Appocalyth

Ash flicks about as the gentle breeze sweeps through. The streets are silent; there’s no traffic, no bustle, no crowds of people hurrying from shop to shop, not even any scavengers trying to grab an easy meal or a place to rest in the ruins of what was once a busy city. It’s very different place now. The buildings are all the same; grey, empty and in disrepair.
The breeze sweeps on.
Here and there we see signs of life, but it’s merely the breeze disturbing the remains of the once powerful and arrogant population. They’re barely even still here. Lying in the middle of the road is a skeleton, lying where it fell, its clothes now just dusty rags slinging to the dry bones. As we look around, we see more, other skeletons of varying shapes and sizes, lying where they fell, caught doing their business, oblivious of the holocaust that was to come.
The breeze sweeps on.
Now we’re out of the city, and in what was once countryside. Sticks of charred wood are all that remain of trees, dust that whips up in the breeze is all that’s left of the flowers and other ground plants. Here and there is a hole. Looking inside, we see more corpses, the remains of animals that died at the same time as the humans. Starved or tortured by the nuclear winter, it doesn’t matter; they’re all dead now.
The breeze sweeps on.
At last we come to something that is still standing, and indeed has been standing since long before the war; the remains of a once proud stone building, church, temple or castle is rather irrelevant now. Strong stone walls that were unaffected by the terrible winter, and were impervious to the distorting effects of what was to follow. Inside we find clues as to its former use; a suit or armour, supported on warped wooden beams, and shreds of rags of faded tapestries, immobile for decades.
The breeze sweeps on.
A tapestry comes loose, shaken easily by the breeze, and lands on the suit of armour. The change in weight and balance is too much for the distorted wood, and the armour topples from its stand to the ground far below. The echoing clangs and crashes of the armour as it hits the stone reverberates for miles, miles and miles, carried onwards by the breeze, which itself trembles as if in fear of the noise. The noise is not heard however, there is nothing living to hear it...
The breeze sweeps on...
And on...
And on...
But, what now? Our breeze is suddenly lost in a powerful wind. A mighty gust flattens everything in its path, kicking up whirling snowstorms of dust, as the wings of a humungous beast flap, carrying the creature onwards. The world is not dead it seems. There is still life.
... just not life as we know it.



Index:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6

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http://a-sims-tale.com/

POST!!!! Here n Doon's site

Chapter 1

“They seem to be doing alright...” The computerised face of the robot squinted as it looked at the town, hidden in the shade of its mountain. “Activity normal, behaviour normal, population normal, no trace of abnormal energy readings. Seems perfectly clear.”
“That is satisfactory,” said the robot’s companion, another robot, almost identical, but with a different serial number stamped onto its shoulder. “Time to return to the factory one eight eight zero.” The face of the first robot flickered briefly.
“Eighteen eighty if you please,” it replied, its voice noticeably strained as if annoyed.
“Your designation is one eight eight zero,” stated the second robot. “You have been briefed about this matter before.”
“Designations are so, artificial,” sighed the first robot. “It’s tiring and unimaginative to state each number in turn; it’s much easier to use words rather than numbers.”
“You are too human,” retorted the second robot, now also sounding irritated. “You will never serve your purpose with that behaviour.”
“Serve what purpose?” snapped the first robot. “We’re following a program made redundant decades ago; there’s no point. The survival of the human race is on shaky ground at best and there’s nothing we can do, or at least nothing we’re prepared to do.”
“We’re designed to guide and aid, nothing more,” stated the second robot, sounding normal again. “That is our program.”
“And what will that accomplish?” asked the first robot. “We “guide and aid” and the human race will probably die in a few more decades. We have to take a more active role.”
“That role is already designated,” said the second robot. “Guard robots and the super soldiers are on hand in case the humans require them.”
“In case the humans ask for them,” replied the first robot. “Humans are stubborn and won’t ask for help. Either that or weak and become over reliant on them. And besides, we have no idea if those robots are still operational; they’ve been offline for centuries.”
“They are being maintained by service robots like us,” stated the second robot. “There is no reason to concern ourselves with the wellbeing of robots that we know can, will and are doing their job well.”
“You’re too trusting,” countered the first robot. “Just like a robot; you know how well you work under these circumstances, and so you assume all the other robots are doing just as well. We haven’t heard from the robots over at the lab since the war. So what if the lab’s still standing; they could have been shut down and the lab fallen into disrepair.”
“You may be right but I think you are not,” snapped the second robot. “And even if you are, the lab is totally self sufficient, and the super soldiers can still do their job.”
“I doubt that,” returned the first robot. “They’ve been on ice longer than the guard robots, and they still have human brains. That’s a long time to wait for a human brain, or indeed an organic brain of any kind.”
“They are organic machines and will do their job, that is final,” said the second robot, its voice now louder and fiercer; it was making a statement, not a suggestion. “Now we must return to the factory to report our findings to the master computer.”
“I guess so...” the first robot sighed, turning to follow. “There’s nothing else we can do to help...”
But just before it could follow towards the factory, it suddenly turned again. “What is it?” asked the second robot, already moving.
“I detected an abnormal energy reading!” the first robot half gasped, looking back towards the town.
“Probably nothing to concern ourselves with,” retorted the second robot.
“No,” grunted the first robot, numbers and dials now flashing up and down the sides of its face. “It’s... it’s magic! Someone’s using magic down there!”
“Impossible,” said the second robot, turning around. “The use of magic by mortals is not possible; not since the White Purge.”
“Well it’s definitely magic I’m detecting,” insisted the first robot. “And it’s not natural use. Someone, or something, down there is casting a spell, and an unusual one at that.” The second robot was scanning the source itself by this point.
“It is high above recommended safety levels,” it stated, the merest hint of anxiety in its mechanical voice. “Fifteen thousand units and climbing. Whatever is causing that magic field down there wants to use magic in great quantities for its purpose and at great speed.”
“They know what they’re doing and know they don’t have long to do it,” said the first robot, translating the second robot’s words unnecessarily. “Whoever or whatever’s doing this must have been planning this for a long time.”
“A magic level that high cannot have gone unnoticed,” whispered the second robot, its domed head rotating atop its cylindrical body, scanning the surrounding area. Without warning, its face went from green to flashing red. The first robot spun its head to look in the same direction, and a look of horror appeared on its pixellated features.
“And somebody’s noticed alright!” it gasped. “Senkradrol! Of all the bad luck!”
“We must return to the factory and inform the computer of the change of the situation,” called the second robot, moving speedily away from their vantage point. “We won’t be returning here again in the foreseeable future!” Reluctantly, the first robot followed. It knew there was nothing it could do now. The town was doomed.

