HOME | DD

Description
Heartbeat.

Inner ear cries in distress.  Hmm, a note: C#.

Inhale, exhale, step, step.

      More blood.  More broken bones.  More cryptic "Unitology" scrawl-ings.  Hehe, such bullshit, right?  How can this so-called "divine relic" bring Heaven to us?  "God moves in mysterious ways"?  God doesn't have authority here.  The USG Ishimura  is run by these things now.  Ugh, the taste of bile in my mouth, I retch; I almost didn't get my helmet off in time.  Oh...a few splotches on my chin.  I spit, I cough.  An eerie echo.  A doppelganger?  Hell, for all I know, it could be mum.

Pivot ninety degrees on left foot.

Inhale, exhale, a shriek of pain.

Did I procreate the noise?

      No, it wasn't me.  I observe all within a six-foot radius; it's dark, to say dry least.  The stock of my Rifle is still cold.  Illuminated approximately twenty feet to my 11:00, there lies a creature; human?  The creature sobs.  A tear gleams lugubriously in the light of the Rifle.  My steps hasten, my heart retches, my breath is stolen away.  "Noelle!?" I whimper.  The creature is in fact human, a woman, she lies on her side, and scuttles her fingers.  She starts to weep, mournfully and with great anguish, as she tries to punish herself; God only knows why.
      "Wait," I exclaim, relieving the human of her tool, "stop!"
      "Get out!  Get out!  GET OUT!" she grows restless and begins to shiver.
      "What's happening?  I can help!" I try to connect with her.
      "They won't get out!...Kill me!  JUST FUCKING KILL ME!  PLEASE!" her eyes tell her story of grief and heartbreak and sadness.
      "Wait, hold on!  I can help!  I swear I'll help; hand to God!" says I, ironically, for my faith is tragically not full and well...God help her and I.

      She sobs; it's the sob of ultimate suffering.

      She reaches behind her lower back, and seems to create a sickening tool of self-harm.  A metallic click.  The hammer and trigger perch on the edge of the nervous system of the finger, hand, wrist, arm, shoulder, and then head.
      "No, no!  DON'T!" I move to stop her.  My hand becomes an inhibitor, and my thumb the arbiter.  Her finger still tries to martyr its owner, a mechanical slave of self-destruction.  She screams the scream of desperation.  The hammer continues to move, abhorring the blockage; my thumb is probably done for.

      She sobs; it's the sob of restriction of one's own mind.

      "Now," I pant, out of breath, "What the hell?  Why kill yourself?  Why not fight back and survive?...What's your name?"
      "Sharon," she whimpers, as the handgun slowly drops from her clutch.
      "Okay, Sharon, my name is Benjamin," pant, "...heh...nice to meet you..."  I pick her up from the slump, and give a reassuring embrace.  She cries once more, this time in my arms.  I feel her shiver again, but not from fear.
      "Your suit's cold..."  she softly speaks.  Her tears streak down the carbonized cobalt and titanium plating of my chest.

      "Do you have a Plasma Cutter?" I inquire, softly and warmly.
      "No," Sharon replies, "I've only a knife."
      "Use mine, then," I reach in my pack, and extrude from it a mining tool with an insignia of a human skull and M14 Carbines, crossed.
      "I've never used one before," Sharon begins to show worry in her eyes, "I'm not a miner."
      "It's simple," I reply.  Her tutorial lasts shortly, and we set on our way.

I can't get the name out of my head:

Noelle...

          *          *          *

Inhale.

Round after round, plasma discharge after discharge.

Exhale.

We've survived for about two days so far; we now depend on each other to survive.

      Sharon.  She reminds me of her.  What can it be that I see of Noelle in her?  Is it her face?  Her eyes?  Her voice?  Her new-found courage?  What?  I recall the taste of Noelle's lips, and the feel of her heart against mine.  Something in Sharon makes me think.  Something in Sharon makes me wonder.  Something in her makes me feel...in love.  Is this wrong?  Is it immoral?  What do I feel?  Is it loneliness?  Is it...

What is it?

      Sharon may have sensed my troubles; she offers a calming embrace.  Her heart beats in the same manner of Noelle's.  Her face turns to acquiesce to me.  Her lips seem to have had an ultimatum to meet mine.  Inhale, exhale.

How much time goes by?  A minute?  Five minutes?  Ten minutes?  An hour?

      Is...this...wrong?

