Gesshru (Arbon's attempt at Flash fiction)

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Gesshru (Arbon's attempt at Flash fiction)

Postby arbon » Thu Jun 27, 2013 11:20 pm

EDIT: The words bellow have never before been laced with so much irony. To those who speak with me regularly this may not come as much of a surprise, but my attempt at flash fiction has turned into an outright novel. With physical copies on the way if nothing goes wrong with my attempt at self publishing.

For the next several weeks I am going to be releasing one chapter every week for free, just as I had before, the only monetization involved is for those who do not wish to wait. The rest of the chapters are already written, I’m just notoriously picky about when I consider something “Finished” enough to release it. Technically there are two options:

Patreon: --- https://www.patreon.com/arbon
For as low as $1 USD per month you can see not only the entire novel, but also everything else I’ve been too cowardly to show the world at large. I can’t promise everything will be to your liking, or even similar to Gesshru I’m afraid.

Amazon: --- https://www.amazon.com/dp/154327255X/re ... 394&sr=1-1
CreateSpace: --- https://www.createspace.com/6954737
For the physical copy, and owning something you can hold in your hands is the only reason to purchase from these outlets. Priced at $15 USD it turns out making a large novel costs a fair bit just to print.

For first time readers and old friends seeing this update, here’s hoping you enjoy the ride. It’s going to be a fun few months of consistent updates.

((
Argh! I can't do it. I tried, but I just can't write a story in under a thousand words. The attempt was to make a short little flash story with a surprising twist at the end, but as I kept adding more details the story kept dragging on longer and longer. Oh well ...

This is the closest I've ever come to a simple rampage story, and I think it's about as close as I'll ever get to pure rampage. It isn't sexualized so i don't think it needs to be in the adult section, but it does have several aspects lending to psychological horror, so read at your own risk.

If you like the story then be sure to thank El_Dustino's works for inspiring me to write a flash fiction: (viewtopic.php?f=2&t=18040) and also thank Kusanagi for providing inspiration for the actual material with his story Symbiosis: (viewtopic.php?f=2&t=13080&hilit=Symbiosis)
))


Gesshru

__________
Chapter 1

My name is Freya Savitri, and I am a human from the planet Terra. Earth in my language, Terre in French, Dharti in Hini, La Tierra in Spannish, Zemlia in Russian, Erde in German, though I suppose such a tangent isn’t necessary to bring up. I do so because I’m scared.

Because I don’t want to think about the things that are actually happening. I don’t want to forget what I remember of home. So I’ll go over all the details I can muster, desperately searching for some mental exercise I can latch onto. Even if it amounts to nothing more than trivia.

I stand at a towering five feet tall, my eyes easily looking over the tops of even the largest buildings. Their alien designs fascinated my inner child, and I could not help but marvel at what construction methods must have gone into them. Thin windows of tinted quartz giving the spiral towers a shimmering design. They sparkled so beautifully in the light of this planet’s twin moons.

Beneath my armor was a reddish pink skin, and a trimmed, military cut blond hair hidden behind a helmet. Not that any of the indigenous life forms could see this. My green eyes looked out of the large tinted visor, my head swiveling automatically as my body scanned for a place to set my boots down. There was a sickening squelch beneath my foot, though it didn’t lift up so I could investigate. My armor was dark green in most places, a glistening silver in area’s that had yet to be repainted. The flowing, angular design marred only by the occasional scratches to mark the primitive projectile weapons lobbed against me.

As the first squealing life form crawled out of a nearby building, a tiny stick in its fuzzy little paws, I almost wished they had something stronger. Something dangerous. Something that could blow clear through my visor and exit out the back of my head.

Strange to think of myself as suicidal.

The creature had a soft, luxurious coat of grey fur underneath it’s simple brown cloth. It stood at a height of three, maybe four inches tall, average for the Gesshru race. It’s hands were lanky and thin, the fur jutting out in all directions like it had not taken the time to groom itself before stepping out to confront me. It’s tail was thick at the base, thin near the center, and ended in a large ball of fluff almost the size of the creature’s head. It’s nose was a cute pink color, almost a perfect triangle, and it’s eyes were large and expressive ovals. I could see the beginnings of tears in the corner on its tiny little face. I could see the fear. The desperation.

It was male, clearly, as indicated by the extra fur near the base of its tail and the second pair of ears that swiveled and flared from the top of its head. The first pair of ears resembling some cross between a mouse and a bunny, the second pair looking more like horns of bone with a flap of skin between the tip and the base. The horn-ears would move and bend independently, and I knew from previous attempts at study that the males used them much like antenna.

When he opened his mouse shaped muzzle, there were two sets of comically sized buck teeth on his upper and lower lip, giving him …

It …

Giving /IT/ the distinct appearance of a mouse.

It’s loud squeak didn’t help to deter that connection, the Gesshru language consisting mostly of half audible squeaks mixed with tongue clicks and teeth clacking. The small indigenous life form seemed so cute to me. I’d have given anything just for the chance to hold the creature in my hands and make an attempt at dialogue.

Not that it would work. I could hear it’s language. Me and my team managed to decipher it within a week of first contact, the creature’s vocalizations being simple and straightforward when compared to Terra’s thousands upon thousands of competing linguistic styles. I could hear this Gesshru’s shouts and pleas with uncomfortable ease, even through the protection of my armored helmet. Not quite as airtight as human designs.