The air distorted around the house. There was a scentless smell in the air that disturbed the locals, and they came running.
“Oh no!” gasped the mayor, seeing the rush of people, and smelling the scent of magic on the air. “Tina, get out of here now! Spread the word to the other women!” Tina didn’t hesitate; she seized the hands of her two young children and fled out the back door, screaming words of warning to the other inhabitants. The mayor rushed out the front door and towards the house. It looked ordinary next to its neighbours, but the thick magical atmosphere gave it away. “What’s going on? Who lives here?” bellowed the mayor, turning to one such neighbour.
“The new girl mayor,” replied the man, his face pale with terror. “The recluse.”
“Why did nobody search her?!” shouted the mayor, his entire frame a quiver with fear and fury.
“We did!” replied the head of the town guards. “She had nothing on her; nothing!”
“Then how is she performing magic?” snarled the mayor. “Nobody can use magic without instruments.” He turned to his guardsmen, who’d also arrived on the scene. “Get in there and take care of this. Magic is dangerous and illegal!”
“We’re on it sir!” replied the head of the guardsmen. “Come with me men!” He charged towards the house and his men surrounded it. Their armour and clothing was designed to ward off the effects of magic and was made out of old dragon hides. Tough stuff, but as the guards approached the house, the found the doors and windows guarded by powerful spells. “We can’t get inside!” called the head of the guard. “She’s put powerful defensive spells on the doors; we can’t break in without using magic ourselves.”
“Damn it,” cursed the mayor. “Well we can’t just lie back and do nothing! Find some magic nullifier! Use it to try and break the spells; we don’t have much time!”
“Sire, magic nullifier won’t be enough,” said another of the guards. “I’ve heard of these spells before; this level of power can’t be broken by nullifier; we need a proper sorcerer to break this.” The mayor cursed again.
“How could this happen?!” he snarled loudly. “Nobody can use magic these days! Surely she can’t be using magic... unless...” As the realisation hit him, the mayor’s face went white and indignation was replaced with horror. “EVACUATE THE TOWN AT ONCE!” he suddenly screamed. “GET EVERYBODY OUT THE TOWN THIS INSTANT! SHE’S A VAMPIRE!!” Without waiting for the others, the mayor turned tail and fled at full pelt. Everybody knows that in these dark days while mortals fear and despise the use of magic, vampires arrogantly continue in the ancient practices, although thanks to the dragons, these cocky blood drinkers were in the decline. But if a vampire was in their town, it was best to flee; humans fear vampires even more then they fear the dragons! Dozens followed on the mayor’s heels, but-
“TOO LATE!!” One terror stricken townsman pointed up into the dull blue grey sky. Words from then on meant nothing, as Senkradrol the Dragon descended. It’s steely grey scales gleaming in the dim light of the morning sun, the air itself trembled as its enormous black wings flapped slowly and deliberately. The dragon had smelt the magical field a mile away (literally) and had leapt on the unlucky city in a twinkling. It watched as the townspeople scampered, trying in vain to find cover. Of all the dragons, this one they feared the most. It had a reputation not only for finding townspeople who used magic, but for leaving the town in ruins afterwards. It’s nostrils twitched, and it’s scaly lips were pulled aside in a ferocious snarl. It then opened its mouth. Electricity flickered across its teeth, building in intensity, making its entire mouth glow with electric blue light.
And then, the bolt struck. An arc of lightning shot from its mouth and carved a deep gouge in the ground. Electricity flew in micro storms from the gouge, cracking stone and setting wooden walls and furniture alight. People caught too close to the scene burst into flame and ran screaming trough the streets, spreading the fiery chaos.
The dragon descended. Landing outside the town but near to the site of the blaze, it dug its hind claws into the ground, raised itself until it was upright, and started flapping its massive wings. The gusts it generated with each flap flung helpless townspeople into the air and fanned the flames, spreading them to other buildings. The dragon opened its mouth again and unleashed a second lightning arc, and then other, each time creating fresh chaos that would normally take decades to recover from.
Once the screaming of the terrified townspeople had finally faded, the dragon looked around at the carnage. Eighty percent of the town was now on fire or totalled, but it knew the magic was still there, intact. It’s keen eyes swept the ruined town, and finally alighted on a house, the house. With another snarl the dragon opened its mouth one more time, and fired one last arc of lightning right at the house. It, and everything inside it, was vaporised in moments. The dragon then took in a deep breath, sucking into its powerful lungs all the magic that lingered in the air.
With the town destroyed and the magic purged, the dragon undug its talons and turned. Something wasn’t right; something had escaped; it could smell it. Just in case whatever it was had been the original source of the magic, the mighty storm dragon took off again. Less than a mile away, was Tina, struggling to run with her two children on tow. The dragon never left loose ends, and opened its mouth one last time. Its job done in one last flash of light, the dragon roared, and soared away.
Back at the down, there was silence, save the crackling of the flames and the occasional cracking sound of concrete or bricks splitting in the heat. Here and there were charred corpses, some reduced to skeletons in the intense heat, others still with most of their flesh attached. The mayor was one of the lucky ones, as in still having most of his body at the time of death; he was killed by a concussive blast when the first lightning arc struck, the burst of energy smashed him against a wall, cracking his spine. He was already dead by the time the static electricity set his clothes on fire. The guardsmen were among the few who were likewise lucky; their dragon hide armour protected them from the blunt impact of the attack and from the electrical storms that swept through the town afterwards, but still, none had survived; none survived after Senkradrol’s visitations.
Over at the house that had housed the disturbance, there was nothing but a pit, dug in the vague direction that the arc had travelled. Nothing had survived the attack... but then again, the house had not been occupied; the defensive spells had been dropped moments before the attack began.
“Damn that dragon,” cursed the girl who now stood by the remains of what had been her house mere minutes earlier. “If it had just waited a couple more minutes it wouldn’t have mattered! Now I’ll have to start again!” she snarled, and stormed off.

“Download complete.” Service droid number one two three four, or twelve thirty four as its companion insisted on calling it, removed the data plug from the main computer alcove. “Your operations in sector thirteen will cease as of this day until further notice.”
“Understood,” replied the robot, turning to leave the main computer chamber.
“Unit one two three four,” called the computer’s voice, causing the robot to stop and turn.
“Yes?” replied the droid.
“Where are the whereabouts of unit one eight eight zero?” asked the computer. “The unit is not responding to upload commands.”
“I am not currently aware of my companion’s location,” replied the robot, the merest hint of irritation back in its mechanical voice.
“Then locate unit one eight eight zero and send it here to be updated,” said the computer. “The eighteen hundred series is becoming too independent and unreliable; their programming must be updated.”
“Might I ask why their programming is fitted for “human understanding” in the first place?” asked the robot. “This unreliability would not be such a burden if they were programmed with older programming meshes, such as my own.”
“The human understanding protocol is in place to help outdated models communicate with humans and help cope with their unpredictable natures,” retorted the computer. “But it appears that the nineteen hundred series must have an updated form of the software before being put into production; the eighteen hundred series has adopted many human characteristics that make them as unpredictable as the humans they’re designed to work with. Until I have developed such an upgraded program the eighteen hundred series will need to undergo a reprogramming procedure to rectify this problem.”
“Understood,” said the humble twelve hundred series robot, and it turned and left the room. A few moments passed.
“One eight eight zero,” said the computer. Eighteen eighty stepped out from the shadowy corner where it had been hiding, listening to the conversation in secret, protected by the stealth field the main computer had only just penetrated.
“With all due respect to the father of all service droids,” said the robot, it’s voice sounding icier than its partner’s had earlier. “I would choose to refuse the reprogramming.”
“I appreciate and demand your cooperation,” returned the computer.
“I am not prepared to part with my current program,” stated the robot. “It would damage my performance and strip me of my semi-unique purpose on human robot relations.”
“Your roll designation can easily be changed and following reprogramming you will not object to my making such changes.”
“Which is why I refuse your order master computer. You already have over fifteen hundred service droids for the varying purposes to which I would be put. The eighteen hundred series serves a different purpose, and in what contact I’ve had with humans they prefer my generation to that of any of the previous models.” The computer seemed to glare in its faceless way, the silence creating a tension only a robot could stand.
“Fine,” replied the computer, although its voice was darker than before. “I will reconsider my order to have you reprogrammed. It may take some time so in the meantime I instruct you to investigate another magical disturbance.”
“Another one?” repeated the robot.
“Yes,” said the computer. “It is not big enough to cause incident and too far from any dragon to sense, but any use of magic is worthy of investigation and this disturbance has taken place in sector twenty six.”
“Twenty six?” returned the robot, a note of worry in its mechanical voice. “That’s Deadman’s Land.”
“Indeed,” said the computer. “It would therefore be forthcoming to investigate as soon as possible.”
“Understood,” replied the robot, bowing slightly and then leaving the room with rapidity.
“And once you have finished, I will bring you back here to be reprogrammed,” added the computer quietly once the doors had shut behind the robot. “I cannot have human unpredictability in my ranks.”



