Story project :)

[CRUNGE]

I think this is going to be a series of short stories I write at random with no planning. After some number I'll create an ending that ties them in together. Hopefully I keep up on it - eek! Anyhoo if anyone else is reading this hii message me or something

 

[CRUNGE]

Clint Eastwood type, rough facial hair. Tattered clothing noted cowboy hat and cloak. Cloak is waving in the wind. In the desert with absolutely nothing to be seen. Just sky and sand. He has a grim expression. Thoughtful. It's as if he can see something no one else can, but what is it? Tension breaks as he hocks a loogie from deep in the back of his throat. His head cocks upward as he spits hard. A thick bullet of mucus does a swan dive through the air. Splats on a dry, dusty rock. Everything pauses. The sound of wind seems to pick up. Mocking, almost. Turning slightly away from the small glob a couple feet away The Cowboy seems to be disgusted with it. A bit prissy for a man with holes in his pants.

"Hello," The calm voice, notably feminine, comes from nowhere. Before The Cowboy can react she has appeared. He gasps and his cloak flutters. His heel digs into the dirt as he turns. She is beautiful, but not human. All of her skin is black though it sparkles with gold. It's too smooth, too shiny to be skin. Plastic. Metal. Her eyes are like a marble statue and do not emote. Besides that she has no features, but a smooth human head. She is slim, her limbs too long. The Cowboy grimaces at the sight of her.

Hovering above the ground The Robot speaks again. Her voice doesn't come from her body. "Why would you come here? It's so miserable.... So Lonesome," her voice is too serene to be truly sad, one could easily be fooled though. "Aren't you lonely?" The Cowboy wonders why she would be programmed to express empathetic sadness. Manipulation. He takes a step away. Dust is kicked up around him. He tries not to be scared, but his palms begin to sweat. She doesn't move. That's reassuring. The pressure of tears starts in his eyes. There's two guns at his belt. A knife in his left boot. The poison of an ancient alien dinosaur in a tiny syringe was strapped to the inside of his hat. There was options. She already knew of them. They were already considered. There was only one outcome she would find acceptable. Around them the wind kicks up. The sky turns grey and cloudy. He wants to rub the dryness out of his eyes.

This desert had a theme with unexpected sounds. It took a second to notice this one though. Neither of them had even noticed the sound barrier being broken by a lawn flamingo. At least The Robot hadn't noticed until it slammed into the side of her head. She went flying into the dust storm. The cowboy stares at where she had been before snapping his neck toward the flamingos origin. He can't make anything out. Deciding it isn't worth finding out he puts a hand over his hat and begins to run forward, away from both offenders. It's quiet and he feels that he has been running for too long without anything happening, Then the sound of metal grinding begins. A woman's half grunt, half scream follows it. He can tell there's many things being thrown about. It confuses him. Moments ago there hadn't been anything for miles.

To his right a body flies out from behind him. It isn't the woman. Bigger. Using his full body weight The Cowboy turns left. Each step kicks up more sand and in turn it hurts his lungs and eye. That doesn't matter though as he turns. The body that had been flung was in view. A hulking mass of orange muscle. Some kind of cyclops on steroids was pulling itself to it's feet. The Cowboy couldn't make out details as the monster freak was too far. "Fuck!" He blurts out, his voice is even deeper than expected. Instinctually his hand slaps over his mouth though he quickly removes it to keep running. No talking. Just. Running. He had just made his grand mistake. There was no way he was going to squander it.

Behind him The Robot speeds forward. Her foot don't touch the ground, but the sand is sent out like a wave behind her. Even in all the darkness she reflects light. She is rushing to The cyclops who is still recovering from before. Her slender finger grip the side of his head. He is on one knee and didn't expect her. His eyes grow wide, her fingers dig into his temples. Orange skin piles up around her nails. Then deep blue liquid seeps out, blood. He's quick to respond. Part of a warrior people he feels no pain. Only adrenaline. Her throat feels miniscule in his mighty fist.

It cuts out.

 

[CRUNGE]

I think this story is going to try to pull a lot of genres and tropes together but it's gonna lean scifi? Something about aliens, time and dimension travel. Definitely pulling inspiration from Sandman comics and Invincible. Gonna experiment with writing action scenes! Need to get better at writing out the landscape and all that. I'm writing it sort of like I'm writing a movie scene in my head, or a comic to go with it. So, I dunno... Also I'm gonna try to keep things vague for myself. Not gonna bog the details. Alright!

Characters so far

The Cowboy: Clint Eastwood type. Wears boots and cowboy hat. Has two guns on his belt, a knife in his boot, and a poison dart/needle in his hat. Very deep voice. Seems to act tough but is actually quite prissy and cowardly. Is Running away from The Robot and further from Organization. Why is he running? How did he get to the desert?

The Cyclops: Huge orange cyclops. Alien of some kind. Can somehow create things out of nowhere and can teleport. Extremely strong. From a warrior race, meant for battle. Does not like The Robot. Also has a strange gun. Why is he fighting The Robot? How did he get his abilities?

The Robot: A beautiful feminine appearing robot. No features except eyes that are like a Greek statues. Is shiny, made of plastic or metal or something. No hair. Voice does not sound like it's coming from her body. Very futuristic/alien looking. Expresses emotions. Works for Organization. Was sent to retrieve The Cowboy and bring them back to Organization. Comments on loneliness? What is she?

