Memories of a Bloody Past

The Earth as humanity knew it was long dead. Whether night or day, rain or shine, any and all of the light from above was blotted out by thick, grey clouds, casting a permanent darkness across the surface of our beloved planet. The atmosphere was choked on dust and ash, thick with pollution. Weather was unpredictable, and when it wasn't a faint breeze that filled your nostrils with the scent of smoke and the past, it was savage: lightning would often dance across the sky, the wind would be whipped into a howling gale that tore at your face like a demon and there was rain in such quantities you often drowned in the surge of acidic water. You couldn't stay out long in that weather: if you did, the most likely scenario is that someone, sooner or later, would find your body as a half-dissolved pile of mush or ash.

Flow stalked the barren and scarred wilderness between the few pockets of civilisation left. Thousands, and thousands, upon uncountable thousands of Flow. Where they came from, nobody knew, and nobody cared. We all just hoped that we weren't the ones that crossed their path. Earth was no longer a verdant paradise; it was a small slice of Hell.

And so it was on this ruined world that I - on a small, cobbled and forgotten road - ran as if the devil himself was on my very heels. Brown leather boots, thick soled and worn beyond any hope of repair, slapped against the stone. Hot crimson blood, surging through my ears and pulsing in my temples, fed me with what oxygen was left in the air my gasping lungs desperately tried to inhale. I was in the seventh circle of hell, Flow only a hundred metres behind me, the rain attempting to melt the flesh from my bones and no sign of the sanctuary I needed so greatly. With only a humble energy pistol in a holster on my right hip and a tattered plastifibre bag strapped to my back, my chances were slim. As slim as the knife in my boot.

I stumbled on a cobble, my feet knocked out from under me as I was sent sprawling across the ground. A sharp flint cut a gash above my left eye, causing blood to trickle down my face and congeal in my lashes. I scrabbled back to my feet and continued running, wiping the blood from my eye as I did so. A chorus of shrieks behind me warned me they were getting closer, so I redoubled my efforts and pushed my body even harder than before. My legs screamed for relief. They received none. I ignored their pleas and kept sprinting.

I was alone out there. Very alone, besides the Flow behind me, but as they were baying for my blood and were absolutely adamant on getting it, I couldn't exactly count them as company. No one was there to encourage me onwards, no one was there to cover my back. Even my inner voice that I trusted with all my heart and soul had gone quiet. Perhaps it knew my time was up. Perhaps there was no further use in running...

I pushed the thoughts away. My top priority was survival, and I always achieved my top priority, no matter what the cost was to me. My lungs felt as if they were burning up, my brow so slick with sweat that not even the hooked legs of a spider could hold on, but I pushed on, over the stones and pebbles, on through the murky grey that left the world colourless and dull. I stumbled again, rolling over the cobbles, unable to get up as my body was so run-down. I truly did think it was the end for me. I lay there, waiting for the cold embrace of death.

But that day was not to be my last: a bolt of light, bright blue and hissing with energy flew over my head and hit the mass of shifting bodies behind me. I heard something shatter behind me, before another volley was unleashed, tearing another gap in the wall of Flow. I looked up to see another young man of my age, one I knew well.

"Mark, I need you to get up," Dias said. He held out a hand, which I gladly took, letting him heft me to my feet.

"Thanks. I really thought that was it for me for a moment there," I choked out, still gasping for air, no matter how clean it was. Dias slung his rifle over his back, an AT4-D2, or more commonly known by the roving bands of men like us as a Hellshot. It was a common sight amongst military personnel in the second half of the 21st century, square and solid, and packing enough firepower to give lightly armoured vehicles a run for their money. The barrel was stubby and wide, which I guessed was to allow the shot - a blue bolt of plasma - a bit of width.

"Now let's get our asses out of here before they get their hands on us." he said, before taking off. I groaned in protest, then began to run after him through the dead forest.

The twisted and greyed branches forced us to duck and weave through a maze of vampiric wood - not quite living, not quite dead - that stuck out at all angles, sharp and unforgiving. I slit my cheek on one almost lavishly decorated with thorns. I glanced back and saw the crimson stain on the mace-like wood, spurring me onwards, but as I spun round, I could have sworn the branch waved at me, as if bidding me a warm goodbye...

I kept my pace, never looking back again, even when I thought I could feel the knifelike fingers of a Flow scratching at the bare skin of my neck. We took more care in our escape, never breaking stride, never once colliding with the walls of wood around us. The Flow were not so careful. Many shattered into shards of black glass on the merciless boughs, the remains swept away by the gentle breeze. Dias kept in line with me, never more than a few metres ahead, acknowledging my exhausted state as we ran onwards.