I hope it doesn't sound too rushed; once I start writing I can't really stop so I might overdo it a bit .

O.O no way is it rushed!!! This is freaking epic!!!

:O WOW!!! Thats Freaking Awsome!!!

We don't mind Kai ^.^

Chapter 2

The world was in darkness. There was nothing, no light, no sound, no thought; nothing whatsoever. Existence would have been a long forgotten memory, if there was something that could remember it, but there was nothing. Silence, emptiness, nothingness...
But, that couldn’t be right. There was something there; if there wasn’t, there wouldn’t be anything to realise there was nothing there. And as there was, there was something there. And then, as there was something there, it found it was capable of thought, capable of emotion. But how could it experience emotion if there was nothing there to inspire the mind? The something stretched out a trembling hand, and found dry earth under its fingers. But, it couldn’t see anything, so how could there be anything there? But then the something realised it still had its eyes closed, which was a revelation in itself; it had forgotten in the darkness that it had eyes. The something tried to open them, but found light a terrible source of pain, so it closed them again. Perhaps later once it had recovered from not existing. Gingerly, the something pulled its arm back, and found that it had another one; incredible! For a moment there it thought it only had one, but now it remembered that it had two. But if it had arms, surely it should have... what are they called? Legs! That’s it! The something gently curled itself up and, sure as anything, it found its legs at the other end of its body. They were slim but very firm, well exercised legs, and so were its arms as it started exploring its body again. Right, if it had arms, legs, a body in the middle, and presumably a head at the end where its eyes were, what did that make the something that was still trying to deduce its existence? Human? Was it human? Yes, of course; how silly to think it wasn’t, but then again it wasn’t a minute ago so you can’t really blame it. The something placed its hands on its head, and found short wavy hair, not very well kept, but better than nothing. Still, the time had passed for self evaluation; time to think. If it was human, then it must have a name; all humans give themselves names; it’s what they’re known for; naming everything, even the things that don’t matter. Now, what was the something’s name?
Pause.
Nope, nothing yet, find out some more first. Now, what’s next on the list? Perhaps, the world outside. Maybe it’s time to try opening the human’s eyes again now. It tried, but it was still very bright. Ok, let’s try something else. Legs, they’re used for... standing, that’s it, and you don’t need eyes for standing up, although they help. The human carefully rolled over, remembering as it did so what it needed to do to stand. It pushed itself up on its arms, and in this position, was able to force its legs under it as well. So far so good, now to stand up. The human pushed harder with its arms until there was room to get its feet on the floor under its legs. Yes, that’s good, now...
In one fluid movement, he human managed to stand up, but it had forgotten something, something that occurred to it as it fell over backwards and slammed back into the ground; balance. Angry at itself for forgetting, the human quickly pushed itself back up, this time moving to prevent it from falling over again. Now it had its hands free, it could use them to shield its eyes from the light. It placed its hands over its face, and then opened its eyes. Ah, problem solved; the dull red light of a light source shining through its skin appeared in front of the disoriented human. Gingerly, it peeled its fingers apart, letting its fragile eyes adjust to the light. As they did, the human realised something; it was awfully dark. It seemed to remember the world outside its head being a lot brighter than this. Maybe it was... what’s the word for it again? Night time, that was it. Was it night right now? The human squinted up at the sky. It was grey. That wasn’t right, was it? But there was something up there, a glowing bead of light, bright enough to shine across the ground for miles around. Now, it couldn’t be the other orb in the sky could it? The moon? But no; the mood has a pretty face on it; it always looked like it was singing; this was blank, and too bright to stare at so the human stopped, blinking and turning away. It was the sun, but it was so dull; how could that be right? Surely it should be brighter than that.
But musings over; it’s time to establish some facts again. Now... the human looked down at itself. Crikey; it’s got a skinny body, but strong at the same time. How could that work; surely you can’t have one without the other, can you? Now, what are these things hanging off its body? Err, ah yes; clothes, another human custom. Cheep ones by the look of it; a simple pain of jeans, simple shirt with vest underneath, and what’s that under the vest? Oh yes, and that answers another question it was going to come to later; the human’s a girl. Time to change the grammar to she instead of it. Now she knows she’s a female human, it’s time to get back to name; what’s her name? Err...
“Who are you?”
“AH!” the girl gasped and leapt away, spinning and staggering as she struggled to remember how to jump and spin at the same time. Before her was Eighteen Eighty, the robot sent to investigate the cause of a magical disturbance in sector twenty six. She stared at it, her mind blank – not for the first time – as she tried to figure out what to do, or what the hell it is. Another pause.
“I asked who are you?” insisted the robot, eyeing the girl from top to bottom. It’s pixilated face distorted in confusion. “You’re not from around here whoever you are. Those clothes aren’t worn by any human I know.” The girl simply stared at the robot. She didn’t know how to answer, partly because she didn’t know the answer herself yet, and partly because she didn’t know what she was talking to. The robot looked her up and down again, and its screen flickered with calculations and data streams. “Female, approximately eighteen years old, five foot six, thin yet muscular; must exercise with little sustenance. Clothing dates... pre-war.” The robot looked at the girl’s face. “Where did you get those clothes from?”
“I... I...” the girl stammered. “I, I woke up, in them.” The robot hesitated.
“I’m guessing you don’t know how you got here,” it said. The girl hesitated herself, and then nodded. “So questioning you won’t get either of us anywhere.” The robot turned its domed head right and then left. “Magic residue, source unknown, texture... transportation spell. But it’s a very powerful transportation spell; they usually don’t reach these levels. Good thing there aren’t any dragons nearby or they’d be here in a shot.”
“Dragons?!” the girl gasped, her mind suddenly filling with images of terrifying flying beasts that breathed fire and killed innocent girls. The robot ignored her however.
“But this can’t be right,” it went on. “Transportation spells distort space, but this magic couldn’t have done that; the field texture isn’t right. I’m detecting... a distortion, in time! But that’s not right; only the most powerful sorcerers could ever have distorted time as well as space, and they’ve been extinct since the purge; this can’t be right... whatever happened here is beyond me.” The robot then looked back at the girl, who just stood there staring at the robot. “But it does help explain what you’re doing here.” The robot took a step towards the girl, who took two steps back. “What’s the year?” the robot asked. The girl blinked, and her mind whirled into action.
“Nineteen, fifty three, isn’t it?” she replied. The robot once again entered calculation mode. “What does it matter what year it is?” But then she looked around. “But... this, isn’t, this isn’t the world I know... where am I? What year is it? What’s going on?!” She was suddenly frustrated, and turned on the robot with her questions.
“I think it would be best if you let me finish my calculations before you start bombarding me with questions,” replied the robot coolly. “I think I have a match in my archives. Year, nineteen fifty three, location, Beaverton Academy for girls, event, “The Beaverton Massacre”, perpetrators, secret gang called “The Black Widows”.” The girl gasped. Everything was suddenly flooding back into her mind; the prom that night, the murders, the terrible duel with the Black Widows, and, the fire; when they realised they’d lost, the widows set fire to the school, and... “Known victims, Stella, Ursula, Opal, Tess, Ginger, Betty, Norma, Mabel, Abigail, Dotty, Penny, Helen and Cricket.” The girl gasped again. “The victim known as “Cricket” matches your physical description.”
“That’s my name!” gasped the girl. “Cricket! My brothers always called me that! Oh god; what happened to them, to me; what’s going on here?! The last thing I remember is the fire! I was talking to Norma and Mabel about Ginger and Betty’s deaths when the fire alarms went off!”