The Atrocity: Mass of green flesh. Sentient, has emotions. Can make a shrieking noise. Has a hard time moving, can only rock side to side. Really giant. Is being studied by a group. Hates the sound of The Happy One giggling. Where did it come from? Why does it hate The Happy One?

The Happy One: Is over 7' tall. Has a lot of curly brown hair and is covered in freckles. Looks like to scale nine year old. Limbs are too long and nose, ears too large. Sounds like a child. Responds with joy to The Atrocity, but otherwise seems to be emotionless. Is above rank to The General. What relationship does he have with The Atrocity? What role does he play in the research group?

The General: An older man with thick eyebrows and a permanent frown. Seems stern and to the book. Believes he is being led on a suicide mission involved with The Atrocity. Doesn't like either The Atrocity or The Happy One. What role does he play in the research group? What does he know that we don't?

Organization: Mystery group. All that is known is that they are tracking The Cowboy so that they can bring him back. The Robot works for them. What do they do? Why did The cowboy run from them?

The Redhead: A young woman. She is chubby and has long red hair. Lives with her parents. She is in the 70s on Earth. Encounters Invader One and Invader Two.

Invader One: A man with a bodybuilder physique. Appears to be human. Long light blue dreadlocks and matching eyes, eyebrows. He is fighting Invader Two. Does he own the strange gun? What was that portal?

Invader Two: A humanoid that looks like a clay sculpture. Has six arms. Two of his arms are broken. He is fighting Invader One. Why are they fighting? Why are they fighting in The Redheads home?

 

[The Great Sage]

I couldn't help myself: I'm such a sucker for westerns.

---​

It was a hot day. The sun loomed high in a cloudless sky, washing the colour out of the world and beating down without mercy for the poor creatures trapped below.

A weak breeze dances through the streets in lazy pirouettes of dust, pushing a lone tumbleweed between two rough wooden buildings with slatted shutters instead of doors.

There are no people here. There are no ladies standing beneath awnings and gazing longingly at men who bustle about on their important business. There are no children chasing hoops with sticks. Even animals know to stay away. They have all hidden from sight because two giants; paladins of the West and preachers of steel stand thirty paces apart - each one creased and weathered beneath their heavy denim vestments by lifelong pilgrimages across the wide, wild range.

Heavy iron dangles at their hips. Artifacts forged from nickel and silver and anointed in oil. Brass cartridges line their belts, reflecting the savage sunshine as if daring the cosmic fire to come down and do battle itself. Stoic determination fills their eyes; pale blue, flecked with lightning and tempered by all the spirits they’ve seen.

Their hands don’t tremble. Their eyes don’t blink. Each is a statue, solid and immovable. Their shadows are puddles beneath them. Time and distance stretch between them, the air buzzing with the electricity of their opposing wills.

Somewhere in the distance, the long hollow whistle of a steam locomotive.

Flashes of motion, supple leather gives way to cold iron. Fanning cracks of thunder, the men step sideways in an absurd waltz, firing holy bolts through acrid clouds of sulphur and saltpeter. Twelve bells cry out their sermon to the wild blue yonder and two men fall to their knees as if supplicating before God.

Two heroes fall and lay motionless on the street. The West becomes one step closer to being tamed. Somewhere else, something sacred sheds a tear for romance and grit. Life goes on.

 

[CRUNGE]

An oozing mass of green colored flesh. There is no face, no hands, no arms. There is no humanity. Scientists look at it from a larger, dark room. They are standing at large computers, flashing buttons, graphs and monitors. Only one of them seems happy, the others have stern faces. His silhouette is tall, over 7'. He is pressed to the glass that looks out at The Atrocity. Joy! Joy! A child's giggle breaks out. Flesh trapped inside a hard metal cage squirms. The bright lights above it were suddenly too bright. It thrashes the best it can, though it's more of a rock. Even still it's huge mass causes both rooms to shake. Shrieking begins, so high pitched and horrible that the men in the other room cover their ears. The Happy One stops giggling though he remains excited. His face can't be seen, but he is happy.

From the ceiling a huge mechanical arm reaches out. It creaks as it moves. At the end is an arm-length syringe of clear liquid. Sedative. The needle cleanly plunges into The Atrocity. More Shrieking. Needles with clear liquid were rarely used as The Atrocity was well behaved. This was a betrayal. It hated that laugh. Such a horrible noise. They knew that!

It was asleep and the men could finally relax. Two had passed out. Otherwise everything was normal, even the constant buzz of machines settled into place.

"We'll have to muzzle you next time," a uniformed man spoke. The General walked forward from the back of the room. Heavy footsteps. His eyebrows, wild and thick, were knitted together. A deep frown was carved into his face. This was his typical expression.

The Happy One turns. He is a child, maybe nine. Still, he towers over everyone else. There is something extremely off. His limbs are too long, ears too big. Once excited raised shoulders drop. The tail end of his smile vanishes and he is left with a look of neutrality. He does not care anymore. His toy is gone, so who cares? "You're cute, General," he says as he walks over to and then past The General. Nobody looks at The Happy One, only enough to catch freckles and lots of curly brown hair. Then he is gone. The door slams shut behind him.

The General did not turn to watch him leave, only stared down at The Atrocity. Thin patches of skin across it's mass moved with every exhale and inhale. He was on a fool's errand, and he knew at the end of it would be his death. Yet he could not abandon his role. None of them could. He exhaled sharply through his nose.

It cuts out.