Rain softly pattered the ground next to the man; he lay unconscious on the floor. The water rolled down his back, his arms, his head. It created a sense of stasis, as if preserved by the water. Thunder boomed in the distance, a loud shatter in the night. The sound travelled within the man’s ear, and flew through the brain. It triggered something, a familiarity. The man awoke as if a gun had been fired.

His heart pounded, his breaths were fast and shallow. Lightning flared in the sky; thunder followed again with a crash. It was only thunder. The sudden return to a safer reality brought back the physical whims of reality as well. The man gripped his head in pain. He could feel a pulse on his temple, beating. He looked around himself. Trees draped over the top of him, offering only a little respite from the rain. He was on stone, no gravel. The gravel branched into a path farther into the woods and ran past a bench. A park. He must have ran to the park. The man stood up, shrugged off the pain in his head, and took off down the path.

The rain intensified and pelleted his head like hail as he ran. He was running from... from... from them. The scientists, or doctors, or whatever they were. He had to get to someone, the police and tell them about what they had done to him. To keep people from being hurt, to avenge himself. The pain in his head sforzandoed and he stopped in his tracks. The people had... they had cut him open and... put something in him... they experimented using... he couldn’t remember. The memories were blocked by a wall that erased even their presence. But he remembered that they had done something. The pain subdued a bit. He continued running.

He exited the lush green parks and entered the cold gray city. Steam rose off the asphalt like ghosts and the occasional stray car slowly drove by in the torrential rain. There must be a police station here. There has to be. He kept moving at a steady pace through the city. He thought he saw one of them in a building, watching him. No... they didn’t wear coats like that. Their coats went down to their knees, not just to their waist. Even so, the man looked vaguely familiar, like Dr. Fugi... something. It was a name like that.

The pain and rain synchronized in a huge crescendo that brought the man to his knees. He gripped his head in agony, trying so hard to somehow quash the pain that threatened to crack him open. He had to escape... them. The people. He had to escape the bad people who did bad things. He crawled to his legs and ran into the torrent. He didn’t know where he was running, but he kept moving. The bad men could be right behind him; they probably were right behind him! He kept moving, each footstep sending an arrow of pain into his cranium. A dull moan began to escape his mouth.

He must have been running for hours. So many hours. The pain was still right behind him. It was following him to do more bad things, bring more pain. The pain! It was right behind him, chasing him as it had been all night. His open eyes saw blurs and colors. The streets were a blended array of lights and sounds. The rain was a constant drum on his head. He tripped and fell. The pain would be upon him any second now.

“Mr. Dansworth! Is that you?” a voice came out of the haze. A man in a coat helped him to his feet. “Mr. Dansworth, my goodness! Are you all right?” The man was helping him.

Dansworth emitted another dull moan and coughed. The man placed a hand to his forehead. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you back to the facility in no time flat. We’ll have you feeling better faster than you can say ‘please.’”

The man would take away the pain. What a nice man. He had a nametag. Fujinawa. What a nice man... thank you Dr. Fujinawa...

The tall figure darted across a burning landscape; the forest was ablaze with color and sound. A tree reached the end of it’s endurance and fell with a giant crack! Sparks flew high into the air. The figure continued it’s dart through the flaming forest, the woods white with flames. The sky was black with ash and the heat was crushing. It paused in its fleeing and checked two paths ahead of it. None looked inviting. It chose the right and kept moving. Lightning struck the ground ahead of him and he dropped to the ground. The explosion of thunder assaulted the creature, pressing it prone into the ground. The figure lay there for a moment, stunned by the power of nature. Another tree fell; the figure got up again.



“Did we get it yet?” asked Lieutenant Chapman, his eyes surveying the flaming landscape before him. He stood aloft in the control room that towered above the forest. He could see all of it, the circular wall that contained it and the fire that burned within it. “Well? Did we?”

 “We lost visual on the sector EI-08’s in, sir. There was a lightning strike near the camera and it may have malfunctioned due to a power surge,” came the voice of Petty Officer Colbert. He stared directly into his computer’s monitor and rapidly punched a series of access codes into his terminal. “Should we intensify, sir?”

