Dark of the Moon II
Universe, Insecure
Warning: Contains graphic content. Not suitable for younger or more sensitive readers!

"The truth of man is that man sees only himself. The truth of the universe is that it is always insecure."






The Jaffa were a kind not to be called fastidious but they were not a sloppy legion either. The compound was efficiently closed off by an admittedly crude wall and the prisoners lined up. Their captors inspected each one like a farm animal for the slaughterhouse. Most took the inspections without protest. They that did never would see the light of the next day.

"You. Up here."

The captive young man walked woodenly forward; his eyes glazed over and nearly lifeless. The Jaffa poked and prodded him in a way even animals might protest. He didn't move.
Go, boys, go

Jaffa soon shoved the youth onward to another part of the compound. His orders were simple and straightforward: Kill the sick and burn the dead. His task was soon joined by others -- a middle-aged Dwarven woman, an elder half-Orc and a younger Fae-girl. They worked without a word spoken from them and with the expression on their faces that went far beyond fear.

Some thanked their false-god for the presence of their snake armour as others hung by the center of the compound to be as far away from the smell as possible. Even the Jaffa however, strong as they were, were displeased with the smell they could do nothing about. It stank of rotting flesh, of burning flesh and the unwashed among the Surplus. It was an inconvenience but only that. An inconvenience.
They time your every breath

That inconvenience was whisked away from their minds as the horns of Sapa Incas sounded.

And as one, the entire compound took a knee -- Jaffa out of loyalty and the prisoners out of fear. None of them dared look up or turn their heads to the ornately dressed Sapa Incas. He walked where he willed and no one said a word.

"Jaffa!"

The Prime silently brought out the subdued weapon.


The cold began again. Or did it really ever stop? He didn't know anymore; only knew that the cold was present and to stop it even for a while, he was to do as the voices told him to.

Sapa Incas' smile could have been either tender or cruel as beady eyes peered at the imprisoned creature. Prime said nothing as his work was inspected -- seeming to take pride in the deepening skin abrasions caused by the silvery web. It was a tangle over the creature that slowly, inexorably tightened.
And by now, the fact that it was slick with his blood didn't make a difference.

"Will it do as we wish?"

"Yes, Sapa Incas. This Prime has toiled without end to mold the abomination."

Only the Prime's expression came close to matching his superior's almost lascivious sneer. Sapa extended a finger to trace along one of the long abrasions that decorated the creature's papery skin. Seconds later, the blood was licked off and he peered directly into the skeletal, blue face.

"Its face..."

The Prime tilted his head, confused.

"Yes?"

Sapa Incas only smiled and took the creature from his subordinate.

Two days nearer death

Dark of the Moon II
Question of Id

"I think I could turn and live with the animals, they are so placid and self contained;
I stand and look at them long and long.
They do not sweat and whine about their condition;
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins;
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God."
--Walt Whitman





Do as I ask, the cold will cease.

It was like a chant in his head, in his blood and down to his bones. The empty promise never quite remembered, he followed it counting breaths one by one. It wasn't its fault, he rationalised -- the Program simply did as it was built to do. He rationalised. It rationalised.
It explained itself.

It. This being. Life-form. No name. Objective: Survive. Objective: Follow command.

He moved like a puppet on unseen strings, silver threads exerting control as the dominating force the program was. It allowed him to go wherever he might go but the moment an order was issued, there was no question.
The program ensured.

He would follow it.


The silence was unnerving but compared to the seething whispers and the sound of cold, the silence was only unnerving. It was the cold he hated more than the silence -- the cold with the potential to kill had driven his instincts back into the most primeval of ways. All he could do was survive and do what he was told to hopefully keep the cold at bay.

It was a familiar way.

A familiar choice.

The beast chained by the finest of silver threads wandered through the City with his mind so distant that it didn't seem his own. Smells and sounds went unexplored; even the smell of the sea and the docks were only distantly recognised. Freedom was beyond his thinking. Freedom and thriving had flown away ages ago.
He could do only as much to survive.

At the seaside, he was as barren as the land around him. The spray of waves were a distant touch against the wires of the prison he now wore.


...now I question why I fled
And the water at Bull Run runs blood red.