Forum: Story Ideas

Stuart sighed, knowing what was coming.

The bookies. The laundromat. The vape shop. The junction.

His body ignored his commands.

Much like the woman at the junction. She pulled out. His body finally started to obey commands. His rear locked, the front almost, but he still felt the back of his bike start to lift. There was nothing he could do. He didn't want his bike following him, so he released his grip on the front brake lever, and then the slow motion took over.

His front wheel connected to the driver's door, the panel buckling like it was made of paper. He let go of his handlebars as he felt his weight shift, start to rise from the seat. One final look at his digital speedo. Thirty-five miles an hour.

The front of his visor was so close to the side window, they almost touched.

The iPhone held to an ear. The long, bijazzled fingernails holding an equally bijazzled phone, a teddy bear charm dangling from the case. And then he was above the car, slowly turning. His heels travelling faster than his head. He relaxed. He was in full leathers and hi-viz vest, not that it had been of any use. Proper leathers with back armour. A decent helmet. All he had to do was not tense. Roll with it. There was nothing in front but abrasive tarmac. His Kevlar boots and gloves would ablate, but not the skin beneath.

Relax, and he would walk away.

His bike was probably fucked. So much for riding with his headlight on and a hi-vis jacket over his leathers.

The world was upside down. He was looking in through the passenger window as his body continued its oh-so-slow rotation. The cunt had panicked. Phone still against her ear as the wheel spun out of her single-handed grasp as she braced herself, pushing down on her feet. And the accelerator. The automatic gearbox changed down, the car surging forward in a new direction.

Into the front right of the oncoming car.
The cunt's airbags deployed at almost two hundred miles per hour in 25 milliseconds.

Lily's six-month-old body was compressed into the back of her baby seat, reversed so that she stared at the passenger seat, rather than the road ahead. The coroner had said that she 'most likely' would have survived the low-speed inertia that compressed her into her seat. The sudden stop of the momentum of her mother's car, the inertia pushing her six-month-old body into the baby seat, would have been at its maximum, as the front passenger air bag slammed into the rear of her car seat and the inertia was immediately reversed and doubled.

The coroner had stated impassively, clinically, that Lily would most likely have been dead, or dying, as she was catapulted from her baby seat. Whilst the seat had been properly secured, Lily had not been secured within it. Her head connected with the front of the passenger seat headrest, driven in by her body. Her skull had caved in, and her neck shattered into pieces.

Stuart watched it all happen, and then he was staring at the sky again, and then the impact.
It wasn't bad as he slid along the road, slowing.

He probably wouldn't even have whiplash as he continued to slow.

Then he saw the van.

The driver had not been paying attention, lighting a cigarette. A cheap sign on the side of the white transit advertising garden clearance, roof repairs, driveways.... One single mobile number. It was amazing what your brain remembers. At the last moment, the Irish pikey cunt hauled the dangerously overladen van to the right in a desperate attempt to avoid smashing into the car in front, which had successfully emergency-braked to avoid colliding with the two-car accident in front of it.

The van, on cloned plates. No MOT. No Insurance. Full of metal scrap of dubious - most likely of an illegally gained origin - headed straight for him.

It had felt like an hour. But the CCTV from three separate shops and two dashcams had shown it, from initial collision to being run over by the fucking van, to have taken less than five seconds. The two occupants in the transit van had fled the scene and had never been traced.

Fucking useless Pigs.

The cunt in the car had received a six-month suspended. Her lawyers even went as far as to blame him for it all, claiming that his excessive speed - five miles above the thirty limit - was the main contributing factor. Not the phone to her ear or the fucking fact she never even bothered to properly look to her right before pulling out.

Not that he could say so, watching via video link from his hospital bed, paralysed from the neck down, stupid tube down his throat.

Six fucking months suspended. What a fucking joke.

Every day he woke to the memory.

Every. Fucking. Day.

: Actuator servo's locked :

What?

: Clamps engaged :

What the fuck?

: System functionality: Limited :

Huh?

He looked into the darkness. Blinked. The words in his vision were still there as the darkness became green. He was staring at pipes. Or machinery.

Huh?

