Post by spotxspot on Jul 2, 2015 7:32:07 GMT -5
(lack of) Context: archive.org/details/SSS02072015 (last 40 or so minutes)
Night spread across the surface of the planet like maple syrup on a pancake. 'twould be fitting to say it also spread on the surrounding parts of the galaxy but the blackness that forever pervaded space meant that night was already a permanent resident. Not the only one, god forbid, for the insides of the brains of the prisoners in the complex was also forever filled with hatred and dread at the ones who had put them there.
One such prisoner stirred in a corner far within the complex, nothing but curses and perdition flowing through his head. 'tis how it had been ever since he had the misfortune of being brought to that place, and how he expected it would remain for the rest of his waking days. None of this changed as he noticed the approach of one bulky form to his cell. The warden, he thought, come to torment him some more with his unending gloating.
“So,” he heard a voice begin to echo, “that's where you've been this whole time.”
“As if you didn't know, you taffer,” the prisoner offered back. “What in the trickster's name have you come to throw in my face this time? Am I to hear all about the coming blood moon night, and how you'll let whatever gets in here have its way with us?
“Hardly,” the voice replied, with mirth that surprised the prisoner in his tracks. “I expect we'll both be of this rock before that ever comes to pass. What surprises me is that you would think I would bring news like that to anyone.”
No longer resigning himself to a corner, the prisoner resolved to bring his gaze up, no longer believing this sudden visitor to be the warden. Rather, he found himself face to face with a figure he never would have come to associate with a place such as that— a rotund old man clad in all red with a spectacular beard, carrying something under his arm, something that appeared to be nothing less than an electric guitar.
“What the—“
“You act like you've never seen anything like me before in your mind's eye,” the figure chuckled. “But there's no time to dwell on this right now, we should get going.”
With a motion that the stunned prisoner's mind did not have time to process properly, the old man swung his guitar against the forcefield that served as a way out of his cell, resulting in a flash of light that the prisoner fancied he could also hear, making a sound that inspired in him a remarkably clear memory of a sweet rock'n'roll riff. The next moment, the old man was holding out his hand to the prisoner, who blinked only once before taking it and running off towards the surface.
“So,” the prisoner said after a few moments of trying to regain his composure, “how are we going to get off this rock?”
“Rock could get us off this rock,” the old man replied, “if its power were as its usual state. Something bizarre has happened, however, so I've had to come up with a backup plan.”
Before the prisoner could inquire what said plan was, he saw it embodied before him: The two of them had just ran into a docking bay meant for starships, but it was presently occupied exclusively by a single vessel, with three people standing before it. They were all young and exceedingly alien-looking— something that did not feel entirely out of place in that environment, and that was further accentuated by the fact that one of them sported an unearthly pink mane of hair.
“We're ready,” the old man belted out, “we gotta haul out of here at once or you all know what will happen!”
“うぃあるれっぢ!
“Excellent. Now get on!”
Not wishing to rack his brain further, the prisoner complied. Within a minute, the five of them were aboard the starship, and the sequence for takeoff was remotely activated by one of them. A few minutes beyond that, they were all cruising through space.
“Now...” the prisoner finally brought himself to say, “anyone care to tell me what the taffing taff's going on here?”
“It's very simple,” the old man said. “You'll have to excuse the manner of my assistants, but I couldn't get anyone else in the window of time I had available for the extraction.”
“Extraction from what?” the prisoner demanded. “I know that place is bad, but why me? Why now?”
“We needed someone like you for a very special purpose,” the old man continued. “And by the way, if any of us remind you of anyone else you've ever seen, real or otherwise, I can quite assure you that you are mistaken.”
“Well, you did seem kind of familiar,” the prisoner observed. “They, on the other hand... I can't say for sure I can put a name on them, but I'm certain I've seen something that resembles them at least, at one point or another.”
“That's understandable,” the old man muttered. Suddenly, though, in a surprisingly subtle way, it seemed as if the old man's voice was gaining some energy and depth.
“So...” the prisoner said, hesitantly, “who are you, exactly?”
“No one whose name you need to know,” the man replied, his voice no longer reflecting old age, but rather a remarkable volume of virility. “But I promise all of this will make sense in just a few moments.”
Now thoroughly convinced that this was not a good situation to be in, the prisoner began to look around frantically. He noticed a few unusual things being reflect on the monitors that populated the interior of the starship. Things such as a long-maned youth being superposed on a background rife with small, delicious-looking yellow pellets, an oblong-looking, purple-skinned creature slumped over with an expression that reflected an immeasurable amount of misery and cynicism, and finally, atop a desk, he spied a mechanical contraption that might have served as a missing limb, seemingly haphazardly situated atop a mess of musical score sheets.
“What...” the prisoner muttered, “what manner of place is this?”
“Dont'cha worry about that,” the burly man muttered, without turning to face the prisoner. “Jest keep it cool, and nothing bad'll happen.”
Before the prisoner could protest further, the burly man suddenly turned around and, from a small apparatus held in his hand, produced a beam that struck the prisoner in less than an instant, bringing with it an enormous lethargy and paralysis. Unable to move or even protest, the prisoner could merely stare, as he noticed the man's appearance had changed— no longer was he clad in the red coat he could only assume had been a disguise, but rather in a minimalistic attire that suggested he was constantly on the move.
Moments later, the prisoner felt his limbs being shifted as he soon realised the three other occupants of the starship were apparently in the process of binding him to some kind of surface. It was there that he stayed, immobile and powerless, for a few more minutes, until he was suddenly sealed in a larger compartment that sealed him off from the sights and sounds of the rest of the room.
In the few moments before his imprisonment, however, he did manage to overhear the burly man speaking a few words, presumably to someone on the other end of a communicator device:
“Spiff? I got that thing you asked for. Y'owe me fifty bucks.”