A glimpse of colour flashed momentarily amongst the monochrome forest. A lush green, one I had only ever seen before in tattered books - many of the pages nothing but dust - scrounged out of decrepit libraries. My limbs found a new energy, the searing pain that bit at my legs dying away, the trunks and branches flying past me faster than before. My very soul burnt with a renewed desire to survive, to continue onwards through whatever dangers Fate may have dared throw at me. Arrogance? Perhaps a little.

The pair of us burst through the tree line, and onto the grass. Real grass. I heard it rustle as it should, the scent of early morning dew even better than I had imagined. A lone tree stood next to a crystal clear pool of water, its boughs thick with leaves and the shape... natural. At that moment, Dias sprinted ahead, running for a rusted circle of iron embedded into the ground. A hatch. A door to safety. A door to freedom. A door to redemption. Dias wrenched it open, the corroded metal screeching in protest, grinding on its ancient hinges, and jumped. I skidded to a halt in front of the hatch seconds later and looked down. An ominous, foreboding darkness stared back out of the depths. I took my chances with the dark, and clambered in - slamming the hatch down behind me and sliding the bolts on its underside closed - before grabbing hold of the worn metal rails in front of me and descending into the darkness.

* * *

I slid down those rails for God knows how long, fearful the Flow would tear the hatch away and fall on me in a ravenous horde, before my boots hit solid rock with a muffled thud. I turned to see Dias waiting patiently in the cramped tunnel that led away from the main access shaft, a glowing orb hovering above his palm. It cast a pale yellow light onto the rock walls, illuminating the many crevices and protrusions that would have otherwise been shrouded in a murky darkness. The muffled screeching of shearing metal echoed down from above, and we took off running.

Only minutes later, the chorus of horrific shrieks pierced my ears once again. The chill that permeated the dark corridors grew stronger, making me shiver. I reached down to my holster and removed my weapon, releasing the catch. The barrel swung down, and I quickly inserted a glowing cyan cartridge into the small hole found within. I flicked the barrel back up, the catch locking with a snap, and turned to face the darkness behind us. I held the grip with both hands, forcing myself to breathe in a more measured pace to help improve my aim. Even with the pistol’s glowing frame illuminating a few metres in front of me, I had no margin for error: only a quick shot to the head could save us if we were attacked.

The shrieking grew to fever pitch, the sheer volume rending my ears in a cacophony of noise. Then all was silent. Not a whisper could be heard, aside from our rapid breathing and the echo of our footsteps as we continued our retreat down the labyrinthine tunnels.

My only warning was the eyes. White, soulless and burning with hatred. I squeezed the trigger. A blue bolt of light soared through the air, momentarily lighting up the tunnel before disappearing into a cyan mist as it disintegrated the Flow’s head. The passage went dark again... except for the dozens and dozens of eyes that stared at me...

“Dias! Swap on three!” I whispered over my shoulder. A momentary whine as another source of cyan light joined the dim glow of my pistols notified me to his acknowledgement.

“One,” a few Flow edged towards me, recovering from their comrade’s death.

“Two,” more surged forward, and sweat began to bead on my forehead.

“Three!” we span, and the sound of death tore through the eerie quiet of the passage. Dias’ rifle illuminated the corridor in a fusillade of ionized gas, ripping apart the spectral forms lit up in the deadly glow. I sprinted off, following a thick black cable bound in cyan rings down the maze of tunnels. I could still hear Dias’ Hellshot whining and hissing behind me as he rounded the corner, taking potshots at the horde of Flow following us.

“Passcode?” I yelled back to him.

“Alpha-four-five-oscar-nine-seven!” he shouted back. I quickly memorised it, before heading right along another corridor, this time surrounded by cabling on all sides that spat and crackled with power, and with a grated iron walkway beneath me.

I skidded to a halt in front of an access panel. I punched in the code, each tap eliciting a dim pulse of light from the many digital keys that shone a bright gold which lay across the panel. The door to my left spiralled open, revealing a grand room, at least fifty meters tall and full of platforms and walkways, some of which levitated freely in the air, violet anti-gravity repulsors strapped to their undersides.

