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SpaceMarine
08-26-2005, 02:58 PM
Заранее извиняюсь если у кого аглицкий слабоват
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Sleepless

The group of beings at the intersection of six corridors looked tranquil. The three or four crab-looking creatures were staring at the walls, their eyes half-closed, as if dozing. Several two-legged things (they looked like hairless apes with spikes protruding from their backs), each about five feet tall, stood all around the group of crabs, their brownish bodies tilted slightly forward. Above them, a sphere with four openings hanged in the air, its “skin” shivering as if the wind from a nearby ventilation outlet was blowing on it. An idyllic picture of different species peacefully sharing a habitat.

Peaceful my ass, he thought. By now he knew better than that. Only two days ago he was killing time reading some magazine while manning his post near the armory on level 24, on a military base deep beneath the ground. All was well in his world, until halfway through his shift a “general alert” signal came. It then changed to “intruder alert”, then to “enemy presence confirmed”, then finally to “abandon base” before all channels went to static. During those longest minutes of his life he was listening to screams of agony mixed with sporadic gunshots and explosions. The monitors at his post showed horrific images of humans being torn to pieces by some hellish things (he had no doubt that they came straight from Hell). He figured he had no chance to reach the shuttle hangar on level one, nor would he last long out in the open, so he ran to the armory where the doors were strong and the walls were lined with weapons. There were other guys there already, but they all left shortly, taking their chances in the hallways filled with monsters. Hysterical, he locked himself in, holding his side arm close to his head, trying to block the screeching noise coming from beyond the door, ready to pull the trigger if the armory door gives in and the Hell comes for him. But he was spared.

After a while, he relaxed and started thinking somewhat logically. The main lights were on, so all systems should have power. They may not all be functional, but he can deal with it on a case-by-case basis. The main computer showed several shuttles up in the hangar, twenty-three levels above, ready to fly him out of this slaughter house. Most escape routes were jammed or otherwise inaccessible, so in order to get to level one he would have to walk through just about every level in between. He also got a closer look at the new occupants of his base – they were creatures of many hideous shapes and sizes, moving around in packs or standing on the intersections. There were a few fliers, but most were moving on foot. With enough ammo and a lot of good luck, he will reach the shuttle hangar and be up in high orbit in no time. Right. With that thought in mind, he jam-packed a backpack full of regular as well as explosive cartridges, a dozen hand grenades, a first-aid kit, put on his body armor and stepped out of the armory door.

Since then, he threw away the empty backpack, his body armor was shred to pieces by an impressive array of claws, teeth and corrosive chemicals, and the first-aid kit was almost gone. His legs ached from endless running, his arms and chest - from the recoil of his rifle, and those scratches left by a four-foot tall spider were gradually turning from red to purple to black, no matter how much antibiotic fluid he was pouring on them. There was a burn on his back that he could not reach. He was running low on ammo, especially the hand grenades (only three were left – they were hard to come by outside of the armory), even with all the salvaging he did along his way. He has not seen a living human being, was starving and running on an hour of sleep. And he only got through eight levels.

So there he was, peering from around the corner at yet another group of uglies, contemplating his next move. He could blast them with explosive rounds from his grenade launcher, then finish with the regular bullets. That would probably take care of the ground crew, but the flier would be on top of him in no time. Or, he could use one of his remaining hand grenades and then take out the flier. Or… No, that won’t work. He will probably acquire a few more burns or cuts before this is over. If he could just get some rest he would surely think of something. Anything for some sleep, anything at all, but he needs to get through this intersection first, and then he can probably find a spot some place and catch some zees… Just a few more minutes, this shouldn’t take long, and then…

…Sometime after three in the morning Jimmy switched off his PC after playing “Doom” for thirteen hours straight. He could not get enough of the game, all that running and shooting and blood and gore, but it was Monday morning and the щool was starting in five hours. For the past two hours he was stuck at an intersection of six hallways that was occupied by a nasty gang of monsters, and no matter what he tried he could not get through. Laying in bed with his eyes closed, he wondered what it might be like to fight his way to the surface through the endless maze…

Alisa27
08-26-2005, 07:56 PM
Spacemarine, спасибо - это во-первых, во вторых - пишите!, хоть и не мне вам говорить.
я начала читать, и сразу ассоциация- Стивен Кинг в его неужастиковых, правда, творениях
в середине - вы простите, конечно, немножко суховато, чуть-чуть перебор с документальностью, хотя я не пропустила ни одного предложения, не проскипала глазами. Очень четко переданы моменты и в то же время слишком осознанно, вы меня понимаете? Хороший язык, нечего сказать.
И потом я увидела в подписи цитату Кинга, улыбнулась. Не похоже, но видно, что читали.
еще раз, спасибо :)

Interpreter
08-26-2005, 08:16 PM
Не лубитель фантастики,но читал-оторваться не мог.Жешь!

Bashmachnica
08-26-2005, 08:32 PM
cool))))))))))

SpaceMarine
08-28-2005, 10:50 PM
Спасибо за feedback. Начёт детальности - есть за мной такой грешок, люблю вдаваться в подробности, иначе не всегда видна связь между событиями.