8/04/2017

Outer Yet Same (Pt. 7 of 7)






This is the last part. For the previous part, click here. For the first part, click here.


It opened. I should've known, rumor has it you jerks choose the 'least guessable' codes for every facility main entrance.
I turned, and just as I did I saw the Doctor coming from the corner. I was still catching my breath, but less than an inch away the lurching creature followed him.
I panicked, as I stayed on the door near its hinge, and so both of them hit me, making me fall out of the room. The blood rushed in my veins as I got up. The corridors got orange. I don't know if it was the anger or the sun, but all was starting to boil, in a single motion I pulled out my machete.
All became a blur, as I saw the creature mounted over Jankowski, both by the door. It was doing it's horrid routine, identically to the one done to Sladovich… In a single move it was pulling the Doctor's throat out, but much like the other, it dared to savor the moment.
It dared to enjoy as it brought nothing other than pain and horror, as blood dripped from its claws from the neck of its victim."
The camera shook hard, its holder were extremely uneasy.
"So I cut its main hand out, cut it good. Just to make it sure it could bleed too.
I made sure it felt it, I made sure it knew it was about to die through every second of it.
It struggled intensely as I held it back with my machete, slicing through its pulse as if… No, I was cutting through the enemy's throat. The hellish alien stood no chance now, but…
As it jagged back and forth…"
Gagging followed the continued shaking.
"... The Doctor's throat. I'd guess you can join the dots.
The rest is just as easy, if you pardon my tiredness. We got in, I patched him with the supplies of the Safe Room, I made my calls…
And here we are. Lucky to have this piece of garbage standing by. Hope you listened."
After that, the man got back into composure, took a long breath and told the Doctor to sit. The footage turned sideways and the angle changed, as the camera was put in a small table in the center of the room.
"Now, better you answer my fucking questions. I'll make them numbered, right here and now. Send me the answers, or you'll see the furthest extent of me being pissed."
A series of black cards followed.
"No problem, Barry."
"1. Yes, yes. Outer."
"2. No, not us."
"3. Older? Yes."
"4. Primal? No."
"5. You have the report, Barry."
"6. Perfectly aware. But what can an anthill do regarding the anteater?"
"7. Not our job."
"8. We are not dumb. We don't contain the uncontainable, Barry. You got lucky when dealing with an infant, that's all."
"9. You talk as if battlefields were filled with newborns."
"10. We will act when the proper protocol is filled and the orders are direct."
"11. You did no great feat, just followed protocol."
"12. We do not lie."
"13. Oh, yes."
The recording went back to the General.
"That's it. Now we wait for the recovery team. Can you help me turn it off? I don't..."
The film cut back to the military footage, where the presenter once again returned.
"And with this, our recordings end. Oh, what did the General… think of the answers? Well, I'll be sad to inform you he has never been found. After the arrival of the special team designated specifically by our dear AGENCY. Sadly, only Doctor Jankowski was found and, after extensive interviews and protocol follow-through, he was properly added to the family.
Why were they answered then, you ask? Well, the AGENCY never stops the following of protocol! And, clearly, Mr. … followed it diligently! Not answering them would certainly be a huge lack of respect.
Dr. Jankowski insisting curiosity to have them was of helping too, of course."
The music once again changed, this time to a more suave tune, and it all switched to a recording of our presenter, in his face his lips formed a perfect smile. He wore a yellow sweater and under it a formal shirt, all along a purple tie with a letter soup pattern. Part of his hair was graying and his features were very tender. He didn't seem old at first glance, but was the type that would not be possible to have a good guess regarding that. His eyes had a calming hazel tone, and seemed to penetrate right into the minds of whoever laid on the other side of the camera.
The man stood in a brightly lit studio, with some empty chairs and strangely shaped tables behind him.  Its wall gave a certain air of artificiality to it. Like an aspirin or a bad tasting candy. After staring at the camera for a couple of seconds, he opened his mouth to talk in a smiling motion, showing pearl-white perfectly aligned teeth. A clock hanged behind him, it stood still at 5:27.
