A dream. with zombies.
I just woke up from a dream where I was in some strange land that changed dramatically when one passes through certain portals. You could be in a city, pass through a gate out of the city, and when you turn around to look at the gate, there was no city. Doing just that, I found myself in a dark place, moonlit though it was still daytime. Danielle was with me, but I knew she'd be safe, because we were just investigating the area, and the strange clay dungeon there. We'd run if something threatened us. We pass through the wide sunken terraced area that led to the entrance, and therein spent an indeterminate amount of time sneaking and dodging minor dangers. In the deepest room, there was a slab table, and on it was a dead woman who had been experimented on. The unidentified woman had been remade into a techno/genetic zombie creature, powerful, dangerous, but strangely only half complete. Her abdomen had been sealed shut, and she had no legs. She was not aware yet, but I knew this was what I had come to discover. Danielle, who was completely out of the loop on this mission, stayed out of sight until I had seen enough, and we both surreptitiously escaped the lair. The creator(s) of the half-woman warrior zombie were nowhere to be found. The whole situation made me angry, as it was all crime and destruction in the making, but mostly I felt sorry for the woman.
In the same night-lighted area, I had a connection. I went around the lake behind the pit, passing by mausoleums and crumbling Ancient-Greek-like architecture overgrown with moss, until I found the rails by the lake. A short train, only 3 cars and an engine, waited for me. I approached one of the freigh cars, and a regular door opened in the side. The bouncer nodded me through. It's one of those places where membership is limited not out of exclusivity, but need for maitaining a low profile. This sort of thing wasn't pleasant, either. The train car was, of course, a front for a much deeper, larger complex underground that somehow travelled with the train, even though it was clearly not physically part of the freight car. We went down one damp and chilly passage, and I asked one fellow standing by a room if "they had any left" and he replied that they only had two. I asked Danielle to stay out in this area at the end of the hall. I wasn't sure how she would take what I was about to accquire. I went in the room and surveyed the coolers. Asking a technician, I am told they have a badly dismembered sombody, held together by ligaments. He'd only be good for battlefield trapping, I thought. The other wasn't much better. A former Playboy centerfold who'd been drowned by a violent, abusive man. She would have to do. I ordered her steamed and enchanted, and went to wait by the door way so I could keep in touch with Danielle in the hallway.
Danielle was being flirted with by 2 or 3 females, unsuccessfully. It was a good thing Danielle couldn't tell they were undead. That might have freaked her bigtime. I told her it'd just be a moment, and she nodded, batting a wandering, cold hand away from her rear. I checked my accquisition out with the man at the door. He asked for my rank, and I told him, "Ace of Diamonds." He looked confused.
"Ace of Diamonds is Mr. D______," he tells me.
(Mr. D______ is the head of the whole train outfit)
"Huh? You sure? I thought he was Ace of Spades or something...", I said.
"Hmm. Maybe. But you got in, so I'll write this off for you on your account. I'll check out the sitch after you're out of here. In the meantime, try not to bring this one back in pieces like the last two, eh?"
"Okay, okay," I chuckle to him.
"Good luck out there," he says, and goes off down the hall.
I turn back into the room, and she's there, the centerfold. She won't be in any skin mags ever again, that's for sure. Her body is patchy blue-green, one huge bruise, sagging unnaturally in places, but generally still firm, looking like she'd been made of putty and was jostled a bit too much. No sex appeal at all while naked, but there was enough left that you could tell she was quite beautiful when still living. Her form is lithe and narrow, less curvy than one would expect from a centerfold. That will be good. She was more athletic in life than sexually idealistic. Her appearance improved towards her shoulders, where the skin was more intact and less bruised looking. Her face is whole and looked like she'd been in the shower a little long. Pale, but smooth skin. Dishevelled into spikes, she had short black hair. She looks kind of tomboyish, which gets my hopes up. She may not be as strong or durable as the last two, but she would be agile, and plucky. Maybe she could do the ninja-thing, striking precisely instead of just wholesale damage...
"How do you feel," I ask her.
She stares blankly, standing there, her eyes only a little clouded by after-life. "Tired." she mumbles. Her voice sounds normal, pretty.
"You know what we're going to do, right?"