But the creature’s ears did not possess the same range that a human’s did. My voice, even if I knew to be quiet, even if I practiced hard and worked to produce similar sounds to their own language, it would be at too low a pitch for them to make out. I’ve heard how they describe the speech of a human. Thundering howls that rock the landscape. A unsettling, steady boom that seems to crash through the air and rattles the very bones. I tried many times to speak with these creatures.

My team tried many times to speak with these creatures.

I fought back tears as memories shifted over that horrible mistake.

“W-we are loyal to the Gashn empire, soldier. We are on y-your side! Please. P-please don’t do this. We … w-we missed one payment, but we’ll have the tribute ready within the week! I swear it!” the creature squeaked, the translation coming instantly in my head. I’ve seen this type of situation before. What he said wouldn’t make any difference. There was no such thing as mercy on a world like this. I wished I didn’t understand what he … /it/ was saying. I wish I could just tune them out, ignore their pleas as I went about my work. To remember that these people have hearts and lives, families and hardships, to be reminded that they aren’t just some curiosity to classify or a statistic marked by a number.

That they had hopes and dreams on par with my own. Aspirations to strive toward, and friends to protect. It was simply too much for my heart to bear. But I’d already learned the language. To not understand while listening was as impossible as not reading a word right in front of your eyes. Despite my best attempts at distancing myself from this Gesshru, he was already earning a piece of sympathy from my battered soul.

My foot lifted high above the streets. The dark skies, bright to my sharp, human eyes, did nothing to deter my aim as the boot stamped down. Another splotch. Another squish. The crunch and grind of bones between plastic and dirt. Whoever that man was, brave enough to stand before the human sent to demolish his city, now nothing more than a ruined corpse littering the sidewalk.

I stepped forward. The weight pressed down further into the poor creature, squeezing his organs out the sides of his skin like toothpaste coming out of a tube. My left arm lifted up, my fingers curling into a fist, before slamming down hard onto the roof of a spiral tower. The Gesshru equivalent of a skyscraper. It crumpled in on itself easily, but did not fall. Quartz crystals and debris flew onto the road bellow, clinking noisily onto my armor exterior.

That’s when the screaming started.

A piercing wail, this high pitched, squeak-like squeal that flowed through the air as the little rodents started to panic. An alarm signal. An obvious sign of distress. It was clear the point of this sound was to warn other members of the species of the impending danger, or, if applicable, a cry for help should any of the Gesshru be in a position to lend aid.

No matter how much I detached myself with a cold, scientific rhetoric, I still couldn’t hear it as anything less than the screams of terrified people.

My foot lifted back, awkwardly and mechanically, before swinging forward to deliver a strong kick at the base of the structure. It toppled to the side. The support struts failed. And with an awful clash, the creatures inside were crushed underneath the falling rubble.

The Gesshru caught on fast that the attack could not be stopped. Could not be deterred. There was no negotiation, there were no demands. Only destruction and death. Gesshru of all colors and shapes started to pour out of buildings as they realized even the sturdiest tower was a deathtrap. They took to the streets, taking shelter in alleyways or slipping down into the sewer systems. Many simply fled for the city’s edge, hoping to reach the rocky areas outside city limits while I was distracted in the center.

Without a thought, my hand lowered down to snatch a young boy off the street. His golden brown fur so soft and so pretty. His chest fluff poking through my gauntleted fingertips, his tail twitching madly in agitation. The boy’s eyes were dark, the pupil’s having expanded to fill the whole eye, something that some Gesshru do when terrified. I could see the tiny droplets of tears falling down his cute little cheeks. He was a handsome specimen, clearly healthy and agile.

“P-please … no.” he whispered, clacking his teeth together in an effort to fight off his fear. It’s something Gesshru do a lot when near humans. The closest equivalent gesture would be a nervous whistle.

My expression unreadable through the orange tinted visor, I held one of his arms in my right hand, and his other arm in my left. He screamed. I pulled. His body fell into the fleeing crowd with a wet thud, and the two furry little arms in my grip were tossed aside with a casual flick of the wrist. Before the first victim even had time to bleed out, I was raising my foot t stomp down on another Gesshru. And another. And another …

Another step, another death, the gruesome process repeating itself until I reached the next building on my list. I bent at the knees, my gait awkward and mechanical. My hands extended towards the base of the structure and my fingers closed around the supports in a tight, unyielding grip. My muscles flexed. I stood up. The building topped over in the opposite direction like a domino, crashing into the adjacent building and knocking that one down as well.

The angle was off to take down more than two towers, but the rubble splashing away managed to crush some of the smaller buildings completely.

My leg raised, and my boot proceeded to do the same. Avoiding the streets now, I leapt from rooftop to rooftop like this were some twisted game of hopscotch, crushing lives beneath my boots with every horrific crunch.

Hands reaching down into the fleeing crowd of rodents, scurrying about like some sentient carpeted floor, I swatted a pair into the side of a nearby building. Out cold, they weren’t even able to scream when I slammed my fist down on them. But that was okay. Lots of other people were screaming in their stead. I wished they would run faster, that they wouldn’t waste time shouting and crying but instead focused their attention on getting away. I wished more of these people would manage to escape.

Another step. More squealing rodents met their gruesome end beneath my boots. The blood and gore and bones alike staining the armor, making it look dark red, almost black, rather than it’s natural green.

