9 December 2012
I saw the ship I had jumped off fall away as I fell. The jetpack attached to my light metal amour caused a sharp acceleration sideways from the ship. The ship fades away quickly to the blue spec of its four massive engines; I turned my back on it as I prepared for re-entry. The HUD, heads up display, is showing my distance to the moon, ever more rapidly decreasing now I have dropped out of orbit.
The silence of the vacuum, the blue haze around the solid green and blue moon. This is why I drop from orbit, so peaceful, the calm before the storm. I entered the atmosphere headfirst a red haze of plasma and the warning of my shields failing shatters the beautiful tranquility. The only warning unto the culmination of this fall through the red haze is the set of stationary, slow, and fast changing numbers.
An enormous deceleration kicks upwards on my back. I am on the ground in seconds and a cloud of smoke. Blink of an eye later I had killed the guard stationed there with the plasma knife I had made my self so many life times ago. The blood stains my graceful, angular amour for a couple of second; not even light stains my existence now. The second guard turned to see why his friend had not answered him, to find himself with a knife in his neck and his blood fleeing the blue glow of my knife into the dense clouds below.
I vaulted over the balcony. The heat shimmers around the massive gun I wield in my other hand becomes defined. The vivid blue plasma rods running the length of the gun these make up the barrel, its iridescent with energy that will be the armatures', latter the impedances' heads. My jetpack pushes forwards through the window whilst I shoot his body guards, red confetti to pronounce the culmination of such trivial lives. My shoulder hammers back, a flash of blue absorbs the bullet from my target's railgun. I smash him into the wall at the whim of a thought. His breathing is a whisper. I activates shields around the room using their power supply. Locked out guards start shooting at the shields in aid of entry. I am still working when the atmosphere is exhaled from the moon. Along with his last breath.
I whisper,
"Linques anima, quiēsces sēmpiternus."
Returning to the console, I opened the big doors to their prize. There is a column in the middle of a cavern hundreds of meters in width. An abyss is below, a black void. I glide over the abyss to the dull silver platform. The column's shield drops and it opens at my presence, out of which spewed white vapour with the behaviour of liquid, uncovering the object.
I took the synthetic element out its superconducting metal holder. A perfect black sphere. I made this. No one else could, it requires an author, not a storyteller.
Blacknova: Prologue • Opuss № I