"I... I think so... maybe..." She does not know she is beyond life, that her purpose, to fight, had been spelled and injected into her remains. It did not control her torn, expired mind, but it gave her sense enough, and direction, and motivation. The question was, in her poor, poor, confused and weary mind, was there conviction? The arcane/scientific creations I requisitioned here were dark things, not necessarily meant to be in the order of the universe, but brought into being by will of man and artifice of man's tools. As with anything made outside the rules, there was a chance of these made-up 'rules' not holding together, of the creation having a problem, going berzerk or rapidly decomposing or trying to regain a living life... I had done this before, though, and I knew a few things to tip the precarious balance of man's skills vs. nature's laws back into working, if rickety, alignment.
"I know you're tired. This is a lot to ask, and that's an understatement." It's important to never drop a hint that this is after-life for them. Whether they realize it or not, the shock usually results in an unworkable creation, at best, and violent or terrifying disaster, at worst. I continue as her milky, dumbfounded face turns towards mine, giving me her attention. "We have a task at hand. A very great necessity. It will mean a bit of hard work and we need you for it."
She is gaining awareness as I talk to her, the drugs and magicks taking hold, settling in. Her attention focuses more sharply, and she seems more like a normal, if pale, person now. From the neck up, at least. It hurts me a little to see what was once beautiful despoiled like this. But the thing, the half-zombie down in the clay pit is strong, tough, and designed for terrible things. It must be met with its own kind of force.
Centerfold is looking at me with some feeling now, and I can see that waver in her half-clouded eyes. She's about to ask where she is. She's about to ask what happened and what's going on. She can't ask these questions. The answers would destroy that piece of nature in her restored mind and she would whirl off into torment or tirade, or likely both. That can't happen. I give her balance a good shove. "Do you have any pent-up aggression to work out?" The nudge is subtle, but I know it changes her "What's going on?" into "Why should I be angry?" That will lead her back to her last memories, of her face being held under, of the strong, thick hands on the back of her head and neck, of the injustice, the fear, the pain of body and heart. Anger does in fact lend one strength.
"Hell yes I do." Her resolve is tempered now. A waking, living person might let their thoughts wander, might reason out something was wrong, but this sad girl, this terrible crime arisen, she is damaged, and only functions in a limited manner. She'll last till the battle ensues, and that will be long enough to keep her as whole as she is made to be. I still don't like it, but I'm not showing that until it's done. This one's best left unknowing until the end, when she will be released, one way or another.
I walk out of the room, and wave to Danielle. She comes over and we are about to leave. The flirting zombies follow, and I figure they will be good cannon fodder. We proceed down the corridor... and then, of course, the alarm wakes me up.
In the same night-lighted area, I had a connection. I went around the lake behind the pit, passing by mausoleums and crumbling Ancient-Greek-like architecture overgrown with moss, until I found the rails by the lake. A short train, only 3 cars and an engine, waited for me. I approached one of the freigh cars, and a regular door opened in the side. The bouncer nodded me through. It's one of those places where membership is limited not out of exclusivity, but need for maitaining a low profile. This sort of thing wasn't pleasant, either. The train car was, of course, a front for a much deeper, larger complex underground that somehow travelled with the train, even though it was clearly not physically part of the freight car. We went down one damp and chilly passage, and I asked one fellow standing by a room if "they had any left" and he replied that they only had two. I asked Danielle to stay out in this area at the end of the hall. I wasn't sure how she would take what I was about to accquire. I went in the room and surveyed the coolers. Asking a technician, I am told they have a badly dismembered sombody, held together by ligaments. He'd only be good for battlefield trapping, I thought. The other wasn't much better. A former Playboy centerfold who'd been drowned by a violent, abusive man. She would have to do. I ordered her steamed and enchanted, and went to wait by the door way so I could keep in touch with Danielle in the hallway.
Danielle was being flirted with by 2 or 3 females, unsuccessfully. It was a good thing Danielle couldn't tell they were undead. That might have freaked her bigtime. I told her it'd just be a moment, and she nodded, batting a wandering, cold hand away from her rear. I checked my accquisition out with the man at the door. He asked for my rank, and I told him, "Ace of Diamonds." He looked confused.
