looking for artists and writers for a collaborative effort (non-ocr)

[SoulinEther]

He was marking a similarity between you two as being averse to drug use of pretty much any kind.

Which in turn justified why I did not realize that cocaine is not derived from cannabis.

[Meteo Xavier]

Fair enough.

I don't feel right today at all.

[prophetik music]

hey radical dreamer, if you wanted to start a blog and catalog all the stories we're getting in this thread so far, that'd be awesome. just a wordpress thing, maybe? and as we get artwork and music to go with it, we can expand on it.

also, i think that this can expand beyond me as the musician - if you want to get a particuar artist or musician who's expressed interest in being a part of this, go right ahead and get going. i'll link finished stuff in the first post.

[Dunnowhathuh]

Wish I'd noticed this thread sooner. I'll try and conjure something up. Besides, I'm on holiday and it'll be good to write something creative for the first time since high school that wasn't a report or essay. I'm interested to see what kind of music someone matches to my words.

[The Author]

Well, I started a blog... and well, for the benefit of this thread, any story I publish on he blog can be used for this thread, so don't hesitate to grab a story from there.

[Zephyr]

Sweet, and for those of you who didn't see it, the link is in his sig: Yeah, I'm a blogger now.

As for the site, it could probably use a little more color, but being able to comment on stuff is nice. As for what the prophet was saying, I also think it would be cool to have a seperate ocr blog, maybe even just for any short stories that any of us come up with. It would be sweet to have a site that's updated a few times a week with new short stories by different authors, and then have the other writers critique them in the comments. Sadly I've never done anything with blogspot though, and I'm not much of a writer.

[SoulinEther]

Sweet, and for those of you who didn't see it, the link is in his sig: Yeah, I'm a blogger now.

As for the site, it could probably use a little more color, but being able to comment on stuff is nice. As for what the prophet was saying, I also think it would be cool to have a seperate ocr blog, maybe even just for any short stories that any of us come up with. It would be sweet to have a site that's updated a few times a week with new short stories by different authors, and then have the other writers critique them in the comments. Sadly I've never done anything with blogspot though, and I'm not much of a writer.

This could also be combined with the OCR Writing Competition... but if you want to affiliate it with OCR, well, there'll be a few hoops to jump through, and i don't know if something somewhat irrelevant to music/vgm arrangement/etc. would fly as an affiliated site. but i don't know! overclocked... rewrite? lol.

But I have given this some thought. A blog devoted to the showcase of a short story, music, and a picture should not be that hard to make at all. In fact, it should be fairly simple. Blogger / blogspot / Wordpress can all work fairly well for this.

[The Author]

Oh I wont mind being part of this, there are blog networks. I just wanted something for myself. For my writing to be published. I fully support any projects in relation with the idea behind this thread, but like I said, I wanted a place for me.

[SoulinEther]

Oh I wont mind being part of this, there are blog networks. I just wanted something for myself. For my writing to be published. I fully support any projects in relation with the idea behind this thread, but like I said, I wanted a place for me.

Yeah, that's completely no problemo.

[The Author]

By the way, I added a third story, and anonymous commenting is available. As long as people don't abuse it, I'll keep it that way. I'll try to pace myself from now on, maybe try to write a story to post on mondays, wednesdays and fridays, but I'm not sure of the schedule and I'll see how I adjust.

[Zephyr]

This could also be combined with the OCR Writing Competition... but if you want to affiliate it with OCR, well, there'll be a few hoops to jump through, and i don't know if something somewhat irrelevant to music/vgm arrangement/etc. would fly as an affiliated site. but i don't know! overclocked... rewrite? lol.

But I have given this some thought. A blog devoted to the showcase of a short story, music, and a picture should not be that hard to make at all. In fact, it should be fairly simple. Blogger / blogspot / Wordpress can all work fairly well for this.

No, it owuldn't be affiliated with OCR at all, but it would be used by OCR'ers, there'd be no reason for OCR to be affiliated with a writing deal. I'd almost prefer that it didn't become a competition though, it's less work this way and it's more fun with less deadlines and timing constraints. Kind of "write as you are" in your spare time sort of thing.