I know Gesshru don’t see as clearly, and that they have poorer night vision, but I still wondered what I looked like to the adorable little faces down bellow. I was probably this dark mass of plastic and terror that they didn’t think too hard on lest my visage fill their dreams with unspeakable horrors.

My stomach growled, and I frowned behind my visor. My hands reached down to pluck a young woman, kicking and screaming, from the arms of her companions. I could tell this was female by the smooth head, the single set of more rounded ears, the more compact hips, and the extra bit of fluff poking out of her chest. A young teen with bright yellow eyes and a soft grey fur. She was a pretty little thing. Clearly an attractive specimen by Gesshru standards, clean and healthy like most females of this species tend to be.

I felt a plastic slide flip out, a hidden pocket on the side of my right thigh revealing itself. My hand automatically lowered the girl down into the opening and it snapped shut around her with an audible cling. Once inside, I knew that a tube providing her with air would clasp around her muzzle, while the rubbery walls would be compressed against her fur as the suit took a miniature vacuum to the inside of her cage. She’d be sealed tight in a thin, black rubbery casing. Not able to see or smell. Barely able to hear, though I was loud enough for them to feel the terror of my voice and footsteps.

And not able to move.

Not even the slightest twitch.

Another notch opened, and I felt a sick twist in my stomach when my arms moved down to pluck more Gesshru off the streets. One after another, six in total were sealed away in my suit, each with their own pocket hidden by a movable plastic slide. There were only two reasons to capture and store Gesshru this way. The first, and most pleasant, was for interrogation. The prisoners will usually die during the interrogation process, but that was always much nicer than the alternative reason.

I felt like puking as I thought about it, but of course none of my systems would allow such a compulsion to follow through.

The other reason was food. Oftentimes, live Gesshru, sealed away in airtight snack packs, was all I would be allowed to eat. I’ve gone days sometimes, given a captured Gesshru and a bowl of water, with no further provisions until I had swallowed down the first set of terrified victims. They tickled the throat on the way down, but tasted okay even if unwashed and uncooked. Live, they tended to make me feel sick and squirm too much for me to swallow. Dead, they reminded me of chicken wings, but crunchier.

But of course it never takes much to take a live specimen and turn it into a dead one.

I’m human. I’m built for endurance, and I can last without eating for a lengthy period of time. The Gesshru are not. I’m proud to say that many of the latest ‘meals’ have died of starvation, with my trying desperately to comfort them, long before I gave in and decided to eat the corpse. But sometimes you’d find one who felt starving to death was crueler. That it would prefer I simply kill it, quickly, and end the creature’s suffering. I always hated being obliged to go through with that. Especially when they went mad and starting talking directly to me. Shouting at me. Pleading at me. Cursing how my presence has ruined everything they hold dear.

There was no reason to interrogate the people from this particular city. No reason to suspect they knew anything, or that they even had something to hide. While my hands reached down to snatch three Gesshru at once, haphazardly tossing them over my shoulder to die where they landed, I shuddered at what I’d be forced to eat when I got back to base. Who I’d be forced to eat.

And of course they’ll talk once I take the wrapper off. And of course I’ll listen to them, and remember their names.

There are times I truly hate …

Another stomp, and a small trade outlet was crushed along with all of its supplies. A careful step, a hop and a kick, and an empty place of learning was scattered across the streets. Tiny shelves and little books littering the rooftops and alleyways. My hand reared back, then shot forward into a tower with an audible crunch, the fragile mudwork building cracking apart. My fingers gripped the inside, hooking around the wall, then pulled back with a savage efficiency.

Inside, I saw an adult female Gesshru, her silvery fur matching the white cloth across her arms and hips in a display of stunning beauty. Her mouth agape, she kept her arms wrapped tight around a young, male child. My heart leapt at the sight of the terrified toddler, barely an inch tall and clasping a stuffed toy close to its chest. They had the same facial structure. The same jaw-line. The same nose. I figured it safe to assume that this was a mother trying to protect her son.

She stared directly into my visor, her face twisted in fear though her posture betrayed an admirable bravery. Her teeth clattered and a series of squeaks competed against the grind and clamor of falling debris and fleeing Gesshru. I wish I hadn’t understood what those squeaks meant.

“Y-you’re going to k-kill me … aren’t you.”

It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation. The words, though not technically directed at me, stabbed through my heart like knife. And then she decided to twist.

“P-please. Do whatever y-you want with me, but spare my son. Please … please, just spare my son.” She gasped, choking out the words whilst the child, too young to be without it’s mother, began to cry. He stared directly at the cold, expressionless visor I portrayed to these people. The woman hurriedly hushed her son, whispering that everything was going to be alright. Whispering into his ear that he needed to stop crying. Everything was going to be alright.

I didn’t want to do this.

My right hand reached further into the building, my fingers clumsily curling around the mother and son alike with an awkward grip.

I didn’t want to do this …

My fingers began to tighten.

The mother hushed her son, curling her tail around the both of them even as my gauntleted fingers began to exert a bone-crushing pressure.

I didn’t …

Both sets eyes wide and dark with a single color as pupils expand. Complete terror visible in their expressions. The child knew something was wrong, and the mother was trying to keep him calm until the end even through her own panic.

I won’t …

I was NOT going to do this.

