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“Daddy…I think this one’s still alive!”
Possum scrambles through the underbrush in the pre-dawn light.
Far away there are caves stacked like honeycomb, cool and dry as bone, that echo with footsteps: Possum’s and his Supervisor’s.
The hushed forest loudly gives up every twig snap like a gunshot.
The waiting Vessels number in the hundreds of thousands, or so Possum is told.
Possum stretches over a fallen mossy log and the fire in his side blossoms and ripples.
“Daddy…”
Blind and silent, Possum takes in everything.
Possum pants and gasps; willing his breathing and heart rate to decrease.
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The cool morning mist collects on Possum’s hair and clothing.
There are no computers or modern technology, only words aged in Millenia.
And on the pouch on his back.
Words passed down from Lilith to Ligeia to Lovelace.
The parcel he is conveying has been surgically implanted there.
Words that can breathe Life into the Inanimate.
Soft hands search for Life.
The Inanimate that can replace the Living.
Soft false hands.
The Inanimate that have replaced the Living.
Possum inwardly recoils from the false touch.
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Possum’s instructions have been given to him in Triple Speak.
Possum’s eyes are removed when recruited, a precaution against identifying his Superiors.
Qua Kah Moullee takes no chances.
Once forward, once backwards, once upside down.
Possum lays still.
The Peyote Caffeine Buttons he regularly ingests help him to visual his surroundings.
“I can’t tell if he’s breathing, Daddy.”
Qua Kah Moullee takes no chances.
Possum lays still.
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Possum has been given their name: The Omnicide Machines.
A Psychic Grid lays before him: all electric Blues and Reds and Yellows.
Possum has been given their directive: To replace the Living with the Inanimate.
With years of practice Possum navigates the Grid effortlessly.
Possum has been given their means: To use random acts of explosive violence as cover for replication.
As easily as you would cross your kitchen in brightest daylight.
Possum has also been given the means of their destruction.
But now the Grid is damaged and barely readable as the fire in his side intensifies and spreads.
“Daddy, I think I heard him whimper!”
An old TV that loses its horizontal and vertical.
“Daddy, I saw him twitch!”
The vestiges of the last Button kick in.
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“Daddy…”
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The sweet false voice is painful to Possum’s ears.
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The only one who can help him now is surrounded by Inanimates: Wife, Daughter, Director, Nurse.
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The only one who can save this World.
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A name is given to Possum.
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“Warbler…”
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“Daddy, I think he’s dying!’
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“Warbler…”
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“It’s okay, honey. I’ve got this.”
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A warm, Living whisper in his ear, “It’s okay, I’ve got you, Possum.”
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Huge hoho thanks to jake and AWP for helping me out so much on my very first Posted Thread here!!!
I realize my portion is much shorter than the previous installments but I hope I’ve mucked things up as only I can.
This has been a complete joy.
Good luck with the next Chapter, AWP!!!
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