In the scorching desert heat, a spirited delivery man ventures into the vast emptiness, unaware of the horrifying fate that awaits him. With his present cargo tightly secured, he had no inkling that within its confines lay a mystery too grisly to comprehend. And then, as the cargo is unveiled, a ghastly truth was revealed – a man-eating beast, more sinister than any nightmare, lurks behind those timber slates. The desert becomes an arena of terror, where life and death hang in the balance.
Left trapped in a bone-chilling dilemma, his every move determines his own survival. The stakes had never been higher, and the desert bares witness to a harrowing battle for survival, as the hunter becomes the hunted, and fear carves its path amidst the arid wasteland.
This horror sci-fi story is part one of the series, The Sell Outs, based on the short story.
The sandstorm above had been raging for three days with no end in sight. So intense, the winds toppled vehicles, trucks and all. They eroded away the road leading in and out of the mine, destroying the ramp, even the super trucks couldn’t scale the man-made canyon.
Workers have become sick. They had fallen weak; their skin had become yellow, not like jaundice, but splotchy yellow pigmentation. According to the doc, whatever this pestilence was, it wasn’t infectious.
Silv heard correctly but wanted clarification. “What do you mean a square?”
“Probe One has just completed a second sweep over your location,” said The Captain, sitting comfortably in the Vitalis Express orbiting KIC10905746 C. “We’ve now got a clearer picture of what’s down there. The anomaly’s actually a large geometric shape, fifty metres wide, just north of your location. In fact, there is a grid of quadrilateral structures underneath a kilometre of nitrogen ice.”
Looking over at Denis, Silv felt vindicated. “Was I right in choosing this dormant glacier for a first landing?”
“Could be naturally occurring formations,” said Denis.
This is how to time travel on the subway. Look at the platform and imagine it being the destination platform. Walk to where you imagine the exit location is, and get as close to it as possible. Then board your train carriage at that location. It is the walking that makes the difference. Three minutes can be saved or lost, whether or not you choose to walk or stay dormant.
I attempted this today but my whole time travel experience got foiled when I was forced to change carriage to avoid the smell of vomit, foot odour, and rolling water bottles. I lost half a minute of time travel.
Although I did experience another form of chrononautics. I sat next to a guy who looked familiar. I had to ask his name. Sure enough, it was a long-lost childhood friend. Dangerous personality, always making dreams seem achievable. Too bad he sounded like he’d never amounted to anything. I asked him why he broke off contact all those years ago. He tried to answer but really didn’t satisfy my question, not in any meaningful way. I was however surprised he invited me home. Can’t work him out.
Eventually, he admitted to me that he lead a wasted life and then tempted me to show him what I’d achieved, but I was uneasy with this. What next? Do I kill him? Do I show him what I’ve been doing for the past lifetime and a half? I backed away and treated him like the stranger he really was. What really made me uneasy was the fact I had the urge to show off.
Every electronic device, gadget, or machine produced in a factory is equipped with a panoptic surveillance network called Yellowcop that has the ability to see and hear everything, as well as track your physical whereabouts and virtual activities. This network is legally implemented, from robot trashcans to autonomous smartcards, leaving no room for anonymity.
However, the emergence of DENDROS, a quasi-sentient computer algorithm capable of hacking into all machines within the Global Internet of Things, changes everything. This peer-to-peer system is un-hackable, untraceable, and completely cryptonymous, allowing humanity to indulge in its darker side incognito and free once again.
The Halloween remake, or second remake, is, by all means, a very good return to the franchise. It does its job of capturing the feel, atmosphere and style of John Carpenter’s original. It doesn’t miss a beat, the dread and the scares are genuine, and the Shape is as menacing as ever. One decision the producers went for in this reboot, however, is the elimination of the events of Halloween 2, and pretty much everything that came later.
Michael Myers ceased being this paranormal, un-killable ‘Shape’.
A fascinating aspect of horror, in particular the slasher genre that the Halloween series ventured into, is which of the following possess the most frightening kind of horror; psychological evil or supernatural evil?
Her russet eyes stood out, through dark mascara, heavy makeup and curly hair. There were several things I disliked about the girl; her open, shameless flirtation with Sophie being one. The dress she wore, an embroidered, simple number, suggested she’d been living in a bus shelter, a vagrant of sorts. She smelled like cheap homebrew perfume. Yet, my gal, my lover of nine years, seemed infatuated with her.
“I’m gonna feed you to the dogs,” said Fred Greenway brandishing a cleaver. He brought it down and cut into the young punk’s thigh.
Doctor Gus flinched even though he’d seen this a hundred times. Having taken a Lava pill, his brain perceived the high-def images on the screen as real. The narco-psychotic was formulated to assist with augmented reality training. Mindject users take the drug to help them form neurological pathways inside their heads so they can perceive artificial imagery or sound. Ingested without a mindjector, Lava forced visceral emotions to merge with one’s logic. The end result is exhilarating for some users, and terrifying for others.
Steve Bastione believed he was a reasonable man. He did not consider himself an animal; a savage from the north coast slums. Sure, the Black Dragons were infamous for their brutal ways, but things had changed. Fame and fortune had opened a new frontier for the little-known group of drug dealers. Overnight, they become celebrities. They were entrepreneurs in charge of a savvy business machine, selling gang-related paraphernalia to the masses. The textile trade didn’t deliver as much cash as distributing narco-psychotics, however, the legitimate enterprises did give the Black Dragons avenues to launder the income.