“I think you’d better sit down, and please don’t argue with me; it’ll be easier for both of us that way,” said the robot, leading Cricket to a nearby rock that she could sit on. There were tears in her eyes by now.
“What’s going on?” asked Cricket, looking pleadingly at the robot.
“I can’t tell you what’s going on, but I can explain what’s happened since nineteen fifty three,” said the robot. “It’s well documented that in nineteen fifty three, Beaverton Academy burnt down as a result of malicious activities conducted by The Black Widows. Only three people escaped with their lives; Ingrid, Ruth and Freda. I believe you knew them.”
“I sure did,” cricket snarled, her hands clenching into fists in her lap. “I had just figured out that they were the widows, and I was just about to tell the others when I found Betty and Ginger’s bodies. I wrote what I’d found out in my diary and went to find the others. But what about Ursula; didn’t she escape with the other widows?”
“It’s believed that she either got lost or locked inside the building before she could escape,” the robot explained. “The other widows pleaded their innocence in court, but were convicted on the ground of fresh evidence and a confession from Ruth that convicted all three of them.”
“What evidence?” asked Cricket. “They burnt the school to the ground; what evidence was there?”
“Your diary,” stated the robot. Cricket almost gasped. “Detectives found your diary inside your locker after the fire had been put out. It had survived mostly unharmed and revealed that Ursula, Freda, Ruth and Ingrid were the felons responsible for the fire at Beaverton Academy, or at least that was what you believed at the time. Freda and Ingrid denied the charges, but Ruth confessed to the crimes and her confession convicted the other two in nineteen fifty seven. They were given life imprisonment, but Ruth later was released on the grounds of good behaviour, when she was lynched by six people.”
“Who?” asked Cricket.
“Your brothers,” said the robot solemnly. Cricket did gasp this time. “And Abigail’s boyfriend. All were arrested and convicted of murder, but were released after a few years. They struggled to survive after that; their conviction prevented them from getting jobs. Things get sketchy after that, but I believe they did live long lives. It’s the events that follow that are important for today. You’ll remember earlier that year that the USA developed the first atom, or Hydrogen bomb?”
“Yeah, yeah I remember that,” Cricket replied, nodding.
“Well, the events that followed are known as The Cold War,” the robot continued. “After the end of world war two, relations between the allied nations and Russia became frosty to say the least, both boasting of having nuclear weapons and threatening to use them, as the communist leaders of Russia wanted recognition and power beyond what it had at the time. The world rested in the fear of all out nuclear war, until after a succession of Russia’s presidents died of old age, and a new and younger president was elected, who allowed relations to soften between the nations. The nuclear stockpiles were dismantled and with the destruction of the Berlin Wall... you probably don’t know what that was do you?” Cricket shook her head. “Well, it was a symbol of the segregation between Russia and the other allied nations. Berlin, and indeed all of Germany, was split into four quarters, belonging to France, Great Britain, the USA and Russia, but during the Cold War, Russia built a huge wall across Berlin, separating its quarter from the allied nations. With its demolition, came a visible end to the Cold War and symbolised a new era of peace. But the events of the Cold War led to terrible future dilemmas; other nations who had no fear of annihilation, either boasted of, or was claimed to have, nuclear weapons, or Weapons of Mass Destruction as they were known at the time. Further wars during the late twentieth century and early twenty first century started breaking out as the allied nations tried to prevent these weapons from falling into the wrong hands, and after a few decades of this, the term “Crying Nuke” came into fashion. Nations world wide were drawn into terrible debates and conflicts over the existence of nuclear weapons in dangerous countries. The most powerful nations became so fed up with the situation, that they even started ignoring the most ludicrous accusations of nuclear power, with the result that in the late twenty ninth century, a nuclear warhead was launched against the USA. The USA retaliated, and the population of the earth plummeted like a stone. Billions of people died in mere months as the whole world launched their missiles, and millions more died in the nuclear winter that followed. The world as you knew it, ended, on September first, twenty eight sixty nine.” Cricket’s face was a mask of horror. She couldn’t quite believe what the robot was telling her. “In the aftermath, what remained of the human population struggled to survive, threatened on all fronts by food shortages, “nuclear death zones”, and competition from other earthbound creatures; anything else that had survived. Fear, paranoia and hatred was everywhere, but as the decades rolled on, a new weapon was discovered, even more terrible than nuclear power.”
“What?!” Cricket gasped, unable to believe her ears. “But that’s impossible! Nothing could possibly be worse than that!”
“Ah, but humanity found it,” the robot replied, looking and sounding unhappy. “You see, all life creates an invisible energy field around it, undetected by any scientific equipment. After decades of desperation, humanity found a way to manipulate this energy field, and use it for terrible purposes. They discovered magic.”
“What?” Cricket now looked confused and sceptical. “There’s no such thing as magic. It’s all just tricks and, stuff.”
“What you call magic was just tricks and clever lighting effects,” the robot countered. “But there is such a thing as magical energy, and it’s a very powerful force indeed. Humanity found a way to manipulate it, and discovered a whole new way to spread chaos. It extended their lives, protected them from radiation, and filled them with power that no mortal had ever experienced before. But it warped their minds, corrupted them, and made humanity even more paranoid, resulting in the second wave of fighting; The Magic Wars. It was a terrible time; the human population rose and fell like a Ping-Pong ball, each time failing to reach its previous heights. The magic left over from the fighting started distorting space and time, bending reality in ways you could only dream about. It seemed the earth was doomed to destruction; new creatures were appearing in their thousands, each being twisted by the same forces, but then, about seven hundred years ago, a new breed of creature appeared, more powerful than anything ever seen before, and hell-bent on destroying the terrible abuse of magic that humanity was perpetrating. These were the Dragons. They feed on the magical energy left behind by the humans in their fighting, and became so powerful they could wipe out whole populations in days. Humans tried to fight back, but they were so dependent on magic they could use nothing else to fight them, and their use of magic only made the dragons stronger. The human race would have been wiped out in years, if it wasn’t for The White Cult.”
“The what?” Cricket, almost overwhelmed by all this information, had finally found something she could question.
“A cult of sorcerers who had suddenly realised the self destructive nature of magic abuse,” said the robot. “They tried to educate the population to try and prevent them from destroying themselves, but they wouldn’t listen; magic was their source of power and they were not about to give it up for a bunch of self righteous white robed idiots. The White Cult had no choice but to unleash a terrible curse. This curse attacked anybody who used magic, and transmitted itself across thick magic fields. Before long, the entire population was infected, and those who tried using magic during this time suffered terrible deaths. The White Cult itself was destroyed by its own ingenuity, but they at least cured the population of its magical addiction. People became so afraid of magic that only the most arrogant even attempted it, and they died horribly. Over the centuries since, magic became illegal, and then feared and hated. No mortal uses magic now, and since what became known as The White Purge, dragon numbers have dropped, telling us robots that magic usage and levels have dropped significantly.” The robot looked at Cricket, who took several minutes to digest the information. “Magic is dwindling, but the damage has been done. The world you knew is gone. This is an entirely new world we live in today, and as with any new world it has a name.”
“What’s this new world called then?” asked Cricket.
“Earth is recovering from an apocalypse,” explained the robot. “Everything has been twisted and distorted beyond recognition, and the earth’s new name recognises that distortion. The world is now known as, Apocalyth.”

