Number: 72 Title: Not Here Type: Fan Fiction (DTF related) Synopsis: ---------- A pair of powerful Travelers, could be students of the Fallen One. A trans-dimensional, supernatural army is annihillating mankind of various worlds for no apparent reason. These two gather fighters from all over and try to find the origin of the enemy's attacks, gather intel, and wipe them out. Oh, it's probably a suicide mission too. Very Rough Outline: ---------- Terry and Seikai on a destroyed world; brief introductions, and the possibility that this may be saved someday. The two travel to the Ranma 1/2 universe, story "Rejected," missing Mrs. Saotome by mere minutes. Terry freaks out, but Seikai shows up later, with Ranma's "enemies" and reminds the man that more people are coming. They're bringing back an army, not a reconnaisance force. Most agree to go with them, eventually. Vignette-The world still holds beauty. The next universe is from Dolls, that one cool idea that teased me during a long drive through Oregon. The planet this puppet lands on has several different nations, and one of the friendly ones allows their mercenary army to leave with the Traveler. The last stop is a surreal world trapped in a perpetual horror story with strange ghosts, demi-humans, genetic experiments, evil robots, and the entire cyberpunk dramatis personnae. Vignette-Fighting is a choice for most people. The large and hardy group of warriors finally leaves--as time is short. A group of skilled martial artists, military tacticians, giant robots, technologically advanced weapons, airships, mind-altering drugs--the works--assault this world. A horrible battle erupts, running over much of the planet. Once it starts, it snowballs with frightening speed. It is a military operation, albet a hurried and harried one. They have only shot at this, and victory is within their grasp... and it comes at a price. Vignette-Maybe there's nothing we can do but pray for death. In the end, of a force of over a hundred, only three remain alive. No funerals are held. Poor attempt at scenes: ---------- They came by the hundreds, the thousands, the millions. They walked out of our nightmares and down our streets. They murdered our children and our parents. They killed us while we slept, while we fought, while we worked and played. They came from the shadows and hid in the light. They were terrible and nameless and destroyed everything in their path. They slaughtered our sanity and bathed our lands in our own blood. Cities were crushed like autum leaves underfoot. Whole armies were wiped out in mere hours, soldiers falling like fields of wheat before a scythe. They spread like a plague, our fighters falling back one city at a time. Then one country. Then one continent. The human race was being exterminated. ---------- {Alt. beginning, more novel style.} It was a beautiful day. The sun wasn't quite shining. It illuminated the soupy cloud cover from behind, leaving the sky like a white blanket thrown over a lamp. The snow that floated softly down from that white Heaven was quickly building up on every available surface. Soon, the ground would be as featurelessly white as the sky. Then the clouds would blot out the sun, cutting back the light like a boa constrictor tightening about its prey. Then this abandoned city would be a world of nothing but grays. He had heard, from his father's father, when recounting days past, that if it were quiet enough you could hear the snow falling. His father's father said it was the most errie sound you could ever hear, when there wasn't enough life to hide the sound of falling snow. He'd grown used to hearing things he didn't even know made sounds. He'd also heard the sounds of things that shouldn't have ever been made. Somehow, none of this seemed significant right now. The cold would be like a vicious beast soon, biting into his flesh and killing him one cell at a time. He had shelter and fire, he had food--enough to last the next day, no more--but he didn't have enough clothing to stay warm through the night. It would be ironic to die now, after he'd come so far, fought so hard, and lost so much. Yes, he'd come this far. The remains of a hundred buildings spread before him, fading out of the fog like silent guards to a lost land. ---------- It's quiet here, deathly quiet. Every sound I make, stumbling through this pipe, is thunder in my ears. The sewage pipe I'm standing in has more than enough room to let me stand at my full height. The open end breaks off thirty feet above a crater that wiped out the city's main subway station. Water still trickles into the pit here and there; occasionally a mineature landslide of rock echoes through the cities remains. No one else is alive here; I'm sure of it. The Things don't take prisoners. They secure conquered territory via neutron waves--powerful radiation that kills