prelude

[singmod]

January 1st 2015

Do you remember yesterday? What is tomorrow?
How will you face this quiet apocalypse?
— Raphael van Lierop.

As the old year falls and the new year begins, the skies fill with light. An Aurora comes on the last day of December, and with it the usual signs of it: the ethereal noise, the cracks and pops in the air, the stuttering of electrics as they struggle to power on and then blare and flicker. It is, as Interlopers have come to know, business as usual — in terms of the Auroras within this world. However, something a little different happens this time.

Interlopers will fall asleep all over the town of Milton. Even the ones who fight sleep and try to stay up into the small hours of the night will find themselves drifting off for a short while — as if their eyes just feel too heavy to keep open, and their minds slip into a deep kind of quiet darkness without their realising. And at first, there is nothing — nothing but the quiet dark. Something peaceful, almost.

A dream comes.

The first thing you notice is blood in your mouth, the cold in your bones, the deafening din in your ears — as if you are caught in static and the sound of howling winds through pine trees. You are afraid. At first, you do not know why. You find yourself on your knees in the snow. The skies are filled with green light, the air is thick with smoke. And then the realisation comes:

This is the ending of all things.

You look up, to the sight before you: a huge, shapeless shadow. Towering above you, over you. A head peers down at you: a cluster of three wolf skulls, eye-sockets glowing green and terrible, and their three open maws, dripping with more green. The sound it makes is unnatural, you cannot put it into words. The darkness draws in, you are so cold, so tired.

This is the ending of all things.

It is so hungry. You are so tired. The world falls away, you cannot see the stars, the dark hiding them from view. Were they even there to begin with? Or did they go out? You have forgotten. And you know, you know—

This is the ending of all things.

The skies glimmer, licks of strange, colourful wisps curl above — a voice screams out your name, from the static and winds. Through the noise. A woman’s voice. You have heard this voice before, in the lights and noise. Do you see? What could be? What you could become?

Can you hold on? Please. A hand grips your shoulder, but as you turn — the dream ends.

For some, they snap into waking with a shout or cry. Some will shudder awake to find tears in their eyes. All over Milton, the Interlopers wake: shaken, unsure, afraid. They will awaken to the dark: the Aurora is gone — slowly fading from the night skies into an otherwise calm and clear night.

It is a new year.

Comments

[sputnik]

[ A man's voice calls back to him, strong and true and sounding very real. Despite Konstantin's kneejerk sense of alarm (any stranger coming up from the darkness could be a a threat, could be one of them finally here to take him back), there's a soft flutter of relief that seems paradoxical, and lasts only a moment or two, but it's there. This isn't in his head. The man approaching him has to be real.

And he has a... wolf. Not a dog but something larger, more suitable to this cold place and its wilds. Konstantin stares in its direction, heart skipping a beat or two; has it sniffed him down? Led them to him; are there more men waiting just out of sight? Will it attack him any moment?

But the man's words paint a different picture, immediately. 'Are you lost?'

...He doesn't know who he is? Konstantin's dark pair lift from the wolf and back to its owner, hesitant. Of course, the truth to that question is yes, he's extremely lost, this is so far from his home, and he can't get back, he needs to get back. ....Even up in the cold dark of space, he hadn't felt so far away as he does now. ]

No, it's all right. The house I'm staying is just... just there.

[ He gestures with one arm behind him, where Vasiliy's cabin sits in the background. It's a small one, extremely modest, meant only for one person. ]

I just— [ He must look strange, standing out here, half doubled-over. He gently removes his hand from his stomach, shuddering against the cold. ]

I just had a very bad dream. Needed some fresh air.

[maintiensledroit]

I see.

[ He, of all people, can easily understand the need to get outside, to breathe, after an especially distressing experience, but he is dressed for this cold, used to it. The man in front of him seems to be neither. ]

Pardon me for saying, but the air might be just a little too fresh for your current ensemble. It's much too cold to be out in such thin clothing, and hypothermia can come upon you much faster than you might think.

[ Coming closer, Fraser begins to undo the zipper of the winter coat he'd managed to source. It had required a deal of patching, but nothing too strenuous. ]

Here, please put this on. And then why don't you tell me a little about this dream while I escort you back to your shelter?

[ His tone is perfectly polite, but firm. There's no give in it, but just in case, Diefenbaker trots up to the man, keeping a curious eye on him and perfectly ready to give chase if necessary. ]

[sputnik]

[ Konstantin pauses, glancing down at his person as though only just now really taking notice of his own clothing. He hasn't been oblivious to it, he feels the cold, knows his attire is sorely lacking for this environment, but he's... been defaulting to the clothing, as strange as it may seem.

For one thing, he hasn't ventured into the town much to attempt finding new things to wear, not daring to expose himself to anyone more than he has to. Vasiliy's been consistently kind and helpful and offered to let him borrow some of his coats and things — but they're comically too small for his larger frame, the shoulders too narrow, the sleeves too short. Mostly, Konstantin just roams the cabin with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders in place of a thicker coat or anything like that.

...There's something else. Deep underneath everything else, there's some part of him that feels almost as though, if he were to take off this clothing (it's not his, not really; it was issued by the facility), it will mean he's assimilating to this place, and he can't. He doesn't belong, he has to return home. Has to save his son. It would sound foolish to voice aloud, but so much of his identity has been tethered to the clothing he wears — his own military uniform, his spacesuit.... This clothing has a purpose of its own, too.

But of course, he can't say all of this to a stranger, and so instead he accepts the coat to keep the peace, reaching out to take it, slowly sliding it over his arms. He doesn't miss the pointed instruction in the other man's tone, as polite as it may be. There's something authoritative — even the wolf, clearly trained to accompany him, is keeping close. (Perhaps he keeps people from attempting escape? A guard?)

Konstantin smiles, letting the expression reach his eyes, crinkling at the corners. ]

Thank you, friend. [ The soft breath of a laugh. Easy-going, compliant — when he needs to be. ] I suppose I ran out here so quickly, I didn't even stop to put my coat on.

[ He keeps his smile in place as he folds his arms and nods. He'll agree. He'll obey. Just like back at the facility — well-behaved and obedient, earning the favour of his captors by being a model prisoner, all while planning an escape right under their noses. ]

It was intense, to say the least. I haven't had nightmares like that since I was a boy. There was a monster — three-headed... Ridiculous. [ As if he hadn't woken up shaking beside Vasiliy, who'd somehow, impossibly shared it with him. ]