Chaos, blood, and death. The tyrant's flag hangs, twisted in the rotting breeze. Smell the stink of the charcoal men, cooked in their tin can armour. Dream of this perfect isolation. You see it, you saw it, you saw me. Little one, my eyes meet yours. You cannot escape me. I open my maw and fire lashes the ground, an incinerated fate. See how I slide rapturously? The knives in my back, the acid blood splashing from my scales, my triumphant roar. Victory comes at a cost and I extract every iota of payment I can from my enemies. You RAGE.
I bolt upright. I'm awake. I'm in bed. I'm wrapped in blankets, pillow scattered to the floor, lights dim. I can hear the voice of that thing, that horrid thing, still clawing through my brain. It's waiting for me. It already knows. It already knows. I come back to myself slowly. The screen tells me what I know. I'm on the ship, heading to war. But the hunt isn't for another week. I have time. I have strength. I have my will. I glance down the rows of bunk beds, the dozens of sleeping others. None of them heard it. None of them now wipe the acid from their mouth, sharp teeth already cutting the insides of their cheeks.
Breakfast is the usual, extruded protein paste. I choose "Sassy Salty Carnivore" seasoning and settle into a quiet corner of the cafeteria. I'm early. The cafeteria is empty, unnaturally clean. I grab a tablet and aimlessly flick the home screen while I wait. None of the myriad distractions catch my attention. My mind is still firmly locked on that desolate moon, watching my brethren die. I can almost taste the cooked meat of their bones, the toughness of their muscles.
The AI clicks online. It has a cheerful voice, a cheerful fake face to go with it. I've seen it try different faces on different people. I'm not sure what the pattern is. It's either trying to be attractive to us or look like it could be family. In my case, it looks like every dumb boy I've ever dated, every nice guy who hit me late at night while drinking. It has a perfectly professional vibe and that also sets me off. I can feel the rage rising, that familiar beast, the chaos. I'm angry. I'm hot. I'm gonna flip the table and break something. I'm gonna punch that smug code fuck in its dumbass CGI face.
I'm not getting enough sleep. My vitals are all off. It can make the point with as many charts as it wants. My brain is broken and my dreams are full of fire, fire that spills out of me when I speak and move and look at others. My gaze is a weapon and it terrifies me, the way one small slip might hurt someone. I control myself carefully for their benefit. I would've thought the discipline would make me fit in better. Apparently, I was mistaken. I acknowledge with patience and dignity. The AI will leave me alone for another day.
Feel the footfalls, the stomping crushing, the way the earth shakes. They come with their toys, their pathetic little enhancements, their steel and bone castles. You are meat, little one. Chaos, blood, and death. The taste of wounds on your jaw. They sting as you swallow. You roar the pain away. See the aftermath? Isn't it gorgeous? The crying of the wounded and dying? Doesn't it just fill you with HATE and RAGE? Run small things. I'm coming for you.
The action is familiar, a deja vu. I'm awake again, legs impossibly twisted from the blankets, body on the floor, smoke rising from my still smouldering pillow. I hate this. It's even earlier this time. I think I may have been screaming, but no one else is awake. They trained hard. Perhaps the others are all heavy sleepers. I'm wide awake, if a little unsettled, unable to tell reality from the dream.
Same old food, same old speech about the importance of sleep hygiene. Can't go on the raid if I don't sleep. Can't maintain control if I don't sleep. Can't maintain control if I'm NOT HUMAN. Can't maintain control if I'm LOSING MYSELF. Too much RAGE. Chaos, blood, and death.
For a moment, the ship is drenched in fire and smoke. Alarms are blaring and the crew are screaming. They're failing. The shatter crash of the coils of sinuous muscles and we're split in half and then quarters, falling into the gas clouds, choking to death, listening to the awful cackling of the beast.
The AI snaps me out of my fugue by ordering me to report to medical for a full checkup. Medical is a long walk down that dark hallway, lights still in sleep mode, low power only. The med staff works 24 hours, or at least someone does. I'm seated, I'm waiting. The doctor runs hands down my back, dislodging my scales for me and softening the BARE FLESH beneath.
He or she or they, all of them together, put things in me. Little sharp sticks and that brings memories of all the other times I've been stabbed, the street fight I lost, the countless vaccines, the training session went bad, WHEN THE MEN CAME TO MY DOOR AND DROVE ME TO THE KILLING FIELDS TO TAKE MY LIFE. I can't hurt the doctors. One of them is whispering something. It's a mantra. Chaos, blood, and death.
I'm human, they tell me. I'm human. Just not getting enough sleep, just not getting enough exercise, not eating enough meat, not FEEDING THE HUNGER. I need some affection, some level headedness, a break, to stop leaking my brain all over the stone. Relieve some stress, they advise. I don't understand. I'm watching their broken bodies, the remains of the hospital crashing apart, the flames tenderly licking their cheeks.
I wander the halls for an hour until the others wake up. I'm dazed. I can almost see the walls fading away, hell itself breaking free on the other side. That cracked ground stained with our blood. The stench of it. The impact of blades on hide, claws on shields. The roars of the lovers of the dying. I RAGE. I remain calm. I RAGE. I'm calm.
I feel the cold metal against the naked flesh of my back, pressed against the wall. I'm too hot here. I'm burning up. There's ice in the kitchen, ice in the machine, the machine that falls apart as I touch it, melting from the heat from my hands and the fire from my lungs. The ice steams as I touch it, the hissing cold smoke bringing my temperature down a little. But it's breakfast and the others are in and watching me and there's a hand on my back, that familiar and appetizing smell of burning flesh filling the room, the space between the gasps of horror from recoiling observers. It's okay. I'm HUNGRY! Don't panic. I would never RIP AND TEAR THE FLESH FROM YOUR BONES! I don't have any need for VENGEANCE.
I'm in bed again, waking up or falling asleep. One of the two for sure. It's dark, which tells me nothing. I can hear snoring from around the room. The scent of sweat, of fear, of masculinity, of sex is overbearing. I can taste every member of the room intimately. Their names come to me as I observe. The ones I have met and the ones I haven't. I can taste the hate on their breath, the way their brains seize at the sight of me. I suppose my eyes, big and full, sharply pupiled, and glowing would do that to anyone. I clear my throat and spit, the acid burning through the bathroom sink. The scalding hot water hurts, almost as much as my fear hurts me.
I'm so tired. I fall asleep again, curled up in a quiet corner of the labyrinthine corridors. The dreams take me again, familiar and peaceful.
There are screams. There is blood painted symbols, the patterns supposed to keep the demons out. They do nothing. Fire is the true equalizer and my mastery of fire is resolute. I am death incarnate. I harvest. I feel THE RAGE. I feel the VENGEANCE. They came to my door and they took me and stabbed me, blades up my spine and into my head, brain juice leaking out. I am a GHOST of the ANGER. I am losing it. Chaos, blood, and death.
We sit in a circle in the break-room and one by one describe those we left behind. One has a father who sent him for glory. One has a sister who fears the RAGE. One has no one, all lost to THE HUNGER. One has a lover who wants us to return EMPTY AND BURNED. One is me.
I'm awake again, alarm blaring. Time for us all to get up, to eat, to exercise. The smack smack of feet on the track, the line of us all, the HUNGER DRIVING ME TO REACH OUT AND TAKE ONE. I'm faster, the fastest, my powerful legs making short work of the track, I set a record and then I break it again, wings unfurling as I hammer myself harder and harder, the groove of my muscles feeling powerful. I am ALIVE. I am JOY. I am HUNGRY. Surely no one would miss one, right? They're staring at me again, but I think it might be with love this time.
My bed hurts. It's too cold. I want it to be warm, I want it to alight with fire, I want it to take us all. I don't want to die alone. I don't want to die alone. I DON'T WANT TO DIE ALONE.
We arrive tomorrow, the AI lets us know. We begin arming, guns and tanks and bombs and spears. The hunt shall begin, we cry. The HUNGER SHALL BE SATED. Are we scared of fire?
I stand, the lone survivor of the rampage and meet the eyes of the beast, that lonely dying beast. I run a hand along its rough scaly head. Blades, ugly great wounds, cover a scaly body, a flat head. Teeth, sharp for carving meat, guard that sharp tongue. It cannot speak. If it ever could, the holes through its lungs would surely prevent it now. It is ANGRY. It is DYING. So am I. I glance down. I'm not human. Neither is the monster. We wrap ourselves in each other, to die together, to fail our humanity one last time. The violence is over. We are hunger.
I awake one last time, on the morning of. The others are still asleep, dreaming their final dreams before the hunt. My bed is aflame. I am the monster. I am dying. I am the hunger and the rage. I am the prevention.
At my touch, the bombs in the armoury chain react. Fire cleanses all.
Chaos, blood, and death.