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Human Instinct by Illiad Simpson
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Human Instinct
Date: 20 December 2006, 4:32 am
Dreams. Massive pillars rising into the dark, clouded ceiling of your mind. The ground is dusty and gray and covered in the massive shadows of the gigantic monoliths. You hear laughing behind you, not a dark sinister laugh, but a sweet and innocent laugh. You turn around and see playing children, who seem unaware of the dismal surroundings. Warmth fills you inside where there was once awkward emptiness. But out of the background, the darkness that surrounds him and the children grows, engulfing the playing children with ghostly shadows. Now you become frightened, as the children remain helpless as the dark mist surrounds them, engulfing them until you see nothing but darkness. You want to help, but your legs have been taken over as you run in the opposite direction, the shadow now spreading itself across the dead landscape.
You reach a tunnel, filled with fleeing people as they clog the tunnel with their own bodies. They are panicked, they want to escape first, but they are impeded by their own desires. A sword appears in your hand, and you see it point towards the panicking men and women in the tunnel. You try to throw the sword away, but your arm is no longer under your control, you want to yell at the sword to stop, but your throat seems frozen in fear, you can't even look away as your independent instrument of death splatters the gore of helpless dozens across the walls. You want to cry at the massacre you had just performed, but your eyes remain dry…
"Wake up 'jarhead'."
Private First Class Chris Domovoi awoke with a fright. His eyes jerked open as he awoke from his dream. As his sense of perspective returned, he realized that his rude awakener, a naval security officer, was a little too close to his face for comfort as he instinctively backed his head away into the bed.
The officer left, chuckling to himself as he walked down the hall. Still tired, he lifted himself out of the small military cot and walked over to the bathroom outside his room. As he washed his face with the warm, almost salty water, he noticed something: his face. Close inspection revealed the purple bags of skin under his bloodshot eyes. His hair, once a neat, red, military buzz-cut, had become a frazzled jumble of red and white hairs, growing a good two inches above regulation length. His skin, once a healthy, tannish sheen was now a pale surface, marred with scratches, bruises, and every other affliction you could think of. He became conscious of his appearance, almost scared even. He studied his face a while longer before the loud, constant ring of the breakfast time began. He ran across the hallway, cursing to himself as he ran for the cafeteria, with everyone seated by now, there was no way he would—
He arrived at the cafeteria, he glanced at the tables; sitting on exact opposites of each other, one table labeled 'jarheads' was packed with soldiers in their shaggy Marine web gear, the other, labeled 'spacemen' were filled to the brim with naval officers, gleaming in their crisp, naval uniforms. He ignored the threatening glances from the naval side of the cafeteria as he went over to the slot in the wall with his assigned rations. The slots were small square foot slots in which a soldier's meal of that time and his or her assignment would be held, he took out the freeze-dried package of synthetic eggs and ham. He threw out the meal and went straight to assignments; civilian guard duty. He cringed at the word, as the most hated assignment of all; guarding refugees whose homes have been lost to the alien menace. He understood why it was an important assignment; protecting defenseless human civilians for the good of humanity, still, it was boring as hell and the children in the group usually got out of hand. He sighed and walked over to the windowed door of the base, squinting as the hot Death Valley sun pierced his vision; he put his hand up to his eyes as he walked out into the blazing heat.
He took a gaze at the surroundings; bunkers lined a hastily built asphalt road, lines of tanks and trucks inside a gated in field, pelican dropships and fighter jets of every shape and size taking off of the airfield, and cabins made of canvas and wood housed the civilians. He walked over to the civilian housing area. In a small courtyard right outside the cabins, there were children, playing, running, jumping all over the place. His mind flashed back the dream:
…You hear laughing behind you, not a dark sinister laugh, but a sweet and innocent laugh. You turn around and see playing children, who seem unaware of the dismal surroundings. Warmth fills you inside where there was once awkward emptiness. But out of the background, the darkness that surrounds him and the children grows, engulfing the playing children with ghostly shadows. Now you become frightened, as the children remain helpless as the dark mist surrounds them, engulfing them until you see nothing but shadows…
He momentarily froze, stuck in a trance of confusion and fear. He gazed fearfully at the children: oblivious of his dilemma. He shook the thought from his head and got back to the task at hand; he continued to help the elderly of the group with their numerous disabilities, he made sure that the perimeter of the grounds was safe, but each time he passed those playing children, that nightmare would flash [*]back to him, clear as if he had been seeing it happen in front of him.
