Bastion - Chapter 3
Peeking around a corner, Amma held her shredder at port arms.
A short rifle, it was twice the length of a conventional handgun. Pulling back the bolt, she took a quick look inside the ejection port.
A long black needle rested there. Powered by magnetic propulsion, the anti-material spike was built to penetrate armor. Pushing through before fragmenting into an adversaries body.
Pressing a button on the side of the weapon, it’s magazine fell out. Popping cleanly into the palm of her hand. Moving it up and down, Amma checked it’s weight. Sixty rounds in all, the shredder packed a punch; one of four nasty weapons she’d found laying around within the carnage of the alleyway.
Placing it back into the side of the gun, it clicked. Sending a faint echo throughout the hallway.
The area was quiet, empty with the sound of air vents. Not even cobwebs disturbed the space. However, deep fractures lined the concrete walls. An ode to the decay of decades in stark isolation. As Amma wandered the halls, some lights worked while others didn’t. They held blue in certain places and pulsated white in others.
Whoever created this area, didn’t care for consistency. As some passages lead to dead ends, while others revealed sudden drops. Voids of gravity which fell into chasms of endless space.
After three days of wandering, Amma found a staircase. Adjusting the plasma blade on her back, she began to climb.
Each step sank into eternity as she proceeded up the series of concrete footholds. Reaching a fork, she hesitated for a moment. Looking left, she then looked right. Unsure of which way to go. Eyes moving to the left a fifth time, she took that route and continued to climb.
Peering up through flickering lights, the hall began to widen. Opening up, a cylindrical space came into view. A gray unimpressive ceiling sat bored at an angle, while a series of blank screens held the walls.
Each one linked to a camera. All of which displayed Amma from a different position on every monitor. Moving her arm, she watched as a screen to her right repeated the movement in real time.
The room itself was a dead end, yet another shell created within the Dyson spheres endless shelf of time.
“Dead end.” She muttered, adding the space to her self generating map.
Turning around, she headed back down the stairs and back into the hallways.
Hello! We’re D.J. Hoskins
We are Davena and Jason Hoskins, co-authors of 30+ books and siblings who write under the pseudonym D.J. Hoskins. Three years apart and in our twenties, we have been fascinated by stories from a young age. Davena is a student attending Princeton University, and Jason attends Georgetown University.
