The Dream
She was suspended in darkness. Images and voices swirled around her, (respectivly) clear but too short to hold the visual, and lucid but too crowded to really tell them apart.
"You have no right to call her that!" "I agree with you. This is not the time for us to give up." "When a person has someone they care about that much, sometimes giving their life is the least they can do." "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." "It was you, @#$()!. You were her reason to live."
"Stop... make it stop..."
"All right! Take it away, ^@#)!%" "You just remind me of your sister." "Your assistance would be of great help." "Commencing synaptic net drive in 3, 2, 1--" "I'm simply providing this service for my own benefit." "I'm counting on you, )(@#$*." "No. I have no one to fight for. No one."
Needles, machines, dark, looming figures, a harsh glow, pain, torture, those quotes and scenes fading away, her memories, falling apart. Her body pulsed with a life that was not hers. She briefly saw a digital world made of tangible circuits and data. And then it was all too vivid.
Strange aircrafts everywhere. Human morphs on four legs in strange, glowing outfit, charging about, attacking people, killing people. She felt her heart in her throat, and damn was it pumping hard. She felt herself unable to move. "@#*&!)! )(@#%&!!" She knew that was her name being called, and yet, it sounded like some foreign language, some foreign, alien sound, even. The city itself was untouched, but its residents were being slaughtered or kidnapped.
She was no different.
One of those strange morphs started attacking her, beating her. She screamed in anger, in pain, in confusion and fear and fought back, but it was no good. She, just like the hundreds of others, was dragged to the aircraft. Screams around her filled the air, and the air itself had a thick, nasty tension. The morphs snarled like ferals and their bipedal counterparts wielded rifles, making the air explode with millions of gunshots. The distressed cries of children became nearer and nearer, her own melding into them.
And then the door shut, and there was nothing but darkness.
"You have no right to call her that!" "I agree with you. This is not the time for us to give up." "When a person has someone they care about that much, sometimes giving their life is the least they can do." "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." "It was you, @#$()!. You were her reason to live."
"Stop... make it stop..."
"All right! Take it away, ^@#)!%" "You just remind me of your sister." "Your assistance would be of great help." "Commencing synaptic net drive in 3, 2, 1--" "I'm simply providing this service for my own benefit." "I'm counting on you, )(@#$*." "No. I have no one to fight for. No one."
Needles, machines, dark, looming figures, a harsh glow, pain, torture, those quotes and scenes fading away, her memories, falling apart. Her body pulsed with a life that was not hers. She briefly saw a digital world made of tangible circuits and data. And then it was all too vivid.
Strange aircrafts everywhere. Human morphs on four legs in strange, glowing outfit, charging about, attacking people, killing people. She felt her heart in her throat, and damn was it pumping hard. She felt herself unable to move. "@#*&!)! )(@#%&!!" She knew that was her name being called, and yet, it sounded like some foreign language, some foreign, alien sound, even. The city itself was untouched, but its residents were being slaughtered or kidnapped.
She was no different.
One of those strange morphs started attacking her, beating her. She screamed in anger, in pain, in confusion and fear and fought back, but it was no good. She, just like the hundreds of others, was dragged to the aircraft. Screams around her filled the air, and the air itself had a thick, nasty tension. The morphs snarled like ferals and their bipedal counterparts wielded rifles, making the air explode with millions of gunshots. The distressed cries of children became nearer and nearer, her own melding into them.
And then the door shut, and there was nothing but darkness.