Description
Heartbeat.

Inner ear cries in distress.  Hmm, a note: C#.

Inhale, exhale, step, step.

      More blood.  More broken bones.  More cryptic "Unitology" scrawl-ings.  Hehe, such bullshit, right?  How can this so-called "divine relic" bring Heaven to us?  "God moves in mysterious ways"?  God doesn't have authority here.  The USG Ishimura  is run by these things now.  Ugh, the taste of bile in my mouth, I retch; I almost didn't get my helmet off in time.  Oh...a few splotches on my chin.  I spit, I cough.  An eerie echo.  A doppelganger?  Hell, for all I know, it could be mum.

Pivot ninety degrees on left foot.

Inhale, exhale, a shriek of pain.

Did I procreate the noise?

      No, it wasn't me.  I observe all within a six-foot radius; it's dark, to say dry least.  The stock of my Rifle is still cold.  Illuminated approximately twenty feet to my 11:00, there lies a creature; human?  The creature sobs.  A tear gleams lugubriously in the light of the Rifle.  My steps hasten, my heart retches, my breath is stolen away.  "Noelle!?" I whimper.  The creature is in fact human, a woman, she lies on her side, and scuttles her fingers.  She starts to weep, mournfully and with great anguish, as she tries to punish herself; God only knows why.
      "Wait," I exclaim, relieving the human of her tool, "stop!"
      "Get out!  Get out!  GET OUT!" she grows restless and begins to shiver.
      "What's happening?  I can help!" I try to connect with her.
      "They won't get out!...Kill me!  JUST FUCKING KILL ME!  PLEASE!" her eyes tell her story of grief and heartbreak and sadness.
      "Wait, hold on!  I can help!  I swear I'll help; hand to God!" says I, ironically, for my faith is tragically not full and well...God help her and I.

      She sobs; it's the sob of ultimate suffering.

      She reaches behind her lower back, and seems to create a sickening tool of self-harm.  A metallic click.  The hammer and trigger perch on the edge of the nervous system of the finger, hand, wrist, arm, shoulder, and then head.
      "No, no!  DON'T!" I move to stop her.  My hand becomes an inhibitor, and my thumb the arbiter.  Her finger still tries to martyr its owner, a mechanical slave of self-destruction.  She screams the scream of desperation.  The hammer continues to move, abhorring the blockage; my thumb is probably done for.

      She sobs; it's the sob of restriction of one's own mind.

      "Now," I pant, out of breath, "What the hell?  Why kill yourself?  Why not fight back and survive?...What's your name?"
      "Sharon," she whimpers, as the handgun slowly drops from her clutch.
      "Okay, Sharon, my name is Benjamin," pant, "...heh...nice to meet you..."  I pick her up from the slump, and give a reassuring embrace.  She cries once more, this time in my arms.  I feel her shiver again, but not from fear.
      "Your suit's cold..."  she softly speaks.  Her tears streak down the carbonized cobalt and titanium plating of my chest.

      "Do you have a Plasma Cutter?" I inquire, softly and warmly.
      "No," Sharon replies, "I've only a knife."
      "Use mine, then," I reach in my pack, and extrude from it a mining tool with an insignia of a human skull and M14 Carbines, crossed.
      "I've never used one before," Sharon begins to show worry in her eyes, "I'm not a miner."
      "It's simple," I reply.  Her tutorial lasts shortly, and we set on our way.

I can't get the name out of my head:

Noelle...

          *          *          *

Inhale.

Round after round, plasma discharge after discharge.

Exhale.

We've survived for about two days so far; we now depend on each other to survive.

      Sharon.  She reminds me of her.  What can it be that I see of Noelle in her?  Is it her face?  Her eyes?  Her voice?  Her new-found courage?  What?  I recall the taste of Noelle's lips, and the feel of her heart against mine.  Something in Sharon makes me think.  Something in Sharon makes me wonder.  Something in her makes me feel...in love.  Is this wrong?  Is it immoral?  What do I feel?  Is it loneliness?  Is it...

What is it?

      Sharon may have sensed my troubles; she offers a calming embrace.  Her heart beats in the same manner of Noelle's.  Her face turns to acquiesce to me.  Her lips seem to have had an ultimatum to meet mine.  Inhale, exhale.

How much time goes by?  A minute?  Five minutes?  Ten minutes?  An hour?

      Is...this...wrong?