FAQ Suchen Mitgliederliste Benutzergruppen Profil Einloggen, um private Nachrichten zu lesen Registrieren Login
Die DSA-Chaoten
...Hilfe, wir haben ein Forum!

 
Dreadnought (Kurzgeschichte, englisch)

 
Neues Thema eröffnen   Neue Antwort erstellen    Die DSA-Chaoten Foren-Übersicht -> Astronomican
Vorheriges Thema anzeigen :: Nächstes Thema anzeigen  
Autor Nachricht
JabezP
METAL BAWKSES


Geschlecht: Geschlecht:männlich
Anmeldungsdatum: 29.06.2008
Beiträge: 1727
Wohnort: the grim darkness of the 41st millennium

BeitragVerfasst am: 04.08.2016, 14:44    Titel: Dreadnought (Kurzgeschichte, englisch) Antworten mit Zitat

Cybots/Dreadnoughts machen mich einfach traurig...

________________________________

I awake in agony. Darkness surrounds me, holding me in its suffocating grip. I try to open my eyes, straining those burning muscles until I remember that my eyes are open, that they always are... that I can't close them any more.

There's pressure on my ears and a faint gurgling sound. Am I drowning? I want to hold my breath, but something forces me to breathe. There's a tube going down my throat. I can feel its cold, smooth surface touch what is left of my windpipe. Windpipe? What an ironic word. Somehow I know that it's been long since I last felt wind on my skin (what skin?), and the only sound I manage to utter right now is a pitiful croak.

The darkness gives way to the blurred image of a sterile-looking room. People are moving around, some pausing to stare at me. They have some significance to me, but I don't remember why. Are they my captors? My torturers?

Slowly the pressure on my ears eases. I still feel weightless, and yet I'm falling. Slow drumming mixes into the burble around me, weakly, rhythmically.

Someone's heartbeat?

Mine?

Another pang of agony runs through my arms. The nerves are flayed, the fingers broken. I want to move my twisted, aching limbs, but they won't obey. My jaw clenches. I expect my teeth to dig into my lip and my tongue to taste blood, but all I feel is the touch of that tube that still forces me to breathe, to endure, to live.

The drumming echoes around me, much too close for such a huge room. I must be stuck in a cage, in some kind of torture device. What else would keep me still? If I could, I would wrench my arms free and stretch them (what arms?). If I could, I would open that mouth wide and scream (what mouth?). If I could, I would end the pain, return into the darkness, the real darkness, the comforting one from whose embrace I was so harshly ripped...

One of those people stands in front of me. He wears a strange device on his arm, equipped with a sharp needle that is currently pointing at me. He's clad in robust armour, but his head is bare, and his weathered face (do I still have a face?) bears a worried expression. He speaks of awakenings and phantom pain. He speaks about me as if I wasn't here (but am I?).

Memories begin to stir in the back of my mind. I remember him. Not a torturer – a healer. But still a captor. He could be my redeemer. He could end it. I know he won't.

„It is getting worse every time“, I hear him say. Has this happened before? My lower body burns with the intensity of witch-fire consuming every molecule, but nobody notices the attack. I try to run, run from my little cell, run through the cold fluid sloshing around me, until I remember that my legs are long gone, consumed by the witch-fire I have to feel again and again.

Finally I relent. I stop fighting the tube. I stop fighting my confinement. I give in. I accept.

He looks up to me – strange, I remember him as tall. „I think we can give him full control“, he says.

Is he joking? What is left of me to have control over?

Bit by bit, the pain subsides. Some of it still remains, lingering, echoing like the heart-drum, but my limbs stretch and strengthen. They feel false. They are not my limbs – and still they are. My arm is a cannon, my leg filled with coils and synthetic fibres. Within their incredible strength, I feel incredibly weak.

And within the weakness, I find a name.

My name.

I cling to it like the drowning man I am, pulled down by the lethean waves of time and oblivion.

There's an oath attached to that name. Not one of moment, one I can hope to fulfill, but one of lifetime and more. Would I have sworn it if I had known what it entailed? It doesn't matter. I am not an oathbreaker. I am not...

Alive.

Well.

Me.

But still I (or whatever remains of myself) raise my not-arm and force the bionic implants in my torn throat to utter those words of loyalty:

+Even in death, I still serve.+

The others look relieved. „Brother“, they greet me. „It is good to see you back.“

I find it strange to hear them talk of seeing when they are blind for what has become of me.

Slowly I follow them into the glaring light and hope that this time, I won't return.
_________________
First Brother-Chaplain of Adeptus Procrastinatus
Thou shalt not ask a Lamenter what exactly he is lamenting. It might be thy sense of humour.
COLLATERAL CARNAGE
Wer nicht hören will, muß brennen.
Nach oben
Benutzer-Profile anzeigen Private Nachricht senden E-Mail senden
Anzeige







BeitragVerfasst am: 04.08.2016, 14:44    Titel: Anzeige

Nach oben
Beiträge der letzten Zeit anzeigen:   
Neues Thema eröffnen   Neue Antwort erstellen    Die DSA-Chaoten Foren-Übersicht -> Astronomican Alle Zeiten sind GMT + 1 Stunde
Seite 1 von 1

 
Gehe zu:  
Du kannst keine Beiträge in dieses Forum schreiben.
Du kannst auf Beiträge in diesem Forum nicht antworten.
Du kannst deine Beiträge in diesem Forum nicht bearbeiten.
Du kannst deine Beiträge in diesem Forum nicht löschen.
Du kannst an Umfragen in diesem Forum nicht mitmachen.




Powered by phpBB © 2001, 2005 phpBB Group
Template xabbGreen für phpBB Foren - created by phpbb styles


Thema 727961-728000 | Thema 978881-978920 | Thema 1172281-1172320

Impressum | Datenschutz

Bei iphpbb.com bekommen Sie ein Kostenloses Forum mit vielen tollen Extras