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Author Topic: The Cold  (Read 1694 times)

Thane

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The Cold
« on: July 26, 2015, 12:38:27 PM »

My name is Rebecca Edwards, but my friends call me Lynx. That is if I had any left. I'm not even sure why I'm writing this down, there is no one left who has ever called me friend.

Where should I begin? I know with the Expedition. The Expedition was a grand plan handed down from command to 'Oust that group of ruffians and savages living atop Grundle Peak'.

By all accounts those living on Grundle had never come down to farm the greener pastures of the tundra, or to hunt the game that wander there. They have stayed on that frozen peak only visible as brief glints and glimpses to those of us watching on the plains below.

Nevertheless we have watched and have seen trade pods coming and going in a seemingly endless display of wealth and prosperity. My leaders, the Chieftains of The Proud Raven Men, have determined there can be only one reason for this. Gold.

It has long been rumored that Grundle contains gold enough to satisfy the lust of men. Such hyperbole is of course impossible, but the Chieftains think there might be at least some truth to the legend.

Scouting parties have been sent, but none have come back, but they were only lightly armed and meagerly supplied. Only carrying a few day's rations and their weapons.

We were not to be so shorted. Our orders were to make camp at Grundle's Peak, a mere quarter mile from the savages' compound, and shell the fools until they gave us all their wealth, or were dead. A simple mission.

The Expedition was slated for Early August, when the peak warms and the air clears. Beautiful weather for a shelling. However, we were delayed by some tribal scum insistent that that the mountain was holy and inhabited by gods. We informed them in no uncertain terms that there were already men on that peak. Building, mining, eating and sleeping.

They left chanting a war cry and we decided to wait a few more weeks until the tribals had nicely softened the target and then begin the shelling. That was our mistake.

We set camp on Grundle's Peak on September 1st and began shelling a day later. It was fine weather. Bramble, a former drone, grumbled about the cold, but I reveled in it and sucked in the crisp air as I loaded shell after shell into the mortars. A week passed with no change in the savages stronghold and no sign of life. Built of thick granite brick and nestled between three peaks, it seems to laugh at our attempts to break it. Shrugging off our explosives like so much water.

Then on September 8th winter came. Overnight temperatures plummeted to -55C and snow blanketed our camp in drifts, filling the passes behind us. We were prepared, but we could not cope.

Bramble was the first to go. Frozen solid when we woke in the morning. Eyes open, yet his expression was one of an eerie peace and calm. We couldn't close his eyes. We soldiered on with the shelling. We had no choice, but to continue

The rest of them started dropping like flies. Sergeant Grim was one of the last to go. He went mad near the end saying that it was better to die of a bullet than to go out like an ice cube. We obliged him with his death of choice. That left Nils and I.

Ah, Private Nils. We had never been good friends, but we both danced in the freezing rain while our compatriots shivered and sniffled. We tried vainly to continue the mission and shell the savages who somehow managed to live on this bloody frozen rock, but we soon succumbed to the cold. We lay there freezing to death hand in hand as our feet started to crystallize and together we fell into the sleep of death.

I woke up in this small rough hewn room alone. I had my notebook, my pen, my clothes and my life. For a second I think I am back in the labs and test chambers that stole so much of my life. I start to panic when I notice a tray of food sitting on a table nearby. A pile of mashed potatoes with a brown meaty gravy, served with Chianti and Fava beans. The beans and wine seem out of place, but I scarf down the food and I never say no to a drink.

Later a man, Vladimir he says his name is, tells me that I have been selected to join Absolute Zero. I ask him what that is and he informs me it is the name of the savages town. 'Ah', I think, 'they have a sense of humor about their situation up here.' I decline his offer with as much invective and vitriol as I can muster. He just smiles then produces a plate of meat and potatoes, but this plate is one of twice baked potatoes; again curiously served with fava beans and Chianti.

End entry: October 5th

October 15th; couple of seriously injured men have been hauled into my room and left there. One is even unceremoniously dumped on the floor. Ah Vladimir has arrived and he is treating the men, carefully binding their wounds. This must have happened to me to. I think of my left foot where I know scars, instead of toes, make their home.

I have decided. This is a good place. These people care. They are not violent, they only think of their fellow man. Another glass of Chianti. I think I shall join these fine people tomorrow. There is only goodness in their hearts.
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It is regular practice to install peg legs and dentures on anyone you don't like around here. Think about that.

NuclearStudent

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Re: The Cold
« Reply #1 on: August 15, 2015, 08:56:10 PM »

Now the question is, how do you rig a nutrient dispenser to make human flesh look like potato?
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Thane

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Re: The Cold
« Reply #2 on: August 16, 2015, 05:19:39 PM »

Twice baked potatoes can have meat mixed in with the potato. My favorite recipes include either leftover meatloaf, or fresh bacon in with the potatoes and cheese.

I love how Rebecca has finally chosen to live in my colony, but for some reason she prefers to dine on plan rice, or potato now. It's odd Vladimir thought she was close to that man and was just trying to make sure she would always be close to him.
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It is regular practice to install peg legs and dentures on anyone you don't like around here. Think about that.

A_Soft_Machine_Man

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Re: The Cold
« Reply #3 on: August 30, 2015, 07:52:24 PM »

A man's gotta eat, after all.

But where'd they get wine up in the mountains? Hannibal Lecter can only do so much, after all.
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