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Apex - A Zenith Collaboration (Part 2)
Posted By: Zenith<brandon@berkeleyhigh.org>
Date: 3 June 2002 5:04 am

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The Zenith website can be found here.


     "Down! Get down!"
     Syrus Davies flattened himself to the hard earth mechanically, not thinking so much as running on reflex. It wasn't hard. His legs were like rubber already.
     "Come on, go!" The sergeant seemed like he was always shouting something, whether it was to move, stop, attack, retreat, or a combination of them all. Nobody seemed to pay him much attention.
     A fog was in front of his eyes. Distantly, remote, almost removed from his body, Davies quietly noticed that he had managed to get back to his feet, and stumbled forward once more. The armor and equipment on his back seemed at once to weigh both a thousand pounds and nothing at all.
     They had reached the entrance of the structure. "In! Everybody in!" Somebody found one of the kinetic breachers and swung it wildly at the door.
     It burst inward with a metallic squeal. The squad tumbled inside.
     Davies was last, and so he had a picture-perfect view as the first, second, third man were summarily melted with buffeting, air-razing bursts of boiling, blue-green plasma..
     It took less than a second, and was noiseless, almost casual. One heartbeat, two, and the handful of moments that it took for three lives to disappear forever seemed no different from any others.
     Offhand, time decided to stop.

     It was a dark, low room, with only one door other than the one leading to the outside. Narrow, squinted windows, high on the walls, provided the only light, which was criss-crossed with dark streaks from the metal bars that covered them.
     The room might have been intended for anything; it was unfurnished, uninteresting, in fact devoid of much at all except a hard concrete floor and a spigot for water in the corner.
     The Shade plasma turret that loomed in the center of the room seemed insanely out of place. Davies had a hard time imagining how it had even gotten through the door, and decided that it must have been assembled here.
     Ah, of course—it was an armory, or a garage
     The Grunt which was crouched, huddled in a small, leathery ball, in the seat of the turret must have been forced this way when the company assaulted the base. They had driven in from three of the four entrances, and likely the Grunt, finding itself cornered, had retreated here in the hope that nobody would bother checking the building.

     stutter like a scratched record, skip—the turret swung around, lining up the barrel, then stopped as time once again ground to a freeze-frame halt—

     The hip-slung holster was leather, real leather; the Corps had started a program not long ago to allow the mudfoots a little choice in how they accoutered themselves. It was still the standard Mark-917 holster, but you could get them in nylon, faux-leather, leather, or plastic now.
     When pressure was applied to the grip, the holster showed why its design had won over the favor of the hard-nosed UNMC Design Committee's scouts year after year. Automatically, and without sticking in the slightest, the securement strap instantly pivoted away.
     The pistol, the M-202—standard issue, but with a bit of work done by the company armorer, mainly smoothing down the action, as well as adjusting the trigger block a bit for a more precise feel—came up in a clean, direct arc, whispering slightly as it left its housing. In the Academy, they taught the proper motion by using an old saying: "Pretend you're falling out of a plane and your ripcord is attached to your hip."
     Before the weapon had reached its place, the other hand was coming up as well, in a short, chopping motion; it met its partner at the apex of its swing, and instantly locked on as if it were glue.
     With a single, economic gesture from just behind the second knuckle, the finger stroked the trigger once.
     As the hard metallic stem of the trigger's extension rod—the screwdriver jocks called it the "nipple"—came back, it pressed against a second rod, which levered against a third.
     The third rod, acting as a plunger, slid back against the main spring, and caught a small "finger" which unlocked the hammer.
     The hammer, freed from its restraint, came forward with twelve pounds of stored energy. Focused into a metallic head the size of a nail, it had the strength of a stomped heel as it slammed toward the shielded firing pin.
     As the firing pin took the force, it in turn rocketed forward, transferring the power of the hammer into the back of the bullet.
     The bullet.
     The pointed tip of the pin took only an instant to pierce the brass butt of the chambered .357, and once it did, the primer itself took even less time to burst.
     Flashing forward, the hot energy touched off the powder, sitting behind the rounded projectile in that tiny, tiny space.


     As the small, heavy piece of hybrid metal and lead slammed into the flesh between the Grunt's eyes, the creature let out an almost imperceptible noise and performed a full flip backwards from the seat of the Shade, falling to the ground with a puckered, oozing, fist-sized hole in its head.
     Slowly, almost caressingly, Syrus Davies drew back the hammer on the pistol again, cocking it to fire.
     But they were all dead.

