I'm fairly new to this fan fiction thing, and haven't written more than a couple lines of dialogue since the end of last year. Don't go easy on the writing, but just keep that in mind when your eyes start to bleed from reading .

Here we go. I've got the prologue and the first 'chapter' done already, and if they go over well I'll get another four or five chapters done - then release them on a schedualed basis. Like a web comic, except less artsy (whoah, déja vu).

Untitled
(see attachment for story, damn you 60000 character liimmmiiitttt...)

Edit: Heh. I'll just post it here until I hit the limit, then.

It's the darkness that gets me.

"C'mon, keep talking to me. Keep talking ! C'mon ma-"

Everything just ... stops. There's no warm light to welcome you into the next life. Just an inky darkness that stretches on without end.

"We're moving into hostile territory, exercise extreme caution. Under no circumstances may you be apprehended by the enemy. If capture seems imminent ..."

Did I see something ? Of course I didn't see anything. I'm dead. I don't have any eyes to see with.

That spark looks pretty inviting; though. Maybe, just a little closer.

So bright. Maybe this, this is-

---End of Prologue---

A metal coffin slipped up and out of a trapdoor, and centered on its lid was the disturbingly pale face of a young man. The technician to the immediate right of this event coughed lightly. He tapped equaly lightly on the lid.

"Wakey, wakey Doctor ...", he glanced to a a name scribbled across the window, "Oh. Prisoner ? P-private ? Pruner ? Talk about doctor's handwriting, eh ? Guess you'll be," spoke the technician, removing a clipboard previously holstered to his side and writing as he talked, "'John Doe'."

The face remained motionless as ever.

"Pleased to make your acquantence." The attendent seemed slightly puzzled at his lack of motion, choosing to peer ever closer over the tank. "Ah." He breathed, "Someone's tried to turn you off ..."

He felt along the back of the machine, stopping every so often with a look of glee; quickly replaced by the look of quiet frustration, followed by more searching. Minutes later, he withdrew.

"Now just a little," he slammed the pod with his foot, "And we're off to the races."

Although there were no outward signs other than a blinking green dot just bellow the window, the machine had sprung into operation. His eyes snapped open.

A hiss escaped the machine. Seconds later, the lid lifted a half centimetre off the surface and slid without a sound to clank off the floor.

"Mr. John Doe, as requested by," the doctor glanced at his clipboard, "yourself, you have been revived last. Although I can't understand why you'd want to stay in stasis for a second longer than you need to."

The man in the pod looked disturbed now. He had been sleeping peacefully for quite some time now, and combined with his sudden reappearence - nude - in the waking world, his mind raced to put ends together and comprehend a lick of what had just happened.

The technician extended his arm to the man, "Up you go now, easy. Easy. Now, I'm going to leave this room for five minutes for you to get dressed," he pointed at a cardboard box in a corner of the room, "then you can claim your belongings up there." he waived his other arm vaguely in the direction of some stairs. "See you top-side."

---End of Chapter One---

The recovery room was, by necessity, bare. To prevent the weakened immune systems of the stasis patients from infection, every piece of furniture that could be excluded, had been excluded - in fact the only defining aspects of this room were metal walls, the cardboard box and the man who now strode over to said box ... in no great hurry.

A footfall from the box, the subtly reduced gravity tipped him off. He was on - a satellite ? A brain satellite.

What's a Brain Satellite ?

Shaking off the disorientation that his mind was assuring him as ordinary, he pulled on the clothing that had been provided; a pair of black jeans and a white t-shirt.

***

"Good to see you up and about. Thumb here please," the technician held out a gray, metal block.

As his hand approached the plate, words lit up on what he recognized as a screen, along with various lights and meters in a section bellow it. The block, now black and covered with lines of amber text, yielded slightly to his touch. It pinged and flashed green.

"Now to get the matter of your name out of the way," the screen read, in the same amber letters, 'Name Undefined'.

"Someone's screwing with me. I know it, I know it ..." he mumbled. "Bah. Onto your posessions." The technician removed another, this time smaller, cardboard box that had been marked (with terrible penmenship) 04/47.

It contained; in order of descending size: what appeared to be the metal skeleten of an arm cast, a blue pistol-shaped object, a Mateba revolver (as his mind told him), a locket in the shape of a hexagon and a clip for -

"A shotgun."

The man looked surprised, "A shotgun now ?" He held up the blue weapon, "Does this look anything like a shotgun to you ?"

// It looks more like a bomb. Stop touching it, and don't make a noise.

He put it down into the box. Slowly.

"People tend to keep shotgun shells even if they don't have a gun." said the technician,"They're no longer mass produced but the demand has been skyrocketing ever since the recent fusion generators we received were proven defective." he chuckled, "And like that we drop back a couple hundred years in military arms. Pretty funny if you ask me."

// His face looks pretty funny. Oh, don't mind me. I'm just a crazy voice inside your head. Duck.

"What..." he mumbled.

"What ?"

"What-what ? I didn't say anything." he ducked.

"Now what're you doing. You look like an idiot just crouching down th-" the technician's train of thought was interrupted by shrapnel and a loud explosion.

// Stop ducking you idiot. You're going through that hole.

The booth behind the late technician was decimated; fragments of the metal wall were strewn about, some implaing other cardboard boxes with similar numbers, others embedded into the ground.

// Don't forget your gun either, you'll need it.

---End of Chapter Two---

Hey, thirty five reads and no comments ? The heck is that.

One download.

... my edit showed up ... right ? The .txt is just there as an archive; if I ever get this story going it'll be easier than reading multiple posts. And in addition to that, if I ever accidentaly go over the 60 000 word limit people can still read it .

I haven't read the full story but the small amount of text you wrote had a very dark but interesting style.
And now you MAKE ME WANNA WRITE.

Very good.

Now to read the story attached and find out what the heck is going on.

(The story attached is the same thing ...)

Whoops . I just started writing this today, I haven't got a single word further than what you've already read in that post. Well then : time to write !

Oddly enough, right after I read that post I forgot to download it anyway.

Lol.

Update ! Woot. Time for t3h axionzor ... next chapter.

Edit: That section was much shorter for a reason (//excuse). It's the deciding chapter. If I want to continue with this, I won't be posting here for a while - so that I can build up a nice buffer. If I don't, I won't be posting here for a very long time. Alright, forever.

But don't judge it any differently than you would any other story, because no matter people's reactions to it the decision to continue or stop will be determined on my interest with it and time availible. So feel free to flame this thread .

Edit 2: To anyone that reads this post; I'd like to point out that I have no over-arching plot line in this - every chapter is only roughly drafted in my head about ten minutes before I write it ... so if you catch any conflicting sections, please let me know .

Beautiful, beautiful writing.

Very descriptive, excellent work my friend. Keep it up. :Grin:

Why thank you. I just think I might.

I'm about as confused as the guy in the story. But I'm just stupid like that.

Unless I'm supposed to be confused..