[Caster13]

Got another one. The idea for this story comes from a mix of

and the free running in Mirror's Edge (how's that for futuristic and dystopic?). It turned out being longer than I thought it would be so I decided to exclude more detailed description of rooftop running so the Mirror's Edge influence probably isn't noticeable.

Anyway:

Quest

Earth. I’m closer now.

An object of pure white burned through the atmosphere, falling towards a string of islands shaped in a slight crescent. The air exploded around the object as it raced through the night sky, leaving behind a trail of light like a shooting star.

I’m so much closer to the Core now.

As the object fell further and further, coming closer to the dark ruins of a city, it suddenly unfolded. Slender limbs—arms, legs, and a head armoured in white—stretched outwards. The trail of burning air expanded as the figure’s descent through the sky slowed.

The figure crashed into a dark, dirty street of the empty city, sending up a cloud of debris and heat in an explosion. Loose garbage was thrown away from the blast. Glass windows, broken or otherwise, that offered a view into desolate buildings shattered into millions of pieces from the shockwave. Old, rusted, abandoned cars and buses upturned and tipped onto their sides.

So close.

Eventually the dust which hung thick in the air was cleared away by a slow breeze. At the point of impact a large crater marked the landing of the white figure that now stood tall in the centre of the crater.

Hmm. Where am I?

The woman was encased in white metal; a lean, flexible armour that covered every inch of her body. The only exception was a red visor that ran horizontally across her eyes.

A large sign jarred loose from the walls of a nearby building crashed to the ground. It read ‘Tokyo Ramen!’ in Japanese kanji. With a quick glance at the fallen sign, the woman turned west and began walking slowly down the street. After a few steps, a group of humanoid figures appeared ahead of her, slowly stepping forth in lockstep from the darkness.

Ah, Tokyo?

She stopped. The figures ahead of her continued to approach.

I remember Tokyo.

As they came closer and closer, their mechanical bodies became clearer. They were robots with the most basic of shapes for bodies: a rectangular torso, legs and arms of gears and pistons, a cylindrical head housing cameras, microphones, and antennas.

But this isn’t how I remembered Tokyo.

The robots raised their arms out towards the woman, aiming the barrels of their forearm mounted guns at her.

And here are the ones who ruined it.

The woman suddenly burst forward in a sprint. The robots opened fire, their weapons spitting bullets but none of them came close to striking the woman. In a blink of an eye she had closed the distance between herself and the robots.

Closing her left hand into a fist, she struck the nearest robot, knocking its metal head off. Before the decapitated robot’s body struck the ground, she side-stepped and shoved her right hand through the chest of another robot, tearing out chunks of circuitry.

The Machine Swarm ruins everything.

The white armoured woman continued her attacks as the robots moved to encircle her. She danced between their shots, striking out with fists and feet. With a sweep of a leg, she kicked three nearby robots into the air, smashing them into a nearby wall.

She destroyed so many of the machines that it began to rain metal parts but the robots continued to surround her.

I shouldn’t waste my time with these tin cans.

The woman launched herself into the air towards a wall. As soon as her hands and feet touched the wall, she launched herself upwards again with so much speed and strength that she cleared the roof tops of the buildings lining the street now far below her.

As soon as she landed, she began running west, jumping from roof to roof and quickly gained altitude as she always took the path leading to the higher ground. She easily jumped across the large gaps between rooftops. With her feet always moving, she found herself racing across the tops of skyscrapers.

I destroyed them on Pluto.

She sprinted towards the edge of a roof but skidded to a stop as a large hovering gunship rose up in the sky in front of her.

I obliterated them on the moons of Saturn.

The numerous guns on the gunship swiveled, targeting the woman.

I eradicated them from the moons of Jupiter.

The guns opened fire, the muzzles flashing with bright light as the rooftop was torn up and perforated with bullet holes. Despite the carnage, the woman leapt forward into the air towards the ship.