     Except one.


Operation: False Prophets


Ian Barnes's submission to this compilation was itself a compilation, a combination of the multiple pieces of his Operation: False Prophets story. It was a very good thing, and extremely useful—many people have found it difficult to read the story in the separate chunks it now exists as, and this was his attempt to rectify that.
     Unfortunately, however much of a good idea it was, it was also more than 25,000 words, and would have been an awful chore to read here. Therefore, we've provided it for you at a separate location: just follow this link to read it.

[Editor's Editor sez: Operation: False Prophets has always been available to read as a single story, right here in the HBO Fan Fiction section - just follow the series link.]

Enjoy. Now back to your regularly scheduled stories.


The La Eowle Incident

     'February third, 2529. Four years have passed since the empire of man made contact with the aliens. Only four years, and already the end draws near; humanity fighting a lost battle. Her once great fleets, and invincible armies, brushed aside by the alien's cruel hand. Entire planets consumed before human eyes. But Earth, revered Earth, lies quite, hidden from the alien's savage gaze. How many must die, how many must watch in horror as their homes are broken apart, carved up, and spilled across the galaxy? For soon, all too soon, mankind will stare into the Earth sky searching the heavens for salvation; and on that final day, a Covenant fleet, as never seen before, will block out the sun.
     'February fourth, 2529. A rebel uprising, cult related, begins on the binary world of La Eowle. The 62nd light frigate brigade, "Cutlance," is dispatched from Mars to deal with this senseless threat. Several days after leaving Martian orbit, the 62nd encounters a previously undiscovered Covenant fleet, dubbed "Mammoth." After a brief exchange of fire, resulting in the damaging of two corvettes, the 62nd makes a strategic withdrawal, heading back on route to La Eowle. "Mammoth" is reported to Sol Core command, and is added to the growing list of alien fleets. Twenty three years later, "Mammoth" accompanied by a countless number of Covenant fleets, will destroy the paradise world of Reach, forever changing the course of human history.
     'Upon arrival in La Eowle orbit, the 62nd begins an orbital bombardment of the suspected rebel stronghold, located on the planet's southern most continent. Two weeks later, dropships are sent down to La Eowle, tasked with extinguishing the rebel threat...'

--- From, The Darkest Hour

Each shell a thunderbolt, every impact exact. Perfect, inhuman, accuracy guided massive rounds into the surface of this tortured planet. Great billows of dust rose from the damaged soil, kilometers below. Cement melted, steel shattering under this ferocious strain. One could look skyward, glimpsing the grey hulled ships through a pale sun. They were gods, truly divine, immortal. Their wrath could not be halted, nor their furry silenced. Hundreds of small reflective pinpricks approached the surface. Scorched ground grew closer, the ships descending silently. First sergeant Gurdian firmly positioned his beret, preparing for the tug of planetary winds. Within moments human blood would be spilled, human flesh ripped apart by the cruel sting of bullets. Gurdian had never faced such situations in basic training, he feared them. He had heard the rumors, seen the films, but never fought the alien. He would not fight them today, and he was thankful. On this day he would fight other men. While the alien razed planets, and murdered millions, Gurdian would kill other humans. He would aid the alien. This rebellion should never had begun, should never been brought to execution, and Gurdian cursed the La Eowle cultists for it. It was truly a senseless waste of life. Every minute spent here, brought the Covenant closer to Earth. A lonely impact shockwave heralded the bombardment's end. The heavenly guns ended their eternal thunder. Engine humming quickly became the only audible noise. The ground grew closer now, only a few hundred meters separated the ships, and La Eowle.

The sleek metal ships fell from the heavens, slowing at the last moment. Dust exploded around each ship, powerful engines halting their decent. Blue ion glow pressed against the planet's surface, turbines screeching. Blasted landscape greeted the descending ships, dry cracked soil surrounding the rebel fortress. Charred hillsides, and flattened mountains stretched into the distance. Kilometer wide impact craters spotted the landscape, large chunks of solid earth tossed, and shattered. Broken steel protruded randomly from the ground, building in consistency until reaching a massive stone and steel structure. The stronghold. A thousand meters high, twice as wide, built in the fashion of old Earth gothic. The stronghold's center; a massive dome, had survived the bombardment. Great cement chunks had been blasted free of the dome, littering the surrounding area. This building stood for many years, had withstood the test of time. It had sustained a week long bombardment, yet still seemed proud, in direct defiance of the orbiting fleet. Of course this was of no matter. Soon, countless numbers of men would flow, like water, into the depths of this fortress. The rebels would meet true justice.

