MAIN » ARTICLESThe Iain (Rawson) Experience, part X: Vol. 2
Extract from ‘The Diary of Dr. Rog’: Week 667, Day 4597
Several minutes later I came across what I was looking for. A massive impenetrable door, one metre thick pure titanium, hinges the size of oil barrels; it would take a diamond edge buzz-saw a month to cut through it. I removed the lock which was won by Dr. Jameson during one of out bi-monthly Christmas dinner’s with a healthy whack from my crow bar. The door, oiled and weighted to perfection, slowly came lose of its hinges and feel forward, slamming into the ground with a spectacular rumble. Unfortunately for Dr. Hendy, who was trying to escape the very situation that I was about to enter, the door fell on his leg turning it into puree.
“Mudda fucker!” the Doctor exclaimed while emptying another chamber of rounds from his Colt Python into the nearest swarm of the, the… things.
What I observed that day sickened me to the core. I have constant nightmares, no psychologists has ever dreamed of understanding me, let alone cure me of my internal demons. “Holy Jesus, what are these god damn animals?”, I exclaimed, my throat dry, the sweat dripping from my forehead.
Then I understood everything.
“What have you done?” I mumbled, not even sure to this day how Dr. Hendy heard me. Doubtless he didn’t even need to hear me, the question was obvious.
“The experiment must have caused a huge power surge” he explained as he reloaded the huge six-shooter, “and that caused the earthquakes”.
The clones were in no hurry, they were on their own turf and believed, albeit incorrectly, that they had all the time in world. The room had turned into a vile palace of bodily fluids and faeces. Most of them were attempting to mate, fucking each other in every available orifice, shitting, bleeding and leaking bile in the process. Every now and then one of the small clones would melt, leaving two eggs. The eggs would quickly hatch, in this fashion I watched in horror as their numbers grew every second.
I was holding back the vomit with partial success, but Dr. Hendy seemed perfectly calm. In a completely ironic gesture the doctor plugged his iPod into the intercom system and played Adagio for Strings. One of the six inch tall clones leaped into the air to pounce on the prone doctor but with reactions a quick as lightning Dr. Hendy blew its head clean off.
“Eat my boner fadge breath!” my colleague screamed happily, “I in no way regret snorting that crack I found on D Deck!”
“That wasn’t crack” I sighed, “that was rat killer”.
“You’re probably right” he conceded, “but I’m too shit-faced to care”.
The half-foot monstrosities had begun to take more of an interest in us; several began scuttling in our direction. Dr. Hendy, with precision shots, eliminated them quickly. One began to ejaculate on its own feet and using its semen as an adhesive ran along the ceiling stopping just above my head.
My colleague sent a bullet straight thought its gut, causing me to become drenched in bile and blood, my queasiness escalated. It was time to leave.
Hendy would not survive long. His dexterity and accuracy would buy him time but even if he managed to avoid become the rape-victim of a hundred horny clones he was still pinned to the floor by the door and the impending collapse of the whole institute would seal his fate. Neither his rigid constitution, nor his knowledge of FA Cup final attendance figures would save him now.
Five minutes later I heard the last shot.
A minute after that Dr. Hendy was dead.
Confusion swept over me, yet the reason eluded me. Facts began to melt away like star systems through Gran Moff Tarkin’s fingers. Evidently the clone bile contained some sort of venom but I was in no state to make that grim connection.
“Where am I? Some sort of laboratory.”
A mantra-ray flew elegantly past me, it didn’t stop, it was late for a meeting.
Pictures of myself lined every wall for as far as I could see. They were laughing at me, mocking me.
“Jesus” I mumbled as I took another bite from my Big Mac, “What are they experimenting with here?”.
“It’s obvious you fool” a voice snarled.
“They’re testing you” chimed in another.
“They want you dead” confirmed a third.
I was inclined to believe them; after all they couldn’t all be wrong.
A flock of bats waddled past me quacking incessantly. They were watching me, despite a lack of eyes. I imagined a board room of suits gauging the progress of the alien they inserted into my stomach. A message bat sat on each of their shoulders, the bats were smocking cigars, damn it.
There was no time for any anaesthetic; I had to get the Xenomorph out of my soft belly as quickly as possible. “Where is my crow bar?”
As the bullet tore through my colon the poison quickly began to leek out. As sobriety hit me like a cold shower I quickly took stock of the situation. On the plus side I was no longer intoxicated by paranoia or hallucinations. On the other hand the soldiers didn’t look like a rescue party, this conclusion was further backed up the fact one of them had just shot a hole through my colon.
I cursed myself for getting into this situation, never again would I dismiss the opinion presented by my peripheral vision.
I slumped behind a steal and apparently bullet-proof crate, while 5.56mm rounds and shrapnel from frag grenades ricocheted all around me. The amount of firepower indicated that I was not their primary concern, they were fighting the things.
I took a few moments to catch my breath.