Her fingers punctured through the ship’s metal fuselage, allowing her to hang off the side of the ship. She grabbed the barrel of a nearby gun with one hand and tore it out. She threw the ripped out gun at another, causing the barrel to bend then erupt as the next shot exploded within the barrel.

I turned them into scrap on Mars.

As the gunship suddenly accelerated and gained altitude in an attempt to throw off the woman, she punched through the fuselage, exposing circuits and machinery. Ripping these out, the gunship began to lose power. The whine of its engines came to a stop, replaced with the sound of burning fire as they burst into flames.

And I will find the Machine Core and wipe the Swarm from the face of this Earth.

The gunship spun wildly and began to fall downwards through the sky. As flames licked at the woman’s body, she climbed up the side of the ship and pulled herself on top of it. Riding the gunship down, she turned her eyes west.

And nothing the Machine Swarm throws at me has a chance to stop me.

In the distance, somewhere west of the ruins of Tokyo, a huge explosion erupted. A huge figure slowly rose from the ground, emerging from the flames of the explosion in the west. It was another machine, a giant robot the size of the tallest skyscrapers.

Oh? Maybe I’m wrong.

[Zephyr]

I started on a story today, it's futuristic and dystopic, but it's the first story I think I've ever written outside of high school english assignments so it probably sucks, I'll start on some music for some of these stories later.

[SoulinEther]

By the way, I added a third story, and anonymous commenting is available. As long as people don't abuse it, I'll keep it that way. I'll try to pace myself from now on, maybe try to write a story to post on mondays, wednesdays and fridays, but I'm not sure of the schedule and I'll see how I adjust.

Anonymous commenting generally leads to bot abuse, but I don't know what they provide to prevent bots from commenting.

No, it owuldn't be affiliated with OCR at all, but it would be used by OCR'ers, there'd be no reason for OCR to be affiliated with a writing deal. I'd almost prefer that it didn't become a competition though, it's less work this way and it's more fun with less deadlines and timing constraints. Kind of "write as you are" in your spare time sort of thing.

The competition I was referring to was the competition we have in the Competitions Forum. I was just thinking it would be nice to archive the stuff written there ... in this blog thing.

And I really don't know why i thought it would be affiliated. Lol. my mind is dying. friggin marijuana. or is it cocaine!? THE WORLD SHALL NEVER KNOW (because I can't tell the difference apparently lol)

Edit: well, in short, (in this short story request topic), we need artists and maybe musicians now... there are like 8 short stories available now lol.

[Jam Stunna]

I'm working on a non-related short story now, but once I finish I may write another one. No promises though.

[The Author]

By the way, prophet of mephisto. Thank you for starting this thread, I am starting to love this blogging short story thing I've got going. I might have never did it without what started in here, and I'm glad this thread gave me the old kick in the arse I needed.

[Darklink42]

I am starting to love this blogging short story thing I've got going. I might have never did it without what started in here, and I'm glad this thread gave me the old kick in the arse I needed.

I think I might copy your idea, RD. This has already gotten me started on a couple of cool ideas, and I think with a healthy deadline, I might actually be able to get back into the swing of things again. Kudos to the both of you.

[Random Hajile]

Guess who :0. I write.

[sgx]

Cool idea. Wish there were more artists participating in this though.

[SoulinEther]

I think at this point, we need to collect the body of literature available and create a new thread calling for artists.

And of course.... I ain't doing it

[42]

Here's my story.

---------------------------------------------------------

The only real indication of the teardrop of a ship moving through space was the occasional blinking of a star, but since stars only blink when viewed through an atmosphere, it was highly obvious that something was there. That something happened to be the I.S.S. Perseverance populated by the Iin'Go.

Captain Zorbj leaned over and picked out one of the freshly harvested kacar seeds to eat with his beak and then craned his serpentine neck back around to look over his science officer's shlumped shoulders at the tiny display screen. Science officer Irp always hated it when the captain crowded his personal space, but there was little he could do about it.

"Uiriir ien neiar aritoe nenw nanw," Zorbj burbled. Irp blinked and allowed the implications of these new orders to sink in. He twisted his neck to face his captain.

