Listen to Erathoniel ranting on and on in good ol' conservative Christian fashion.
Published on July 18, 2008 By erathoniel In Fiction Writing

     Does the dream make the future, or the future make the dream?

     16-782 sat up in bed. He was tired of this. Tired of living by a number. Tired of living for the science. Tired of Ganymedes. The knowledge of everything past to gain the knowledge of the future. That was Project Ganymedes. To steal the future from the Gods. What good did it do? 16 didn't know. He wanted one thing. Out. To leave the project behind, leave the scientists, leave the pain, leave the frustration.

      He saw the Oracles, how they were broken. Fear of their dreams, fear of shaping the future. How could anyone accept the responsibility of shaping the future. See too much bad, doom everyone, be destroyed. How was that a life anyone would choose? He would leave it behind. Give the scientists what they deserved, flee, leave. Live in peace. That way he would not be destroyed for his fathers' sins, like others had been. He would break the system.

       Part of the Ganymedes program warranted breaking the subject. 16 was an anomaly. He was dismissed as more bloodthirsty, but the flooding of war and destruction did not seem to faze him, even as a child. He was never broken, but he still was able to Oracle, so this was dismissed. In fact, that was the only unordinary thing about him. He was monitored only by two guards, but that is far too few for an Oracle. Fortunately for 16, he was still in training, so he didn't have a full entourage. This was his only hope, that there were too few guards to stop him. He was right.

       A drawback to Ganymedes is that in addition to making an Oracle unstable (theorized to be the result of the implanted memories being total fakes at times, or taken from subjects with different physiological structures), they also gave them more knowledge than any single individual. This applied to most anything, and Oracles are capable of taking down, on record, twenty trained guards. 16 wasn't an Oracle, but he figured he had as much a chance as anyone.

       16 ran towards the guards. Surprise came over their faces, and he did a running flip towards them. His foot came down on top of the head of one of the guards as he sent his fist towards the other's face. He checked their unconscious forms for weapons. He took the body armor they were wearing and a SMG and an assault rifle, with plenty of ammuntion. He took a longblade (a sword worn from the wrist) too, just in case he ran out of ammo. He didn't plan to.

        He ran to his car. It was an older model, but maintained with love and a lot of cash. The after-market modifications didn't help his pursuers any, either, though it was a matter of time until they found the killswitch for it. Then he'd have to walk. Or get another vehicle. Neither would be hard for him, he knew the city like the back of his hand. Assuming they hadn't changed anything. But he, at least, could remember any changes made before his lifetime or that he was told about.

        The Atlantean Guard was as quick as he was. No doubt they had an Oracle helping them. He was being chased by several slower cars, and one just a bit faster than his. A captain. He ran the captain off the road, losing some of his paint, and his inhibitions. He hit the throttle, and turned on his jets. He roared down the road at the speed of sound. He relied on his reflexes and his knowledge of the road, then, after about twenty seconds, he began to decelerate to nothing. At about sixty UPM, he jumped out. He saw a truck out of the corner of his eye. He swung through the window, kicked the driver out, and took the seat, contemplating the virtues of mandatory seat belts. They'd probably pass ordinance for it now.

         The Guard had witnessed his killing, and they began to use their weapons. They verified the contents of the truck, and opened fire. The rear of the truck ignited in flames as round after round hit its cargo. The fire began shredding through the truck. 16 jumped from the truck onto the front of another car. It flipped, the ultralight chassis incapable of supporting his weight. He held on for a half a second, then launched himself at a Guard cruiser.

         Guard Cruisers utilize a reinforced chassis that allows them to take a beating, and 16's weight did not cause the cruiser to flip. He smashed through the window with the front bumper of the car he had been on, and slid into the car's cabin. He kicked one guard in the head, spun, and pushed the driver out the door. He assumed the driver's position. The Guard would not be so quick to sacrifice one of their own. He took out the assault rifle from under his armor. He pulled back the safety, and fired it at the Guard car that pulled up to him and told him to surrender.

         Fifty burning rounds later, 16 regained control of the vehicle, and pushed down on the pedal. The road ended up ahead, and he wanted to get as far as he could. He was limited by the lack of a windshield and protective gear, but he made it to the end of the straightaway. He jumped.

         After he jumped onto the side of the road, he began rolling. He got up, bruised and cut, and ran through a maintenence access door. It was rusty, and it was unlikely it had been used in years. He knew where he was going. He had given up on escape, and settled on destruction as he headed towards the reactor core. He put away the assault rifle and drew the submachine gun, running through the twisted shafts meant for robotic access. He leapt into the sea of light that was the main reactor house.

        He shot as he fell, leaving bullets in the reactor's core. It was enough to destabilize the open-air fusion reaction. The core started burning through its shielding, and into the city of Atlantis itself. 16 fell, whispering a silent prayer. The noise and light from the reactor took away his senses, and as he fell, he wondered if he was dead. He was awakened by a cold rush of water. He swam up, not wanting to die, and saw the end of Atlantis.


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