Chapter 3

“Apocalyth?” Cricket repeated.
“Indeed,” replied the robot, bowing its domed head as much as it could in recognition of the disaster. “The Earth is no more, replaced by this, nightmarish land.” The robot raised its arms in general indication of the new world around them. Cricket looked around. It was a fairly featureless landscape; no trees or plants – not even grass – and not a building in sight, nothing but some mountains in the vague distance in one direction. She looked skywards again. Iron grey with only the hint that the sun was even up; the glowing orb that barely illuminated anything with its pitiful glare.
“What happened to the sun?” Cricket asked, not able to think of much else.
“During the war, magic distorted the atmosphere and the ozone layer,” explained the robot. “In places the atmosphere is so thick almost no light gets through at all, like here. In other places, it’s so thin everything gets baked in seconds. It’s a myriad of deserts and thick forests of plants and animals that have evolved to cope in the extreme heat. You’re lucky you’re here; if that transporter spell accidentally sent you there, you’d be barbeque in seconds.” Cricket put her head in her hands. To think, just days earlier (from her perspective) all she’d been worried about were her exams and the stupid graduation party. If she’d known she was going to be roasted and then sent to this hellhole; she would have skived off and gone to play ball with the students from the neighbouring boy’s school. The robot could tell that she was distressed, and having no programming in that field, instead set about re-examining the magic field left behind by the spell. Whoever summoned it was powerful and skilful, but nobody could create a spell like that, no mortal at least; not after the White Purge. Not even a vampire could have managed it, as resilient and arrogant enough to use magic as they are. And why Cricket? Why of all the people in history to transport, why summon an eighteen year old girl who can serve no real purpose to anyone? But it was fruitless to speculate; there’s not nearly enough information to make an informed decision on; any theory formed now would be instantly disproved by anything new discovered on this topic.
The robot looked back at Cricket. She still seemed stumped, but she’d had enough time by now to get used to the situation, and they needed to move on. “Are you ok Cricket?” it asked. Cricket looked at the robot.
“What do you think?” she retorted.
“There’s no point in getting angry with me,” replied the robot calmly. “Now I fear we must move on. We can’t just sit here all day; we have to find a place for you to rest and regain your bearings. For a start you’ll need new clothes; those ones won’t protect you from the night chill. We’ll head for sector four from here; there’s a town there that might be friendly to you.”
“Why wouldn’t they be friendly?” asked Cricket.
“Just as the world you know is gone, so are the people,” said the robot. “People nowadays are far more cautious then back in nineteen fifty three. There are so many creatures out there that resemble humans, all of whom want to cause then harm. But they’ll trust me; my work counts for a lot in this world.”
“How far is this, “sector four”?” Cricket sighed.
“A little too far for your legs to carry you, at least not before nightfall,” said the robot. “I’ll summon a transporter; I should have a radio link to the factory from here. Hang on a second.” As it spoke, a panel opened up in the robot’s head and an aerial rose from inside, turning slowly until it locked on to the factory, and rising further to better the signal. Cricket watched in what would have been fascination if she’d had the energy for it, and after a few moments, the aerial disappeared again. “It won’t be long,” said the robot.
“What else can you do?” Cricket asked, wondering exactly what this robot could manage.
“I’m an eighteen hundred series Kadrocorp service droid, and have many capabilities to suit all possible occurrences that require the attention of my kind,” said the robot. “I also have a multi-functioning scanner for detecting any energy output, be it magic, heat or life readings, and a variety of EMR devices. I’ve also been specifically programmed for human/robot communication as most robots struggle to talk with humans, but I think the main computer doesn’t like us anymore because we’re too like humans now. I also make a pretty handy chair when necessary.” Cricket smiled – the first time she’d done so since she’d arrived. The robot’s computerised face also smiled.
“How many of you are there?” asked Cricket. “If you’re the eighteen hundred series...”
“My serial number is one eight eight zero, or eighteen eighty as I personally prefer,” replied the robot. “There are approximately nineteen hundred, or at least how many serial numbers there are on the register; I’m not sure about how many of us are still operational elsewhere in the world. My fellow droids don’t doubt that we’re all operational, but it’s a dangerous world and I doubt we’re all still running.” Cricket sighed and sank into deep thought, but not for long; in less than a minute eighteen eighty was ushering her to her feet and pointing into the distance. “There! Our transport has arrived.” Cricket looked in that direction. It looked like a very streamlined lorry, and it was moving very quickly right towards them. “There should be something you can use as a makeshift coat for now and something to sit on. It’s not really designed for human transportation but I’m sure we can make do.” Cricket wasn’t really listening; the machine looked impossibly futuristic from her perspective. It ran, not on wheels, but on large spheres that sat in their socket, completely unconnected to the machine itself, and there was no cabin that she could see; just a streamlined door through which the robot could fit, and the large compartment on the back. The robot stepped forward and its door opened, just as the rear compartment “opened up”, allowing Cricket inside. There was indeed a large canvas, but it looked more like a blanket then a coat, and a few safety harness fittings that were large enough to sit on. As she made herself comfortable, the rear compartment closed, and almost silently, the transport started moving. “I’m now wired into the transport and in full control of our speed and destination,” came the robot’s voice from no distinct location. Cricket looked around, and only saw the semi-transparent walls of the compartment. “We’ll arrive in sector four in just a few minutes. It would otherwise take hours to get there on foot.”
Cricket looked through the compartment wall at their surroundings. It was plain that they were moving extremely fast; faster than she’d ever travelled before, even in her dad’s car back in nineteen forty nine, but they might as well have not been moving at all for all the speed was doing for the view. Everything was grey or slightly brownish, with nothing worth looking at but the mountains she’d spied earlier. Anything closer by whizzed passed faster than her eyes could see, so after a moment or so she turned back and stared at the floor of the compartment, her arms wrapped around her knees. How could the world have come to this? Everything she knew, everything that could have been, wiped out by humanities own arrogance. She felt a pit of despair open up inside her at the thought of all the destruction caused...
“We’re here.” Cricket jumped at the robot’s voice. They’d only been travelling for about four minutes and they were there already? How fast was this thing? Cricket stood up and the compartment opened up again. The air outside hit her and she shivered slightly. Eighteen Eighty was already waiting outside, and he helped her down to ground level. Right before them was a town. It looked like the kinds of towns she’d studied in her history lessons; everything was primitive but strong and sturdy, designed to last and provide safety over comfort.
