Monster - Part Six
DeepShadows
Join Date: 2003-02-11 Member: 13408Members, Constellation
Join Date: 2003-02-11 Member: 13408Members, Constellation
<div class="IPBDescription">The first writer "along for the ride."</div> <a href='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/index.php?act=ST&f=6&t=23045' target='_blank'>Part - 1</a>
<a href='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/index.php?act=ST&f=6&t=23747' target='_blank'>Part - 2</a>
<a href='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/index.php?act=ST&f=6&t=24688' target='_blank'>Part - 3</a>
<a href='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/index.php?act=ST&f=6&t=26224' target='_blank'>Part - 4</a>
<a href='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/index.php?act=ST&f=6&t=26412' target='_blank'>Part - 5</a>
Semi-Spoilers for these couple chapters here. If you want, read the story first, then read this:
Every time I think I'm to the upcoming event, I end up taking up too much space with the happenings right before hand. You will see the first sign of what is about to happen by the end of this part.
(Yawns) I'm tired... I've recently found an old copy of the original "system shock" it only ran once (heh), but I had it on the brain. You might notice if you've played it. If not, I stab your head and sacrifice your body to the great spleen. Did I mention I was tired?
Enjoy
ps:
"getting my head straight" is the journalist, in case there is any confusion.
<b>Getting my head straight</b>
This is a short chapter I?ve written mostly for myself. You are not entitled to read it. I attempted to edit it to make more sense, and failed miserably. So, trouble through it if you wish. It is not necessary.
I?m having trouble deciding what to write. I am frustrated. Each phrase comes through like a ton of bricks. I?m mentally constipated.
I have a feeling when this collection is published, it will not gain the same praise as some of my other works. At least, nothing worthy of the Neo-Pulitzer. Then again, that never mattered to me. I write for myself.
I feel what used to be in my heart was more innocent. Now, I find coming up with sentences and wording difficult, so much more than I can ever remember. I?ve tried to go over and edit my own writing, but each time I do I can barely understand it. Most of the time, I don?t even remember what I wrote. It is almost insensible... Ever since the incident, insensible. Maybe my basic grasp on reality has changed.
I will share something with you that is true amongst all poets and artists. It cannot be put into words, just as god cannot be put into words. It is something of the mind and soul; it is an alternate explanation, and an expansion based off of that explanation. The space that is filled where nothing was before, or is ours reshaped and reformed. An entirely different world, and in it is the only thing in which man has ever created: the idea.
It is really an amazing ability. Of course, it is also the most horrific of man?s abilities. Some come to an understanding of this, and expand on it in richness, and create tokens and expressions that pound out their world in the simplest of terms: art. Mine used to be clear like that. Now, it is jumbled again, lost in the darkness of... something else.
I?m saying too much, as usual. A puzzle always starts in pieces. I could very well erase this... I?ll consider it before the end.
The Kharaa...
The Kharaa almost feel like a materialization of this aspect of man. The species is a piece of art. I say that with only the smallest amount of admiration. To be true, I fear it, just as I fear the workings of any human mind. The idea of the Kharaa is insane. They should <i>not</i> exist?
They are wrong. Wrong is, at least, something dead. Here, though; here there is wrong as something living. Wrong as a being. Rape embodiment.
I realized this in a medical bed, some time after the incident. I curled into a ball in the corner. The being is a violation. I know now what it is to be a rape victim.
Yet, in time I will grow numb again. I don?t have a closure for this yet, I haven?t found it. What the hell am I talking about? I don?t remember. On with the story.
<b>Youkja</b>
My mind was crossed between images I?d seen of infested ships and my personal experience with BrainTech. The Youkja System was a potential hive, but I still expected to see white sanitation. Instead, I was reminded of a ship found crashed and overgrown with plant life.
The Youkja descended in the center of the room, connecting to the ground in a small control booth. It was something like a command chair, except it was entirely devoted to talking with the Youkja. The BrainTech seemed intact, but the room itself was anything but. Take a tropical jungle, give it the flew, and then coat a sophisticated lab in its organic vomit. Given a few months for fungus to develop, you?ll have a semi-replica of where we were. Of course, you'd have to throw in two turret factories, about 15 turrets, an armory and a phase gate. It was a pretty crowded room.