 Chapman chewed his lower lip thoughtfully and nodded. “Bring her up ten percent.”

 The figure continued it’s daring escapade through the blazing woodland, it nimbly leaped over falling trees. The sleek black coating of it’s exoskeleton shined black and orange in the flames. There was a sudden high-pitched whistle sound that stopped it in it’s tracks, and the sky lit up.

Flames shot from the tall tower in the middle of the forest and coated the tops of the trees. The figure dropped again, fearful of being burned to death by the hellish realm above it. The flames ceased in the sky, but the forest burned even hotter. The figure took off again, slowed by the monstrous heat.



“If the thing ain’t cooked by now it won’t ever be,” Lieutenant Chapman muttered under it’s breath. “What we need is a big magnifying lens to cook it with. You ever do that Petty Officer? Cook ants with a magnifying glass?”

 “No sir,” replied Petty Officer Colbert. “I thought it was... cruel, I guess.”

 “Well, I could care less about cruel now. Orders are orders. Get me a lookout on Sector V now.”

 The figure moved along, battered and exhausted by the flames around it. Flying up was suicide. It’d be dead before he got 20 feet off the air. It kept moving to a nearby river. Water! Perhaps the water would serve as a respite from the flames. The closer the creature got to the water the more it began to see. There was something on the water, a shiny, colored liquid coated the top of it. A branch fell from the tree. The river burst into flames.



The figure was trapped. In front of it was a wall of fire, behind it was an oven. It dropped to it’s knees and let out a screech of dismay. The sound caused nearby glass to crack, and the feed on the camera to be lost.

 “I think we have it,” Colbert stated. “It’s trapped.”

 “Trapped in Sector V? Good. Fire Huntsman II missiles to Colbert’s coordinates, on my mark!” shouted Lieutenant Chapman. He gave the mark and the missiles launched. On screen, a diagram showing the missile’s trajectory and EI-08’s approximate location flashed.

 The figure stared into the black ash sky. The heat was causing it to slip away into an unconscious state of half reality. A star shot across the sky and stayed there. It grew. No. It was not a star. The figure leapt to it’s feet and took off towards the river. The flames rose high into the air, a wall of death and pain. Pain would have to be ignored, both ways meant death. It leapt into the river.

 The pain cooked it alive, or so it felt. The figure known as EI-08 ran through the flames, adrenaline pushed it through the white hot fire and to the other side. The missile followed close behind. Ahead was a fence, the electric barrier that had kept EI-08 from the world, from freedom. He ran straight to the fence and jumped to the left. The missile detonated.



“Did we hit him?!” shouted Chapman.

 “I don’t know,” replied Colbert. “I’m getting a visual feed now!”

 The screen lit up in front of Chapman and showed flames and smoke. As it cleared, a large gaping hole appeared in the fence, and the insectoid body of EI-08 crawled through the hole into the outside world. Chapman swallowed, but nothing moved down his throat.



The elevator that lead to the top of the control room opened and a man in a black suit appeared. Lieutenant Chapman, Petty Officer Colbert, and all the other staff saluted. More men exited the elevator. They held submachine guns at the ready position.

 “Lieutenant Chapman, you have failed your assignment to detain and eliminate EI-08. In accordance to your lack of ability to follow orders, you are to be detached from service, effective immediately.

 Chapman’s hands shook by his side. He gritted his teeth and stood tall. A forced choke came from Colbert’s mouth. The machine guns opened fire.

 Far away, a large insect cried out into the night, a shout that shook all life in the deep woods. Blood-red fires rose in the distance.


Rain pattered outside, a rhythmic drumming that began to lull him to sleep; gently at first, but soon rather violently. It was cold and dark outside, and the dim electronic lights of the house McClain was in barely felt cozy at all. The harsh computer punctured the darkness, but not in a friendly way. Chinese food was strewn about on the floor, he had left it there since the morning when he had discovered that the seller had named a respectable price, and simple hadn’t found it worth his time to pick it up. The books had arrived earlier that day, in an unbelievably hastened fashion, but what could one expect from such precious cargo? The fact that someone was willing to sell those books, and online too, was alarming in themselves; but these were the real deal. McClain finished drawing the circle on his desk, the chalk left an eerily white trail that signified the sacredness of the symbol himself. He opened up the book to the concordance and searched for the correct words. Finding what he needed, he placed the book down and pulled The Container out of his pocket. She was in there, and now she could be brought back. He could erase that horrible day, make things like they used to be. He poured the ashes onto the circle.