everything within a certain radius. They could have simply used a nuclear bomb, what with the city already destroyed. Buildings are gutted like the husks of dead animals, their destroyed frames, twisted and scortched by the Things' weapons, left to decay in the elements like broken skeletons. Every street is filled in with rubble and dead bodies. Alleyways are mass graves. Death permeates everything. The city is a rotting corpse. As I settle onto the dirty floor, wary of falling asleep before my body can reach a recumbant position, I wonder if my sanity will leave in the night. It has longed to leave. Gaps... remain in my mind, memories incomplete. Have my senses already left me? Are they here only on a temporary visit? There's a presence behind me. My heart leaps into my throat and coherent thought ceases to exist. Operating on only survival instincts, I swing my blade in a high arc while ducking low. The metal strikes something imobile and rings like a bell. It is a person. A short, dark skinned man. He's just looking at me, his arm held up in a simple block. I pull back. Something clicks. He speaks. "Hello." ---------- This place is a total mess and stinks to high heaven. Good thing this is the worst of it; I don't want to think that things could get any worse than this.... The one still alive, he's surprised, and acts instinctively. My shield holds, directing my motion and stopping with its power what my flesh cannot. The look in his eyes is wild; feral. I don't move for a moment as he pulls away, looking at me. Little by little, his eyes calm, but his posture doesn't relax. When he no longer looks ready to kill me where I stand, I say hello. "Who are you?" He asks. "My name is Seikai. I am a Traveler. This... will require some explanation, but I'm here to help you kill the invaders." "Invaders?" He stares blankly. "What do you call them?" He is silent for a long time. Finally, words are pulled painfully from his mouth. "Things... just the Things." The haunted look fades from his face very slowly, not wanting to leave. I walk to the end of the structure and look at the city's remains while I explain who I am and what I'm doing here. I'm offering help to a world damn short on it. I'm giving salvation to the one person who needs it most. I'm giving a tired warrior a reason to fight again. But I don't feel good about it. Terry Daniels is the lone survivor of a terrible battle in Zone 44. In this world, some kind of alien invaders have landed in the millions, slaughtering everything in their path. Their technology is superior and their determination absolute. At the present rate, all of this earth's eight billion human inhabitants will be dead in eight months. What's left of the world is divided into Zones to coordinate the remains of the world's military powers. Defeat is inevitable. And I'm the only damn one out here to save them. Knowing that failing to contain this will result in the annihilation of an entire universe--an entire dimension, has been weighing on my mind since I recieved orders to step in and take action. Usually a small army of super-powered fighters would be following me in, but we're fresh out of heroes. Just Terry and I. Superlatives fail to adequetly describe this situation. Did I say situation? This is a disaster. ---------- This is a disaster. This is insane. Par for the course. It seems that Quantum physics has some merit after all. An infinite number of universes--alternate realities--inhabit existence. One day I buy whole wheat bread instead of white and war breaks out in Zimbabwe. Little differences lead to big differences. Some of these universes are doomed to die, others will continue to exist many billions of years into the future. But all is not static. Ever since intelligent beings traversed the barriers between dimensions, the universes were no longer able to maintain their natural balance. With people flittering to and fro, from one existence to the next, how could there be balance? Order is restored by having an establishment watch the universes, like counting animal populations. This leaves people to look after things. And people are falable. This is minor oversight. A collapse they missed. There's something festering, infecting, killing off my world and from between the walls of existence, there's supposed to this huge military force ready to fight it--beat it. "Losing this world is not an option," he keeps telling me. "This is like fighting a war; we can't afford to loose ground here." One fucking guy shows up. "Look!" I yell, grabbing onto his shirt, idly noting that it is formed from a curious black fabric that has the same give as kevlar. "Look at this! What fucking ground is there left to loose here?!!" ---------- "The only thing wishful thinking has ever saved is my wits." "That sounds like quite a bit." "Have you heard a goddamn thing I've said?"