Extract from ‘The Diary of Dr. Rog’ Ends.
To be continued..
Written by Randy
Several minutes later I came across what I was looking for. A massive impenetrable door, one metre thick pure titanium, hinges the size of oil barrels; it would take a diamond edge buzz-saw a month to cut through it. I removed the lock which was won by Dr. Jameson during one of out bi-monthly Christmas dinner’s with a healthy whack from my crow bar. The door, oiled and weighted to perfection, slowly came lose of its hinges and feel forward, slamming into the ground with a spectacular rumble. Unfortunately for Dr. Hendy, who was trying to escape the very situation that I was about to enter, the door fell on his leg turning it into puree.
“Mudda fucker!” the Doctor exclaimed while emptying another chamber of rounds from his Colt Python into the nearest swarm of the, the… things.
What I observed that day sickened me to the core. I have constant nightmares, no psychologists has ever dreamed of understanding me, let alone cure me of my internal demons. “Holy Jesus, what are these god damn animals?”, I exclaimed, my throat dry, the sweat dripping from my forehead.
Then I understood everything.
“What have you done?” I mumbled, not even sure to this day how Dr. Hendy heard me. Doubtless he didn’t even need to hear me, the question was obvious.
“The experiment must have caused a huge power surge” he explained as he reloaded the huge six-shooter, “and that caused the earthquakes”.
The clones were in no hurry, they were on their own turf and believed, albeit incorrectly, that they had all the time in world. The room had turned into a vile palace of bodily fluids and faeces. Most of them were attempting to mate, fucking each other in every available orifice, shitting, bleeding and leaking bile in the process. Every now and then one of the small clones would melt, leaving two eggs. The eggs would quickly hatch, in this fashion I watched in horror as their numbers grew every second.
I was holding back the vomit with partial success, but Dr. Hendy seemed perfectly calm. In a completely ironic gesture the doctor plugged his iPod into the intercom system and played Adagio for Strings. One of the six inch tall clones leaped into the air to pounce on the prone doctor but with reactions a quick as lightning Dr. Hendy blew its head clean off.
“Eat my boner fadge breath!” my colleague screamed happily, “I in no way regret snorting that crack I found on D Deck!”
“That wasn’t crack” I sighed, “that was rat killer”.
“You’re probably right” he conceded, “but I’m too shit-faced to care”.
The half-foot monstrosities had begun to take more of an interest in us; several began scuttling in our direction. Dr. Hendy, with precision shots, eliminated them quickly. One began to ejaculate on its own feet and using its semen as an adhesive ran along the ceiling stopping just above my head.
My colleague sent a bullet straight thought its gut, causing me to become drenched in bile and blood, my queasiness escalated. It was time to leave.
Hendy would not survive long. His dexterity and accuracy would buy him time but even if he managed to avoid become the rape-victim of a hundred horny clones he was still pinned to the floor by the door and the impending collapse of the whole institute would seal his fate. Neither his rigid constitution, nor his knowledge of FA Cup final attendance figures would save him now.
Five minutes later I heard the last shot.
A minute after that Dr. Hendy was dead.
Confusion swept over me, yet the reason eluded me. Facts began to melt away like star systems through Gran Moff Tarkin’s fingers. Evidently the clone bile contained some sort of venom but I was in no state to make that grim connection.
“Where am I? Some sort of laboratory.”
A mantra-ray flew elegantly past me, it didn’t stop, it was late for a meeting.
Pictures of myself lined every wall for as far as I could see. They were laughing at me, mocking me.
“Jesus” I mumbled as I took another bite from my Big Mac, “What are they experimenting with here?”.
“It’s obvious you fool” a voice snarled.
“They’re testing you” chimed in another.
“They want you dead” confirmed a third.
I was inclined to believe them; after all they couldn’t all be wrong.
A flock of bats waddled past me quacking incessantly. They were watching me, despite a lack of eyes. I imagined a board room of suits gauging the progress of the alien they inserted into my stomach. A message bat sat on each of their shoulders, the bats were smocking cigars, damn it.
There was no time for any anaesthetic; I had to get the Xenomorph out of my soft belly as quickly as possible. “Where is my crow bar?”
As the bullet tore through my colon the poison quickly began to leek out. As sobriety hit me like a cold shower I quickly took stock of the situation. On the plus side I was no longer intoxicated by paranoia or hallucinations. On the other hand the soldiers didn’t look like a rescue party, this conclusion was further backed up the fact one of them had just shot a hole through my colon.
I cursed myself for getting into this situation, never again would I dismiss the opinion presented by my peripheral vision.
I slumped behind a steal and apparently bullet-proof crate, while 5.56mm rounds and shrapnel from frag grenades ricocheted all around me. The amount of firepower indicated that I was not their primary concern, they were fighting the things.
I took a few moments to catch my breath.
Extract from ‘The Diary of Dr. Rog’ Ends.
To be continued..
Written by Randy