A mechanical voice announced thirty seconds landing. Gurdian took a deep breath, grasping his rifle tightly. He addressed his men, twenty in this ship.
     "Alright, boys, this is it. Remember, these cultist aren't human. There no better then the aliens. Are you ready to fight 'em?" Gurdian scanned the ship's interior, carefully running his eyes passed every man. After several seconds Gurdian was given a reply.
     "Sir, yes, sir!" Air hissed around the ship, joined by dust and sand. Landing struts extended, the ship jostling as her gear graced the surface.
     "Good, lets go get those bastards!" A quick hiss of pressure change, followed by explosive bolts blowing free. The dropship's rear door opened wide. The same occurred simultaneously for every ship, the sound of boots on metal becoming dominant. With a wild banshee scream a thousand men stormed onto the planet's surface. Gurdian jumped to the ground, planting his feet- then running. The dropships quickly lifted off, throwing dust over the marines; the noise so intense it clouded Gurdian's thoughts. The big ships maneuvered, disappearing with blinding speed. For several seconds the dust billowed, then settled. As Gurdian's vision became cleared, he watched his men die.

Steel bunkers appeared from underground, hidden hydraulic pumps pushing them through the sand. The bunkers remained untouched by the bombardment. Gurdian stopped in horror. Huge plumes of fire exploded outwards from the bunkers. Bright yellow tracers lanced across the sands, seeking human flesh. Bullets wiped through the air, cutting apart everything they touched. A machine gun raked Gurdian's location, several of his men sliced in half by the stream of bullets. Gurdian dove to the ground, seconds before high powered rounds blazed past his head. He noticed two of his men hiding behind a broken steel outcropping. Amid the cries of wounded, and scream of bullets, Gurdian crawled towards them.
     "Sir!" The first man, Yowen was his name, had his hand pressed against a radio receiver. The second man leaned over to get a quick look at the bunkers and was blown in half. Yowen shouted something into the radio.
     "Don't give me that shit! He's right here... Yah... Here, talk to him." He handed the receiver over to Gurdian.
     "Who is it, Yowen?"
     "It's the weapons officer from the Grateful. He wants to talk to you." Gurdian placed the receiver to his ear. A burst of static came through, followed shortly by a voice.
     "...Sergeant? I repeat, what is your position sergeant?"
     "This is Gurdian. We're being pinned down. They've got machine guns... The bombardment had no effect."
     "Roger that. Will relay." There was a brief pause. Risking a look around the outcropping, Gurdian could see no progress. He watched men charge forward and die. Bodies littered the ground, marines pinned behind chunks of cement, and steel. The machine gun fire slowly chattered to a halt, no marine daring to move.
     "You still there, sergeant?" The voice came back over the receiver.
     "Hold your position. We're sending down a fire mission. You might want to brace yourself." Gurdian looked skywards, he could still make out the reflection of sunlight on metal. Straining his eyes, he could just recognize the SCS Grateful, her half kilometer frame etched by sunlight. Several flares of light blossomed from her hull. Gurdian watched four long trials of fire descend towards him. Yowen smiled, and covered his ears. He shouted to Gurdian.
     "They better not miss." Following suit, Gurdian covered his ears. The fire trails suddenly ceased, replaced by a long whistle, signaling the warheads approach. Gurdian braced himself. In perfect silence, four massive balls of fire engulfed the bunkers. Huge plumes of fire rolled, then shot hundreds of meters into the air. The impact shockwave raced passed Gurdian, followed by an overwhelming burst of sound. Haze blocked out his sight, dust and sand billowing towards him. This wave, sea, of dust simply brushed aside Gurdian, Yowen, and the outcropping itself. It took Gurdian some time before he opened his eyes again. He heard shouting, and bullets being fired. He opened his eyes to the sight of charging marines, rifles ablaze. Nothing, but a smoldering crater, remained of the bunkers. Gurdian got to his feet, saw Yowen running forward, and did the same.

