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1. Run.
2. Kill.
3. sssssssssssssssssssssssssss

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Author Topic: The Others (The Ends Act 4)  (Read 6079 times)

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Re: The Others
« Reply #60 on: October 10, 2010, 09:34:50 AM »

1. Run.

Seeing through two sets of eyes. Feeling through two sets of nerves. On foreign, one familiar.

One foreign, one familiar.



You turn and flee.


Coughing, stumbling, gasping. You fall. You stumble. You retch upon the ground. Your eyes burn. Your throat feels the slime of a thousand mouths. Your hands feel the blood of a thousand lives. The sun burns through the fog and lights your back afire. Violently trembling, tingling. A thousand swords into your body and mind.

Focus. It will be coming. You can feel it coming --


You roar. You scream. The Other has escaped you. You do not know how, you do not know why. You can remember sitting above him, about to pounce, about to feel his flesh rip asunder --

And then nothing. He was gone.

The hole in your memory is like a fissure, raw and gaping. Red mist fills it. But for the moment you are not concerned. For the moment all you know is the Other is close and he will not escape again.

You come back fully into yourself and begin to move. You can still feel him, nearby, not far. He will not escape again.


The double memory hits you like a red wave. There is a delay, you know this. Which means it is closer than you remember. Then he would already be almost upon you. You must hide somehow. But you know he can feel you, can see you in his mind, highlighted in red. You cannot hide.

You cannot hide. You are finished.

Then, a thought. It comes from within yet also from without.

He can see red, but can he see blue?

You pause, considering. But how could you --

Try it.

You slip into a nearby doorway, unsure of even what kind of building it is. The interior is dark and vague. Your eyesight is still in some kind of warped double negative. It makes no sense and you cannot depend on it.

You close your eyes.


He is near. You can see him now. The red fire illuminates him. You close silently, mouths watering.


It's not working. It's not working. It's --


The red fire suddenly goes dark, switched off like a setting sun. You stop, confused. He was right in front of you. The building he has hidden within still stands before you. You snarl in frustration, sending your tendrils forth to find him.


The vines come through the open door, the broken windows, the cracks and holes left by previous violence. You can hear him outside, feel him, pulsing, breathing, hungering. The tendril vines are red and much thicker than those you've seen before. But they are not entirely uniform in size. Some are larger, longer. Some end in blind mouths that emit their own small mewling cries of gluttony. You retreat slowly, quietly, deeper into the building, away from the searching death.


You find nothing within. You withdraw your tendrils and roar, pushing forward with an arm to destroy the building. It groans as you wrench parts of it free, tearing into it like a lion into prey. You demolish the entire front section. Part of the building sags as foundation is removed. You peer inside.

Nothing. Darkness.

No. He must be there. He was there. You are sure of it. You step inside.


You have already slipped out the backdoor. You can feel and see the interior of the house (it is a house) now through his eyes, through his senses. He is searching for you but he cannot feel you. You must be very quiet. Very still. You move quickly to a tool shed rising from tall grass.


Your massive maw turns. Back and forth. Back and forth. Relying on your sight is cumbersome. It was much easier to just follow the heat, the flame, the red. You continue through the house, tendrils and vines trailing, probing every corner, every hiding place. Behind the couch. In the closet. Down the halls and into the empty rooms. Under beds, above cupboards, behind toilets. Leaving tails of slime like an army of snails. You come to the back door. It is slightly ajar.

You smile.


Quiet now. Very still.


A backyard filled with grass in desperate need of cutting. Dew clings to each blade from the mist. You lazily send your tendrils forth, searching, searching. They part the grass like a thousand snakes. Your sight centers on a small structure near the rear of the yard. Yes. He would be there.

You close the distance and ever so gently send your tendrils forth under the door. A smaller, more agile vine snakes up behind and unhinges the locking mechanism. The rest of you floods inside.

It will not be long now. He has very little place left to hide.

Behind the workbench. Under it. Around the shelves, knocking over several tools. An open shoebox is pushed down and clatters on the ground, spilling hundreds of nuts and bolts across the concrete floor. The tinkling noise excites you for some reason. You push over the workbench entirely. You rip open a cardboard box.

He is not here.

The realization takes a moment to sink in. He is not inside. He has escaped you once again.

Then the anger. The rage. You scream and your tendrils tense, become weapons. They flail and rip, destroying the interior. Tearing rents in the walls. The noise in incredible, echoing, chaotic. You scream again, digging your arms and tendrils into the shed itself, ripping it apart.

Finally you have spent your rage. You collect yourself. The Other has gone. Somehow, he has escaped. But it is only a momentary reprieve for him. You will find him again. You will hunt him down, and you will witness his face as he realizes his end. You turn and leave. You must escape Limestone before it is destroyed.


Standing behind the single wall left standing behind the shed, you slowly breathe and sigh of relief as the thing hunting you draws off.

As it leaves, the double thoughts, the double senses, leave with it. You could speculate why this is, or anything else, but its final shared thought abruptly reminds you of your urgent need to get the fuck out of Limestone. The whole city is going to be sterilized, and you don't want to be here when it happens.

It's time to go find Nicole.



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