stood there, calm like a lion over the dead remains of his pray. Glorious. The men in the room were dazzled and soon, when the fine and extremely expensive champagne started to be served, was clear that the United Nations Military Defense Force just become another happy costumer of the Odin Arms Industry, the largest and now the most powerful corporation on the face of the Earth. She watched the powerful men drinking the champagne and laughing and she felt a dark cold rage inside her: Do they even care about the fact that the people who bottled such fancy drinks in France were all dead? A entire country? And you Frederick? Did you remember Francine? Oh, don’t worry, she whispered to herself with a mischievous, malicious smile: I will make sure you remember.

Back to memory lane, nine months after the alien attack. Was strange, Alien attack sounded too eerie, to absurd to be serious, but it was. She and Francine started to work directly under the command of one of largest arms manufacturer of the world, the Odin Arms Corporation.

-Dear, you have to look this new data from the field… It’s WAY worst than we believed…

-Fran, don’t scare me. How bad can it be?

-The alien… organisms simply grow up around and inside machinery like tanks and war ships, but… Well, just take a look…

She grab the tablet, and browse over the raw data.

-Fuck…? The damn tank becomes a living thing?!? Organic metallic and ceramic armor? Organic engines? Oh shit. No wonder they can take so much punishment, they can heal, HEAL damage!

-Oh yeah, at a stupidly dreadful rate: they heal at least five to eight times faster than humans, without feeding or refueling, as far as we know. Fuck physics, I guess. Fred said it will be on the news tomorrow. Hasty decision if you ask me…

-Francine… Still having this…after work relationship with Frederick?

-Yes… But it’s just for fun. I don’t know why you become so afraid of him in the last months, he is just the same corporation hotshot as before.

She gulped, remembering not only the satisfaction on Frederick’s face in euthanizing her cats, but to force her to implant similar chips on the brains of humans. Volunteers, he said. But they looked more like hostages, hostages that feared the young man to the point to let him implant chips on their brains and… mess with their mind architecture, causing…

-It’s nothing…really. Look Fran, just… don’t get too close. He isn’t a nice guy.

Fran raised a eyebrow, at first to mock, but the stern look on Michele face, silent her.

-…You know what, mon cher? I can find better man! Now come here!

Francine hugged Michele tenderly. In the last months, Michele lost everything that resembled a family in the endless wars that erupted around the world. Fran was now her sister, mother, her best and only friend, and Francine treasured it.

-Look mon cher, let’s put a lid on it, d’accord?

-Right…! Look… tomorrow is…

-Your birthday! Yay! Excited?

-Not much…

-You better be! I arranged a party, lot’s of those nerds from chaos mathematic analytic research, you know, the adorable ones!

-You…

-Of course I will, silly. You think I would miss my  besty’s birthday party?!

The harshness of the memories forced Michele back to the present. Francine never went to that party. She remember how people told her that she probably lost the time or got caught on another appointment, but she insisted that something was wrong. They won’t listen to her, even after they found out that her cell-phone was off-line, and that no one saw her leaving the laboratory that night. When two policemen entered and asked for her attention, she already knew what happened.

She got up, brushed the hair and walked to a large armored door, which opened to her without any need for commands or passwords: BK, Bee Kay, DK older “sister”, a AI, took care of that part of the complex, and BK like all Michelle’s “babies” knew who her mommy was.

-Bee?

-Yes mom?

-Things went as expected, and considering that money to buy guns was never an issue to those fine gentlemen, I think is safe to say we will soon start the mass production of DK-129 sentient tanks. How we are on that?

-Mom, twelve of our 45 large heavy assembly lines are already prepared. We have 80 units, the mass production model, ready for deployment. We will have another 62 ready by the end of the week. Once we start the production at full capacity, we will be able to deliver 12 new units every two weeks. More, if another large assembly lines are designated to this project. All material, ammo and other surplus are already safeguarded.

-Bunch of idiots. If you were on the helm we would deliver 12 new units per day…!