He lay on his back in the grass inside the courtyard garden, looking blankly into the horizon. The sky was fading to an orange hue as the sun set over the edge of the earth. The children had gone in and he was ready to head in himself, so he got up, but only halfway; across the 'top' of the sun, he could see small turquoise ovals, shining like small, oddly shaped marbles in the sky. Fear struck his heart as he came to revelation of what was happening.
"It's them…"
he whispered to himself.
He ran for the gate, screaming bloody murder as he franticly ran to safety, followed by a shockwave of heat washing over him as the first hit struck. He heard screaming as the civilians in the plasma blast were being burnt alive. Slowly, he turned, still skeptical as to the atrocity he had failed to divert. His eyes widened at the sight, burning buildings, spires of flame rising into the sky, the magnificent light casting long shadows on the ground, he gazed in awe at the sight in a mix between fear and mesmerizment. His gaze remained fixed upon the spectacle of light, oblivious of the screams and alarms being emitted all over the base, he never even noticed the high-pitched whine of the next plasma volley headed right towards him.
"Damn."
Chris lay in the shards of burnt glass, gunfire erupting around him. Turning his head to examine the damage, he saw himself completely unharmed, even the armor in which he was hit in was completely unscathed. He sat up, still staring at the carnage, bullets and plasma fire whizzing through the air, though, through all of it, he had stopped caring, years of military awareness training seemed to disappear as he walked blindly through the battlefield. The sharp crackle of assault rifle fire became a series of muffled thumps as he walked into the chaos. Soon it came back to him; the sudden realization of his situation came into him, flowing into his mind in torrents, nervous sweat trickled down his body, his eye twitched as he looked up into the sky; obscured by smoke and fire.
He heard a muffled call to him.
He shook his head, trying to comprehend what was happening. He fixed himself in the direction of the call, his ears now completely aware of the hell he was in.
"Wake up dammit!"
He found himself face to face with an angry sergeant, he shook his senses back into place.
"Are you fucking blind!?" he berated.
He still couldn't explain how he lost his senses like that, Chris stuttered out a response, but by the time he could get something out, the sergeant had left him, leaving and MD9 magnum in his hand. Chris felt a newfound strength in the piece of metal, grinning now; he jumped into a sprint, expertly planting headshots in the Covenant ground forces. He rolled to the ground, diving behind a burning tank as purple glass-like shards pierced the air where he once was. He lobbed the grenade over the burning wreckage, savoring the resounding thump and the screams of his dying enemies. He put himself in the open, firing with his pistol and screaming as his enemies fell one by one into the dust, cold steel, gotta love the feeling.
The Covenant dropship sailed across the air, bullets harmlessly reflecting off the armor with barely noticeable 'pings' as the bullets started their new course from the hull of the dropship. It glided through the air, the guns on its underside spouting massive needle-esque shards of plasma into the battlefield; it cast a massive shadow as it blocked out the sun in its path, becoming a massive, flying shroud of darkness in the sky, still blasting away at the helpless human defenders. Chris's bravado dropped as the shadow came towards him, blasting away at his teammates, leaving him, for some unexplained reason, for last. Now the Phantom was content with his work, now focusing on him, Chris screamed in fear as he headed for the door, the ground erupting behind him, there was no way he could outrun the Phantom, though his headstart on the door just might be enough.
Ten seconds. He sprinted to the door, the fire getting nearer with every step.
Five seconds. The Covenant dropship was gaining on him, the heat from the blasts burning the back of his feet.
Two seconds. Al…most…there…
He slammed into the door, sure he was fast enough to get inside, though there he stood, his shoulder against the wall. He gazed in horror as he ran his hand across the weld marks that sealed the door's metal frames together, and his fate as well. He screamed at the door, banging at the glass panels to let whoever barricaded themselves in there let him in. he looked back at the dropship, his head hunched into his shoulders and sweat running down his neck, he focused on the Phantom, the gunports fizzling with heat from the chase to the door. He shrunk himself into a low crouch, his eyes glued to the first gunport at the bow of the ship, now glowing to a miniature sun as it charged up the final "coup de grace".
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