     "Company 'A' has made it to the ridge side, sir. 'B' is following up. 'C' has pushed from the center, and made a deep penetration. Company 'D' is encountering some heavy resistance from the right flank, specifically near the fortresses' main entrance." The lieutenant was brisk, which captain Fredrick liked. He got to the point, kept things simple. He was also young, perhaps too young. But this was the cost of war. Fredrick knew war. He had been in this war since the beginning, had fought the Covenants for four years. He knew the truth about this war, indeed, he knew more then he could have ever imagined... Fredrick stood on the command deck of a warship, the illustrious SCS Grateful, flag ship of the exulted 62nd light frigate brigade, twice awarded for bravery. Looking from the bridge's view screen, Fredrick counted the famous names, and powerful ships. Twenty renowned ships, each one easily credible of valor, and loyalty. Fredrick realized that he had been keeping the lieutenant waiting.
     "Yes, well, when will they have the stronghold secured?" The lieutenant straightened his uniform, flipping through his data pad. He cleared his throat.
     "Brigadier general Helmer has stated that the rebellion will be crushed in under two hours." Fredrick could afford to wait a few hours, perhaps even half a day. But still, it stung him: all the time spent fighting here, was time given, handed, to the aliens. The sooner these cultists surrender, the better.
     "Thank you, lieutenant, that will be all." Saluting, the lieutenant spun and left the bridge. Fredrick fell into his command chair, breathing a steady sigh of relief; only two hours.

Covenant. Gurdian recognized the symbol instantly. Carved crudely into the side wall, there was no question about it. Gurdian focused his rifle's light beam over the carving. Yowen crutched next to the wall, his gloved hand running over the etching. Water dripped lightly all around, a broken coolant pipe the cause.
     "This is impossible..." Yowen shook his head in confusion. Gurdian stood, looking around this corridor. They'd been inside for at least an hour, and had yet to encounter any cultists. Naturally, this made Gurdian nervous.
     "Contacted Dara's group yet? Raised anyone?"
     "Sorry, sir. All this dust must be screwing up the radio." Gurdian found this far to convenient to be categorized as chance. After splitting up with second sergeant Dara, Gurdian had lost the use of all radios, scanners, and most electrical systems. It seemed all to likely that the cultists were responsible for this. Luckily his flashlight still worked. Another man spoke up.
     "Sergeant, there's a door here." Gurdian turned from the carving, and walked across the hall. Indeed, there was a door. Light shown out from around the door's frame. Gurdian pressed himself against it, then pushed with his feet. The door creaked, and gave way. Bright yellow light shone into the corridor, causing Gurdian to shield his eyes. Yowen pushed past him, entering the room.
     "Well I'll be dammed." Gurdian walked through the door way, entering a small room. A single carpet lay in the room's center, a number of candles providing light. Sitting on a pillow, positioned in the carpet's center, was a man. The mark of Covenant branded on his forehead.
     "Who the hell are you?" Yowen's question went without reply. Gurdian walked to the man, kneeling to get a better look.
     "What's going on here?" The man raised his head, facing Gurdian directly.
     "I await the gods." The man spoke softly, his eyes rolled backwards in his head. Gurdian's men entered the room, filling into a circle around the man.
     "What does that mean?"
     "I await the coming of gods, the deliverers." Gurdian began to see a pattern forming. He took a guess.
     "Who? The covenant?" The man kept his eyes closed, and began drooling.
     "Yessss. They are the gods. Worship them, for they are your deliverance."
     "They'll kill you. They're alien."
     "You will pay for your ignorance."
Gurdian stood, cocked his rifle, and fired. Blood splashed against the carpet. Yowen stepped past the man's body, walking to the far side of the room. Craning his neck upwards, Yowen spotted a small wooden trapdoor.
     "Open it." Gurdian motioned with his rifle. Yowen pulled the hatch open, reveling a poorly constructed ladder walkway.
     "After you."

