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Adventures of Trigger Beake

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1 Adventures of Trigger Beake on Tue Dec 31, 2013 2:53 pm

Cosbones

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Amateur Writer
I awaken aboard a strange ship, my head hurting from the buzzing sound of the great holographic globe. The taste of copper filled my mouth as I moved to the teleporter and made my way to the planet below, driven by fear to escape this place

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A small stone well greeted me as I made my way out of the woodlands, the air fresh and the day bright. This place was much better then the ship above. A statue guarded the path and watched me with cruel eyes. I did not like it.

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Beyond the well, a stone monolith rises out of the ground. It is familiar, ancient but altered and scratched with the trappings of new technology.

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I climbed the stairs steadily, my head swimming still with the taste of my own blood. Here, I found the methodical, pragmatic workshop. The chests prove to be almost empty, but I find some canned food in the crates.

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The next two floors up are gilded and filled with dusty trinkets. I like them, but I can't seem to recall why.

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The wind beats great propellers overheard to power the rest of the building. The computer terminal draws my eye, but it seems fruitless. Locked with a password. I look into the loft and notice four beds, but no Avians. The loneliness begins to creep in, as the artwork unsettles me.

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There are farms on the sides of the towers, looping around it. These hanging gardens are filled with rotting vegetables. It's been some time since someone tended them. When I walk out to look over the edge, I spot something strange inside of the Well shaft.

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I climb down, insatiable wanderlust gripping my stomach as I gripped to bone dry stone.

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What is this sign? Why is the pipe pumping water away from the well? Something with bright eyes blinks at me from inside the grate. I move onward. An angry red glow throbs at the end of the tunnel.

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It's a decontamination chamber. The note on the wall reads; "This is a sealed environment, failure to follow safety protocols may lead to termination." I shower, drinking the water from the faucet. The door at the other end of the room opens. I begin to climb into the rotting dark.

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Wood creaks and chains rattle in the breeze that follows me. The bottom of the cavern is impossibly far below. Bones lay scattered across one of the raised platforms. These cages reminded me of cattle pens.

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I realize the dust is not dust, but the memory of men. Most of the torture instruments are rusted now, but spears still jut out of the wooden platform, holding aloft their grizzly prize. Something catches my eye, further on.

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An impassive metal wall, with a glowing blue hand print. I moved forward and lightly touched the still working pad. A mechanical voice thanked me for my fingerprint identification and welcomed me back to the room beyond. It seemed... like some sort of holding room, with pits for prisoners to be dropped into. A watchful eye of a security camera and an Ape watch me and the ghosts.

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The lab beyond still smells faintly of disinfectant. Generators hum, out of sight, as I blearily walk deeper. A sense of terror is building as I move down into a common room, refusing to look at the door to my left. That door was bad. That door was bad. That door was bad.

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The servers hum as the computers burst back into life. They have ancient codes to recall, jobs to finish, now that someone had returned. "Welcome back, Doctor. Please enter your three number passcode. Testing will begin immediately on the tribal population."

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