"Wait... what?," said Irp, and then noticed the visible bulge the wad of seeds made in his commanding officer's cheek and the thin strand of drool oozing from Zorbj's beak ending in a globule that reflected red and yellow light emanating from various terminals around the dimmed bridge that reminded Irp of the jeweled baubles sold during the Festival of Thrixx. A hint of a smile appeared at the edges of Irp's beak. Zorbj realized what Irp was staring at and glared frumiously at him for approximately 3.4 seconds before spitting the seed hulls at Irp and nearly knocking him out. As the newest member of Zorbj's crew, Irp still had not learned the hard lesson of always take the captain seriously.

The Iin'Go (Borrogovus Phoenicapterylus) are a curious species inasmuch that they are just plain strange. By their calculations, they should not be; their home world is not encouraging for the development of sentient species, nor should their physiology allow for high intelligence, much less even sentience. They don't even, for example, have arms for manipulation, only stubby useless wings. How tall, gangly, dingy, flightless, mop-like birds became an intelligent space ferrying civilization was beyond even their best scientists. It was as if the very Fates have messed up. Because of all this, the Iin'Go have adopted a "We're sentient, might as well make the best of it" attitude. This was pretty much why Captain Zorbj and his crew were exploring for new life forms: it wasn't that they weren't curious, but it was that searching for new alien life was just something that space ferrying civilizations did.

"Enter in coordinates 3K.63Z 8309x Plural Z Alpha," Zorbj commanded as Irp regained consciousness. Irp sighed and pecked out the coordinates on the touch screen with his beak rattling his brain again.

As stressful as being scrutinized by the captain and having ones head traumatized was, Irp was thankful he wasn't old K'nirk, the ships navigator/pilot. Old K'nirk wore the navigator's helmet which coincidentally looked like an old Earth style aviator's helmet and goggles and was strapped into a harness with one of his legs wrapped around a heavy lever on the floor, his other leg working a another lever on a nearby wall, and his long neck twisted around a third lever juxtaposed awkwardly from the ceiling. Also K'nirk, who, because of a ship's design flaw, had the emergency klaxon placed next to his head, was almost deaf. At least, he blamed it on the klaxon.

Irp finished entering in the data sequence. With an awkwardly loud "Bwooop!" and a sudden stop to announce the exit from superspace, the view screen that took up the entire forward wall lit up.

"By the seven moons of Nakmoore!" exclaimed Zorbj. On the view screen hung a blue and green marble with white swirls. A thick layer of awe had settled across the bridge, none of the bridge crew had ever seen anything as beautiful as this planet before. Captain Zorbj and Officer Irp were so enamored with the view in front of them (At least, Zorbj and Irp were in awe; Old K'nirk had fallen asleep. Again.) that they almost didn't notice that they were about to collide with an asteroid, which caused them to come to their senses quickly. Irp performed a quick level 4 scan and was surprised to find not just life, but intelligent life on a planet in such a backwaters part of the galaxy. It is hard to remain upbeat after 1543 days without finding so much as protoplasmic amebas.

"Heh, the dominate species is so primitive that they still think that the concept of digital watches is a pretty neat idea," smirked Irp.

"So it is settled. We're forming a landing party!" Zorbj always tended to rush things.

They chose a peninsula on the southern part of the north west continent that the locals called "Floor-uh-dah", which they picked up from local broadcasts. The landing craft landed with a thump in the warm, subtropical mud of the alien planet. Due to budget cuts from the High Council, landing parties were limited to only three crew members, which happened to be Zorbj, Irp, and Old K'nirk. In fact, they were the only crew aboard the I.S.S. Perseverance. The bay door opened with a hiss and all the majestic, awe inspiring pomp and circumstance that comes with the first contact between species, complete with the glowing blue-white interior light and the silhouettes of the owners of the spacecraft to create that illusion of mystery, which was all unfortunate really because all there was no one around to witness it.

Zorbj and Irp craned their necks to look outside, looked at each other, and looked at Old K'nirk who was staring at a particularly interesting piece of blank wall. By a near unanimous decision and a swift kick later, Old K'nirk was the first out the hatch and landed with a thump. Zorbj and Irp listened intently. All they heard was the occasional hack and cough from Old K'nirk, so they joined their crewmate.