I never actually said it, although they think I did.
They pounced on accusation, behind others they cowardly hid.
Defending myself was useless, I was caught up in their lie.
Their reputations are saved, and now I will have to fry.
There is nothing going against me, except their lying words.
But on second thought, did I say it? No, that is just absurd.
The more and more they charge me, the more I begin to see.
It doesn’t matter if I said it, this is all for futility.
So then, I guess I did say it. Even if I did not.
They changed the world so that I did say it, changed the peoples’ thoughts.

I stand alone on a windy plain.
The sky is cold, the ground is warm.
Gray clouds block the sun and cast shadows.
The ground is shaded, to a comfortable cool.
The air is dry, refreshing.

I see ahead on the wheat-filled plain,
A door made of wood, and painted green.
As I approach the raindrops fall.
The sky it seems is weeping now.
Softly they hit the arid ground.

I reach for the door, and open it wide.
I step through onto the field.
The door closes.
It will not open.

The wheat is wilting in the breeze,
It’s stronger, cooler, and more tears fall.
The ground is drier, it soaks up the rain.
The land behind the door is as well.

I continue along the chilly field.
I shiver, but only for a little while.
I see on the horizon another door.
It is old and used. It is painted white.

I grasp the bronze handle on the door.
I open it up and look inside.
A cold breeze blows through, into my bones.
Yet I feel the need to carry on.
There is something prodding me, pushing me on.

Through the door I travel through.
I hear the jingling of tiny bells.
The cold cuts into my very bones.
The storm picks up into sobs and shouts.

I tread along on the weeping plain.
The wheat is falling to the side.
“If only,” says I. “I had kept the door shut,
And stayed in the warmth of the previous cold.”

I continue on walking, and then it is there.
A door framed with gold, and so very tall.
It looks so inviting, so warm and dry.
The field must be sunny. I must open the door.

It is not only I who is thinking this thing.
The prod is behind me, whispering sweetly,
“Do it for me. Open the door just this once.”
How can I not? I must open the door.

I grab the large door, and pull it wide open.
I step straight through to the other side.
The rain stabs my flesh like needles and knives.
The door closes behind me. There is no escape.

I pry at the door, I even try knocking.
There is no answer.
I run behind the door to see if the field is back there.
Nothing changes.
There is no wheat here.
The wind is a dagger.
The rain falls like stones.
My body grows weary.

I continue on walking.
It cannot get worse.
There must be a door.
If I weather this storm,
I will open the door to sunshine.

I walk for my life.
I can see no door.
Nay, but at the end of the field.

The chief stopped for a moment as he considered the men gathered behind him. They all had live in these dark tunnels all their lives, cast out by the monsters of the surface may generations ago. The surfacers would not even leave them to the peace of the underground, venturing to their refuge for their treasure or out of pure bloodlust. He and his men came from many different clans, but they had gathered together from one base desire, a shared philosophy that was irrefutable to them. They had grown tired of it all. They were tired of clans being slaughtered for the greed of the surfacers, tired of being viewed as the monsters in the night. It was time for them to rise up and take back the lands of their ancestors. Falmer did not see, but their great hearing compensated for it where the surfacers were blind. The chief could hear his comrades gathered behind him preparing. He could hear the largest preparing his great war axe, obtained from a foolhardy surfacer , the archer coating his arrows with a poison made from the fungus of the underground, the warlock preparing his learned spells, obtained from a lifetime of training, and countless others preparing themselves for the journey ahead of them. The chief took a deep breath to calm his nerves, reminding himself that they needed to be the strong leader. He did not know what lay beyond the opening of the cave, being raised deep within as all Falmer were, but he knew he could not turn back now. One way or another, he would ensure that the surfacers did not forget them. He walked towards the light, and the army marched behind him.