The Thingy: Difference between revisions
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I glared across the room, greeted by the eyes of my fellow outpost crew. Out of the four of us in that room, one or more wasn't who they said they were. The cold, Antarctic wind outside was a chilling reminder that we were alone. Alone with an unstoppable force we couldn't completely understand, and had every intention of taking us over one by one.
It's been twelve months since me and the boys were dropped off by the last helicopter. In the most remote part of the world, Antarctica, we had no connection to the internet whatsoever, so we therefore couldn't be kept up to date on the latest trends. Who's our current president? Which celebrity passed away this year? What memes have been born? These are all questions we wouldn't know the answers to for another month, when we make it back to the
It started a week ago. During the night hours, some giant rock or whatever crashed into our radar room, destroying whatever possible contact we could've had with the outside world. After we hosed down the destroyed room and patched it up, we found some strange, orange goop oozing out of one of the meteorite's pores. One of the outpost crew members, oddly enough, felt compelled to stick his finger in it and lap it up.
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Bennings rolled his eyes and leapt on top of the nearby night stand, crouching and entering a chicken stance.
"WhAt weRe yoU reFeReNCinG MaN?" He shrieked, his speech noticeably distorted and inhuman. Fuchs and I were taken aback by this, and we both looked at each other, not sure how to react. Bennings, stumbling, fell off the night stand and landed in front of us with a crash. His eyes were bulging out of their sockets, and he looked
"You've gotta be fucking kidding," Fuchs said, backing away with me in fear.
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