"Beautiful," I said, trying to sound as detached as Samsa seemed to be.
Mr. Samsa: "It always is."
The headspace at the base of the BrainTech was little to nothing. The small control station had a window running around it, only large enough to fit a hand through. When inside, a bullet-proof barrier would lower and the entrance would seal up. It was a very disturbing practice, but necessary to insure the privacy of the user with the System.
I crawled into the small booth and looked it over. The view screen, which would fill my eyes to the corners, was blank. The entire setup was blank. To my left, there was a pump switch marked "interface charge." I pushed it up. A small part of the screen lit with the word "charging" in a mellow blue. A percentage bar crept slowly underneath it.
Samsa paced outside the booth. I found my back feeling vulnerable, and his silence didn't help much.
"I've heard stories about AI driving people insane in deep space."
Mr. Samsa: "I wouldn't be surprised."
There was a sound of hopelessness in his voice. I turned my head. He sat down at a terminal, or what was left of one. He placed his feet up on the keyboard; something you never do in a corporate vessel.
"You alright?"
Mr. Samsa: "Not really. Our comm doesn't look like he can handle the stress. He's got shellshock already. You can hear it in his voice."
"Shellshock?"
Mr. Samsa: "It's something a lot of commanders get. They're in the CC for too long. Too many people asking for things... Too much stuff to keep an eye on..."
He paused for a moment. His tone was steady, but in the undertone you could sense his disturbance. I am still not sure, but I thought I heard him say "too many people screaming" silently, under his voice. I felt a coldness tingle at my back, but it never made its way into a shiver. I wondered what it must be like to have survived as many missions as he had. It seemed he was thinking about the same thing.
Mr. Samsa: "It gets worse with time, Jack. You'll notice it too, if you survive long enough. I don't mean that to scare you. You're with the best of the best here, but that doesn't really mean anything."
I heard his feet slip off the keyboard and clang against the floor. His chair rotated in my direction. His weapon was on his lap.
Mr. Samsa: "Do you know what the life expectancy is for one of us out here? Any guess? Two minutes. Two minutes in the field. You know how many missions I've physically been on? Five. I got most of my experience watching hostes."
"What do you mean by hoste?"
Mr. Samsa: "It's the person you watch before you phase. He's like your predecessor. You have a group of people on the drop ship who just watch that person through his headset feed. When he dies, one of us replaces him. He's hoste, we're the ghosts."
"That's interesting."
Mr. Samsa: "It's horrible. You sit around, waiting for your chance to die. The worst part's just watching, waiting for them to call out your name. In my last group, we all had to use the same nickname: Dead Meat. It was kind of a sick joke. We'd go through our people so fast, there was no time to learn names. Each group had the same name so that the commander wouldn't get confused."
"That's horrible."
Mr. Samsa: "That's what I said. It's ok here, though. Our teams get their own names. We're supposed to live longer."
The task bar reached 100 percent. Lights faded on above and bellow me in the booth. An Interface button appeared on the screen.
?It?s ready. I'm going to need to be closed off to run it."
Mr. Samsa: "Have fun."
<i>Yeah right</i>, I thought to myself. I hoped the AI was functioning correctly. The technology is as frail as a human brain. Damaging parts would impair function completely, while damaging others would alter the performance. The Youkja appeared well-armored, but the room's condition harbored my doubt. Also, I wasn't sure how long it had been since the last reboot. If you kept a BrainTech running too long, it started acting funny. Company policy usually capped the function time around Six years. A complete mental enema was required after that.
I tapped the interface button.
Black shields slid down over the windows and the entrance door snapped shut. The room was shortly filled with a green aura, reminiscent of the face of the Youkja, which began to fill my view screen.
For most people, BrainTech is a disappointment. There is no real shock to the fact that you are talking to an intelligent machine. Their speech is similar to that of a childs. However, after a few sessions of talking to the same BrainTech, you start to find it more and more acting like yourself. This has become a problem in the past. I knew better than to stay jacked in for too long.
Her face looked like a digital angel, meshed with tones of green and white, in mechanical patterns.
<b>(|Y|)</b> "<b>Hello and welcome. I am Youkja.</b>"
The female voice was comforting, though it wasn't human. At least it wasn't alien.
"Hello. I need your diagnostics and a console, please."
<b>(|Y|)</b> "<b>You will need to deactivate any recording equipment before your request is processed.</b>"
"Commander-"
C.C. - Ashura Demon: "<i>-What, Civi?</i>"
He snapped at me.
"She's asking me to deactivate my headset."
C.C. - Ashura Demon: "<i>She who?</i>"
"The Youkja?"
C.C. - Ashura Demon: "<i>Whatever. Go ahead.</i>"
Darkens: "<i>See about getting us some maps, Jacket.</i>"
Mr. Samsa: "<i>Any intelligence is good. Tell us when you're finished.</i>"
"Ok. Ciao for now."
C.C. - Ashura Demon: "<i>What?</i>"
Darkens: "<i>He said-</i>"
I switched it off. I waited for the Youkja to respond. She didn't.
"Diagnostics and a console, please?"
Her anatomy and health spewed out across the screen. I looked it over, checking into the more sensitive areas. She looked fine.
"How are you feeling?"
<b>(|Y|)</b> "<b>Decent. I am worried about the crew.</b>"
"How much control do you have over the ship?"
<b>(|Y|)</b> "<b>Caron instigated a lockdown about four weeks ago. I can't do much.</b>"
Details displayed across the screen. Looking it over, it didn't seem she could perform much of anything useful. Her powers were restricted to simple ship data and her personal lodgings.
"Who is Caron?"
<b>(|Y|)</b> "<b>The head Science Officer.</b>"
A bio window popped up. He looked unpleasent.
"Thanks. I'd like a map of the ship, please."
Displayed. It seemed like the whole package.
<b>(|Y|)</b> "<b>What is your name?</b>"
"...Jack."
<b>(|Y|)</b> "<b>Jack, what is going on?</b>"
"You've got aliens on your ship, Youkja. Put this map on a disk for me."
<b>(|Y|)</b> "<b>One moment.</b>"
I noticed that a small section of the new map was exceptionally vague. It was labeled "off limits." A disk ejected bellow the screen.
"Thank you, Youkja."
<b>(|Y|)</b> "<b>Are you leaving?</b>"
"Yes, I'll need to log out."
<b>(|Y|)</b> "<b>Ok. Please come back.</b>"
"I'll try to."
The interface shut down. The windows and back door re-opened. I slid out of the compartment into the quiet room. Samsa was gone. The sentry heads rotated slowly around, making the only sounds. I hadn't noticed how dark it was. My eyes were having to adjust.
I switched on my head set. I was met with a blaring, blood-curdling scream.
<a href='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/index.php?act=ST&f=6&t=23747' target='_blank'>Part - 2</a>
<a href='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/index.php?act=ST&f=6&t=24688' target='_blank'>Part - 3</a>
<a href='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/index.php?act=ST&f=6&t=26224' target='_blank'>Part - 4</a>
<a href='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/index.php?act=ST&f=6&t=26412' target='_blank'>Part - 5</a>
Semi-Spoilers for these couple chapters here. If you want, read the story first, then read this:
Every time I think I'm to the upcoming event, I end up taking up too much space with the happenings right before hand. You will see the first sign of what is about to happen by the end of this part.
(Yawns) I'm tired... I've recently found an old copy of the original "system shock" it only ran once (heh), but I had it on the brain. You might notice if you've played it. If not, I stab your head and sacrifice your body to the great spleen. Did I mention I was tired?
Enjoy
ps:
"getting my head straight" is the journalist, in case there is any confusion.
<b>Getting my head straight</b>
This is a short chapter I?ve written mostly for myself. You are not entitled to read it. I attempted to edit it to make more sense, and failed miserably. So, trouble through it if you wish. It is not necessary.
I?m having trouble deciding what to write. I am frustrated. Each phrase comes through like a ton of bricks. I?m mentally constipated.
I have a feeling when this collection is published, it will not gain the same praise as some of my other works. At least, nothing worthy of the Neo-Pulitzer. Then again, that never mattered to me. I write for myself.
I feel what used to be in my heart was more innocent. Now, I find coming up with sentences and wording difficult, so much more than I can ever remember. I?ve tried to go over and edit my own writing, but each time I do I can barely understand it. Most of the time, I don?t even remember what I wrote. It is almost insensible... Ever since the incident, insensible. Maybe my basic grasp on reality has changed.
I will share something with you that is true amongst all poets and artists. It cannot be put into words, just as god cannot be put into words. It is something of the mind and soul; it is an alternate explanation, and an expansion based off of that explanation. The space that is filled where nothing was before, or is ours reshaped and reformed. An entirely different world, and in it is the only thing in which man has ever created: the idea.
It is really an amazing ability. Of course, it is also the most horrific of man?s abilities. Some come to an understanding of this, and expand on it in richness, and create tokens and expressions that pound out their world in the simplest of terms: art. Mine used to be clear like that. Now, it is jumbled again, lost in the darkness of... something else.
I?m saying too much, as usual. A puzzle always starts in pieces. I could very well erase this... I?ll consider it before the end.
The Kharaa...
The Kharaa almost feel like a materialization of this aspect of man. The species is a piece of art. I say that with only the smallest amount of admiration. To be true, I fear it, just as I fear the workings of any human mind. The idea of the Kharaa is insane. They should <i>not</i> exist?
They are wrong. Wrong is, at least, something dead. Here, though; here there is wrong as something living. Wrong as a being. Rape embodiment.
I realized this in a medical bed, some time after the incident. I curled into a ball in the corner. The being is a violation. I know now what it is to be a rape victim.
Yet, in time I will grow numb again. I don?t have a closure for this yet, I haven?t found it. What the hell am I talking about? I don?t remember. On with the story.
<b>Youkja</b>
My mind was crossed between images I?d seen of infested ships and my personal experience with BrainTech. The Youkja System was a potential hive, but I still expected to see white sanitation. Instead, I was reminded of a ship found crashed and overgrown with plant life.
The Youkja descended in the center of the room, connecting to the ground in a small control booth. It was something like a command chair, except it was entirely devoted to talking with the Youkja. The BrainTech seemed intact, but the room itself was anything but. Take a tropical jungle, give it the flew, and then coat a sophisticated lab in its organic vomit. Given a few months for fungus to develop, you?ll have a semi-replica of where we were. Of course, you'd have to throw in two turret factories, about 15 turrets, an armory and a phase gate. It was a pretty crowded room.
"Beautiful," I said, trying to sound as detached as Samsa seemed to be.
Mr. Samsa: "It always is."
The headspace at the base of the BrainTech was little to nothing. The small control station had a window running around it, only large enough to fit a hand through. When inside, a bullet-proof barrier would lower and the entrance would seal up. It was a very disturbing practice, but necessary to insure the privacy of the user with the System.
I crawled into the small booth and looked it over. The view screen, which would fill my eyes to the corners, was blank. The entire setup was blank. To my left, there was a pump switch marked "interface charge." I pushed it up. A small part of the screen lit with the word "charging" in a mellow blue. A percentage bar crept slowly underneath it.
Samsa paced outside the booth. I found my back feeling vulnerable, and his silence didn't help much.
"I've heard stories about AI driving people insane in deep space."
Mr. Samsa: "I wouldn't be surprised."
There was a sound of hopelessness in his voice. I turned my head. He sat down at a terminal, or what was left of one. He placed his feet up on the keyboard; something you never do in a corporate vessel.
"You alright?"
Mr. Samsa: "Not really. Our comm doesn't look like he can handle the stress. He's got shellshock already. You can hear it in his voice."
"Shellshock?"
Mr. Samsa: "It's something a lot of commanders get. They're in the CC for too long. Too many people asking for things... Too much stuff to keep an eye on..."
He paused for a moment. His tone was steady, but in the undertone you could sense his disturbance. I am still not sure, but I thought I heard him say "too many people screaming" silently, under his voice. I felt a coldness tingle at my back, but it never made its way into a shiver. I wondered what it must be like to have survived as many missions as he had. It seemed he was thinking about the same thing.
Mr. Samsa: "It gets worse with time, Jack. You'll notice it too, if you survive long enough. I don't mean that to scare you. You're with the best of the best here, but that doesn't really mean anything."
I heard his feet slip off the keyboard and clang against the floor. His chair rotated in my direction. His weapon was on his lap.