Gritting my teeth against an overwhelming pain in the top of my spine, I locked my fingers stiff. I fought against the muscles that kept trying to tighten, slowly opening my fingers to let the two Gesshru drop that few millimeters to the floor of their high rise. My hand twitched and jerked, like a robot with hydraulic systems and a faulty battery.

I wasn’t going to do this. I was resolute. I was certain.

Having won that slight battle against my hand, I slammed a hard order on my legs, desperately trying to back away from the two rodents before my focus failed me. Before the pain overwhelmed me. I needed to …

I had to …

My hand shot out to grab them again, but this time my other hand accompanied it. I struggled and twitched. I fought to keep my two hands apart with a feverish will. I lost miserably, and the two metal gauntlets smashed into the whimpering Gesshru with just enough force to cripple them. While the mother and child were screaming and sobbing, my hands would twist and grind, mashing their bloodied corpses together into a flatted slurry of fur and bone and gore. The awful snapping of their limbs, that slick pop as their skulls exploded in my palm …

There were tears welling up behind my eyes. But all anyone would have seen was the cold, emotionless visor as my hands lifted into the air, balled into a fist without even the decency to wipe the corpses off, and then slammed down into the building with all of my weight.

Defeated. Jaded. Wishing with every fiber of my being that I’d never come to this planet. Never bothered to make contact with this race of fascinating rodent creatures. The rampage continued …

The screams echoed into the air. The dead numbered into hundreds as my hands reached into hiding places and tore apart Gesshru after Gesshru. Always personal.

Always one Gesshru at a time, while others were around to watch.

It was a long, awful, terror filled night for everyone.


My body stomped lazily into the hanger of the nearest Gashn base. Little rodents scampered fearfully into the hidden walkways, occasionally opening up sealed doorways to permit me further into the building. My movement stopped on a large circular pad. A vehicle pad. How fitting.

Robotic arms extended from the nearby walls, gripping the parts of my armor with a startling precision and slowly pealing them away. I saw other humans stomping awkwardly into the hanger bay as well, some being fitted for combat, others being treated for injuries, and still others like myself having their clothing removed.

Every face was hidden by a tinted visor, the same as myself.

The gauntlets were taken off, as was the shoulder and chest plates. The knee-caps, and armor around my hips, all of it piled neatly to the side. There were no latches for easy handholds and this armor wasn’t designed to be removed anywhere but here, the mechanical arms snatching up sections while screws and socket wrenches remove the attachments. An awkward looking tube extended towards the center of my thighs, just barely above the crotch, and a sharp suction pulled out the sealed up snacks I’d acquired earlier so that the thigh armor could be removed safely.

They weren’t even able to scream as the black bags were shoveled into a nearby sack, piled on top of each other ungracefully. But I knew they were still alive, and still very much afraid.

My bare skin available for all of the other humans to see, and for the actual soldiers to gape upon, the only thing I could be thankful for was the tube top bra and the tight shorts. I could be thankful I had them. I could be thankful most of the other humans had matching outfits beneath their armor, and were allowed to don them when not on an active mission. But I could not feel thankful for how uncomfortable the fit was.

My helmet wasn’t removed, keeping my face hidden just as completely as the faces of all my comrades. All my teammates. The friends and co-workers I’d signed up for this exploration task with, most of whom I’ll never get to speak with again.

My legs moved, the balance off now that my center of weight had shifted, and I stumbled forward into the hallway. I counted the doors, three down and to the right, until we’d reached my pen.

Somewhere down at foot level I heard the telltale beep of someone pressing a button, but try as I might I could not get my eyes to scan downward. The door to my living area opened, revealing a ten by ten room with matted cloth in one corner, a half empty bowl of water in another, and a crude bucket with a sealable cap for defecating into.

You have no idea how grateful I was when they finally decided to give us the cap.

My knees bent, much too quickly for my taste, and the kneecaps slammed into the hard floor with a jolting pain. I winced, but was unable to do anything about it. My hips bent forward until my chest was pressed into the cold, unyielding floor. My right hand extended in front of my face, then twisted to the side so that my hand was perpendicular with my shoulder. I knew what this was for. This was to provide a ramp.

Once my body was in place, low to the ground and easy to climb off of, I felt a sharp tingle flow through my bones and all of my muscles suddenly locking into place. I was stiff.

Paralyzed. I could not even move my lips, and my eyelids seemed heavy and slow.

A hissing noise emanated from the back of my helmet, followed by a hard click as the panel slid back. Two warm, fuzzy sticks could be felt poking into my shoulder blades, but they soon alternated, one after the other, as the creature walked down the length of my arm.

Tasgall Flits. A name spoken in a half audible squeak, but a name I remember well. Easy for me to pronounce even if my voice was too low for the smug bastard to understand. The uniformed Gesshru walked casually down the length of my arm, his tail swaying in amusement. Once he was at my finger-tips, the tiny Gesshru delivered a harsh kick into my fingernails. It didn’t hurt half as much as I’m sure he wanted it to.

“Hey Sqaopi, I’ve got to talk to you about the neural dampeners for this Max unit.” The creature squeaked. Though his expression betrayed amusement, the male Gesshru sounded angry. Annoyed. He spoke to a white furred Gesshru in a lab coat, no doubt the one who opened the door to my pen. Neither paid any attention to me.