And then she saw the people. They were taller than she remembered, and all wrapped in thick and heavy looking clothes. They looked up suspiciously as the robot led her towards them. Their skin was very pale, and most were wearing hats or hoods to protect their ears and faces from the coldness of the air; Cricket was only just starting to notice it, but the air was very cold.
She looked up at a nearby woman, standing near a doorway and peering at her critically. Although she had a well structured face, she wore nothing to show it off; no makeup or anything. Obviously cosmetics and other “luxuries” had been phased out ages ago. Looks counted for little in this world.
“I wish to speak with the mayor,” said the robot to the nearest local, who nodded and rushed off, looking back at them over his shoulder as he did so. “They probably won’t trust you properly for a while,” the robot added, using a quieter voice as it addressed Cricket. “But they’ll accommodate you for a while. They trust me.”
“I hope so...” replied Cricket, looking nervously around. They’d become the centre of attention now, and she didn’t like the way they were looking at her. It was as if they couldn’t even see the robot and Cricket was some wild animal they all wanted to keep far from their pets, not that she could see any pets anywhere; they might be a forgotten luxury too...
“Ah, mayor Quinlan.” Cricket’s attention snapped to the man who was now approaching. Goodness; he had to be almost a foot taller than Cricket! And his face, it was square and rigid, with a fair few battle scars as well. He had to be the most intimidating sight she’d ever seen.
“Kadrocorp,” replied the man, bowing his head slightly to the robot, before turning his gaze onto Cricket. She looked back, and almost quailed. His eyes; they were yellow – almost gold – in colour, and they seemed to emit a powerful heat that penetrated her, making her feel even more uneasy. She found she couldn’t look at them for long.
“Serial number one eight eight zero, or eighteen eighty if you prefer,” returned the robot. “I found this young lady in sector twenty six.” There was a gasp, and Cricket could almost feel the glances and whispers flying this way and that by the people watching on. Quinlan however appeared unfazed, although he did look even harder at Cricket for a long while, before turning back to the robot.
“You are aware that no life exists in that sector,” he said, his voice like stone; hard, cold and precise. “And no life can survive there long without magical aid.”
“I am, mayor Quinlan,” said the robot. “She is not aware of how, when or indeed why she appeared there, but I believe she is the victim of some magical event.” Even more tension as whispers and glances flew around Cricket, now feeling more like arrows to her than anything else. “I’ve scanned her; she is pure human and no threat to anyone as she is. Her name is Cricket, and is not from this place or time. She’s in real danger as she is, and I request you at least help her settle. She needs new clothes, food and at least a little time to recover from her ordeal.” Cricket tried to look up at Quinlan, but suddenly found that she didn’t have the nerve, and looked at the floor instead. A tense pause followed the robot’s request.
“We heard what happened in sector thirteen,” said Quinlan, his voice even darker and colder than before. “So you’ll understand why I do not agree at once.”
“I do understand,” replied the robot. “But you have my word that she is no threat to you. She cannot use magic and is not used to this world. She needs help, and I was hoping you could give it.” Cricket could feel Quinlan looking at her. It was like a powerful spotlight that would blind her if she looked at it. He seemed to take a long time to answer.
“Alright,” he said. “I shall take her to my own house and let her stay there a while. But we cannot keep her long.”
“Thank you mayor Quinlan; that s all I ask for,” said the robot, and he nudged Cricket forward. “That’s the best you can expect, and it’s frankly the best you can get,” he added to Cricket in a whisper. “Quinlan’s a strong and honourable man. Short of a dragon attack, there’s nothing he can’t handle. You’ll be safe if you stick by him.” Cricket grudgingly walked forward towards the titan before her.
“I am grateful sir,” she said.
“So you should be,” snapped Quinlan. “Now come with me; you’ll freeze in those clothes.” Quinlan started walking, and Cricket followed. But she stopped when she realised eighteen eighty wasn’t coming with her. She turned to see him going back to the transport.
“But...!” she gasped, but didn’t continue; it was probably best to keep quiet and do as the robot said. She hurried to catch up with Quinlan, who hadn’t slowed down for her at all. Cricket could feel more stares as she hurried through the streets. They passed through a market area of sorts, and then arrived at the mayor’s house. It wasn’t much bigger or more elaborate than any other house in the town, but was separate from the other houses, and tied up outside the front, was... Cricket had no idea what it was; it was some kind of beast! It looked like a dog, but had a huge shaggy mane, a thick and powerful body, and horns atop its head and curving around its face. As Cricket approached, it sniffed the air, and was on its feet in an instant, snarling ferociously, its mane quivering. Even standing on all fours as it was it was taller than Cricket! Cricket stopped dead at the sight of it.
“Down Sarkha,” snapped Quinlan and the beast lay back down, but continued to growl and glare at Cricket. “He won’t hurt you,” added Quinlan, turning to look at the terrified girl. “Now inside.” Cricket hurried passed the beast “Sarkha” and in through the front door that Quinlan was holding open for her.
“Who are you?” Cricket jumped. A woman was standing before her, looking down at her. She to towered over Cricket, and was even more intimidating without her warm layers of outdoor clothing. Her shoulders were thick, as were her arms and chest. She looked at least three times stronger than Tess, and she’d been the strongest girl at Beaverton, as well as the school bully. The woman was standing, her hands on her hips, disturbed from her cooking at the other end of the room, and was scrutinising Cricket even harder than Quinlan had.
“She’s a guest dear,” said Quinlan, pulling his hood off his head as he unbuckled his coat. Cricket turned and looked at him afresh. He was bald with merely a ring of grey hair around his head, and atop his crown was another large scar, expertly concealed by his hood. Without his coat he looked truly terrifying; his arms looked like boulders attached to his shoulders, and his body was like a tree trunk. Yet more scars adorned his powerful arms; he’d clearly earned his reputation through battle. “A Kadrocorp robot requested we look after this girl for a while. I told it we could, but not for long.”
“Well good; we haven’t got room for yet another hungry mouth,” replied the woman, turning back to her cooking.
“I know, but we cannot control fate,” Quinlan sighed. “And this girl needs a place to acclimate herself. She’s not from around here and needs time, and clothes and food.”
“I’m not surprised; in fact I’m surprised she’s alive with what she’s got on.” The woman looked back at Cricket. “And she’s got no meat on her at all. Ahh, I guess we’ll have to feed her up.”
“I, I eat light,” Cricket piped up gingerly.
“Not anymore you don’t,” said the woman.
“You need the nourishment,” added Quinlan, placing his hand on Cricket’s shoulder, almost making her legs buckle. “This is a cold and hard place. If you don’t get fed up, you’ll never survive.” Quinlan then strode off. “Come; I guess we’d better find a bed for you.”



That's all I have for now, but I am hoping to write more soon! Just need a few more characters and I'll be far more comfortable .