Mr. Samsa: "Do you know what the life expectancy is for one of us out here? Any guess? Two minutes. Two minutes in the field. You know how many missions I've physically been on? Five. I got most of my experience watching hostes."
"What do you mean by hoste?"
Mr. Samsa: "It's the person you watch before you phase. He's like your predecessor. You have a group of people on the drop ship who just watch that person through his headset feed. When he dies, one of us replaces him. He's hoste, we're the ghosts."
"That's interesting."
Mr. Samsa: "It's horrible. You sit around, waiting for your chance to die. The worst part's just watching, waiting for them to call out your name. In my last group, we all had to use the same nickname: Dead Meat. It was kind of a sick joke. We'd go through our people so fast, there was no time to learn names. Each group had the same name so that the commander wouldn't get confused."
"That's horrible."
Mr. Samsa: "That's what I said. It's ok here, though. Our teams get their own names. We're supposed to live longer."
The task bar reached 100 percent. Lights faded on above and bellow me in the booth. An Interface button appeared on the screen.
?It?s ready. I'm going to need to be closed off to run it."
Mr. Samsa: "Have fun."
<i>Yeah right</i>, I thought to myself. I hoped the AI was functioning correctly. The technology is as frail as a human brain. Damaging parts would impair function completely, while damaging others would alter the performance. The Youkja appeared well-armored, but the room's condition harbored my doubt. Also, I wasn't sure how long it had been since the last reboot. If you kept a BrainTech running too long, it started acting funny. Company policy usually capped the function time around Six years. A complete mental enema was required after that.
I tapped the interface button.
Black shields slid down over the windows and the entrance door snapped shut. The room was shortly filled with a green aura, reminiscent of the face of the Youkja, which began to fill my view screen.
For most people, BrainTech is a disappointment. There is no real shock to the fact that you are talking to an intelligent machine. Their speech is similar to that of a childs. However, after a few sessions of talking to the same BrainTech, you start to find it more and more acting like yourself. This has become a problem in the past. I knew better than to stay jacked in for too long.
Her face looked like a digital angel, meshed with tones of green and white, in mechanical patterns.
<b>(|Y|)</b> "<b>Hello and welcome. I am Youkja.</b>"
The female voice was comforting, though it wasn't human. At least it wasn't alien.
"Hello. I need your diagnostics and a console, please."
<b>(|Y|)</b> "<b>You will need to deactivate any recording equipment before your request is processed.</b>"
"Commander-"
C.C. - Ashura Demon: "<i>-What, Civi?</i>"
He snapped at me.
"She's asking me to deactivate my headset."
C.C. - Ashura Demon: "<i>She who?</i>"
"The Youkja?"
C.C. - Ashura Demon: "<i>Whatever. Go ahead.</i>"
Darkens: "<i>See about getting us some maps, Jacket.</i>"
Mr. Samsa: "<i>Any intelligence is good. Tell us when you're finished.</i>"
"Ok. Ciao for now."
C.C. - Ashura Demon: "<i>What?</i>"
Darkens: "<i>He said-</i>"
I switched it off. I waited for the Youkja to respond. She didn't.
"Diagnostics and a console, please?"
Her anatomy and health spewed out across the screen. I looked it over, checking into the more sensitive areas. She looked fine.
"How are you feeling?"
<b>(|Y|)</b> "<b>Decent. I am worried about the crew.</b>"
"How much control do you have over the ship?"
<b>(|Y|)</b> "<b>Caron instigated a lockdown about four weeks ago. I can't do much.</b>"
Details displayed across the screen. Looking it over, it didn't seem she could perform much of anything useful. Her powers were restricted to simple ship data and her personal lodgings.
"Who is Caron?"
<b>(|Y|)</b> "<b>The head Science Officer.</b>"
A bio window popped up. He looked unpleasent.
"Thanks. I'd like a map of the ship, please."
Displayed. It seemed like the whole package.
<b>(|Y|)</b> "<b>What is your name?</b>"
"...Jack."
<b>(|Y|)</b> "<b>Jack, what is going on?</b>"
"You've got aliens on your ship, Youkja. Put this map on a disk for me."
<b>(|Y|)</b> "<b>One moment.</b>"
I noticed that a small section of the new map was exceptionally vague. It was labeled "off limits." A disk ejected bellow the screen.
"Thank you, Youkja."
<b>(|Y|)</b> "<b>Are you leaving?</b>"
"Yes, I'll need to log out."
<b>(|Y|)</b> "<b>Ok. Please come back.</b>"
"I'll try to."
The interface shut down. The windows and back door re-opened. I slid out of the compartment into the quiet room. Samsa was gone. The sentry heads rotated slowly around, making the only sounds. I hadn't noticed how dark it was. My eyes were having to adjust.
I switched on my head set. I was met with a blaring, blood-curdling scream.
Comments
... <!--emo&:D--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/biggrin.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='biggrin.gif'><!--endemo-->
I like how you left us hanging with the offlimits part of the map, the commader slowly going insane, the AI, and the disapearance of the marine guarding him...maybe next time he runs into his skulk again?
P.S. It's your story but if you could make the A.I. get really whacked out it would be terrific. I mean, how nuts would having a bunch of disgusting aleins running around <i>inside</i> of you make you?
-GF
Thx to the person Who will solve my every problem, which will probably never happen so... rah.
(Sits in the corner and cries)
PM vash7h3stampede, tell him Daub asks a favor....
seconded....
keep it up!
Also, I have personal messaged you, I am able to host a text file with my ISP web space for others to download from, so get in contact with me if you are interested.
PM vash7h3stampede, tell him Daub asks a favor.... <!--QuoteEnd--> </td></tr></table><span class='postcolor'> <!--QuoteEEnd-->
Vash is unavailable, so I don't know. However Canadian Wolverine seems like he can host
<!--emo&:)--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/smile.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='smile.gif'><!--endemo-->
Been working on the html for the page, which I should have finished by tonight. I might even have the next part of the story to go with it. Not sure when it will be up, as I have to send it to wolvie. I have it all setup so it won't be a problem for him to get running <!--emo&:p--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/tounge.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='tounge.gif'><!--endemo-->
Anyway, it will look AWESOME! HAWHAWHWAHAW... Well it will be decent, anyway.
Just thought I'd tell anyone who cared. Ciao for now <!--emo&:D--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/biggrin.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='biggrin.gif'><!--endemo-->
PS: For nummy teasers, here's the title pic:
teasers.....
looks great, keep up the good work
<!--emo&:)--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/smile.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='smile.gif'><!--endemo-->
Check it out at <a href='http://members.shaw.ca/jarmart/Monster_Site/main.html' target='_blank'>this part of cyberspace that is mine</a>, at least until I stop paying my bills <!--emo&:p--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/tounge.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='tounge.gif'><!--endemo-->
Also, I'd like to take this moment to promote my fun loving bunch of misfits, <a href='http://www.teamorin.net' target='_blank'>Team Orin</a>. We like to call ourselves a clan, but don't let that fool you, we're just a bunch of goofy gamers. <!--emo&:D--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/biggrin.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='biggrin.gif'><!--endemo-->
Anyone else who needs a host for their story, get in contact with me, and if I think your story is worth it, you're in like sin.
The "intro" section is a little buggy right now, for some reason... it shouldn't be:P The rest of it is working nice and grand.
As you'll notice, there's 10 parts on the page upposed to 6. Each part is a chapter. I've posted "parts" on this forum in groups of one or two chapters at a time. so, from now on, I hoppin up to the 10's. Ja... I think I'm gunna go get me some cheese and smoked fish... hawhwahawhawhaw
edit:
Tis fixed, but using an older version of the page. Hurrah. Enjoy z site that took hours of my extensive free time to complete.
<a href='http://members.shaw.ca/jarmart/Monster_Site/main.html' target='_blank'>http://members.shaw.ca/jarmart/Monster_Site/main.html</a>
In passing, I would just like to say that the website DeepShadow's put together is beautiful in its simplicity, very easy to navigate around in and I find it easy to make out the words, very little eyestrain. Kudos to DeepShadows for such excellent work! And you already know what I think of his story, I'm hosting it, ain't I? <!--emo&:D--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/biggrin.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='biggrin.gif'><!--endemo--> <!--emo&:D--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/biggrin.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='biggrin.gif'><!--endemo--> <!--emo&:D--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/biggrin.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='biggrin.gif'><!--endemo-->
and it is a nice sit, much props