"Ace of Diamonds is Mr. D______," he tells me.
(Mr. D______ is the head of the whole train outfit)
"Huh? You sure? I thought he was Ace of Spades or something...", I said.
"Hmm. Maybe. But you got in, so I'll write this off for you on your account. I'll check out the sitch after you're out of here. In the meantime, try not to bring this one back in pieces like the last two, eh?"
"Okay, okay," I chuckle to him.
"Good luck out there," he says, and goes off down the hall.
I turn back into the room, and she's there, the centerfold. She won't be in any skin mags ever again, that's for sure. Her body is patchy blue-green, one huge bruise, sagging unnaturally in places, but generally still firm, looking like she'd been made of putty and was jostled a bit too much. No sex appeal at all while naked, but there was enough left that you could tell she was quite beautiful when still living. Her form is lithe and narrow, less curvy than one would expect from a centerfold. That will be good. She was more athletic in life than sexually idealistic. Her appearance improved towards her shoulders, where the skin was more intact and less bruised looking. Her face is whole and looked like she'd been in the shower a little long. Pale, but smooth skin. Dishevelled into spikes, she had short black hair. She looks kind of tomboyish, which gets my hopes up. She may not be as strong or durable as the last two, but she would be agile, and plucky. Maybe she could do the ninja-thing, striking precisely instead of just wholesale damage...
"How do you feel," I ask her.
She stares blankly, standing there, her eyes only a little clouded by after-life. "Tired." she mumbles. Her voice sounds normal, pretty.
"You know what we're going to do, right?"
"I... I think so... maybe..." She does not know she is beyond life, that her purpose, to fight, had been spelled and injected into her remains. It did not control her torn, expired mind, but it gave her sense enough, and direction, and motivation. The question was, in her poor, poor, confused and weary mind, was there conviction? The arcane/scientific creations I requisitioned here were dark things, not necessarily meant to be in the order of the universe, but brought into being by will of man and artifice of man's tools. As with anything made outside the rules, there was a chance of these made-up 'rules' not holding together, of the creation having a problem, going berzerk or rapidly decomposing or trying to regain a living life... I had done this before, though, and I knew a few things to tip the precarious balance of man's skills vs. nature's laws back into working, if rickety, alignment.
"I know you're tired. This is a lot to ask, and that's an understatement." It's important to never drop a hint that this is after-life for them. Whether they realize it or not, the shock usually results in an unworkable creation, at best, and violent or terrifying disaster, at worst. I continue as her milky, dumbfounded face turns towards mine, giving me her attention. "We have a task at hand. A very great necessity. It will mean a bit of hard work and we need you for it."
She is gaining awareness as I talk to her, the drugs and magicks taking hold, settling in. Her attention focuses more sharply, and she seems more like a normal, if pale, person now. From the neck up, at least. It hurts me a little to see what was once beautiful despoiled like this. But the thing, the half-zombie down in the clay pit is strong, tough, and designed for terrible things. It must be met with its own kind of force.
Centerfold is looking at me with some feeling now, and I can see that waver in her half-clouded eyes. She's about to ask where she is. She's about to ask what happened and what's going on. She can't ask these questions. The answers would destroy that piece of nature in her restored mind and she would whirl off into torment or tirade, or likely both. That can't happen. I give her balance a good shove. "Do you have any pent-up aggression to work out?" The nudge is subtle, but I know it changes her "What's going on?" into "Why should I be angry?" That will lead her back to her last memories, of her face being held under, of the strong, thick hands on the back of her head and neck, of the injustice, the fear, the pain of body and heart. Anger does in fact lend one strength.
"Hell yes I do." Her resolve is tempered now. A waking, living person might let their thoughts wander, might reason out something was wrong, but this sad girl, this terrible crime arisen, she is damaged, and only functions in a limited manner. She'll last till the battle ensues, and that will be long enough to keep her as whole as she is made to be. I still don't like it, but I'm not showing that until it's done. This one's best left unknowing until the end, when she will be released, one way or another.
I walk out of the room, and wave to Danielle. She comes over and we are about to leave. The flirting zombies follow, and I figure they will be good cannon fodder. We proceed down the corridor... and then, of course, the alarm wakes me up.