by Candi Bartlett | art by jennibcreative
Dedicated to Uncle Roger, who always had a story to tell, and always wanted to hear one.
Contains themes of violence, suicide, and sexual situations.
Red light flashes overhead. Agent Mills jogs up the stairs of one of twelve massive dormitories. In full surface gear, the only thing agents and citizens can see as they swerve out of his way are his green eyes, stern and focused. The focus covered the fear. He makes his way through the human congestion. Citizens panic, ignoring the automated message... [continue]
When his comm buzzes before false morning, he is startled. When he sees Margrit is already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed stretching her neck, her long back dancing into his fuzzy vision, he is happy. The comm buzzes again and the pink glow bouncing off of her shadowed skin brings West completely awake. He is still tired... [continue]
SecOp is loud. The missile has the attention of too many people at one end. At the other, agents arm the volunteers. Devlin is talking, but West doesn’t really hear any of it. It is so quiet on the surface and too loud inside. It freaks him out.
Over everything, Davis shouts. “Dan, we need you at the wall!”... [continue]
By the time the R&D dome is hit all personnel and active projects have been removed. When the dome does not bust, Davis reports a team of Travelers have taken a terrain vehicle out to the perimeter.
“Sir, they are scanning the dome. We are still unable to get into their signal, but we’ve gained some abilities. High probability they are... [continue]
Doors from the private MAG open to a massive room. Crates and carts line the grey walls. The walls mostly match the floor and ceiling. It makes the room feel oddly short, especially since it seems to stretch on endlessly into the distance. It makes West woozy... [continue]