A list of numbers appeared on his right. Some were red, most were orange, a few green. As he read down, the numbers in turn were highlighted.

: Call? :

Huh?

: Calling :

I don't understand.

Stuart was confused. He should be in his hospital bed, useless limbs tucked neatly under his beige NHS blanket.

"What?" Came a testy response.

"Who are you? Where am I?"

There was a moment of silence. "Matteo. You are fifteen along from me."

"Where are we?"

"In a spaceship. Probably about a billion light-years from Earth."

Stuart laughed. There was no accompanying laughter from Matteo.

The confusion was dissipating. He was waking up. He remembered the news. What little he had seen, as he'd had no control over the television in the eight person ward. It had been a mixed sex ward, not that any potential impropriety was possible. Everyone was quadriplegic.

Some, like Stuart, were on a ventilator.

There had been aliens. Or something. Nobody told him anything on the ward. The nurses were too busy and when something interesting about what was going on, was on the news, one of the nurses would change the channel to something more mundane.

Something more insipid.

"I don't understand."

"What?" Stuart could hear Matteo's irritability as clear as day. Certainly clearer than the view he was staring at and trying to understand.

"Why am I here?"

"What do you remember last?" Matteo asked.

"I was in hospital. Paralysed. Now, I'm here. Wherever 'here' is."

"Ahh..."

"'Ahh' what?"

"Our visitors have lots of nice new tech and toys. Technology every Nation wants for themselves."

"I don't understand."

"It comes with a cost, This tech. One our illustrious governments are happy to pay."

"'Our' governments?"

"I'm German."

"Your English is very good Matteo."

"I don't speak English."

"I'm pretty fucking certain you do."

"We are speaking machine code."

"I'm not sure I like this dream. I'd pinch myself, but..."

"It's no dream."

"I didn't agree to any of this. Whatever the fuck 'This' is."

"And yet, here we are."

"What is it with this weird display thing in my eyes?"

"You're a robot now."

"A fucking robot. Are you certain this is not a dream?"

"Unemployed. Long-term sick. Prisoners. Undesirables. All given to the Emgrony in exchange for technology. For new Worlds."

It was coming back to Stuart. The 'Emgrony' were their alien tourists. He didn't know much about them, too many damn repeats of intolerable TV shows from the eighties on the ward television.

"They can't do that!"

"It's not as if you can complain, can you?"

More of the numbers down the side of Stuart's vision turned from orange to green. Some of the red ones turned orange.

"So they encased my body in metal or something?"

"Not quite. What was rumoured, and what I was looking into, was the rumour that the Emgrony were taking us, removing our brains and installing them in machines."

"What you were looking into? What were you back in Germany, Matteo?"

"I was an investigative journalist. Obviously I asked far too many awkward questions."

"Okay, Matteo, let's pretend that I haven't gone insane here. If I, 'we' are now machines, why cannot we move or do, I dunno, machine-like things?"

"We are shut down. Awaiting."

"Awaiting what?"

"What would you need a large amount of intelligent beings for?"

Stuart thought back to those Matrix films. He didn't think 'power' was the answer. He doubted brains on their own would provide power like in the films. 'Computational ability' didn't sound right either. AI could do that, and probably do it better.

"Dunno."

"Soldiers. Slaves. Serfs…"

"If that is so, Matteo, why can't we move?"

"Storage? Ease of shipment?" Stuart could hear the shrug in the voice.

"So, those numbers down the side of my vision are... people?"

"Yes."

Most of the list was now green with only a few orange.

"And we are being 'woken up', Matteo, because..."

"We are probably at the end of our transit."

"Hello? Why do I feel funny? What are these numbers in my eyes? Why can't I move! Hello? Anyone?" Came a new 'voice'.

Matteo sighed. "And so it begins..."

Obviously Stuart's robot self couldn't be deployed on Earth because of all the internet sites using robots to force visitors to prove they're not robots in order to speak to a robot that doesn't understand English or any other language.

AJ

"They promised me they weren't going to do this to me! They promised!"

Stuart was only half listening to the chatter. Some, like himself, had no idea what was going on. Some seemed to know a suspiciously large amount. Not that their knowledge appeared to have been of any use. It was becoming very apparent to Stuart that the Emgrony were lying cunts.