"You might wonder, children. Why does any of this matter? Why are you being taught about nightmare inducing creatures from outer space through unremarkable and frantic reports? Well, because it shows us the obvious and crystal clear truth  regarding those heinous outsiders. They're out to get us. And, of course, that the illustrious righteous government powers from this planet will do everything at their hands to protect us all! This is certainly history for you by now,"
The camera turned to a window and zoomed into the sky. Several gray spots and circles could be seen staying still near the clouds. They reflected light in a chrome like manner, and seemed to rotate way up in the sky. The camera returned to him.
"But for us here on earth on the this sixteenth day of October of 1967, we complete a whole month of waiting. Waiting to see what those evil invaders are up to, all the way up in heaven, they too waiting.
Well, it happens we're not the best ones at this game."
And, as the presenter finished his phrase, all of the walls of the set fell outwards in a surprising dramatic fashion manner. They fell slowly and in a staged manner, but still managed to make a huge cloud of dust to come up.
It settled slowly, but as it did it revealed a vast desert. Its sky full of dark gray saucers, and in the far back a launch station.
Amidst the dust, our presenter stood immobile as he started to appear to the camera once more. His face filled with a smile still, his eyes semi-closed.
When all settled, he returned to speaking.
"Behind us, right now, the American initiative team of the global effort to stop those bastards. The effort to launch our strongest nukes at their biggest ships…"
He pointed to the biggest saucer in the sky in a quirky manner. It had several spheres and lights under it and seemed to rotate in more than one direction at once.
"...Simultaneously from all over our big round earth, all 27 tactical spots."
A siren started.
"Oh, it seems it's about time…
Yes, time to launch the nukes! Hold on tight, kids.", he said, winking.
He pulled a protective pair of glasses from his pocket and turned to the rocket.
"Any time now."
Complete silence for a couple of minutes, but then, it launched.
"Our victory…"
It kept going upwards, faster and faster buildup towards the main ship.
Every second closer, the ship still and the rocket smaller after every second.
Death to death, as they say.
"...Is granted."
And then, nothing.
There was nothing left in the sky.
No fire, no "boom".
Empty.
And so the footage cut, the projector were turned off and the lights on. The teacher started her lecture on the film. She talked about the bunker, and how it was used during the period known as the "invested wait".
But it hardly matters.
Somewhere, beyond literal space, an armada cuts itself short by stretching through a hole of their making.
Many of its soldiers crawl down corridors.
Glistening white corridors, with impossibly perfect square tiles. Tiles that fit perfectly while still overlapping each other.
In the walls of these corridors, a never ending line of doors. Doors also white,  in a victorian style and filled with diamond shapes.
The soldiers crawl through these corridors with their hidden features, features which can only be seen there.
They use their heads to carry spears, rocks and marbles. All thrown at them by the younger vermin they set out to squash.
Such species that they were, they may have never known of love. But they knew of something much better.
They knew of irony.
They had whole philosophical schools dedicated to such, it was both their reliever and religion.
Above it only violence.
Violence was their world, their world was the same as their blood.
A world fittingly named after war.
Now a ravaged wasteland, dry and hollow.
But they didn't care.
Now they only crawled down their corridor, as they reached for the right door.
And laughed at the irony, their whole race did.
Laughed as 27 platoons reached for the same door.
In the bunker the children slept, laughed and often listened all about the story of the defeated invaders. Those nasty little creatures.
All the while the sky filled with saucers.
And the American bomb hit them from the skies.
I guess I don't need to say.

There wasn't much left behind.


...


“What’s one less person on the face of the earth, anyway?”


♫ You might think, that life stinks...
Well, you clearly never been to Belladonna Street! 
Satisfy the urges in the next story, right here.


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