Entry: 00-004: CotV Fiction - SERK

SERK

Illustration by Reza Ilyasa
Story by Wedge, Co-Creator

“Need a refill Private?”

“No thanks Captain, I plan on sleeping for a day straight when we get back to base.”

“Humph” was all the Captain said as he released the restraints on his seat and pushed off floating down the narrow isle separating the two pilot’s chairs towards the tiny kitchenette in the back of the patrol craft.

An amber homing light flashed on the console and the Private lazily waved his hand over it.

“Private Marsen on patrol ship 02-144 reporting, sweep of route 17 complete with no unusual activity recorded. Requesting permission to dock.”

Silence answered the Private and after a few moments the Amber light changed to a solid green.

“Sierra won the Trosep Migrathon Invitational” said the Captain “my link just updated, has command hailed us yet?” The Captain returned to his seat with a fresh bulb of warm caffeine in his hand.

“The docking beacon is engaged but they didn’t respond to my hail” replied the Private “and don’t get me started on Sierra, no way he would have won if Kinaso was still in the game.”

The command ship was now visible to the naked eye through the cockpit window growing larger with each passing second.

“Ha! Sierra has three times more league victories than Kinaso ever did, she was a fluke.”

“And how many of those wins did he make while Kinaso was still playing?”

“You’ve gotta look at the bigger picture Private, its all about lifetime achievement not a couple years of freakish success. That’s why you are still a Private, no concept of the bigger picture.”

The command ship filled the entire front view port but instead of the normal sleek blue metal hull the ships carcass was pockmarked with burns and cratered by massive impacts. Meter after meter of cable flapped in the windless vacuum trailing from the disemboweled command ship signifying lethal decompressions. Then it began to move. No it writhed, like the entire hull was covered with bees, but instead of bees there were thousands of robots crawling over the surface of the ship.

SERK

Hands fumbling over the patrol ship’s controls the Private searched for the emergency override of the docking beacon. Panicking he pushed the throttle to maximum accelerating their approach to certain death.

“What the hell are you doing?” The Captain snapped out of his temporary stupor, unlocked the manual override, and disengaged the auto pilot. Jerking the control stick back hard the ship twisted away from its approach.

“Make a heading for planet Orvan Prime, we’ve got to warn them the SERK are in syste-” a deafening pop rattled through the patrol craft and shrapnel blasted through the open cockpit door skewering the Captain with a meter long section of steel that embedded itself deep in the control console. Atmosphere blew out of the rupture in the patrol ship just as the Private flipped the catch to seal his pressure suit. Red lights flashed from every control for only a moment before the ship’s power sputtered and died. The now ravaged patrol ship somersaulted through space and all the helpless Private could do was watch. As his crippled craft tumbled, he caught another glimpse of the gutted command ship, and the silhouette of another massive vessel that was outlined against the field of stars – a SERK Warfactory.

With each revolution the SERK Warfactory grew larger, and soon the Private felt unnatural vibrations pulsing through the chair he was strapped to. He imagined hundreds of the tiny scavenging SERK latching onto his ship, tearing it apart bit by bit, and feeding each piece back into the massive furnace at the heart of the Warfactory where it would churn out more and more of the same robots… forever.

The Private unlatched the weapons compartment near his foot which had somehow stayed shut during the entire ordeal and drew the plasma pistol depressing its activation nob. A SERK scavenger crawled across the cockpit’s window and its glowing yellow eye seemed to register the Private’s presence because it immediately ejected a six inch serrated saw which it proceeded to bore into the view port straight in front of the Private’s head. The pistol blinked twice indicating it was charged and the Private unleashed a volley on the scavenger shattering the portal and sending it tumbling off into space.

A terrible vibration coursed through his seat and the Private twisted his head back toward the cockpit’s door to see the hulking frame of a SERK drop into the ship after having torn through the damaged ceiling. This one was different from the smaller scavengers he had seen, it was a full head taller than the Private himself and in each hand it carried cruel scythe like blades. The two locked eyes for a fraction of a second before the Private begin firing his sidearm at the avatar of his death. The energy skittered over the SERK’s reinforced frame with pathetically little effect and the robot continued forward. Desperately the Private searched the cockpit for some other defense but before he could change tactics the SERK launched towards him, the scythes arched down, and the cold black void swallowed his last words…

Entry: 00-002: CotV Fiction - The Spirit Crusher

The Spirit Crusher

by Wedge, Co-Creator

“Hock, taking all known variables into account I estimate that you will be dead in the next 90 seconds,” said a chromatic monotone voice inside of Hock’s left inner ear.

“At least I can take comfort knowing that you will soon be haunting someone else Spirit Crusher,” replied Hock sub-vocally.

A cold tingling radiated through Hock’s fingers and toes letting him know that the second adrenal stim was beginning to wear off… either that or an errant round may have penetrated his armor and he was slowly bleeding out. Either way, the Spirit Crusher’s predictions were infuriatingly accurate which meant there was nothing left to do but roll the dice.

Hock snapped off the scope, brought up the holographic range finder, and toggled the rifle’s firing mechanism to full-auto – there was only be enough power left for one shot at this. Ejecting the tactical knife from his gauntlet Hock ran the blade over his exposed knuckle drawing a long line of blood across the blade. Good old fashioned pain works just as good as any stim. Riding the surge of awareness Hock tossed the blade over his left shoulder rolling out from behind the wrecked land rover to his right.

Immediate interception fire turned the bloody tactical knife to slag while Hock rolled to his knee and opened fire on the two SERK Trackers closing in on his position. The white hot plasma raked through each one in turn before their DNA targeting systems could change to Hock’s position and each one fell just as the familiar voice intoned “Ammunition Expended.”

A grin cracked the side of Hock’s face and he began to stand up when a dark shadow fell over his vision.

Instinctively he brought his rifle up into a two handed parry just in time to catch the double scythe blades of the SERK Butcher which bit deep into his battered weapon. Collapsing under the tremendous weight of the robot Hock twisted his body backwards sending the bulk of his attacker over his head. Wrenching the rifle vertical Hock came down on top of the SERK putting all of his weight into the butt of the weapon which landed square in the side of the robot’s head. Metal crumpled and sparks flew from the crater in the robots skull sending spasms through its body. Hock hammered the would-be assailant 8 or 10 more times with the rifle just for good measure and collapsed.

“Metal fatigue” said the metallic voice, “that was unexpected.”

“I guess this hunk of metal had been recycled one too many times,” said Hock.

“I expect you to fix the damage to my frame, I’m not designed to be wielded like a club”

“Try not to sound too broken up about me making it through this one Spirit Crusher.”

“Why do you persist in calling me that name?”

I wonder thought Hock.