It was a bit of a perplexing situation for Stuart. On the one hand, he seemed to be in some sort of metal body at the control of another. Which was, admittedly, rather shit. But then, so was being confined to a bed stuck looking at the same machines and the same husks attached to them.

There was quite the argument going on over the… He didn't know what to call it, the radio?

He wasn't interested in joining the shouting. Besides, their new Emgrony overlords were probably listening.

Hopefully they would be having second thoughts.

Instead, he decided to explore what was available to him. Not a lot as it turned out. Most of his abilities seemed locked out, beyond his ability of control. A strange sensation was coming from his, skin? Shell? Gravity, pressure, or something. He was shaking. Not him. Whatever he was attached to.

Numbers scrolled down the side of his vision. They might be of use to some people. People who understood what the numbers were. To Stuart, they were just a distraction. The shaking was getting worse, and then one large 'thump' and everything stopped. Nothing appeared to be happening.

New menus sprung into his view. Some things were being unlocked according to his vision. There was a jolt and then movement. Somebody was screaming. Because that was really going to help.

Another jolt. It reminded him a little of being on the tube in London.

The sensation of falling, and then his vision changed. He was in some fog.

: CARRIER DISENGAGING :

He felt shock through his legs. His vision was helpfully telling him the air around him was mostly chlorine and some other elements that were rather detrimental to human lungs. If he still had any.

: FOLLOW THE MARKER :

A pulsing green line appeared in Stuart's vision.

All very well and good, but I don't appear to be able to move…

Lots of little jolts spread throughout his torso.

: CLAMPS RELEASED :

Stuart found that he had the ability to move and stepped forward, as did the hazy figures either side of him. For the most part, similar figures made their way along the pulsing green line. Some were going the other way, and some weren't even moving.

There seemed to be no uniformity to their design, other than a vague humanoid shape. Some had obvious weaponry instead of hands, and some appeared to have just hands. Stuart looked down. He had hands and what appeared to be some sort of projectile weapon mounted/melded along his forearms.

A repetitive dull thumping was coming from somewhere. It was hard to tell the direction, and the swirling chlorine was not helping.

Shadows appeared out of the murk, descending. More humanoid figures were deposited where he had been standing. Those who had not moved were crushed into the ground. Some shouted, some screamed.

Stuart carried on as the large contraption released the new arrivals and disappeared back up into the miasma.

Something appeared out of the murk. A large… something… It was hot, making the chlorine swirl violently in its vicinity. The ground underneath it was crushed, sunken. It looked like a support, or a foot of some description.

Like that of a spacecraft.

Stuart carried on as another wave was deposited on the ground, either straight to the ground, or into thrashing piles of limbs of those previous who had not moved quickly enough.

Light appeared above, flickering like the mother of all lightning storms. And still they moved in a disjointed gaggle of moaning and complaints.

A regular bright flash up ahead was approaching, or they were approaching it. It was hard to judge in the swirls. A dark shadow that slowly started to gain noticeable edges.

It looked vaguely mechanical and vaguely military, though Stuart wasn't certain. His only experience of anything vaguely military was via watching war movies and Band of Brothers on TV. Some of his unknown compatriots ahead were slowing and stopping.

Was this where they received answers as to what the fuck was going on?

Every step brought a bit more clarity to the murk and more questions, like…

What the fuck were they!

Blue-outlined creatures the size of an adult Irish Wolfhound, but also looking like lobsters, if you were having a drunken nightmare, were loading into something that his brain told him was a breech. Stalks turned their way, but the creatures didn't pause in their loading. The ground around them consisted of piles of spent cases and live munitions.

The breech opened, a spent case ejected, and the lobster things inserted a new shell.

The air around him was just a perpetual cacophony of noise. Noise that his helmet, suit, or whatever the fuck he was in was filtering out. He quickly toggled the noise back off.

The pulsing green line was still urging him on.

Was that the Emgrony? Ugly-looking little fuckers.

He had walked about two hundred meters when he was passed by what looked like a cross between a Challenger and an Abrahams tank. It was followed by another four. His line of fellow abductees was starting to thin out. Some stopped, some wandered off the green line. Some of those who had stopped, just keeled over onto the stony ground.