He hated this place. Cobwebs everywhere, dust and sand littered the halls, and water dripped constantly. At least he wasn't alone. Dara had twenty men with him; twenty well armed, well trained marines. But what was that worth when you're completely lost? Dara shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He tried to focus on the task at hand, this never ending ladder. The man in front of him stopped climbing.
     "What is it?" Dara shouted up the ladder.
     "There's a hatch here, sir. Should I open it?"
     "Open the fucking thing!" There was a heave, then a large stone tablet slid aside; dim purple light shinning down the ladder. After several seconds the man climbed free, Dara right behind him. Dara was awe stricken. He, and his men, stood inside a gargantuan dome. Perhaps kilometers high, just as wide. The room led inwards for hundreds of meters, before stopping at a monolithic turbine. It was some kind of massive transmitter; similar to those used by the Mars scan groups, by the look of it. The turbine spun, transmitting. The dome itself was covered in bizarre runic etchings, Dara had seen them before. They were alien; evil.
     "Burn it. Burn this entire place..." Dara heard the familiar sound of stone scrapping on stone to his far left. He spun his rifle, his men doing the same. Dara watched a small slab of rock open from the floor. It was Gurdian, accompanied by ten marines.
     "Dara! Dam, its good to see you." Gurdian's voice echoed immensely across the dome. The two traded salutes, Gurdian running his eyes over the room.
     "What is this thing?" Yowen stepped forward before Dara had a chance to respond.
     "I saw something like this while I was on Mars. Its some kind of radio transmitter. They use 'em for sending powerful signals over long distances." Gurdian noticed the numerous Covenant runes carved into the dome, their odd alien nature disturbed him.
     "This cult worships the Covenant, I'm sure of that. But why the transmitter? I... I just don't like it..." He trailed off. An unknown voice echoed gently across the room.
     "We await the gods. They've come."
Hydraulic doors burst open across the dome's side. Gurdian could make out the figures of men. Hundreds of them. Each bore the mark of the Covenant. They shouted a fierce prime mortal scream, then charged. The marines loaded clips, cocking their rifles. Gurdian checked his back up pistol, loading a clip. Dara spoke first.
     "Fire!" Rifles blazed.

La Eowle, the pale dusted planet, spun slowly. Her lone moon orbiting far above. Dim stars reflected lightly in the distance. A sudden calm came over Fredrick, the view of planets entrancing to the human eye. Fredrick closed his eyes, to hours had come and gone. The chief navigator broke the silence. Fredrick, lost in his gaze, found it hard to listen.
     "Captain, we've just picked up a transmission from space. Its directed at the fleet." Fredrick turned to face the navigator, suddenly alert.
     "What?" A bead of sweat collected on Fredrick's brow. The navigator repeated himself.
     "From where in space?" The navigator rechecked his console, running through a long string of data. After several seconds he stopped, looked around, then repeated the process.
     "I'm not sure, sir. The location seems to have been scrambled. Should I play the message?" Fredrick walked to the navigator's station, leaning over his shoulder.
     "Please." Fredrick already knew what would come next. The navigator pressed several buttons, then flipped a switch. A heavily distorted recording, spoken in poor English, began to play.
     "Your destruction is the will of the gods, and we are their instrument."
Fredrick knew the alien, and as such he knew fear. His hand began to quiver. His breathing came quicker, sweat running down his nose. It took him some time just to recompose. How? How did they get here? Fredrick returned to his command chair, and activated the ship's communication network.
     "I want a long range scan, now!"      
     "Sir, multiple ships on an intercept course. They're Covenant." Images flashed through Fredrick's eyes, visions of things past. Sleek shimmering vessels, hundreds of them. Thousands of them, an entire fleet. So many...
     "How many ships?"
     "Three hundred. ETA, four minutes." Fredrick ran his hand back through his hair. He shook his head. Three hundred ships. The navigations officer turned to Fredrick.
     "Orders, sir?" Fredrick paused, considering his next move.
     "Bring the fleet into attack formation."