“More? I still can’t fathom why you’d need any.” Sqaopi answered with a nervous, confused chittering.

“The beast is just getting so hard to control these days. I swear, crippled by chemicals that would have numbed most other Maxes into drooling couch cushions and this one still manages to resist.”

These two might qualify as my owners, in human terms, but they did not call themselves that. Tasgal might qualify as my trainer if one used human terms, but he did not call himself one.

“I’d say you need to work on your piloting skills good sir. Most of the other pilots can keep control of the Max without use of any dampeners. Yet somehow you need twice as much as the most extreme case? You do realize you’re the only Max pilot in the whole district who needs a depressant Numberjack AND a neural shock stim just to keep your bioweapon in line.”

“Yeah, well … that’s not enough either. I’m thinking we can double the dosage of those meds, maybe see about a partial lobotomy.” Tasgall shrugged, unashamed, as he and the other little Gesshru walked towards the open doorway with the pitter patter of tiny little feet.

“What could have possibly possess you to request such extreme measures? We only have so many Maxes available to us, if this one dies then that’s one less Max for the empire to deploy.”

“Ugh … well, I was out in the low wastes, clearing out a small town of eastern scum that failed to meet their quota for the month. I had these two pieces of low caste trash right in my hands, when all of sudden ‘Maneater’ here decides to start fighting for control. I swear, she almost took off running even with me at the helm and a full shock to her motor controls.”

“Interesting.”

A metallic clatter sounded as the large door to my pen shut behind them. I could still hear them talking, though exactly what was hard to make out.

I still couldn’t move.

My helmet split in two, after a moment of silence in the empty room, then it began to twist and fold in on itself. My short blonde hair revealed to the oppressing emptiness, the helmet continued to fold and shift until it had become just a thick collar at the base of my neck. Enabling remote controls from anyone with the proper signal, and still able to convert back into a helmet the next time someone wanted to take me out for a mission.

Slowly, the numbing stiffness in my joints relented, and I relished the controlled, swift, organic movement in my arms for the first time in hours. Finally able to move of my own violation, finally able to take a deep breath of the stale, recycled air in my sleeping quarters, as opposed to the stale, rank and sweat laden air from inside my armor.

The first thing I did was stand up. The second thing I did, before Sqaopi and Tasgall could get too far away, was stomp over to the door and slam my fist into the metal. My knuckles bled. I didn’t care.

“You disgusting little monster.” I growled in English, knowing full well they would only hear grunts and deep, booming explosions no matter what language I used. “You can’t do this. I’ll fight! I will escape! As soon as you assholes let your guard down, I will fucking murder you! Do you hear me, monster?”

I pounded futilely against the door.

“Jeeze, looks like ‘Maneater’ is getting rowdy again.” Sqaopi squeaked.

“Pff- she’s always like that. I think I’ve been given the worst Max of the bunch, this one isn’t nearly as obedient as any of the others.”

“Hehe, yeah. I heard she got the nickname because of what happened to the last three pilots.”

“Only the last two.” I heard Tasgal mutter, not even slightly afraid of my pitiful shouting. “The first guy who rode her only lasted a week before she tore his head off. The next two were dumb enough to stick around during feeding time, and the beast mistook her pilot for one of the easterners.”

“That ISN’T what happened at all!” I screamed, throwing my shoulder against the door. Recounting how I’d acquired my nickname amongst these … people. “Open this door you asshole and I’ll fucking show you what happened!”

People was a term I applied loosely, for I doubted Tasgall and his ilk should truly qualify.

“Scary to think about.” Sqaopi stuttered fearfully. But his concern was shrugged off. So long as I still had the collar on and a solid door in my way, there was little I could do to them.

“Eh, you get used to it.” The bastard squeaked, walking away from my impotent raging. “I figure one of these days she’ll start to taste the difference between those of high caste, and those of low caste. Just keep feeding her an easterner or two each night and she’ll catch on eventually.”

I continued to slam into the door, struggling and fighting and bloodying my knuckles. It hurt, but in truth it felt good to just move. Move and flex. To feel like I’m actually fighting them, that I might break loose one of these days. One of these years …

Tears were streaming down my cheeks by the time I’d stopped, the sound of heavy breathing the only noise in my barren pen. The cage I was forced to return to after so much destruction. After being used as a weapon to bully and enslave an entire people. I wept for the families who looked directly into my eyes before meeting their end at my fingers, or my boot. I wept for myself, trapped in a horrible nightmare in which I played the monster. I wept for my friends, hidden in their own separate pens, mindslaves under the command of a vile empire just like myself.

I looked to my right, noting the two tubes that extended from the wall and hovered over my food bowl. One dispensed a mushy brown substance not entirely unlike kibble after it’s been soaking in milk for two long. The other plopped out a single rubber bag, the telltale bulges in the exact shape of a Gesshru. Once the food bowl was filled, the tubes retracted into the wall.

A muffled crying could be heard through the vacuum sealed wrapper.

I wept right along with him. Fully aware of how he’d react once I set him free to move about.