-Thank you mother, but I must disagree. My analysis says that my top production would be of only 9 units per week.

-Ah Bee, you are my very special girl… And the OS? Any problems?

-No, the latest version you designed has the same performance than the last, plus more stability when facing logic paradoxes.

-Good, that wraps everything with a big ribbon…

She walked away. Part of her felt guilt, but then the rage, the cold discrete rage, came and murdered any possible regret she could still have. OS.DKVs7… It was her gift, to all of them, those bloody, murderous bastards.  

Porcelain dolls

one more short tale i wrote for /x/

PORCELAIN DOLLS.

Fred woke up from his uncomfortable sleep. Not that the first class was bad, but the dreams, oh, those were dreadful. His grandmother house, old and scary, and all those dolls…

-Fuck, my head is killing me…

He press the button to call the flight attendant, he really need a aspirin… and something strong to drink.

As he straight up in his chair, he notice something eerie next to him: In the chair close to the window, at his left, a small blanket cover something.

-Strange- He think- I bought both seats… what could be it?

Curious, he pull the blanket. Underneath, a beautifully crafted porcelain doll, with long curly hair, white face and red lips.

He jump in his chair. Oh he hated those! In his mind the voice of his grandmother, proud full owner of hundreds of those creepy things:

-Freddy-She would say- pay attention to the quality of the hair! It’s the real thing. Sometimes they took the hair of dead little girls, that’s how things were back then.

Repulsing, unfunny and undeserved. He don’t bothered anyone aboard, so why would anyone pull such prank…

-Calm down… It’s just a doll. I bet a little girl left it there by mistake…

For the first time, he gave a good look around the first class: Everything was dark and quiet. Few lights were still on. He found no one sitting close to him, strange, well someone changed chairs, right. He got up and walked to one of the places where the light was on.

He bent over to start a conversation, but he almost felt backwards: A doll, a porcelain doll, sit on the chair, a book open over her frilly dress, and a cryptic look in her eyes.

Oh yes, the eyes, she was looking at him.

He went back to his seat with the heart pounding. Once there, he covered the doll, and pressed the button like mad.

-Cmmon where are the damn flight attendant?

-Excuse me sir, did you call?

Finally, she was there. He begun to turn to the voice, but what he saw hit him like a punch in the stomach. He let go a laud cry of fear: A doll, another damned porcelain doll, over the flight attendant cart. Talking to him.

--Sir!? Please, you will wake up the other passengers! What’s wrong?

He raced through the corridor, looking in every chair. And in every single one, a damned doll, looking at him, like little demons with glass eyes and wicked smiles.

Suddenly one reach and touch his shoulder, he cry and slap it away.

-NOO, get away from me! Dolls…Dolls! Everywhere!!

His only chance is to go forward, the cabin, it may be locked…but… he have to try.

Desperate, he run and see the door opening slowly.

No time to explain, he must enter!

He throw himself against the door and enter the pilots cabin:

-HELP, HELP THE…

His voice dies, as he look and see…

Dolls, Porcelain dolls, everywhere.

Hours later, a man is taken away in a straight jacket in a busy airport. A pilot talk to a flight attendant:

-What the hell was that?

-I don’t know… he just kept talking about dolls…

FIN 

RAT MAN.

Lurking on /x/, i made this short tale, please, enjoy!

RAT MAN.

Craven woke up with the burning Sun on his tiny rat eyes. Small and scared eyes, constantly seeking food or danger, like everything else on Craven, they looked more suitable to a rodent than for a man. But maybe because he was such a “man-rat” he was alive.

When all the rest where dead.

Every single one, dead. Dead. Dead.

He felt sorry for himself, was horrible to be alone in such horrible world, cursed the others for dying, and enjoyed a cruel pleasure thinking that his “enemies” were all dead too, from bullies to bosses. Scum.

Scum.

He dragged his tiny thin body to the ledge and looked down: His “rat nest” was nothing but a concrete slab, unreachable to most, dangling over the ruined city.

Cowering like a vermin, he peeked: No movement, everything clear.

