Echoes of Crookstone

There I was, seeing serenity on the water, if only for a second, as one leaf gently bobbed above its surface. Then each drop hardened and cooled, turning the pond into an ovular ice block. I could feel the blood in my forearm run cold as I reluctantly withdrew my hand from the translucent zone; the jet black fog around this sparse waterside left the floating plant (now encased below the glacial formation) as my sole point of interest, though one I would rather pursue without the interference of hypothermia. Gazing on into the distance for anyone else in this endless tundra distracted me from the wispy smoke behind me, which rolled up my spine before dropping into my lungs. The consequent fit of panicked wheezing was only worsened by my eyes stinging. I blindly lunged for the lake, running from my only known aggressor here. But upon contact with the ice, there was no sensation of impact, instead only a deep chill throughout my blood. As the ice absorbed the fog toxins from my system, I looked onwards. Between the ice crystals (now accented by threads of that dark haze) I beheld the sinking leaf. I attempted extending an arm to catch it, but was not even given the hint of numbness. Below me was only a depth of blackness, which I could feel absorbing the remnants of my warmth, with my consciousness following shortly thereafter.

Unable to tell if I was awake or asleep, I shifted my focus to the sandstone walls around me, while the shining floor of white served as a memento of what I would now come to know as “Modocakk.” I turned to my left wrist, for the sensation in it could’ve been an omen for my descent. Surely enough, attached to it was a heart-shaped locket: the side icons depicted a leaf on water, two spheres punctured by vertical and horizontal arrows, and a microchip emitting 3 waves. The water had nearly evaporated, with the leaf having turned a sickly pale yellow. While my current location was mild in heat, I could tell from the wrist-mounted device that it would be blazing hot beyond these doors.

“Yaina!”called a deep yet reassuring voice. “You back up already?” A tall figure in a green and orange camo jacket and caramel sideburns stepped out seconds later. “Woah, Xonilov?” was all I could ask at first. ”Who sent you down?” He bellowed in his gruffest impression “Knell Command Deniable Ops,” then, with a lighter tone, “or, the kindness of my heart. Whichever one you fancy.” I recognized this kind of talk from my past experiences with Xon: Always giving himself enough leeway with the listener’s opinion. But this silver tongue came bundled with a heart of gold, a heart that would take a bullet for a friend - or a V.I.P needing escort - as he would say, “Whichever you prefer.” However, I wondered how he could talk his way out of this one,and more importantly, if getting out would even be desirable, with every crack forming in the deteriorating leaf serving as new counter-evidence.

“What’s the status above?” I asked.

“Eh, it’s a dry heat. Little boring after the 15th straight day of nothing but. But I’ll keep my insides at medium rare. Here, see for yourself.”

He held up a laminated photograph of the landscape above, colloquially known as the Saebu Desert. I’d say the place belonged in a landfill, but it already seemed to have arrived in the incinerator room. In the valley shown, an array of incisions had opened in the sand, with the heat from their geothermal drafts being visible, and not just from the wavy flames displayed. Above wasn’t much better, as in place of clouds were gasbag monsters, casting destructive rays at the ground. But the strangest part was the sun, or rather the lack thereof. The inferno provided light from below, but above was a darkness broken only by the floating creatures. My fear was not just of the hellscape my home had become, but of how all this transpired within the time of a dream. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise that I was kept in my sleep, as I imagine one would not want to be awake for the initial hysteria. Now, I was awake in what amounted to a morgue.

Xonilov noticed my interest in the floating aberrations. “Oh,those? My Knell called ‘em Solavores. Means they feed on the sun, or at least, they charge their lasers with it. Guess they like their meals well done.” He turned, revealing a burnt-off section on the back of his jacket, with the orange and lime digital camouflage cutting for an ashen black.

“Xon’s verdict? Right bastards, they are.”

I touched a finger to the photograph, and felt my mind rapidly transferring into its plastic surface. Once again, I found myself surrounded by a black cloud; however, this time it was encircling what appeared to be a farmhouse. As I stared out the window at the sparse fields, a hand gripped my left wrist.

“This endless night has choked our crops. Come, we will get the grow lights on and make it through.”

The voice’s source was a short, stocky man, with a clean-shaven face and a blue overcoat. I put on my best rural accent, and said:

“Grow lights? We should be hoppin’ in the crop duster and strafin’ those fat flyin’ sons-a-guns! Grab your rifle, I’m achin’ for roast sky shitbag tonight!”

While the obnoxious country slang seemed to massacre brain cells, I felt this guy would own enough firearms for a small militia. And it was only after the last sentence that I realized my genuine hunger, as if any food in my stomach had stayed in the real world. I needed to find a way back into control, and small talk could be the key.

“Aye, we’ll kill ‘em soon, lass. But you know I can’t shoot for shit on an empty stomach.”

