Under the canopy of alien foliage, the team had woven themselves into the rhythms of the forest over the few days. Their new routine, born out of necessity and caution, had become a delicate dance of survival.
The forest, still alive with the sounds of unrecognizable wildlife, wafted with an earthy aroma tinged with a strange, sweet scent, alien yet oddly comforting. The ground underfoot felt stiff but unexpectedly spongy, and the leaves they brush past are silky smooth, unlike anything on Earth, enhancing the alienness of the world around them. Leaves, large enough to serve as shelters, rustled gently in the alien breeze.
In their quest for food, the team had devised a meticulous method for foraging after realizing the risky path they took before, was risky for a reason. Eating and drinking with out a care was just madness, but their time spent sitting before the campfire burnt away any piece of the escapism of responsibility through death. There was no need to test and waste their luck unnecessarily on the risky path when better options were still available.
Each leaf, root, or berry encountered a rigorous test. It began with a gentle rub against the skin, a tense wait for any signs of reaction. Then, a cautious touch to the tongue, hoping the alien flora was not dangerous. The forest offered no guarantees, and their respect for its hidden dangers grew with each passing day.
Timmon, whose curiosity seemed as vast as the forest itself, had taken to excavating peculiar, bowling ball-sized holes where they hunted. He collected rock samples with an archaeologist's precision, his fingers tracing over the strange textures of the alien stones, etching symbols onto their surfaces with another, harder stone in the firelight. His actions, shrouded in mystery, often drew sidelong glances from the others.
Timmon: I don't get it. How do the plants manage to thrive in this challenging low-light environment beneath the canopy? Where is the water? The forest is healthy and green. The soil is rich, but there is no sign of water. I haven't seen any porous rocks or bugs besides the tree ants, and I haven't seen any animals that we can track to a water source, but the Basalt, quartzite and mica are plentiful in the soil around here.
Mr Major who was around gathering more materials for the fire, started explaining his choice for their campsite this time around to anyone willing to listen as he talked a loud. It was a clearing shielded by thickets, with a view to spot potentially approaching threats. Around the clearing was a path that seem to be used by animals of all sizes based on the clues gathered. But there was something nagging at Mr majors mind when he was explaining his reasoning. Why would the animals avoid a straight path through the opening? The more he thought about it the more his pessimistic thoughts dominated. What if this was a trap. Earth had animals that laid in wait, sometimes underground even. The animal behaviour should be enough for us to avoid this place but there’s no sign indicating that something was wrong with the space. If it was a hunting ground there would be signs, bones, carnage, something!
His dedication to maintaining their fire, the beacon of safety and comfort - was unwavering. His hands deftly weaving vines into traps and other useful tools and weapons.
The crackling of the fire seemed to be the only familiar sound, a reminder of Earthly nights under the stars. But here, under the canopy of an alien forest, it served as a stark reminder of their isolation.
Ben's inner turmoil, ever-present like a shadow, surfaced again as the team settled for a break. His voice, tinged with nostalgia and bewilderment, broke the forest's murmur.
"I wish I still had my implant. That hit would have done me well right about now.” Ben mused aloud, his gaze lost in the fire's dance. "How did It, or they remove them without leaving a trace? And these abs," he continued, half-jokingly flexing muscles that seemed foreign to him, "Can we talk about it? These ain't mine, but I like them. They are more toned than I remembered them to be. Looking at you four, I know your shit ain't real. The God alien probably gave you guys the upgrade. Especially you Timmon, I heard you mention earlier something about that chiselled body of yours, so I can only bet that you were a real fatty back on Earth.
Mr Major: That's enough for now. Save some of the talking for later. Something might be out here listening to us. Let's just rest and stay warm we need the energy when the darkness easies up.
Ben: Nah! Let me finish this talk. We got enough sleep. Did these aliens work out our bodies in a day? No, not a day. It has to be in mere seconds after transporting us to this planet. There's no way the gap of time is accurate. In order to have a body like this, probably 12 to 24 months might have passed between the kidnapping and now, right?
The group's reactions varied - some with amusement, others with contemplative silence. Mr Major, who was starting to get interested in the topic, replied to Ben, "Aliens? Who's saying aliens are behind this? I'm pretty sure everyone back at the settlement thinks this was a drugged kidnapping done by some rich elites. Well, everyone but those five scientist believed in those theories people were caught up in. But long story short we can't be sure who's behind this. But what's clear is that we've been thrust into a situation far beyond our normal understanding."
Ben: "Look, I don't have time to debate this! Look at me, I'm fine as fuck! And from the looks of you, guys. No disrespect but, the aliens must have only gotten around to fixing your bodies because you all are ugly as fuck, and I can't put that on your parents. There's just no way that in the year 00, you guys are that ugly. It's genetically impossible. I blame the aliens."
Timmon: 00, you say?
Scott: What the actual fuck, man? You can't just go around disrespecting people like that.