Fully aware how this awful, terror filled story would end for the both of us.
Last edited by arbon on Fri Mar 17, 2017 4:28 am, edited 5 times in total.
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Re: Gesshru (Arbon's attempt at Flash fiction)

Postby Duct Tape Fanatic » Thu Jun 27, 2013 11:34 pm

I liked this a lot, seeing a human used as the rampaging macro but still including micro furry characters as the victims. Pity you cut off there right at the end, seemed like there were possibilities. I totally understand how sometimes a short piece turns long, that's just how it goes sometimes.
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Re: Gesshru (Arbon's attempt at Flash fiction)

Postby Kusanagi » Thu Jun 27, 2013 11:58 pm

Quite excellent, and I must say the twist, though given a hint at the very start, was quite shocking. A dark story to be sure, indeed the reason I couldn't keep writing symbiosis, but that's certainly not a knock on its quality. :D
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Re: Gesshru (Arbon's attempt at Flash fiction)

Postby NeoVid » Fri Jun 28, 2013 1:16 am

Damn, that was unsettling on so many levels. The 'alien killing machine' crying about the victims while one of their own people controls the butchering...

Stands alone very well, while also forcing you to think about the setting... even though you don't want to think about what these people's lives are like.

It isn't serialized so i don't think it needs to be in the adult section, but it does have several aspects lending to physiological horror, so read at your own risk.


I'm sure you meant psychological horror. Physical horror would be something else entirely... though now you've got me wondering how you'd do at that.

Not wondering too hard, though, since I'd rather sleep at night.
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Re: Gesshru (Arbon's attempt at Flash fiction)

Postby TendoTwo » Fri Jun 28, 2013 3:38 am

I think I lost track of how many role-reversals there were here. The human being the "giant" is very very uncommon, although not completely unheard of, and then the twist of them being controlled by yet another of the tiny race. I suppose it also kinda goes to show how stereotyped some of the stories are when I was also surprised the main character was a woman.

Truth be told, it was clear with her reluctance from the start that she was being forced to do it for some reason, and then with all the mentions of mechanical/unnatural movement even before the scene with the infant it was getting easy to tell that "forced" was in the most literal sense possible. I just had no idea if others from that small race were doing it or yet another alien race (and whether that other race was tiny, human sized, or giant) until the end. (Although if they have tech to physically control "giants" from another race and outfit them in such complicated self-compacting armor, I wonder why they bother forcing said armor on a defiant alien species rather than just going the giant robot route.)

I also like how instead of just making them into a race of tiny random anthropomorphic animals (or just a single species of anthropomorphic animal) they were a completely made-up race, and had a unique name for the race rather than just being "furs".

It also seemed to imply they didn't think "maxes" were intelligent, or would be defiant against what is happening to them, which is kinda a stretch considering they already know they are a species capable of interplanetary travel, being that's how the humans originally wound up ON that planet.

On one hand I would say its rare to feel sympathy for a rampager, but when said rampager is literally being controlled and wished it would be killed rather than forced to go on its kinda hard to really blame her for it.

..... you're just going to make everything you write dark, depressing, and hopeless aren't you? :P
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Re: Gesshru (Arbon's attempt at Flash fiction)

Postby gadabout » Fri Jun 28, 2013 3:19 pm

Dark depressing and helpless indeed >:I

But boy, were my eyes glued to the screen when I was reading that, especially the last bit and Im glad you did provide some solace with what that lady did to the other pilots...

Anyway, awesome stuff :D

Do keep it up
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Re: Gesshru (Arbon's attempt at Flash fiction)

Postby El_Dustino » Fri Jun 28, 2013 5:00 pm

My my, this was a pretty dang dark story. X3 A bit dark for my tastes, though not enough to completely off put me thankfully, so, I will continue to read on and support you. :3 I am also very happy that I actually managed to inspire someone to do, well, anything. X3 I think this came out better that what I wrote either way, so really, job well done. :3 I look forward to reading more, if only because I want to see Freya have a nice ending. :3 ...And if that doesn't happen, then we might have words. X3

Also, it was pretty interesting seeing a human as the giant, at least here. :3 Actually, human females seem to make up the most of giants in my experience, so I am not sure what had you so surprised Tendo (Unless there is just like a giant amount (:3) of male giant stories I am just missing).

Anyways, thank you for sharing. :3
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Re: Gesshru (Arbon's attempt at Flash fiction)

Postby arbon » Mon Jul 01, 2013 3:02 am

I liked this a lot, seeing a human used as the rampaging macro but still including micro furry characters as the victims. Pity you cut off there right at the end, seemed like there were possibilities. I totally understand how sometimes a short piece turns long, that's just how it goes sometimes.


I’m glad everyone seems to like it. Sorry about the cut-off point, but I wanted to end it before I ran past the word count while at the same time leaving an opening for any future chapters. Don’t expect anything along the lines of regular updates, but I do like the idea of continuing this if only to play with the sort of social scenarios. Most might focus on translation errors and communication theory, as I’m rather adamant against having any of the aliens speak English. The very start sort of hints that Freya is something of a linguist … a specialty you want in spades when working with an international space station, or when meeting new life forms.

Quite excellent, and I must say the twist, though given a hint at the very start, was quite shocking. A dark story to be sure, indeed the reason I couldn't keep writing symbiosis, but that's certainly not a knock on its quality.


The entire time I’m reading Symbiosis, I just keep wanting things to go right. To get better. I want the terror of that world to crumble away and have the benevolent yet idiotic invaders struggle to grasp the true extent of what they’ve done. If you aren’t depressed enough to keep writing a horror story, you could try to continue it by making everything happy and feel-good all of a sudden. :D


Yeah … I’m not going to hold my breath. Anyway, thanks for the compliments! I’m glad someone was notably shocked by who I had pulling the strings.