Night spread across the surface of the planet like maple syrup on a pancake. 'twould be fitting to say it also spread on the surrounding parts of the galaxy but the blackness that forever pervaded space meant that night was already a permanent resident. Not the only one, god forbid, for the insides of the brains of the prisoners in the complex was also forever filled with hatred and dread at the ones who had put them there.
One such prisoner stirred in a corner far within the complex, nothing but curses and perdition flowing through his head. 'tis how it had been ever since he had the misfortune of being brought to that place, and how he expected it would remain for the rest of his waking days. None of this changed as he noticed the approach of one bulky form to his cell. The warden, he thought, come to torment him some more with his unending gloating.
“So,” he heard a voice begin to echo, “that's where you've been this whole time.”
“As if you didn't know, you taffer,” the prisoner offered back. “What in the trickster's name have you come to throw in my face this time? Am I to hear all about the coming blood moon night, and how you'll let whatever gets in here have its way with us?
“Hardly,” the voice replied, with mirth that surprised the prisoner in his tracks. “I expect we'll both be of this rock before that ever comes to pass. What surprises me is that you would think I would bring news like that to anyone.”
No longer resigning himself to a corner, the prisoner resolved to bring his gaze up, no longer believing this sudden visitor to be the warden. Rather, he found himself face to face with a figure he never would have come to associate with a place such as that— a rotund old man clad in all red with a spectacular beard, carrying something under his arm, something that appeared to be nothing less than an electric guitar.
“What the—“
“You act like you've never seen anything like me before in your mind's eye,” the figure chuckled. “But there's no time to dwell on this right now, we should get going.”
With a motion that the stunned prisoner's mind did not have time to process properly, the old man swung his guitar against the forcefield that served as a way out of his cell, resulting in a flash of light that the prisoner fancied he could also hear, making a sound that inspired in him a remarkably clear memory of a sweet rock'n'roll riff. The next moment, the old man was holding out his hand to the prisoner, who blinked only once before taking it and running off towards the surface.
“So,” the prisoner said after a few moments of trying to regain his composure, “how are we going to get off this rock?”
“Rock could get us off this rock,” the old man replied, “if its power were as its usual state. Something bizarre has happened, however, so I've had to come up with a backup plan.”
Before the prisoner could inquire what said plan was, he saw it embodied before him: The two of them had just ran into a docking bay meant for starships, but it was presently occupied exclusively by a single vessel, with three people standing before it. They were all young and exceedingly alien-looking— something that did not feel entirely out of place in that environment, and that was further accentuated by the fact that one of them sported an unearthly pink mane of hair.
“We're ready,” the old man belted out, “we gotta haul out of here at once or you all know what will happen!”
“うぃあるれっぢ!
“Excellent. Now get on!”
Not wishing to rack his brain further, the prisoner complied. Within a minute, the five of them were aboard the starship, and the sequence for takeoff was remotely activated by one of them. A few minutes beyond that, they were all cruising through space.
“Now...” the prisoner finally brought himself to say, “anyone care to tell me what the taffing taff's going on here?”
“It's very simple,” the old man said. “You'll have to excuse the manner of my assistants, but I couldn't get anyone else in the window of time I had available for the extraction.”
“Extraction from what?” the prisoner demanded. “I know that place is bad, but why me? Why now?”
“We needed someone like you for a very special purpose,” the old man continued. “And by the way, if any of us remind you of anyone else you've ever seen, real or otherwise, I can quite assure you that you are mistaken.”
“Well, you did seem kind of familiar,” the prisoner observed. “They, on the other hand... I can't say for sure I can put a name on them, but I'm certain I've seen something that resembles them at least, at one point or another.”
“That's understandable,” the old man muttered. Suddenly, though, in a surprisingly subtle way, it seemed as if the old man's voice was gaining some energy and depth.
“So...” the prisoner said, hesitantly, “who are you, exactly?”
“No one whose name you need to know,” the man replied, his voice no longer reflecting old age, but rather a remarkable volume of virility. “But I promise all of this will make sense in just a few moments.”
Now thoroughly convinced that this was not a good situation to be in, the prisoner began to look around frantically. He noticed a few unusual things being reflect on the monitors that populated the interior of the starship. Things such as a long-maned youth being superposed on a background rife with small, delicious-looking yellow pellets, an oblong-looking, purple-skinned creature slumped over with an expression that reflected an immeasurable amount of misery and cynicism, and finally, atop a desk, he spied a mechanical contraption that might have served as a missing limb, seemingly haphazardly situated atop a mess of musical score sheets.
“What...” the prisoner muttered, “what manner of place is this?”
“Dont'cha worry about that,” the burly man muttered, without turning to face the prisoner. “Jest keep it cool, and nothing bad'll happen.”
Before the prisoner could protest further, the burly man suddenly turned around and, from a small apparatus held in his hand, produced a beam that struck the prisoner in less than an instant, bringing with it an enormous lethargy and paralysis. Unable to move or even protest, the prisoner could merely stare, as he noticed the man's appearance had changed— no longer was he clad in the red coat he could only assume had been a disguise, but rather in a minimalistic attire that suggested he was constantly on the move.
Moments later, the prisoner felt his limbs being shifted as he soon realised the three other occupants of the starship were apparently in the process of binding him to some kind of surface. It was there that he stayed, immobile and powerless, for a few more minutes, until he was suddenly sealed in a larger compartment that sealed him off from the sights and sounds of the rest of the room.
In the few moments before his imprisonment, however, he did manage to overhear the burly man speaking a few words, presumably to someone on the other end of a communicator device:
“Spiff? I got that thing you asked for. Y'owe me fifty bucks.”