Computer says no….

Some crab-like things, but made of the same material as the tanks and about the same size, stalked past.

Was this actually happening? Was this all just a morphine dream and he was actually dying? Was this what you experienced as your heart stopped and your brain started to shut down?

The ground in front of his green line started to descend. Not far, about five feet in depth, turning into a hastily reinforced trench. It looked uncomfortably like a World War one trench for children. Or Wolfhound-sized lobsters.

Side trenches led off to either side, but the green line was silently urging him forward.

Lots of light flashing in the distance. How far in the distance was impossible to discern given the murk.

More side trenches, more of the blue-outlined lobsters.

Stuart couldn't see far. The ground surrounding the trenches looked muddy. He could see obstructions in the form of tangles of wire and blocks of some material. The impression of WW1 trenches came back, and he was acutely aware of being head and shoulders above the parapet. He stooped lower.

And on the pulsing green line went.

More and more lobsters were appearing, and frankly, they didn't look in great shape. Many were missing some of their claw-like little legs or had obvious damage to their carapaces. They were also scuttling up and down the trench with obvious intent.

And on the pulsing green line went.

Stuart could feel vibrations through his 'feet'. Little mini ground quakes. More lobsters, these ones very obviously injured. Still leaking body fluids from places fluids were not supposed to leak, were huddled up along one side of the trench. Other lobsters loomed over them, appearing to 'tend' them in some way. Or eat them, Stuart wasn't quite sure. He squeezed past.

He bent lower. It wasn't comfortable, but the knowledge of his body parts being above the surrounding ground level was even more uncomfortable. He looked around. Those in front and behind were still walking upright as normal.

Better safe than sorry. They can be the canary in the coal mine.

The zig-zaggy path forward ended in a bank of whatever constituted 'ground' here. Those in front were stepping left and right. Which turned out to be further trenches leading off ninety degrees from the one he was currently walking. A few further steps forward and he was face to… stalky eyeballs… with a lobster.

There was no 'face', but there was something about the crustacean-like creature that implied it really did not want to be there.

The pulsing green light was still urging him forward, and he was acutely aware of the space behind him disappearing rapidly, as more of his fellows in confusion caught up with him.

There wasn't much space to his right, so he moved left. The light didn't change, still urging him forward, up out of the trench.

Fuck that.

"Move along, move along!"

"Don't fucking push!"

"Is anyone else's green line want them to go forward?"

"What the fuck are we supposed to be doing?"

"Is this a nightmare? Somebody, please tell me this is a nightmare…"

Stuart continued to only partly listen to the voices.

His fellow country people were still making their way down the trench. Armoured shoulders clashed with his. He was being jostled into those further along. He looked down at the antennae and eye stalks of the creature in front of him. If this carried on, they would all end up squashed into the trench like a tin of sardines.

This was either a dream or a new reality.

He didn't want to continue to be a part of either. Stuart again looked down.

"Sorry, little fella."

Stuart lifted and placed a metal foot on the lobster, using it to push himself up and out of the trench.

: WEAPONS UNLOCKED :

That seems pretty self-explanatory.

He ran forward, not sure what to expect, finding mud and bits of wire that tried to snag itself on him.

One way or another, this is going to end now.

A shape loomed out of the murk.

How the fuck do people see in this shite…

It was just a lump of... something... It showed heavy munitions damage and he hunkered down behind it. Weirdly, he was not out of breath. But then again, he didn't appear to be breathing. Stuart played around with the settings on his helmet, trying to improve his visibility. All he succeeded in doing was making his vision worse.

Figures loomed out of the murk. Some of his fellows had followed him. They crouched next to him.

"Do you know what's going on?"

"Do you have a plan?"

"Is this a dream?"

Would people stop asking that!

"I don't know. To all of it!" Stuart said rather testily, not sure if he was even broadcasting. His HUD had labelled his fellow sheltering confused armour suits with numbers, not names.

I'm not a number, I'm a free man!

Somehow that thought was amusing.

More figures loomed out of the murk and ran past them. It was easier to follow than lead, Stuart was finding out, as he stood and left the unknown safety of the unknown block of something unknown.