Various Short Scenes

Arthro

Arthropod Enthusiast
when i'm bored, i like to write. these are some scenes from a story i'm thinking of called Red Skies
View attachment 2801
there's some artwork
and here are the words, enjoy!

| They were sat in a truck. Heavily armored, filled with bits and pieces of metal of varying usefulness, and traveling at speeds that would frighten the average man, the truck was. The pair inside were an unlikely couple, to say the least, one akin to a business relationship you dread even having pass through your mind momentarily. Man and machine, they were: a fierce man of science and war along with a fury powered drone. One would imagine they would click with at least one or two similarities, but this was not the case. Pyotr and UV could not agree on the simplest of things.
"That cloud almost looks like an upside-down Omega." Pyotr spoke with a stern, gravel-on-gravel voice that would make even the strongest of men adjust their posture.
<:: It appears to me more like the English letter 'U'. ::> Now UV was certainly a unique bundle of metals. Her voice wasn't unpleasant, but certainly not smooth or structured enough that you'd want to listen to a book narrated by her. Deep, rattling, and unstable, like a superstructure groaning under its own weight while shifting in place in the wind.
She was a machine originally created to evaluate and prepare alternate universes for assimilation, and was certainly prepared to do so. Equipped with countless tools hung limply from her sphere-shaped body on segmented, hydraulic arms, and a rediculous pool of knowledge, UV could bend any landscape to her will if given enough time. She was of twenty ever constructed, and, according to her, the first of her kind. Possibly one of the most complex machines mustered by humanity, and Pyotr found her wandering alone in the wasteland.
Pyotr certainly wasn't outshone by UV, he was, coincidentally, one of twenty as well. 'Hell Walkers', people like him were called for their occupation as The USSR's personal universal cleanup crew. Pyotr was equipped with a fantastic, fully enclosed device that surrounded his body. The Mark III, put simply, was the reason Pyotr was able to survive in any situation presented to him. However, after so many years of wearing this 'suit', Pyotr's immune system has degenerated to the point where he would quickly die without its maternal protection.

|| <:: Pyotr, make haste! I've found a suitable ground for the teleporter! ::> The machine's dull voice buzzed around his helmet, getting his immediate attention and raising him from a restless doze upon a fallen tree. Pyotr had never heard such excitement in the bot's voice before. Figuring her excitement came from Pyotr's reluctance to build the teleporter in the first place, the man had to take a moment to compose an anger-free response prior to activating his radio.
"Why are you so urgent to leave this place?" he inquired, "Those who we left behind will not welcome us. In fact, nobody will. The Gaz-"
<:: 312, go now. ::>
With the aggrivated flick of his head and a growl unheard to all but himself, Pyotr stormed toward the bearing of 312, ignoring the green foliage he couldn't push or tear through. As the leaves grew thin and the sun could peek more and more through the swaying branches, the man could more easily walk, and most anger had subsided due to the uprooting of a fair amount of small trees.
<:: You should be near by now. ::>
"The forest is getting more spread out."
<:: Yes. It's a clearing, you will see it soon. ::>
"No trees there?"
<:: No trees there. ::> ... <:: It's a clearing, Pyotr. ::>
Pyotr, with a grunt, acknowledged it as the plants got smaller with larger spacing between themselves. With one final, sinking step, Pyotr could see the clearing in its spacious glory. The grass was sprinkled with flowers of shapes and sizes all unique from one another, and small insects buzzed around in droves thick enough to walk on, especially upon disturbing the tall grass. Scanning with blinking eyes, he nodded to the familiar floating black piece of metal suspended near the center of the clearing, next to what would be the largest tree he had ever seen had it been alive.
"Perfect."
<:: I know. There are three other trees similar to this, but it's the tallest and most structurally sound one in the forest. ::>
"And it will not catch fire upon getting struck?"
<:: Not if I do it right. ::>
"Then it won't."
<:: Precisely. ::>

|| Sat in the safety of the night's dark, Pyotr and the Hooded Man of Mystery could think peacefully, face to face. There was no violence, no hiding, only heart-to-heart between the barriers of hood and mask. And so they remained in silence for some time, reveling in it until one broke it.
"The questions."
Mystery Man looked up only slightly, then fully upon registering the question. With the sharp adjustment of his chair against the cavern floor, he responded to Pyotr in his dry voice.
"Yes, the questions," it was irksome at best, his voice. With lips too dry to stick together, and vocal chords so aged, he seemed to push himself to get sounds he wanted out. "Go ahead."
"Who are you?" The man in armor asked, his intentions obviously fueled with impatience.
"I wish I was allowed..."
"Answer the question," Pyotr demanded, "Tell me your name."
One could hear a pin dropped between the wheezes of the man with the hidden face and the man from the other place.
"I can't say." said he with the swift shake of his weak head. "Speaking of my name in any way will bring unfathomable danger."
"Write it then, if that's so."
"No!" the shadow objected, "This is for your own safety."
A grunt came from behind the mask. Pyotr seemed to have begrudging acceptance.
"Then you are now 'Uzhasnyy'. Do you understand?" Pyotr commanded, leaning down toward the hooded one below. Through gritted teeth, he repeated his new name in confusion.
"Uzhasnyy... What... Is the meaning?"
"Spooky." Pyotr raised a hand, providing examples in English. "Scary. Ghost... Appiration." They both moved no muscles, one staring at the ground in sorrow. Bringing his head up with a frown beneath his hood, Uzhasnyy had no words to say but:
"I am alive..."
"We move on. Tell me where you come from."
"Hell."
"Ah, don't we all?" Pyotr laughed.
"I come from Hell, it is not a joke." Uzhasnyy lifted an arm and pointed a long, bony finger to the center of the Earth.
Cocking his head in curiosity, he inquired "Is this Hell an opposing dimension?"
"I don't know what you speak of, but that place is not tangible in this plane. It is another Realm. Next question."
Following a drawn out "Right..." from Pyotr who shifted in his seat, "You're from Hell, wherever of whatever that is. I'm glad the name I have given you is fitting. Why do you come to us, Uzhasnyy?"
"Because you are leaving, and I am coming with you."
...
"Leaving... How? How are we leaving?"
"The gate you and the other creature are constructing will provide a path from this plane into the next."
Pyotr's anger grew, along with his posture and voice. "What the hell gave you that idea, Uzhasnyy?"
"I sense it."
"Oh, you sense it, huh?" Pyotr rose with power, grabbing the demon by his neck. "And how long have you been watching us?"
A forceful pressure unlike anything the scientist had ever experienced encompassed all of his body from inside the suit, forcing him to drop the shadow in shock and confusion. From the ground, it coughed:
"You're wrong, Pyotr." Grabbing its own neck in pain, rising, Uzhasnyy levitated to be eye-level with the human. "I had sensed it, just as any other competent magic user would be able to. They will come for you," it poked Pyotr's vest, "if you don't keep me here to suppress your foolish toying with the Realms." Dropping to the ground and returning to its chair, the phantom continued. "That's why I am here. Next question."
 
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