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 mainland… at least, that was the plan. Before that
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.
What complexed us the most was what that man said:
The first sign something was off, from my point of view, was when I was hanging out with a couple of my friends, Bennings and Fuchs, in the lounge room.
We both gave Bennings a confused look. He eagerly stared at both of us, almost as if he was expecting us to laugh.
Bennings rolled his eyes and leapt on top of the nearby night stand, crouching and entering a chicken stance.
What was left of Bennings was a writhing mass of flesh, spitting out occasional references to things we didn’t understand. We had to leave him in that room, and I still don’t know what happened to him after we left.
The following week was a nightmare. Left and right, my fellow outpost members were turning into these
Blair was our only hope in finding a way to stop the spread, but it was already too late. Instead of mutating, he began a violent rampage in an attempt to stop us
After Windows, our only chef, offered us
Ten of us succumbed to the cancer within the next three days. With only four of us left, we had to do something drastic.
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And here we are. Three of my outpost mates sat at different seats in the small room, glaring at each other as I held the flamethrower in front of the four petri dishes filled with our blood, a metal spork in my other hand.
Clark snickered.
We all turned our attention to Clark. Without hesitation, I blasted him with a long burst from the flamethrower. His inhuman screams were louder than the crackling of the flames, and he leapt through a nearby window, collapsing in the snow and exploding into that familiar orange goop. We didn’t say anything and continued with the interrogation. Garry grabbed a couple pieces of plywood and started covering up the broken window.
I almost blasted him but, unlike all of the other references, this was one that I got. I trusted Childs.
A couple beats pass, and Childs and I turn our attention to Garry. We both came to the horrible realization that this test isn’t working as his whole body contorts into another horrible creature. I unleash the flamethrower’s power on him.
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