Sep. 22nd, 2012

acts_of_gord: (knackered)
Stone underfoot, purple and orange streaked overhead, an eye-sucking void of nothing to be seen in between, and a chill dry wind that blows from nowhere to nowhere. He knows this place.

Something in the distance cries out, a screeling sound like the gulls dipping low over Puget Sound. There's nothing there when he turns, of course-

sssso... good of you to join... ussss, Doctor Freeman.

He's still. He's absolutely still.

how... long has it... been? And not one word... from you, in all that... time. one WONders what'sssss... on your mind, hm?

Blank, colorless empty from horizon to horizon; the void gives way to phantoms of Mongolia, to the great dead Worm slumped in Chapada dos Guimarães, to smoke and ash in White Forest-

(The Emperor's gone. The fleet remains.)

-to maggot-monsters, gas-masked, ghosting through shadow and through shafts of blue light untouched by Earthly dust.

sensible thought, Doctor Freeman. I musssst congRATulate you on your... persisssstence... of memory.

There's so many of them.

but one hopes you've done more... than reMEMber. afffffffter all...

They're swarming, like the dime-priced feeder fish in the ninety gallon tank, swirling furiously around each other and over and under and- no, there's an order to it, clumping here, separating there-

The Worm had been the size of buildings. The swarm is sweeping around a building the size of mountains. It glitters black and bright against the eyeless void, pulsing with energies with no human name. Slowly at first, and then faster.

...yoursssss is not the… only stake in this... matter.

The air tastes like ozone, like chewing on tinfoil, as the monstrous machine surges.

sssssomeone's knocking at your DOOR, Doctor Freeman. I assure you... they won't wait for YOU... to open it.

And the skies, what skies there are, are torn asunder-

There's a ceiling overhead. The sheets are stuck to his skin, cold with sweat. There's a pillow under his head. This is Milliways. He's awake.

He's just... going to watch the ceiling for a while, and try to ignore the rushing of his heartbeat in his ears.


acts_of_gord: (Default)
Gordon Freeman

December 2012


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