Another beginning.

Hey, as promised some more actual writing.
But first some humor:
You know your a writer when: You spend 15 minutes agonising over a work email because you've used the same word twice in the same paragraph. And I'm sure the recipient really appreciated it.

Here we have Atlantis Rising Chapter 1 (After the Storm) Part 1
This was a story I started working on back in collage, at the time it was a Star Trek fanfic which can be found here.
Since then I've been working it into it's own universe, the Trinadad Universe (slightly inspired by a dream I had once years ago).
Preface: Fire
Immortal. Everlasting. I have seen civilisations; entire species rise and fall in a heartbeat. I was there when your universe came into being;
I was there at the start, where it began, within the fires of creation, in that moment when the infinite nothingness of the before became now, a universe borne in fire, of fire, bourn to burn.
Species rise, expand, explore, and then, when the universe was less than half its current size, they went to war, a war that engulfed over a dozen galaxies and lasted millennium; generations, entire species rose and fell that knew nothing but The War. And from this came three powers, pitiless masters; the Atlantians, the Babylonians, and us, the watchers.
Eventually, inevitably, everything returned to the fire of its creation, and from the ashes the Galaxy was free to start anew.
Life began again. Species rose and ventured out into the vastness of space, and there they found the remnants of our destruction. Technology so advanced that it catapulted these new races farther, and faster than they anyone could have anticipated, father, and more quickly than they were meant to, blundering like children into the night.  Eventually they met, sometimes peaceably, but mostly not, small conflicts arose they were called “Wars” by the races involved, but measured against the War that had come before, the “Trinadad War” they were insignificant.
One race stands out above the others, their hunger for power, their almost visceral need for advancement, and expansion.
They called themselves humans, and they will be the end of everything!

ONE: After the Storm
New Brandenburg Colony
The world outside of Ricks visor was grey. There was nothing left alive out there anymore, just ghosts and broken shells.
Off to his right heavy marines kept pace with them, their outsized armour giving them the appearance of hunched golems prowling through the murk. That was what the marines called the powered armour, Golems.
On Rick’s other side his young co-pilot was in shock, his eyes too wide, his breathing too fast and shallow. Ricks breathing was steady and even, in time with the hiss-click of his respirator. He keyed open the com channel to his co-pilot.
“Easy there, Jones. First time, right?”
“First time seeing what they do to our colonies? Yeah.”
Rick could empathise. He remembered the first time he’d dropped onto a colony world wiped out by The Swarm. He’d been just out of flight school; young and fresh faced. For a time he’d just stood there trying to wrap his head around the sheer scale of the destruction, there was nothing but ash and rubble.
Jones didn’t need to hear that now. Rick was his superior, his mentor.
“I’ll get easier, kid.” He placed a gloved hand on the boy’s shoulder.
Jones stopped, turning to face Rick. “It shouldn’t.”
Rick had done this walk before nearly a dozen times. Each newbie had different reactions to the devastation. But he’d never heard that reaction before.
The pilots’ attention snapped forward. A sextopodal creature crawled from beneath a crumbling wall.
Rick flinched away from the cacophonous boom of the golem’s rifle as the armoured marine that opened fire.
Heavy rounds chewed up the remains around the alien as it scampered sideways unfurling four, insect-like wings. One of the rounds clipped the creature, the force of the impact spinning it around tearing the two of its limbs away in a wash of ichor.
The creature leapt vertically upward its wings blurring into motion, as more shots from the golems ripped through it.
It was over, just like that the marines shifted back to their patrol routes.
“Sir, Captain Rackington.”
Rick looked over to where Jones was inspecting the crumbling facade of an innocuously intact building.
“You got something?” Rick walked over slinging his compact rifle across his back.
“Maybe, sir, door jammed shut.” He demonstrated, rattling the handle.
Rick tried the door himself throwing his weight against it, but it only moved slightly.
“Feels like it’s blockaded,” Rick waved to the nearest golem. “Some help over here.”
The pilots backed up as the massive marine kicked them a hole the wall next to the door.
“All yours boys.” With that the massive marine went back to his patrol.
The pair clambered through the hole into a dark, dank room. Rick flicked on his shoulder lamp and panned it around the room. Clouds of flies scattered as the beam came to rest on the dead form of a young woman, the standard issue pistol still clutched in her hand.
Jones crouched down prying the pistol from her waxy fingers. Rick continued to pan the beam of his lamp around the small room.
“Whatever killed her did it quick. Mag’s still mostly full.” He flipped the weapon over to show Rick.
Rick looked from still forms of the two children slumped against the back wall, to the digital ammo counter, and back again. Three shots fired.

Now, I'm not totally happy with the last paragraph (and the whole thing is fairly rough at this pint), it feels like a bit of a cudgel. But I am keen to see where this story takes me.
See you on the far side!


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