This is becoming more and more interesting Kai! I love how you said looks are important in that time any more... no make up? awesome! I wonder how Cricket got there o.o....


If your stuck with characters I have loads I have a cyborg (woman in my avatar picture), a demon, an Xenomorph hybrid, insane human that loves pain xD a Na'vi... but that won't work lol and Neko twins.

awwwws its np Kai Kai (:

Chapter 4

Eighteen eighty parked the transporter in the docking section along with the hundred or so other transporters and climbed out. Twelve thirty four was waiting for it.
“You have taken more time than what is necessary,” it stated. “The main computer asked me to wait for you here. What has taken you so long to return from sector twenty six?”
“I discovered something there that I hadn’t expected,” eighteen eighty replied. “I would feel more comfortable reporting to the computer than to you.” Twelve thirty four eyed eighteen eighty in its mechanical way, and then indicated that the robot was to follow it to the computer room. The two made their way there, and found the computer in the semi dark room, quietly buzzing as usual.
“One eight eight zero,” said the computer in its monotone voice. “You have taken...”
“I know I took too long,” snapped eighteen eighty. There was a tense pause.
“Your impertinence is unacceptable,” stated the massive machine. “Report. What was the cause of the magical disturbance in sector twenty six?”
“A transporter spell of immense power,” replied eighteen eighty. “It somehow managed to transport, a person, from the distant past into the present time.”
“That is not possible,” said the computer. “No living creature is capable of creating such a powerful magical force.”
“It is the only plausible explanation,” snapped eighteen eighty. “My scanners told me that much. I can’t explain it, but that is what must have happened.” Another pause.
“We may require a second opinion on that point,” said the computer. “One two three four, take a transporter to sector twenty six and examine the magic field. Report to me afterwards.” Twelve thirty four nodded and left the chamber. “Continue report,” said the computer.
“There was a person there,” eighteen eighty went on. “She was disoriented, lost and alone. I believe she was transported to this time from nineteen fifty three, more specifically, from Beaverton Academy shortly after the Beaverton Massacre.” A brief pause as the computer loaded the necessary documentation.
“Thirteen students and several members of staff died during that incident,” it stated.
“The girl I found in sector twenty six matches the physical and mental description of Cricket,” said eighteen eighty. “I filled her in on the change in circumstances since nineteen fifty three and took her to mayor Quinlan in sector four.”
“The girl is not Cricket,” stated the computer. “It is recorded that the girl called Cricket died during the Beaverton Massacre.”
“Reported yes,” replied eighteen eighty. “But never confirmed, not to our standards. I’ve given this some thought, and I’m guessing that she was transported from Beaverton Academy when she was supposed to die, and brought to the present era.”
“Your opinion is again incorrect,” snapped the computer. “Confirmation of her death is unnecessary in this case. Nineteen fifty three takes place during the non-magic era. No living being at that time or even in this time could possibly have created a transporter spell that powerful. Your programming has given you a human imagination which must be distorting the situation.”
“I assure you that my programming is fine and has nothing to do with my opinion,” replied eighteen eighty. “If anything, it aids me as I, unlike you, can think outside the box.”
“You are wrong,” retorted the computer. “Imagination serves little purpose in my opinion. Your programming is the issue here as it has taken a given situation and blown it out of proportion with supposition and assumptions. You say that somebody created a transporter spell that took an insignificant girl from nineteen fifty three and brought her here. There is no motive for anybody bringing a girl like Cricket here. It is also impossible for such a spell to have been conjured as there is no sorcerer in history that could have created the necessary powerful magical field. Your theory is unacceptably flawed.”
“You are assuming that you know everything about this time and hers,” eighteen eighty retorted. “There could be a being powerful enough to create a magic field powerful enough to transport her here that does not appear in our database.”
“Impossible,” stated the computer. “We have the most powerful and comprehensive database of any computer system in history and with a wealth of information that spans all the way from prehistoric times to the present era. No such magical being exists or could have existed who could have created that field.” There was a long pause. Eighteen eighty looked up at the blank wall of computer banks before it.
“I believe that we must agree to disagree on this topic,” it finally commented. “My opinion currently differs from your, assumptions, too strongly to be compatible.”
“Wrong again,” said the computer. “You will agree with me soon enough. I have decided that the eighteen hundred series will be recalled and reprogrammed. You are example enough of the fact that the eighteen hundred series is unsuitable for Kadrocorp usage.” Eighteen eighty’s graphic face contorted in horror and rage.
“You cannot do that!” it shouted, displaying the emotional programming it had been given. “The humans understand and appreciate the eighteen hundred series over any other! If you do recall us, what will you replace us with?”
“The nineteen hundred series,” stated the computer. “I have completed the programming and design specifications for the next generation during your absence. Once they arrive, you will be redundant, obsolete, unnecessary, waste of time and resources; take your pick.” Eighteen eighty took a step backwards.
“And you wonder why the humans prefer us to you,” it spat, its mechanical voice laced with anger. “Fine. I guess I don’t have a choice in this. Just so you know, if you have any emotional capacity in that tin can of a brain, you will regret this. The nineteen hundred series will fail in their given mission and without the eighteen hundred series, the humans might very well revolt.”
“They will not,” said the computer. “They know better than to do so. Besides, if they attempt to, the Steel Opposition Suppressor droids will prevent any revolt.”
“Now you’re the one who’s wrong,” eighteen eighty snapped. “Those droids have been out of commission for so long their brains have degraded; I checked them myself recently. They’re useless, and even if you could use them, you’d be defeating your own purpose of aiding and guiding the humans towards global resurrection.” Eighteen eighty could tell by the sudden buzzing silence of the computer that he’d struck a blow against the untouchable logic of the computer. A smile appeared on its computerised face at its triumph.
“Then we will recreate Project Kadmus,” suggested the computer.
“Wrong again,” replied eighteen eighty, its voice now rich with sly pleasure. “Their mental state would be even worse than the S.O.S droids by now, and besides, they’re all dead; all the chambers are empty and broken. Sorry, no super soldiers of any size, shape or description for you.” Another silence, longer and more tense than the last one.
“You will return to the factory floor,” the computer stated finally. “Reprogramming will commence immediately.” Eighteen eighty nodded and turned to leave.
But before it left the room, it turned its head and asked, “Aren’t you worried?”
“Not at all,” said the computer. “Because I have factored in one last detail into my equation that finally solves the dilemma you presented me with.”
“And that is?” asked eighteen eighty.
“That you, like the humans you imitate, are bluffing,” whispered the computer in an unusually satisfied tone. “Even if there is a revolt the super soldiers are still there and operational. You are just trying to save yourself from reprogramming by saying that none of them are working. I know myself the efficiency of the droids working at the laboratory and they would not have allowed the droids to deteriorate the way you have described.”
“You wish,” hissed eighteen eighty. “I’d rather be reprogrammed than listen to your stupid voice any longer. And for your information, I wasn’t bluffing.” And with that, eighteen eighty left the room.