Ben: Did I not say no disrespect? You guys heard when I said that, right?
Scott: Stop talking when I'm talking. My body has always looked this fit. I'm built differently. Mr Major probably trained his body to be that fit, but the aliens didn't change me one bit, because I didn't need it, tubby, and if they went around fixing people's faces and bodies for the better, I can't imagine how shit your face must have looked, why they felt the need to fix it. They were bringing us to a planet for a new start that would probably be filled with uglier creatures than you and your mother.
The others chuckled as Ben continued his rant, ignoring Scott's disrespectful comeback.
"These aliens abducted us on New Year's morning! They couldn't even give us one day in the New Year to enjoy a full rotation around the star. Honestly, I wouldn't have been upset if they kidnapped me on a Thursday, but on a Wednesday of all days! That week was the only thing I looked forward to all year.
My wife and I had this incredibly romantic plan to celebrate our anniversary in New Toronto, reliving the magic of the subway where our paths first crossed.
Scott: Do we care? If we are going to talk, let's talk about a plan to find food and water. It's been hours since we actually ate the things we've found and tested. I don't know what the nutritious content or the long-term effects are, but talking burns energy, and food replaces it.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Ben: Just shut up and listen. If I die from low energy, just eat me. That is my contribution to the team's survival. Anyway, picture this - a candlelit date in the abandoned subway, where the echoes of our love story resonated in the empty tunnels. On the second day of our celebration, the two of us were to reunite with the other piece of our joyous trio, our darling husband. We were set to indulge in the pleasures of each other along with the implant strip, letting the intoxicating bliss wash over us as we fuck.
Mr Major, who was surprised but not surprised, called out to Ben, "Dude? You don’t have to stop talking for life. Just take a breather and rest up for now. All this sucking and fucking talk. Why not keep some of that private? Who raised you? That's too much information. You don't know us. Why are you telling us all of this?
Ben: Shit! You’re right. Why am I telling you all this? The truth is I'm scared, and I know I won't be making it out of this forest alive, Everybody but Tobi is more skilled and capable than I am, and the only thing immortal in this world is a memory, and I want you guys to remember me and my life and the love that I have for my partners, so if being a big old negative black dick is how I'll force each of you to remember me then that's who I will be till the end. And don’t you dear forget me. I swear for all the misfortune this world has to offer to be fall you all If you forget me.
The forest went quiet, the breeze fanning the flame before them as little embers glittered around them, and then Ben broke the silence again, saying, Reflecting upon those moments on Earth, I realize I should've embraced that euphoria all week. These perplexing extraterrestrial beings that took us have truly disrupted my plans. Why must I remain sober throughout this ordeal? What cruel fate took away my cherished neural net spike pack?
Timmon: What the fuck is a spike pack?
Ben: Are you even from Earth? What do you mean, what's a spike pack dude? You couldn't have been that poor. The spike pack was invented for poor people who struggle in life but failed to give up. The implant triggers the raphe nuclei with godly precision. It's merely a dance of dopamine, a trigger for our desires. Why, oh why, did they snatch away my only means of escape from the mundane world? I want to get so fucking high! These fucking aliens clearly suck shitty dicks. And I’m talking about the dicks that come fresh from anal penetration! Straight out of dogs asses!”
Mr Major: Watch your mouth, sir. I thought this alien was a God figure you Ben? As men, you guys are so immature, but if this is how you need to act to cope, I'll let it be, but damn. If this is your serious mode, I'm in trouble out here. Then again, this is better than worrying about one of you being in a dangerous delusion when we need you at the top of your game. A situation like that would be more taxing than taking care of Tobi, who is still covered in the residue.
After Ben's spirited rant, he pauses, gazing into the fire. "But really," he murmurs more to himself than anyone else at that moment. "What I wouldn't give for just one more day back home… I miss my partners yes, but I miss my family even more. My mother and father are getting older and they don’t have anyone else to look after them. They were the youngest of their siblings and they are the last of their family. I have no living aunties or uncles. No cousins, nieces or nephews. My wife can’t get pregnant. No one in my family has done anything to be remember throughout history. When my parents die I’ll be the only person that can keep my families memory alive after they are gone. ” This brief introspective moment peeled back a layer of his bravado, revealing a glimpse of his vulnerability, and even calms Scott, who was annoyed at him.
Stillness once again descended around the fire, its flames casting a warm glow in the heart of the forest. Around the flickering fire, several members of the team began to succumb to sleep one after the other. Timmon was curled up with a makeshift pillow crafted from his shoes and a few large leaves while Scott lay sprawled on the ground next to the fire, its warmth lulling him into a restful state. Ben was fast asleep, leaning up against a twisted tree whose bark had a warm texture. From his recollection the tree had a soft, but slow pulsing beat coming from within it, as if it was alive and dormant.
