Lords of RPG

Interlude Story 1- Vermilion Horrors
Written by Tom Everett

Marcus "Striker" Valen collapsed onto his narrow bunk, the scratchy standard-issue sheets doing little to
ease his utter exhaustion after the harrowing events at the abandoned research station. As he stared at
the dull metal ceiling of his quarters, his mind raced to process the disturbing discoveries of the day - the
strange viscous residues coating parts of the walls and floors, the damaged computer terminals with
partially decrypted research files hinting at illegal genetic experiments, the sudden ambush by several
rampaging defense robots that very nearly overwhelmed his team.

Usually after an intense mission, Striker would fall right into a deep dreamless sleep. But rest evaded
him this night despite his bone-weary fatigue. Each time he drifted off, haunting images of oozing alien
slime and clawed killer robots jolted him back awake. He couldn't shake the feeling that something
sinister had transpired here...something that warranted further investigation.

After what felt like ages spent tossing and turning in his lumpy cot, Striker finally slipped into an uneasy
sleep, only to have it invaded by the insistent droning buzz of insect wings. In his dream, his eyes
snapped open to find himself not safe in his quarters but kneeling in what appeared to be a blood-red
swamp. Coils of thick soupy fog rose from the brackish water to embrace his knees. The air hung heavy
and humid, and that damnable buzzing drone burrowed deep into his eardrums.

Whipping his head around toward the sound, Striker froze in disbelief and horror. Rising like demons out
of the crimson marsh waters were swollen mosquito-like insects the size of shuttlecraft, metallic
exoskeletons glinting wetly in the dim angry light. He gaped incredulously at the whirring gears and
blinking sensors that poked out from between their smoothly shifting armored plates. Segmented legs
tipped with serrated pincers clacked and snapped with dreadful anticipation. Even more horrific were
the monsters' gaping proboscis mouths slowly splitting wide to reveal rotating rings of drilling fangs
dripping with viscous fluid. Past the nightmarish swarm, Striker spotted the dim ominous outlines of
sprawling alien hive structures, their openings emitting an ominous toxic glow.

Galvanized by self-preservation, Striker tried to flee his impending doom but each step proved slower
and more labored than the last. The soupy mists sucked hungrily at his boots while the spongy soil
seemed to embrace each footfall, trapping him in place as effectively as quicksand. The swell of wings
and the click of mandibles grew deafeningly loud in his ears as the swarm descended rapidly from all
sides. Razor legs and gnashing jaws grazed the back of Striker's exposed neck. Searing pain jolted
through his shoulder as one insect plunged its spear-like stinger through his suit, pumping its acidic
venom directly into his veins. He cried out wordlessly, his muscles burning as the alien poison rapidly
coursed through his body...

With a violent full-body spasm, Marcus woke in his bunk aboard the Odyssey, drenched in cold sweat,
shoulder still aching from phantom venom. As the nightmare slowly faded, a profound sense of unease
still lingered, chilling him to the bone.

Shaken, Striker fumbled hastily for his personal journal and feverishly sketched one of the terrifying
robotic mosquito insects by the dim glow of his nightlight, hoping vainly that recording the horrific
images would grant him some meager understanding. But deep down, he suspected this chilling dream
was an omen of far darker discoveries yet to come.

Exhaustion still plagued his body yet sleep now seemed out of the question. Desperate to distract his
anxious mind, Marcus switched on the communications radio built into his quarters, tuning it to the
familiar background chatter between the night shift pilots maneuvering ships on the landing pads and
the air traffic control operators guiding them in. The predictable back-and-forth of call numbers,
confirmations and positioning coordinates never failed to soothe his nerves. Striker fixated on the dull
reports, using the familiar routine to ground himself until dawn illumination finally crept into his room.
But while the ominous dream had faded, a cold sense of foreboding still haunted the edges of his mind.