I'm sure you meant psychological horror. Physical horror would be something else entirely... though now you've got me wondering how you'd do at that.

Not wondering too hard, though, since I'd rather sleep at night.


Gah! That’s supposed to be “Sexualized” and “psychological” not serialized and physiological. Those were both irritating typos (should be corrected now) and I find it odd that they both happened so close to each other. I’m going to blame auto-correct. Though, come to think of it, if I ever go into details about just how their mind control tech actually works I’m pretty sure you re-think which types of horror are involved here. I based the actual theory off of this: ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Experiment ... _Organisms ) which has been around since the 1940’s though never put to use.

For good reasons that we can all be thankful for.

And this: (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wnyi-5S16Xk ) which sort of showcases yet another one of those role-reversals that TendoTwo was talking about. Though … human’s aren’t nearly as horrifying about it as this video would imply. Rather than going forward with a tech that requires hooking up electrodes to the rat’s nervous system, scientists have developed a non-invasive version. I think that everyone who finds out about these experiments immediately pictures some deranged super-villain creating an army of mind-slaves might be influencing their decisions somewhat.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/ ... -mind.html

Because directing sound to stimulate neurons is a heck of a lot less creepy than stabbing a wire into the target’s brain. For the sake of making thing’s more horrible for Freya, the Gesshru won’t be discovering a non-invasive form of their tech (which humans have had for over 70 years in even real life) and they won’t be looking for a replacement either.

If you want someone really disturbing to think about, just consider the experimental phase as they were first setting up the humans for nerve implants. Even if the Gashn empire already had plenty of experience using that sort of tech on indigenous life forms, enemy soldiers, or even their own citizens, keep in mind that humans would have an alien brain structure. Can you imagine being tied down while an army of little rats in lab coats slice open your neck, stab copper wires into your spine, and then methodically send electrical currents into each and every nerve cluster to figure out which nerves control which muscles?

And they wouldn’t be nice enough to put you to sleep first …

Yeah, I probably didn’t make it clear in this chapter, but the only reason the helmet folds is because the empire scientists had to make sure the control interface couldn’t be removed. The ‘collar’ left behind when the helmet folds up is where the wires connect to her spinal column. To take it off means ripping her neck out. To leave it on means that the right electrical signal can control her body.

Bwahahaha!

You do have me curious as to what might come out of it if I specifically tried for physical horror. But I think it would fail either by being so over the top readers become desensitized, or so easy to see coming that it doesn’t hold any shock value. Enjoy your restful night’s sleep, because I’ll probably stick to my usual mind games.

I think I lost track of how many role-reversals there were here.



Yeah, and I think you missed a few. Or rather some of the role reversals aren’t very obvious in this chapter. The basic premise for the setting is the usual “advanced aliens land on a primitive planet” and the “evil” government filled with “evil” scientists are hell-bent on keeping any formal contact a complete secret from the public. The Gashn empire, essentially a satire of the government as seen in every single alien movie, demands that the human visitors meet in a secret location and submit to various tests. Listed reasons are given at the time, and the human scientists consider it a fair trade off seeing as they want to put Gesshru under the microscope just as badly. Naively, they don’t see a problem with doing as they were asked …

Aaaand you can see what experiments were done to them, and where they ended up.

There’s also the fact that, if you’ve ever played DnD or read the lore behind … ANY generic fantasy adventure, humans are almost always the shortest lived races but overly ambitious and skillful because of that. Humans generally advance the fastest, adapt the most easily, and accept change more readily than other races. In this story the idea was to swap that around, with humans living to their normal age while Gesshru have ridiculously short life-spans.

I’d also sort of like to say that they advance very quickly, and that this sort of armor and the whole facility would not have been possible before they reverse engineered tech stolen from the human’s landing craft. But it hasn’t been more than a few years since the humans were captured and already the people they’ve first made contact with have died of old age. Leaving the Gesshru who grew up knowing “Maxes” were mind controlled, vicious beasts as the only people running the place.

I’m on the fence as to whether the lifespan should be three years or six years. Either would work, but the tone sort of changes (becomes less awful) if the Gesshru can at least live to age six. I’m open for suggestions.

(Although if they have tech to physically control "giants" from another race and outfit them in such complicated self-compacting armor, I wonder why they bother forcing said armor on a defiant alien species rather than just going the giant robot route.)


I’d like to point out that only the helmet is supposed to fold up on its own accord, and every other piece is no more advanced than medieval plate-mail. Save the waist, which houses a variant of the “Vac-bed” tech: ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vacuum_bed ) for the sole purpose of being a dick to prisoners.

A simple answer as to why they don’t just build giant robots is that A: they’ve never thought of it. A lot of the tech their using in the debut chapter is less than three years old. I honestly can’t figure a way for this situation to have lasted longer than that without the humans forgetting about their past, a war with earth decimating the Gesshru homeworld, or the Gesshru themselves rebelling against the empire and eventually liberating the humans. Even if I never write about it, for those of you wanting a happy ending please note that the Gesshru populace will advance ‘animal rights’ and stop what they are currently doing somewhere within Freya’s lifetime.