In stark contrast, Mr Major who was keeping watch, his hands dancing methodically, back and forth coaxing life into the fire and crafting with a focused intent. slings, nets, ropes, daggers, spears, stone hammers and axes. Mr Major was crafting away, making handles from braided vines and grass. Adding materials to make the crafted items more balanced.
In the fire's light, his shadows danced against the bizarre, twisted trees surrounding them, creating patterns that seemed to move with a life of their own. The eerie illumination touched upon the face of a lone figure sitting off in the corner, casting him in a spectral light.
Sitting a few feet away from the group, Tobi sat hunched, a solitary figure shrouded in his personal world of suffering. His barely audible groans disrupted the forest's eerie silence, but resonated oddly with the alien environment. The forest responded with thousands of mimicking clicks and chirps, creating a symphony that harmonized with his pain yet underscoring the nature of their surroundings. Each sound seemed to echo not just among them but throughout the fabric of this unfamiliar forest. NO. Throughout the world.
Tobi's body curled into itself and trembled intermittently as if in conflict with unseen forces. The vibrant energy that once characterized his movements was now replaced by the guarded, pained shifts of a man wrestling with his own body. His tracksuit, a reminder of more familiar life, was now marred with the stains of sweat, patches of dried, otherworldly slime, and the dirt of the alien forest floor – each mark a testament to the unseen battles he was enduring.
His eyes, once sharp and alert, held a glazed, distant quality. They reflected not just his physical pain but a soul caught in the throes of an internal storm. It was as if the alien toxin, introduced by the strange slime, was attacking more than his body – it was waging war on his very essence, his spirit. When Tobi's voice did break the heavy silence, it came out strained and fragile, tinged with a haunting undertone of despair.
The true torment of Tobi's condition lay not just in his physical suffering but in the isolation that engulfed him. His team, which he once considered leaving behind, had become the unwitting anchors in his personal hell. They stood on the periphery of his silent battle, the reluctant sentinels of his fragile existence.
Tobi was painfully aware of the anxious glances thrown his way, yet the energy to acknowledge their concern was beyond his reach. His mind was clouded with the realization that his life was hung by a mere thread, and he was locked in a struggle with a pride too stubborn to seek help. Amidst surreal discussions of implants and augmentations, his thoughts spiralled. Were the beings around him still his teammates, or had this alien world morphed them into something unrecognizable? His widened, fearful eyes searched their faces for any sign of the humanity he once knew.
Not long after Ben fell asleep, Timmon noticed the sounds of birds and insects in the breath of the wind and felt sorrow in their song. As he sat up to get a better listen, he noticed Tobi sitting just out of reach of the fire's warmth. Moved by a blend of concern and empathy, Timmon made an effort to bridge the gap they had placed between themselves and Tobi. But as he moved closer, the unspoken accord of the group materialized into a physical barrier. Before he could reach Tobi, Ben's hand clasped his left shoulder in a silent plea, Mr. Major's fingers closed firmly around his right elbow, and Scott's grasp anchored his ankle. Each touch conveyed a wordless message, heavy with implication – their collective fear that any interference might not only worsen Tobi's precarious state but also bring the unknown contagion to their midst. This silent understanding, borne from a mix of concern and self-preservation, formed an invisible yet palpable wall around Tobi, reinforcing his isolation amidst their shared vulnerability in this alien world.
This was not the first time Timmon's good intentions had been met with resistance from the team. Reluctantly, he understood the unvoiced message. Sometimes, the kindest act was to respect the boundaries of suffering. Tobi's journey, though painfully solitary, was his to traverse. And in that understanding, Timmon retreated, allowing Tobi the dignity of his silent struggle.
As Timmon resettled himself at the base of the tree, he began to slowly lose consciousness as sleep came for him. Suddenly, a strange and sudden phenomenon occurred. An eerie beam of light, like a ghostly finger, pierced the dense canopy above, first casting a soft glow upon his closed eyelids and then slowly enveloping his face in a ghastly, spectral light. This unexpected intrusion into the darkness startled Timmon awake, his eyes ripping open to catch a glimpse of the vanishing light. This left Timmon gasping for breath, his heart pounding in his chest. The suddenness of his awakening sent ripples of panic through the group. Instinctively, each member grabbed a stick, their primitive weapons poised in trembling hands as they prepared to face an unseen adversary lurking in the shadows.
The atmosphere was thick with fear and confusion. Timmon, wide-eyed and disoriented, struggled to comprehend what he had just experienced. His companions, their faces etched with a blend of fear and bewilderment, looked to him for an explanation. But words failed him in that moment as he looked up at the dark forest canopy; his mind was a maelstrom of terror and disbelief.
Attempting to dismiss the incident, Timmon muttered something about a strange dream, but his voice lacked conviction. The haunting image of the light lingered in his mind, refusing to be rationalized away as mere fantasy. A deep, unsettling suspicion took root among the group. The possibility that Timmon had witnessed something real – a threat or a harbinger of doom – clashed with the equally disturbing thought of his mind being twisted by the alien landscape into seeing phantoms.