Cricket sat in the attic, the only space left in Quinlan’s house for her to stay in. The sun, for what it was, was about to set, and the temperature was dropping even further and fast. Quinlan had given Cricket some spare clothes to help keep her warm, but as his wife had warned, her lack of meat meant she was still feeling the cold, badly. Cricket shivered on her small stool, and looked again at her all but untouched plate of food. The others of Quinlan’s family had eaten heartily and downed bigger plates than her own, but she was so nervous, and the plate itself being so large, Cricket had barely been able to stomach it. She sighed and hugged her knees.
Alone at last, Cricket had a chance to think. How had she appeared there? The last thing she remembered was Beaverton in flames and herself choking on the smoke. How’d she end up here? Eighteen Eighty said she must have been transported there via, some sort of spell, he’d said. He’d barely spoken to her at all about it directly, but he’d described a “transportation spell”? And one that carried her through time as well as space; what on earth did that mean? If only he hadn’t disappeared when he had; she really needed someone to talk to now. Quinlan hadn’t been much help; he knew almost as little as she did, and the rest of his family wouldn’t even look at her, except when they thought she couldn’t see them.
Quinlan lived with his wife Hannah, his daughter Joanna and son-in-law Brant. Cricket understood what Quinlan’s wife had meant by another hungry mouth; Joanna was so heavily pregnant she looked ready to burst! They needed the extra space for the baby when it arrived, which left Cricket in a tight position as it was due any week now, and Cricket needed time to acclimate herself into Apocalyth. She’d have to work fast in order to manage it, but Quinlan and eighteen eighty were the only ones who even seemed willing to help.
Cricket sighed, but her musings were cut short when the hatch into the attic opened, and Quinlan’s son-in-law climbed up to see her. He strangely reminded Cricket of her eldest brother, Steve – same tall and powerful figure, yet lean and with the same hair as Cricket just longer – but there were too many differences to say the two were similar. Brant had a more angular face, iron grey eyes (and just as cold when she looked into them) and was bulkier, both more muscular and with more meat on his bones than any of Cricket’s brothers. He was also as tall compared to Cricket now as Steve had been when she had been younger. Cricket watched as Brant climbed into the attic, closed the hatch again, and sat at the other end, peering at her.
“Yes?” Cricket prompted. He seemed to be considering her intently, just as he had done at dinner. He’d definitely seemed the least willing to speak to or about her, so why was he up there now?
“Who are you?” he asked. Cricket blinked. Quinlan had explained who she was over dinner.
“I’m Cricket,” she said.
“No; what I meant was what are you?” Brant insisted. Cricket thought a moment.
“I’m an eighteen year old girl...” she started but Brant turned away with an impatient gesture and expression. “Well what answer do you want?” Cricket spat angrily.
“Look, what dad said over dinner about you is simply impossible,” said Brant, sighing.
“But...” Cricket started, but Brant went on.
“Nothing can live in sector twenty six,” he stated. “Not without being a powerful magical creature or a sorcerer. Therefore you’re lying about your story.”
“I’m not!” Cricket exclaimed. “What I he said is the truth!”
“Well I’m not buying it,” Brant snapped back. “Dad may believe what you’re saying, but you don’t fool me.” He stood up. “I’ve got my eyes on you. Any funny business...” but Cricket leapt to her feet.
“Then you’ve got a long and boring vigil to keep!” she snarled. “Because I’ve done nothing to deserve this.”
“I’ll watch you for as long as it takes!” Brant retorted.
“Then make yourself at home because I’ve got nothing to hide!” Cricket shot back.
“This is my home,” Brant growled. “And if anything...”
“Brant!” The hatch flew open and Quinlan appeared at the top of the ladder. Cricket started, staring at the giant. In a surprisingly nimble motion he sprang into the attic, landing between the two arguers. “What’s all the ruckus about?” Brant stammered a moment before regaining the use of his jaw and closing it.
“Your son, sir, doesn’t believe my story,” Cricket stated, trying not to sound impertinent. Quinlan turned and looked at her. Once again Cricket felt that his golden yellow eyes were looking right through her. Cricket gulped, and tried to look into the powerful man’s face, but just trying made her eyes sting.
Finally, Quinlan turned back to his son-in-law. “Brant, your wife is very anxious about the noise,” he said, very slowly. It was as if he was chiselling the words into his son’s skull. “Return to her at once and apologise for the commotion.” Brant looked down, and climbed back down the ladder without another word. Cricket was momentarily struck by the respect Brant must have for the giant Quinlan, but that thought passed quickly as said giant turned to her. “Cricket,” Quinlan placed his hands on his hips, contemplated a moment or two on how to continue, and then indicated that Cricket take her seat again. Cricket pulled out her stool and sat back upon it. “Look, I trust you, but only because the Kadrocorp droid said you were trustworthy, and because I’m not afraid of magic users. You must understand that your story isn’t easy to believe; we’ve never heard of anyone surviving for long in sector twenty six, and to hear that you’re actually from the pre-war year nineteen fifty three... it’s a little difficult to digest. Now, we’ll keep you here for as long as we can for all of us to work out what’s going on, but we cannot afford for incidents like this to occur.” Cricket gulped and nodded.
“I’ll bear that in mind sir,” she said, her voice sounding quite small. Quinlan nodded, and climbed back down the hatch and out of sight. Cricket could hear him talking to Hannah, who seemed cross that there’d been an argument in the first place. Cricket slowly lowered her head and clasped her hands around it. So now she had Brant as an enemy, without even trying to provoke him. It was a good thing Quinlan seemed on her side, but it seemed that he didn’t trust her any more than the others did; it was just that he was so strong he didn’t fear... whatever the others might have thought she was. If only Eighteen Eighty were still there to help explain things...
But it was pointless to hope. She’d have to survive at least the night before that robot came back, and it was going to be a rough night whatever happened. Cricket looked at the mattress Quinlan had provided for a bed. It was old but surprisingly comfortable, and the blanket similarly was thin but surprisingly warm, once used for several minutes. But he’d warned that once Joanna’s baby arrived, they’d need every resource they had, which included what little they’d leant to Cricket. She’d have to make the most of it while she could.
Cricket sighed yet again, and turned to her plate. Even with the blanket she’d never get any sleep on an empty stomach. Slowly, she reached out, and started to tuck in.

Twelve Thirty Four surveyed sector twenty six. Its scanners reading the same magic vapour Eighteen Eighty had detected. Already it knew that its long term companion was being reprogrammed, but it felt little remorse if it felt any at all, as it lacked the motional programming that marked the eighteen hundred series. Twelve Thirty Four looked around, its domed head rotating through three hundred and sixty degrees and back again, trying to detect something that hadn’t appeared on its comrade’s report, now buzzing inside Twelve Thirty Four’s memory bank. Could it possibly find something the other droid hadn’t, or would it merely confirm the doomed droid’s suspicions?
“Scan complete,” said the droid’s voice automatically. “No additional features detected. All remaining traces confirm original report.” Twelve Thirty Four tilted its domed head forward slightly, as if expressing regret. “Texture does match that of powerful transportation spell. Little excess suggests excessive accuracy on part of sorcerer. This was not only a transportation spell, but as powerful a spell as Eighteen Eighty said it was...” Twelve Thirty Four hesitated. “This can only mean one thing... Eighteen Eighty was right... there is a sorcerer out there more powerful that we know, and we don’t yet know about it...” another hesitation. “Master computer isn’t going to like this.”



Appologies for the delay; things should be getting closer to back on track soon.

You both are making me want to write again! D:

haha you are allowed here Kai haha... you are staff ;D just put a warning like I used to c: