Lost Art-Intro

He rattles in the thick harnesses, his very bones chuckling beneath the armor and flesh. Wide eyes-void and white with fear hold up whimpering lids as the heart fights to keep the chemicals back until at last giving up-the lids fall heavy and thick.
Overpowered by the black cage of crylnn the man shakes-severing the nerves from his consciousness and slouches back. Beside him the men on either side, dressed likewise in the fashion of a dark knight, fall limp as well; the entire bench of men leaning against the round rib cage around them.

Slowly their eyes rise to the sound of footsteps and the sight of a figure, bound in the dusk that creeps in from the small circular windows-giving him the appearance of a ghost.
The tread of his steps cease to phase the soldiers as they slip back into themselves. He stops with a tilt forth and back as if being swayed in soft gust, his long white beard reflecting like silver thread.
One of the soldiers, still awake, looks up to the ghost before him, his hands quivering on the gun that lay across his lap. Cascading against the dark interior the man huffs, as all old men do, letting the air glide ever so lasting over his dry lips. The soldier gasps as if in reply and as the last of the numbing poison flows in and out of his heart leaving his head to fall gently back with a thud as the helmet meets the wall.

“Don’t let it take you away my boy...not completely.” the man whispers-taking knee before the soldier. “You need to be more awake now than ever.”

Even through the scarlet lenses the man can see the soldier fading fast.

He sighs, “What good are you to them now? To those bellow us-those burning in the dark mist. Without emotion, passion, desire...life...”
Moving his hands to the soldier’s helmet he gives a quick jerk and suddenly the arm flies out taking hold the wrinkled cloth like hand.

“All you can do is fight.” his voice slowly escalating as he tugs back from the hold. “Nothing but a killing machine. Tell me...are you wearing the suit, or rather, is it wearing you?”



“Commander Leer ” another voice bumbles in, interrupting the silence. A pilot peers his head in from the door at the end of the hall waving to the old man. “Sir please prepare yourself...we’ll be landing soon.”

His back cracks as he straightens upright to face the pilot. “Alright then, drop the flash charges and turn on the front and side lights-time to enter yet another nightmare.”

Leer gives one more look at the settling men, his soldiers, and then he too disappears into the cockpit just as the pilot turns on the floor lights in the hull.
A quick flash brightens the room vibrantly illuminating the twin benches and two hundred occupants-who simultaneously quake with life.