Irp was the first to feel it. Something in the air, something they hadn't detected before. It started as a twitchy itch right where he couldn't scratch it. Then it spread all over his body and changed into a fierce burning sensation. Irp could tell that the others were experiencing something similar by the way they were also screeching, squawking, rolling around in mud, going mad, and generally doing everything to make the sensation stop. Their feet and feathers were falling off, their insides were dissolving, their legs were calcifying into hard metal, their bodies were slowly stiffening, and their skin was mollifying into a waxy substance that was garishly pink. Zorbj aimed his stiffening neck and beak for the transceiver he brought and fell on it with a hollow "donk" destroying the device. Zorbj's last though was "Oh, no. Not again." as the landing craft took off on autopilot to rendezvous with the main ship.

In a nearby farmhouse, a dog that was more fashion accessory than household pet was barking incessantly and thick Scottish brogue rang out, "Eustace, go out and see what that was."

"Muriel, you just focus on supper." said Eustace as he kicked down the door in a way that it was obvious that he had rented too many action DVDs and bravely wielding a 12-iron. "Dang kids and their firecrackers," mumbled Eustace, and Muriel came out anyway. Eustace with Muriel in toe eventually stumbled over Irp, Zorbj, and Old K'nirk lying in the mud next to a scorched crater. He squatted down and picked up one by the leg. "Yup, crazy kids and their firecrackers and garbage."

"You know, these look like those Flamingo birds," observed Muriel in her trademark Scottish accent, and the very next day, there was Zorbj, Irp, and Old K'nirk in their front yard. Plastic yard flamingos caught on like wildfire. It was several years later though before people started manufacturing plastic flamingos that weren't posed like they were writhing in agony. Even today, the early writhing in agony plastic flamingos are very rare and often sought by collectors.

The landing pod that brought Zorbj, Irp, and Old K'nirk eventually crashed into the main ship, and the combined mass crashed near Roswell. Both are currently housed in Area 51.

[Meteo Xavier]

Since my idea isn't going to be used, I might as well post it for fun.

Once there lived a boy who had two heads.

The one on the right was called HOPE

The one of the other right was called BLISS

They shared one body and lived seperate lives.

One head spoke only the truth

The other spoke only lies

But no one knew which one was which.

One day, the double boy was walking through a wood

When they came across a woman with no head

The boy on the right offered to share his head with her

So she could go about her life

She went home that day

and told her son what a horrible mistake he was.

She told her husband was sleeping with his mom

and selling the videos to pay his disability bills.

She went to work and told the boss she had evidence.

Then she went to Jesus

and told him to fuck off and die.

Then she called the news station

and said she saw a disfigured man

carry a beaten little girl inside his shack.

That night the double boy showed up at her door

"I'm as happy as I've ever been." She said with a smile on his face.

But a deal was a deal

and right there on the porch, she exchanged heads.

The next day, she woke up in her bed.

She told her son how much she loved her

and how proud she was how strong he is

despite living in an iron lung.

She told her husband she didn't care

if he ever regained mobility.

She'd still fuck him whenever he wanted her to.

She went to work and praised her boss

and how big his shriveled testicles were.

Then she went to Jesus

and told him to fuck off and die.

Then she called the news station again

and told them to call off the search.

It had been a hoax.

That night the double boy showed up at her door

"I'm miserable." She said frowning. "I cannot live doing this."

She gave back the other head.

The double boy presented her a handmade head

With a smile carved on its face.

"Until you get one of your own." They said.

The next morning, the news was on.

The remains of a little girl were found in the woods

She had been beaten

and eaten

and molested at the end.

The shack was gone

and so was the man.

The woman had a lot to answer for

but her mouth wouldn't move

It could only smile.

Elsewhere, a boy with two heads was walking out of the woods.

One head spoke only the truth

The other spoke lies

But they were both eating the same charred remains.

Not bad for 20 minutes of work.

[Jam Stunna]

Yeah actually, I won't write anything else. There's a glut of stuff already, I'll just try to find some artists.