Several generations will pass, and Freya will get to watch all of her torturers die of old age in the meantime, but it will happen even in the absolute worst case scenario. Any form of actual storyline would have to require her escape, so … expect that to happen if I continue this.

I also like how instead of just making them into a race of tiny random anthropomorphic animals (or just a single species of anthropomorphic animal) they were a completely made-up race, and had a unique name for the race rather than just being "furs".


Please do not expect me to continue that trend with everything I write. It is INCREADIBLY difficult to come up with names for things, and “Gesshru” is simply a misspelling of the German word for rodent. Or maybe it was Japanese. I forget …

It also seemed to imply they didn't think "maxes" were intelligent, or would be defiant against what is happening to them, which is kinda a stretch considering they already know they are a species capable of interplanetary travel, being that's how the humans originally wound up ON that planet.


There’s sort of a complex balance I have to make considering public opinion of “Maxes” and the reasons behind those opinions. Generally, people who’ve actually spent time with a human and pay attention will start to catch on quickly that they aren’t dangerous animals … but not very many people get the chance to do so, and not everyone who does is willing to pay attention. Consider Tasgall’s comments as representative of the bureaucracy that put these humans where they are in the first place, not a representation of the Gesshru race as a whole.

Also keep in mind, Tasgall was the person behind that rampage in the first scene, sealed tight in the back of Freya’s helmet and willfully forcing her to kill hundreds of screaming rodents. Tasgall looked a crying mother and her infant child right in the eye, heard her pleading to spare the son’s life, and responded by slapping them into paste without a second thought. Tasgal considers his Max’s refusal to do so a detriment. He outright referred to those people as “scum” and “trash” simply because they were born to a lower class.

Do you honestly believe that even if he was forced to confront Freya’s, frankly, superior intelligence, that he would actually care?

I’m sort of basing this refusal to see or accept Maxes as intelligent off of certain people in the 1920’s, who would deliberately train monkeys to use tools and appliances incorrectly, then point to their inability to behave human-like as evidence against their intelligence. As well as similar, more horrifying cases in which similar treatment was given to people with mental disorders. Believing people with Downs were violent and dangerous, despite the fact it was the exact opposite of truth. But … I can’t find any sources to back up that claim, so here’s a much broader article that focuses on the same basic principle.

http://www.motherjones.com/politics/201 ... ris-mooney

Evidence and facts don’t necessarily mean people won’t just ignore them. Especially not people like Tasgall here who willingly stomps on crying children.


On one hand I would say its rare to feel sympathy for a rampager


I’m glad I got you to sympathize with her.


..... you're just going to make everything you write dark, depressing, and hopeless aren't you?



Wha? I’ve only posted two stories so far. That’s not enough to notice a pattern *shifty eyes* but you do bring up a point. Perhaps I need to write a cutesy fluff scene where everything is happy and wonderful just to balance things out. I’ve already brainstormed a few ideas.

Im glad you did provide some solace with what that lady did to the other pilots...



Given how evil I’ve made Tasgall out to be, expect horrible things to happen to him as well. Quick question concerning reader preferences, which makes more sense from a dramatic standpoint if Freya ever gets her hands on him? Slowly dragging out the torture to make sure he suffers as much as possible, or just a quick snap/stomp/gulp to make sure he actually dies before any dues ex machina comes to rescue him. I sort of like the second idea because then it makes Freya look like someone who reads TV-tropes.

I look forward to reading more, if only because I want to see Freya have a nice ending. :3 ...And if that doesn't happen, then we might have words. X3


Would you laugh at me if I told you my mother said the same thing? She started reading yesterday, got to the part where Freya was unwillingly crushing the mother and little boy, and then just stood up and said “Your evil” before walking away. She refuses to read any further until I finish writing out a good ending, and she outright demands that Freya has a nice, happy, feel-good ending where everything goes right for her in the end, all of the bad guys stay dead, and no more innocent people die.

Haha, yeah, if this ever becomes a series and ever actually “ends” I will make sure it’s a nice one that closes things off for the characters. It’s set up so that even if Freya accomplishes absolutely nothing for the next nine years things will still turn out alright(ish) …

Awkward question concerning where to go from here though …

Freya has a tiny little Gesshru in her room that she wants to keep alive and somehow help him escape, yet given the amount of clothing she has her list of available hiding places are … limited. Would anyone complain if the next chapter HAS to go into the adult section for, uh … reasons?

Still brainstorming exactly what might happen. Again, don’t expect another chapter anytime soon, and please keep in mind that any and all suggestions or ideas will influence how I write.
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Re: Gesshru (Arbon's attempt at Flash fiction)

Postby Duct Tape Fanatic » Mon Jul 01, 2013 3:38 am

You know, Arbon, you could have easily written a chapter with the word count of that post you just made telling us about writing a chapter XD.

Also, I don't mind the next section being adult.
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Re: Gesshru (Arbon's attempt at Flash fiction)

Postby arbon » Mon Jul 01, 2013 3:45 am

You know, Arbon, you could have easily written a chapter with the word count of that post you just made telling us about writing a chapter XD.


Maybe ... but I'm still sort of brainstorming things. I always seem to get ideas whenever you people post discussions, and I'd rather get those ideas BEFORE I start mapping out a sequence of events as opposed to afterword. TendoTwo is especially good at providing thoughtful questions. Still writing further on Jack and Jill at the moment, consider this and other posts as my leisure break.
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