Yowen steadied himself, his rifle humming. Each shot blasting apart another rebel. The rebels, like mad men, continued to run- regardless of their own casualties. Yowen loaded another clip, depressed the trigger, and felt his rifle's kick. He emptied his clip, grasped his belt for another. That had been his last. He screamed as a rebel sliced him in half. Dara shot down two rebels, spun and killed another, then they were on top of him. One jumped high into the air, swinging a knife madly. Dara dived to the ground, the rebel landing hard. One of Dara's marines shot the man through the head. Dara nodded thanks, spinning to shoot another cultist. Two of Gurdian's men went down, cut apart by the rebels. Gurdian finished his last clip, throwing his empty rifle at the nearest cultist. Producing his pistol, Gurdian shot down two more, then a third. As the pistol emptied, a rebel brandishing a butchers knife, charged. Gurdian braced himself for the coming blade. Dara shot the man apart before he had a chance to deliver the killing blow. Gurdian jumped to his feet, a clip tossed in his direction. He reloaded his pistol.
     "Where the hell is the rest of the battalion?" Gurdian's shout was hardly audible over the screaming cultists. The rebel's suddenly halted. They backed away from the marines, all heads turned towards the dome's ceiling.
     "They've come! They've come!" The cultists shouted in perfect unison. Far above, blue lasers sliced through the dome. Large chunks of cement fall, scattering the cultists. Bright light shown into the room, huge spotlights scouring the ground. More lasers fired, gaping holes blasted in the dome. Gurdian turned and ran. Dara and his men followed close behind. Huge Covenant transports descended through the newly opened dome. Lasers fired across the dome, cutting apart the tightly packed rebels. As the transports grew closer to the surface, storage doors slid open; Covenant warriors jumping to the ground. Taking huge strides, the aliens over took the fleeing cultists, butchering them like any other human.
How could the alien stop them? They seemed indestructible, huge grey ships powering forward. Arranged in loose formation, the 62nd light frigate brigade marched into the valley of death. Fredrick watched the overwhelming Covenant fleet close. Two massive cruisers dominated the fleet, followed closely by an assortment of support ships, blue hulls reflecting. A distant sun shown with new intensity. As the Grateful draw closer, Fredrick couldn't help but feel satisfied. Satisfied that the rebels will die. The Covenant will butcher La Eowle, Fredrick had seen it before. A massive burst of energy shown forth, pounding the escort, SCS Torch. Her shields dropped, a second shot blasting her in half. Fredrick gave his final command.
     "Fire!" The 62nd opened up, millions of shells hurled towards the aliens. Nothing more then pinpricks. Several of the smaller Covenant escorts were ripped apart. This was the end. The entire Covenant fleet lit up, thousands of weapons charging. Fredrick closed his eyes, waiting for the coming impact. The Grateful seemed to tilt sideways, her sides raked by lasers. Fredrick felt the artificial gravity disengage, slowly at first then becoming weaker. A second later the bridge was vaporized. The last frigate stood proud, before being punched in half by an overwhelming powerful laser blast. The Covenant turned its attention away from the remaining debris of the once defiant 62nd; La Eowle taking the fleet's interest. Thousands of transports descend towards the planet.

Gurdian ran, his lungs burning. Far behind him, closing fast, a group of Covenants. Dara rounded a corner, Gurdian following; a plasma blast scorched past his ear. One of Dara's men went down, his head melting away. Gurdian spun, taking a few shots with his pistol. One of Covenants went down, a round pulping his head. Gurdian turned back to face Dara, who had stopped running. A group of Covenants blocked their retreat. Gurdian raised his pistol blazing madly. The Covenants fired.

     'March sixteenth, 2529. Having lost contact with the 62nd, Sol Core command dispatches the 252nd escort group to ascertain the cause. The 252nd spends little more then a week in orbit around La Eowle, the answers all too clear. They discover the planet's population systematically slaughtered, the 62nd nothing more then ruble, and other clear indications of Covenant intervention. Human casualties, both marine and rebel, are estimated in the hundreds of thousands. Civilian deaths number into the millions. A careful search of the rebel stronghold proves the intervention of Covenant: several dead alien warriors are discovered.
'This information is brought to Mars, where a conclusion is effectively drawn. The lose of La Eowle is noted, and filed. The investigation into the, so called, La Eowle incident is considered closed.'

--- From, The Darkest Hour



What is it like to destroy?

Crush, evaporate, obliterate. Things grown in a day, a decade, a billion of years swept away in a blink of an eye.

What is it like to hate?

Loathe, detest, abhor. Shed a rain of hatred on a being like yourself.

What is worth to be sacrificed for the peace of an entire race? An army, a platoon, a single human life? What do you need to stop the chaos? A chaos you don't understand with a purpose you do not know.
Fear is the mind killer. It boosts your efforts but confines your thoughts. You have to step out to understand. Leave the chaos to see the pattern.
Zeal is the beginning and the end. Who are we to question motives? Won't everything return to when it all was one?
For every force there is a counterpart. Good and evil are just the two ends of a neutral spectrum. Every war, every struggle is just a fainting beat of the unfeelable pulse of the universe.

What is it like to create?

Found, produce, rise. Give form to your thoughts and realize a part of yourself.

What is it like to love?

Admire, desire, adore. Get over egoism and state the worth of others.

Come and go, give and take, be and let be.



Ambush: by Anthony Pearson, AKA Gunship.

Shattered: by Brandon Oto, AKA Vector40

Operation: False Prophets: by Ian Barnes, AKA PanZer

The La Eowle Incident: by Woot A. Gimp, AKA Mr Bill Jr V

Untitled: by Robin Kunde, AKA Uriel