They could be awaiting down there.

With great dexterity he slipped his body all the way down to the street, and without a noise landed on the cracked sidewalk.

Then he runned, from shadow to shadow, corner to corner, playinga one-man hide and seek, till he found a store: Global HiperMarket.

After hours gathering cans of food he decided to run back home, when he heard a noise: someone dragging foots outside the store.

*

A coward, Craven decided not to investigate. Better run, he thought with his tiny rat brain, and sprinted to the back door.

Again on the dead streets, he saw them. They found him, again.

Half a dozen of decaying, stiff corpses, some grayish, others dark, all dragging their bodies... in his direction. Tall and short, man and women, even child, they were there, monsters hunting him.

-NOOO! S..Stay away!

Stuttering curses and tripping on his own feet he tried to fled, with the undead on his heels.

One was a woman, with a rotting round face, fat, using a apron and spiting a dark mucus from her mouth as she tried to scream something:

-Ungrateful...

-No! You monster, I... I am not ungrateful!

Other zombie, older, decrepit, his lower jaw nothing more than bones and maggots growled with anger:

-You coward, you sissy...

-Shut up,  SHUT THE FUCK UP NOW! YOU ARE DEAD I AM NOT!

He trip on a rock and felt, twisting his ankle and dropping the cans he gathered before. Hands and knees bleeding, unable to stand, he scream and cry.

*

-Wimp, always...crying...-A tall strong undead mocked with a grin.

Ashamed of his own tears, furious with the mockery, he try to reach one of the cans, but instead he grab something soft, dead, rot. A little girl’s ankle. She stand there, with piercing eyes, at her side a woman, her mother. He know it.

-Liar. And assassin.

He gasp losing any control he had over himself:

-No! No! I just wanted to stay alive! I had to do it...!I’TS NOT MY FAULT!

He feels the strong cold grasp of two large hands on his shoulders, and as he look up to his capturer, he recognize a man from his past.

-Craven, you always try to dodge responsibility. Craven, the Rat Man.

The sinister mob repeats:

-Craven! The RAT man! RAT man!

The old woman talk again:

-Ungrateful son, I feed you, I lived for you, but when you got big enough, you did nothing but stealing and beating me. In the end, you thrown me from the stairs, all to sell the house I lived in.

Again the mob cried in one voice:

-Craven! Ungrateful rat man!! RAT man!

The other zombie looked at him with disgust:

-Wimp...Coward... and a Sissy. That’s what you are. No, not my grandson, since small, only stealing, only backstabbing. You are no good!

-Craven! You are no good! RAT man!

*

-Wimp... Never accomplished nothing, always afraid of everything... pretending to be a poor nice person, before biting the hand that helps you. I remember those false tears. I saved you that day, took care of your lazy ass, and during my sleep, you cut my throat...Traitor!

-Craven! Traitor! Rat man!!!

He tried to brake free, but only felt on the middle of the group of undead, dozens of them. Now was the woman with the little girl who spoke:

-Liar. And assassin. We found you in the waste lands, and we brought you to our house. But how you paid us back? You put rat poison in our food. Treacherous murder...Killed for nothing more than a blanket and a gallon of rain water. Scum!

-CRAVEEEN!!! SSSSCUM!! RAT MAN SCUM!!!

-NO!!

The last zombie, the taller and stronger of them all picked one of the cans that were laying on the floor:

-You are like a rat carrying the plague, kill everyone you touch. A liar, a coward, a murderer. The last man on earth. Night and day you give yourself a little tap on the back, because you outlived society, and even justice. But deep inside, you know that no one can escape justice.

And the large zombie throw the can in his head, cutting his scalp.

-That’s why you create us: Your past, back from the dead, to haunt you. To punish you. To make justice to the last man on Earth.

Some zombies threw rocks, other cans, other delivered kicks, punches, bites. As the day become night, he screamed, in the dark, were his mind gave him...a death worth of a rat.

Fin.

last ghouls galore submission.

My last ghouls galore submission, was a fun ride, please enjoy!

