The man awoke as the floor shook with an impact that knocked his body airborne. Arms and legs flailing in a panic, he landed roughly against the metal of the cargo-bay floor, disoriented and alarmed.
From what he could see, there was no clear source for the jarring awakening. Whatever had happened, it didn't seem to have much to do with him.
Alone in the cargo hold, he waited and listened for any further noise related to his unpleasant wake up call while he confirmed that not much had changed in his prospects of freedom.
He was still stuck, so far as he could tell. The elevators were pulled up and the rails were too far out of reach.
Distantly, he heard voices.
The alien language was still impossible to make much sense of, but in place of the normal songs, he could hear quick chirps of alarm. The crew, he reasoned, as they were most likely responding to whatever must have gone wrong.
Vaguely he recalled watching some crew members stop on the walkways above to bow and sing earlier. With mannerisms that had almost seemed as though they were appreciative of something. The human below them had been too exhausted to pay much attention beyond that and had paid it little mind, but now he had to wonder.
What was going on this time... Maybe this was just some routine thing that happened with alien ships?
His head throbbed as he tried to think through his situation. He needed to observe, observe and learn. Continue as he had been, stay focused.
So he did.
Despite the occasional noises in the distance, there were no crew members who came to visit, and his attention soon wandered to the rumbles of the ship beneath his his feet. Rattling through the floor, off somewhere in the distance there were loud sounds of clanging impacts, which reverberated in sharp tones.
He must have been out for longer than he'd thought, perhaps? It was plausible the ship was landing somewhere... maybe?
The man rose and began walk to the center of the bay as he tried to find a better spot for sound to reach him. Though he understood nothing in their speech, he had found he could interpret what he guessed were the emotions behind his strange host's language- at least to some degree. Considering he had very little to do recently but listen for it, he liked to imagine he was learning a little.
Craning his neck to catch any hint of sound while cupping his ear, he waited. His ears soon began to hear dissonant songs, and it was only a moment longer until he began to feel sick to his stomach.
He took back what he'd assumed about routine maintenance: something was definitely wrong.
The songs he could pick out seemed to emanate fear itself. In fact, if they weren't simple screams of terror, he wasn't sure what they were.
Directly under the balcony of the bridge now, he tried to and see further down the hallways, and felt frustration begin to build. No matter how he angled himself he could see nothing at all. In displeasure he leapt at the walkway's edge, and found himself surprisingly airborne. With a heavy impact he landed back on the ground, but realization had hit him, the metaphoric light bulb was lit.
That was new.
The gravity had been higher, earlier. Somehow, that had been adjusted.
He began to move.
With all the strength he could muster, his arms bulged as a crate from the far side of the room groaned in protest. Finding a space to shift it further, he threw his back and shoulder into it, as it slowly, inch by inch, moved towards where he needed. Kicking off the wall for leverage, he managed to wrest it into motion, continuing to shove as he pushed the heavy thing a bit farther, until it was finally into a reasonable position towards the center of the room.
Taking a moment to catch he breath, the man walked to the far back by where his make-shift bed was located, and prepared himself. Deep breaths of air rushed into his lungs, until suddenly, with a running start he launched himself at the crate, jumping and then kicking off as hard as he could.
Then: He flew.
For that was what it felt like, soaring though the air as if unchained by anything to restrict him-
Until, of course, he crashed against the edge of the walkway. His hands scrambled to find adequate grip, but soon after the man pulled himself up. He was free.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Standing upon the walkway vibrations shook his bare feet with steady rhythms of pounding to match the distant sounds, voices were singing in the distance, and their fear echoed towards him. It all felt wrong, very wrong. His feeling of success was tainted by an uneasy itch between his shoulders. An itch that urged him to act, and act now.
Panicked thoughts rushed through his mind, as soon enough, he was running in leaps and bounds, pushing himself off of walls as he came to them with sudden ricochets through the narrow halls. If something was wrong with the ship, chances were good the end result was going to have a very direct impact on him, and he had no intention of dying if he could do something to stop it.
Then, he rounded the corner, and his mind went blank.
A group of six limbed, wart covered frog creatures stood in his path, and they gurgled to one another in violent discussion. Beneath their three digit feet was a dead crew member, with a gaping hole in their chest. Blue gore and organs spilled out along the floor, soaking and dripping into the torn fabric of their suit.
