The dark dream-scape stretched to infinity. There was nothing to the left of him, nothing to the right of him. Nothing behind and nothing ahead. There was only the hero and the hero's soft footsteps as he continued on. It was either an ultimately unnatural or perfectly natural place. Just a black ground and a gray sky, with the flat land allowing a seemingly endless view. Was existence supposed to be full or empty? Could this place, one without any features, be the most interesting location of all?
He was most certainly not out of his depth. Somewhere in the back of his head, thoughts of unease tried to stir. He couldn't remember anything. No name, no events, no purpose. However, it'd hardly do to have that little panic rat escape into his mind, so he kept it penned up and isolated. He was more than competent enough to deal with the situation, whatever it may be.
Time stretched on like the terrain. One step after another. Movement was easy; thinking about the situation would be hard. He kept that panic rat in it's place but noted an interesting fact. Time was passing, sure as sure. However, something felt off about it. The hero wasn't getting tired or thirsty like he should be. Mobility was something that he was good at, but even so, he shouldn't feel like he could walk on forever. It felt like he could walk on forever.
At some point in time, voices started in his ears. Imperceptible at first, they grew just loud enough to make themselves known. He responded by whipping his head around, looking for their source. Considering the area, it wasn't much of a surprise that they didn't have an obvious origin. Just whispers of speech, too quiet to understand. Pretty annoying, actually.
Another endless instant of walking passed. The whispers continued while the hero did his best to ignore them. He wasn't successful and found himself increasingly annoyed at his situation. Instead of letting the panic rat free, he got angry. “Whoever the fuck is listening, you'd better god-damn get over here right the fuck now!”
The outburst echoed in the darkness, with silence reasserting itself. Even more profound silence, as the voices had vanished along with the echos. The hero stopped, alone and disheartened. What the hell was going on?
There was a change to the terrain in front of him, a sudden beam of illumination, not unlike a spotlight from some offstage catwalk. Not knowing what else to do, he moved towards the light at a jog. He regarded the lightened area as some great pool of radiance. The hero chided himself for the airy thought, presuming that the sameness of the plain must have affected his thinking somehow.
The jog ended at the clearly defined edge of light and dark. Something metallic glinted inside. What could he do other than get closer? Five steps inward; the metallic something was a gun; its body was boxy and short. Although it lacked the buttstock of a rifle, his find was awfully oversized to be a handgun. In one motion, he secured the weapon, scooped up the magazine next to it, loaded it, and worked the bolt to chamber a round. The weapon was heavy, but lighter than it looked. As the clack of the mechanism echoed into silence, the light suddenly snapped out.
The gunman found that it was most comfortable to have one hand on the pistol grip while the other went further up, holding the firearm roughly as if it was a rifle. It was a very comforting weight as he slowly turned, seeing if there was anything different. Sure enough, he saw another beam in the distance. He moved towards it at a fast pace, keeping his weapon at the ready.
Taking long strides, the hero ate up the distance quickly. A very strange sight greeted him in the pool of light. A table and two chairs were set up in the center, made of polished jet. Facing him sat a middle aged man, wearing a suit with white shirt and dark blue tie. The man nodded, then spoke, “Hello Leon Alistair.”
The name fit like a glove, and Leon somehow knew that it was his.
Author
Topic: Pride, Power, and Planes: input driven story (attempt two) (Read 1977 times)