[SoulinEther]

Yeah actually, I won't write anything else. There's a glut of stuff already, I'll just try to find some artists.

the problem is... on ocremix.org's main page, all you see is "looking for writers of short stories..."

Prophet of mephisto: you might want to change the title of this thread to read "looking for artists for a collaborative effort (non-ocr)" or something of the like.

[Zephyr]

My turn to add to the bunch

I've never EVER written a short story just for the fun of it before, so this is my first one. Please let me know what you think of it.

It's futuristic AND dystopic

Cry a Goodbye

I woke to sirens, there was no need for an alarm, the sirens began everyday at 900 hours imperial standard time. It was when the first morning shift of agents made their first invasion. They were all so very—proper about it, so very inhuman. But that’s what the agents had become… inhuman. They left off at exactly 2300 hours and began promptly at 900 hours. The hours in between were the few hours of sanctuary that I had from this evil place.

It was a rude awakening, as it always was, but I had become accustomed to it. I rolled off of my small cot and stared towards the window, I shouldn’t have. I knew what I would see; the war torn world of the year 2034 was not a pretty place. Garbage lined the outsides of the perfectly polished streets. The streets were the only things that the imperial found necessary to maintain. The buildings, or what was left of them, were black with charcoal. Smoke rose to the sky from the countless raids and revolts. I tore myself away from the window and wandered through the door. I smelt fried bacon, but I knew the thought was optimistic.

My wife, Rebekah, stood at the oven, humming softly to herself as she cooked our breakfast. It really was bacon, and the day was improving. I said a quick good morning as I went on to lay on the couch. Today was Decires, the Tenth day of the week, a day of resting and relaxation before returning to the harsh work environment to endure another 10-day week. I turned on the TV to see which year of the rerun cycle was being broadcast now. No new television had been recorded for years, but it didn’t bother me, the shows were familiar and held memories of the past. I leaned back to watch an old episode of MASH. Just as the opening jingle finished the TV clicked off and I could hear the hum of the power transformers turn to silence. “What was that?” Rebekah called from the kitchen, “We couldn’t have used up our daily allotment of electricity already!” “No, not yet, it’s only 9:15.” I answered.” “Could it be th—“The phone’s ringing cut her thought short. I got up quickly and grabbed the phone from its base. “Who are you!?” I demanded, it was uncommon to get phone calls; all of the lines were monitored. “I am a superior, and you would do well to listen to what I have to say.” I shuffle my feet when I’m nervous, Rebekah quickly understood the situation and looked at me expectantly. I nodded regretfully and she sprinted to our bedroom and began to collect things from around the room. “What do you want!” I said, attempting to stay calm. Emotions welled up within me. “In one hour you will lose the one that you love most.” I glanced at Rebekah who paced about the room with her small bag of necessities, then tore the cord from the phone. “Was it—?”“Yes. It was— an Imperial, we have one hour.” Imperial. The word chilled me to the core. After the economy crashed in 2013 the Imperial were the few who stood together as a beacon of hope to the new world. They showed great leadership and rallied the public together to “fix” the world. They were our heroes. Oh how power corrupts… they soon held all of the power and authority in the society. Money was worthless, power was the new currency. They controlled the people with threats, and assembled their forces from those who joined out of fear. Becoming an agent protected you from the very force you were assimilating yourself with. Now the Imperial harvest fear and power, it keeps the public under control. They’ve demoralized themselves to using the destruction of human lives as entertainment and a source of fear; and therefore power.

I had heard read about this sort of thing on the walls in the bathroom at work, the one place in the building that is unmonitored by the Imperial’s watchful eye. A person is contacted and given a challenge or a threat. It was possible to evade the consequences, however from what I’ve heard; evasion has been… implausible. No, I would beat the system, I would escape their reach and Rebekah would live to see another day!