Going out through the kitchen door, we walked across a small paved pathway. I could tell, much like the photograph itself, this place used to be flourishing, from the wilted stumps of the orchard and stems of stalks flanking our route. Looking up, sure enough, there was no sun, but nor were there any airborne leviathans, only a vast, cerulean backdrop, as if looking onto the ocean’s waves. With that, we arrived at the shed. The door slid upwards, in stark contrast with the weathered nature of my settings. We stepped inside, and immediately something was off. I cut the comical tone.

“Where’d you put the grow lights? Guns?”

“I’m afraid neither would work here. See, guns can kill big sky monsters. But you can’t kill famine. Those creatures, they’re offering a trade. We give them meat, they give us our sun back.”

He pressed a button, and a wall flipped around, revealing a sandstone pillar. He pressed my wrists against it, and my left forearm felt itself merging with the sand.

“If it means my children can live normal lives, I'll do what must be done. My deepest apologies.”

As if my lungs were prepared for the toxic smoke from my last time, the first sound I heard once back in reality was my own hyperventilating. Needless to say, Xonilov was staring at me, which only added to my nervousness. I’d heard stories of people going mad inside Crookstone, to the point of speaking without knowing it. But when I asked him how long I’d been out, he told me I was staring into that photograph for 5 seconds. In the time I saw enough betrayal, fear, and suffering for a lifetime, my friend barely could’ve snapped his fingers more than 15 times. Then, just as I motioned to Xonilov to look at my locket, the lights flickered thrice before blacking out, leaving only the red emergency lights to illuminate the corridor.

“Shit, that must be the sun eaters looking for a crispy 2-for-1 deal. Hope you didn’t phase out like that in athletics training, miss!”

“Don’t sweat it, Sarge,” I quipped back. “Hope YOU bought coat insurance recently!”

Running with lights so dim meant less mind paid to the sandstone etchings on the walls, and more paid to the physical, oddly living geometry, as not for a sudden collision to kill your momentum. A digital sign read “STATUARY CORRIDOR” in bold green lettering, and we rushed through.

We reached an overgrown door at the end, appearing as a portal to blackness.

“You take point, I’ll cover. Or, you know, ladies first.”

Letting me go first into the dark unknown? And they say chivalry is dead...

First came darkness, as the ceiling lights cut for a wooden chamber still colder than the rest of this facility, as if the chills from up my spine weren’t enough. Then came the hot updrafts, ascending up through the room, lighting the candles as they went. I now could see I was in but a single box, with the remaining four having retained their inky dark natures.

And it was just when I was at peace that the veil of silence was broken. The distant sounds of snarling, a primal rage coming forward. With every second, I heard the claws of hatred barreling down the hallway, like an endless tide of bloodlust. I yelled for Xonilov, wondering how one could be doing electrical work in the face of this onslaught. But with that, the glass divider to my room closed, with my ally’s face looking into inaccessible safety. The look on it was concerningly level-headed.

“Yaina!”

“Xonilov! I’ll help you! Get out of there!”

“I've made it through harder. You are the primary objective for my task force. Or, my friend till the end, whichever you prefer.”

He held his left arm to the pane. I thought he was trying to break in when he raised his right, but instead he pulled his sleeves down. On his wrist was one of those heart-shaped lockets.

“Alone, they take us without a flinch.”

And, as if the candles above were cutting through the mental fog once cast by this prison, I finished his chant:

“Together, we need not give them an inch.”

“Yes! I knew they could not keep you in the dark forever! Your shackles will lift today, but you must join me in the moment for our freedom.”

He lifted his wrist to the glass, with the locket touching it. I mirrored this, and our two microchips lit up. A female monotone voice announced “Connection established.”.

By now, the surge of hatred was meters from the door. I could see the lanky beasts, their maws full of bioluminescent saliva, after us like searchlight patrols. I tried at the door, looking for some way to open it, but Xon’s voice stopped me.

“If you open that door, both of our existences will end in moments. No one will come back for us. Stay, and in time, you will find the truth, and through that you will secure me. You will face my assailants, but will neither be alone, nor unprepared. I believe in you. Farewell.”

With that, the soldier pulled out his revolver, aiming it at the oncoming horde, while I connected my newly updated locket into the chamber’s center. Upon its insertion, a projector activated in the center. It showed a leaf, now green again, with a swarm of aphids inbound to it, the latter falling as tracers from the leaf connected. But they kept pouring in, and a freezing sensation in my wrist brought me to the floor. And I found myself again on that tundra, surrounded by black fog, but now accompanied by 4 pairs of eyes. Each of them scanned Modocakk, like my first time here. Then our gazes met. I could tell we all at least knew why we were here.

Alright Xonilov. Let’s hope these friends of yours are up to par.