“Dias! Run! RUN!” I screamed at him. He slung his Hellshot over his back, turned and ran. I had never seen anyone but myself run faster than he did then. A mass of dark bodies, writhing, twisting, eager for his flesh and howling at such a pitch it nearly made my ears bleed chased him down that tunnel like bats out of hell. It was nightmarish: everything seemed to move as if time had slowed to a crawl. I waited just a second more, then threw myself through the open door and slammed my fist on the control panel, Dias following just a moment later before it slammed shut with a clang. Thuds shortly followed as the fragile mass of black behind him impacted on the firm steel. We took a moment to catch our breath.

“The elevator banks...” Dias panted out. I looked across at him, leaning on the bleached steel wall for support.

“They’re... They’re on the... far side...” he inhaled deeply. “Now let’s get moving.”

Not a moment had passed since I had hit the call panel before I heard the sound of metal tearing. We turned, and saw a claw, a good foot long and shearing through the steel door as if it was butter.

“FUCK IT, COME ON!” I yelled. The metal behind us groaned in protest from the flurry of scratches and blows.

“NOW! GODDAMNIT!” I slammed a fist into the panel, cracking the glass and sending sparks skittering across the floor. Two pods ascended from the elevator shafts, doors flung open, with only enough room for one each. Neither of us hesitated, taking the best part of two seconds to sit down, buckle up and slam the doors closed.

“Descent speed?” a female voice echoed throughout the pod. The rest of what it said, if anything, was drowned out by the ear-splitting scraping of metal on metal as the entrance to the complex was smashed in with such force it skidded halfway across the room.

“Shit,” I muttered.

“Mach 0.7 selected. Initiating descent...”

“NO!” I bellowed, but my response fell on deaf ears. Electricity sparked along the girders lining the shaft, and the pods, with us in them, fell into the abyss.

If I was to say the descent was rapid, I would probably be lying. The G-force almost made me pass out, and the sheer speed felt like it was tearing my face off. I did my best not to pass out, clinging onto consciousness, desperately trying to stay awake. Floors passed by, mere flashes of blinding white against the grim, unrelenting grey of the mist that swirled throughout the elevator shaft.

“Approaching floor zero. Magnetic brakes applied,” the internal guidance computer warned me. I had only enough time to yell a few choice curses before the blood rushed from my head. I grunted in protest, holding on to the bars on either side of me to stay steady. My knuckles turned white, and I refused to let go even after the glass slide had reopened and the bright light of freedom shone into the enclosed pod. Dias’ face obscured my view for a few seconds, yelling something I couldn’t quite make out through the ringing that pierced my ears and mind. I had lost all sense of time and thought, lost in a sea of oblivion within my own mind.

“Mark! Come on pal, we’re nearly there. Come on,” Dias threw the buckles off me and slung my arm over his shoulder, dragging me from the pod. We got about 3 metres before a crunching noise behind us, followed by a pod flying over our heads alerted us to the fact the Flow may have been a little faster than what we had anticipated. We ducked under the hunk of metal, and Dias continued to drag me along the floor by an arm. Less than a second later, a salvo of Hellshot fire came soaring past us to dissipate into fine mist after blowing several holes in the black wall that had crammed itself into the elevator chute.

“Dias! Get him over here! Phase commences in 30 seconds!” another voice called out from the blurred image of a platform. Brown hair, unkempt, tumbling over a shadow of a face. Arthur, maybe? I wasn’t able to tell at the time. Dias drew his rifle, adding a few more shots to the storm that engulfed the elevator chutes in a cloud of cyan mist. The Flow, if there were any that had survived the first volley, were hidden behind it, obscured to us. 28 seconds to Phase.

Though I may have been without much sight or hearing, I was still able to use a gun. I unholstered my pistol, checked the charge gauge, not finding it lacking, and loosed a few bolts of my own. Another explosion, presumably due to a critical systems failure (the whole place was literally coming down on top of us), knocked Dias off of his feet, leaving me to lie on the floor. I turned over and clawed at the ground, desperately trying to gain some traction on the polished steel floor. 21 seconds. My fingers found purchase in a seam between two plates, and I dragged myself forward, an inch at a time. Screams and gunshots, muffled by my half-functioning ears, filled the air. My heartbeat pulsed in my temples, a steady, but rapid crescendo that indicated I was on the verge of shock.

I felt an arm hook under my shoulder again. Was it Dias? I couldn’t tell. Arthur yelled again. 15 seconds. A Flow jumped out from the mist of ionized gas, lunging for me. I pulled the trigger a few times, not trusting my aim to be accurate. It collapsed a few metres from me, the parts of it I could see torn and ravaged. 10 seconds. Halfway up the stairs. Dias flung me over his shoulder and ran as best he could, over the edge of the platform, just as it was about to be consumed in a haze of white light. 5 seconds.
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