In fact, as his eyes darted about, he could see that carnage was evident all along the hall. Everywhere, there were splatters of blood. On the walls, the floor, even along the ceiling, where glowing lights which cast strange shadows: flickered on and off.
Ruthlessly, the larger creatures were tugging at the dead crew member, oblivious to his presence. With their strange feet, They yanked and tugged, teeth clacking viciously, as if they were trying to rip it into pieces. One set their teeth in, ripping a patch of skin away as they gurgled in evident pleasure.
The man watched, and the itch between his shoulders grew worse.
Despite his dislike of his captors, none of them had deserved such a gruesome fate.
A suddent arguement erupted, as the creatures began a game of tug-a-war with the corpse, promptly ripping the head from it's torso. Pale blue bones caught the light, as further blood sprayed.
If there was any chance the crew member had still somehow been alive, it was gone now.
There was movement in that instant, though, as another crew member nearby began crawling desperately away from the creatures.
Perhaps, it had been playing dead. Or, perhaps it had just awoken- but it's left leg was leaving a trail of blue blood from a huge gash along it's side. With a a grim face and determined movement, the man watched as the wounded crew member began to crawl itself away from the predatory aliens. With their tail wavered in strange tension, which gave off the reminiscent impression of clenching a jaw in pain.
They were heading towards him, he realized.
Slowly, steady in their pace- but silent as a ghost, they moved carefully, eyes wide and pale as their arms pulled them further away from the carnage.
As they got closer, the lights flickered again, and the man saw that this crew member was of the feminine sort. Not quite as large as some, but similar to the caped individual he'd had that unfortunate encounter with before. Their uniform, though soaked in blue, still held had been white material, and as they crawled, further, they noticed him.
She noticed him.
Recognition clicked into place, mental gears turning and setting into alignment.
His nightly visitor.
With a renewed determination, her song of pain and terror reached his ears as she redoubled her effort to escape, crawling in his direction to leave a sharp angle in the trail of blood behind her.
Behind her, one of the warty creatures shouted, and shoved a smaller companion out of it's way with multiple limbs. Then, it drew a blade from it's back and began to brutally hack into the body of the dead crew member. As the others ripped off pieces, splatters of blood filled the air like rain. With a ferocity that was feral and disgusting, they feasted on the blue gore.
They weren't just eating. They were enjoying it.
He watched in horrified fascination, only breaking to look away as the wounded crew member stopped in front of him.
Having crawled the entire length of the hall until she reached the man's feet and her song broke into a simply cry. Whatever strength she'd been saving, gave out, as the alien clutched at his ankles in desperation, unable to pull herself farther from the beings behind her.
Slowly the human brought himself down to her level, and pulled her to lean against the wall of the hallway. Whatever resistance offered to this was minimal at best, unable to do more than grip at his arms. His eyes returned and stayed on the rabid intruders waiting for movement to turn from their feast. None seemed to come, and the man turned back to the survivor.
The alien seemed so small, so fragile. Close up her features reminded him of...someone. He didn't know who, but it bothered him. Bothered him in a way the normal headaches didn't.
In a way that was worse.
Whoever he was reminded of, he knew that they had been important, and the weak cries of pain seemed to bring up a rage which overshadowed anything he had ever remembered feeling before.
An anger that began to block out the aching in his skull.
He didn't know or understand any of what had begun here on this ship, but this creature had been the closest thing he had to a friend since arriving on, and that alone was worth protecting. He could sort the details out later.
Setting his pace forward, he soon found himself standing in plain view the larger creatures. Slowly he began to stretch his limbs in tight stances, methodically he felt his joints begin to pop; one after another. As he relished in that feeling, memory began to fill in the blanks. Not of true thoughts, but of familiar motions.
He began to flex and straighten into place, forming into a simple stance with a slow bobbing, back and forth on his feet.
His hearbeat quickened, as the tension in his arms readied.
These were things he had done many, many times before. Though he could not remember when, or why, he knew his legs would react, and his fists would land.
Recognition bubbled in his mind. Of course he had done this before.
Of course he had.
It was as basic and general a memory as one could ever imagine, but it was his, and it was real, and that gave him strength of a different kind. The soles of his feet seemed to glide now, as those lightly bounced movements from foot to foot took little more motion than the force of his toes.
He was as ready.
Ready to do what he knew unconsciously, but could not fully recognize. Though he still could not speak, his mind screamed as adrenaline rippled through in waves through his flesh, and he faced the creatures: prepared do what mankind had mastered for thousands upon thousands of years.
To wage war.