She stood with the letter opener in her hands; wearing the silk nightdress. She woke up, unsure if the crashing noise was real or just a bad dream, when the footsteps begun: in the kitchen. When the foot steps start climbing the stairs, she jumped and locked her door. Strange gurgling sounds come from the bathroom. She weighted her options: her bedroom was too high to jump, and no one would come in the next couple days. Unlocking the door, she walked toward the stairs. To get there, she had to cross the bathroom, the door wide open, lights lit, as if waiting for her. She decided to run. She was the fastest runner in the town. But a dark figure eclipsed her plans: A creature, tall, covered with long brown fur and sharp claws, left the bathroom looking at her, and with imperative commanded: GIRL! Where you keep the damn antacids?!

Stunned, she answered automatically: B...bottom, left drawer!!

It turned around, into the bathroom. Oblivious to what his appearance caused, it kept talking: My bowels are killing me! This borborygmic noises, why I ate so much? Damn kids!

She whispered: it...ate kids?

She got up and ran away, down the stairs and into the night. Probably breaking a couple records. The monster kept on: ... Kids! They say: “try this one! And this!” But I’m not young! I can’t eat so much candy...Where are you girl? Eh, no respect for the elderly! What a thing leaving without saying goodbye!

Ghouls Galore Challenge 3rd Week!

Absquatulante Gormagon!

Two guards rushed inside the museum storage room. It’ was past midnight and the only one who should be there, besides them of course, was the curator, and old, strange man, that was laying on the floor. The blood, drained from his face, the few hairs he had left on his head, raised, eyes wide open, staring at a large, empty crate were they could read “unidentified animal remains, mummified- 1880”.

-Doctor? What happened?

The old man stuttered: -An Absquatulante Gormagon…!

Both guards exchanged confused glances.

-A what?

-An Absquatulante Gormagon, idiot! It took my pocket watch…! And will probably steal other things!

So was a thief, no need to use fancy words... The guards asked:

-Okay, we can handle it, now please, describe the thief!

-Yes … where should I start?

-Hair color, clothes, anything!

-Eyes! I saw them clearly! One was green!

-Good… please continue!

- And it also had a blue eye! And a hazel!

-… You said before it was green!

-ONE of them was green! The other three were brown.

-…How many thieves you saw?

-One! It was naked! And was four meters tall, had three mouths…

-Wait, seriously?

-Of course!! Look, it steals things for fun…where are you going? I have more details …wait for me, hey!

Hidden in the darkness, the odd Gorgamon watched the trio. By nature, he was driven to gather things-or steal you choose-and run. It played with his new golden watch, before walking deeper into the museum…

ghoul 2nd week!

Second submission to ghouls galore, was quite hard pull the rabbit out the hat this time, i hope you all enjoy!

I lay on my bed, but can’t sleep. Something is out of place. The city is quiet, once most of my neighbors decided to enjoy the holyday traveling, and I whisper to myself that I turn unaccustumed to silence, but still…I get up look through the window, where I see a strange movement. Small, dark, figures in hoods marching together, to the woods that surround this neighborhood. Curious, I follow them silently. I see them squeezing through an decadent old duct that drain the rain water and prevent the small pond from overflowing. Now I should leave, I say to myself, and maybe call someone. But I am not in control of myself anymore. I kneel and crawl on the mud into the claustrophobic darkness. I am in a place I know I shouldn’t be, where torches lit my way. I hear something, chatting, coming from hundreds of small hooded figures with hideous sharp voices. They look at me, with no surprise. One start a speech, to praise the Master of them all, the Chthonic People, Lord Lucifer. I lay down on cold stone, a defenseless lamb waiting to be sacrificed. I see a claw raising a rust dagger over my head. It’s the last thing I remember, before waking.

-God! What nightmare…

Trying to calm my nerves, I look through my window, and my blood freezes: They are there, small hooded creatures, marching into the woods.

I close the curtains, hide under the blankets, whispering…Nope! Not even in my dreams!

i Was bored...

so i made a little survey