Rebekah didn’t ask any questions as we grabbed the possessions that mattered to us… there weren’t many, our stake was in memories of times long past. Escaping the building would be difficult, and where to go after that? By the time we dashed out the door and down the hall it was 930 hours, 45 minutes left. I could hear sirens, the same as this morning but considerably closer. The agents had arrived. Suddenly all of the windows along the hall burst, it was a scare tactic of the agents, to create the illusion of a great force. I was smarter than that, there was only 1 siren, meaning 1 vehicle, couldn’t be more than 4 agents. They underestimate me. They would be reaching the lower stairs by now, the only escape was upwards. “C’mon Becky, we’ve gotta hurry! Here, up those steps!” I followed closely behind her as she sprinted up the steps, my heart pounding as I heard the buzz of radios below us. I’d lost my wife once to the agents; she and I were deemed “unsuitable partners” by the matchmaking system. Sure we fought, but we worked things out, it sickened me to think that she was now out there somewhere with another man. Rebekah was a perfect match for me; however it often seemed a little too perfect. We were always a little too compatible. But I love her. And I can’t lose her.

The steps creaked and splintered underneath us; we had reached the top floor and rushed down the narrow apartment building hallway. Even through the sirens and the pounding of my heart I could hear the click of an agent’s rifle around the corner. “Stop!” I said grabbing Rebekah by the shoulder, she slid to a halt. Her eyes were red, almost in tears, but she wouldn’t cry. “In here!” I shoved her into one of the nearby apartments and hurried inside myself, slamming the door behind me. This was bad. They knew we were here. Footsteps approached. *Slam!* a door was rammed down, then another, they were about 10 feet away now. Rebekah was shaking uncontrollably; I held her hand to comfort her. 950 hours *Slam* “C’mon filthy scumbags, one more!” *Slam* this was it, time to make my stand; I heard the footsteps stop in front of the door and I charged. It took all of my force in a full body slam to take the door off its hinges. The agent behind the door went down, but another agent was only stunned by the attack. He stumbled and regained consciousness, fumbling for his rifle which had been knocked to the ground. There was no time, I rolled to my feet with a jolt of pain through my body and grabbed my wife’s hand forcing her to her feet. We raced around the corner just as he regained control of the weapon and got a shot off. I felt a slight tinge of relief, until I heard Rebekah cry out in pain. This was bad, she was shot in the thigh of her left leg, we were barely getting away while we were able-bodied… how were we ever going to make it with an injury like that? “I’ll… I’ll make it.” she spoke into my ear as she forced herself to her feet once more. At this point our only chance was to take the elevator, pick a random floor and hope for the best, hopefully it was still functional. The guard had pulled himself along the ground and rounded the corner readying his rifle to make another attack, I pulled Rebekah along as best as I could, but she was screaming in pain. Two more shots rang out, I saw one hit the wall to my right, but the other— “NO!” It struck Rebekah in the shoulder. I couldn’t handle seeing her in that much pain, I ran delirious at the guard, knocked him unconscious with a kick to the head, and put a few shots in him too… he would never hurt my wife again. I ran to the elevator panel and frantically hit every call button. I could hear the winch start up. Running back to Rebekah I glanced up and saw another agent round the corner, just as the elevator door opened. The agent was frantically reloading his weapon as he ran toward me, I could make it, I could escape, but Rebekah would never make it, if I risked taking the time to carry her, we’d probably both be dead. Could I do this thing? The greatest sacrifice? Give my life for another? It all seemed so surreal. They say in moments like this our most primal instincts and underlying character battle for control… but this battle was won before it started

I ran for the elevator and hit a button on the panel. I could hardly bear to watch through the closing door as the agent gained on Rebekah… I had failed to protect her. I had tried my hardest, but here I was, escaping on my own and leaving her behind. I had survived, the imperials won, but I survived. The elevator was silent as it lowered smoothly. “I have more power than you could possibly imagine. It was a useless waste of time for you to attempt escape. However I must commend you on your effort.” These words of hatred came clear over the elevator’s one speaker. “I told you one hour ago that you’d be here. I told you that you would lose the one that you love most.” There was a faint hiss and the elevator began to dim. “And the one that you love most— is yourself.” My beating heart slowed as I slumped to my knees with one last breath of invisible, odorless gas.