Planet X: Messing around Sci-Fi Style


The year? 2063. The planet? X. The people? Citizens. The organization? GlobalMedia. The man in charge? General B. Munster. The victim? You. Me. All citizens. All participants. There is no escaping the nightmare. Sequels are always horrific when compared to the original. M² could possibly be the beginning of the end for all of humanity. And only one man could prevent the ultimate destruction. Unfortunately, he, himself, did not know this, and GlobalMedia did. 


Laughing, in its grandest form, purely gurgling from her minute lips, rings through the air calling him to her, demanding that he play. He searches everywhere and nowhere to effortlessly spy her dark, curly head of hair, much akin to his own. Hoisting her up into his arms, he gazes into her large, unblinking, oceanic blue eyes, reminiscence of her mother’s, and he realizes that she would trust him with anything, that she trusts, with not a single doubt, that he shall be there to protect her at all times. He is her support, her shield, her stone wall, her anchor. He is whatever she wants him to be. He is her father. He wonders how something in a world such as this could be so beautiful, so unknowing of the evils that haunt their lives, how she remains untainted by such evils. He glances away for an instant, looks back, to notice that she has vanished. He searches, however, this time he does not spy the dark curly hair, instead, he hears a sharp scream pierce the air of happiness that had been surrounding him.

John Lockland awakens in a cold sweat, his abrasive wool blankets entangled with his feet, he reminds himself that it was only a nightmare; a horrific, reoccurring nightmare be it that, however, nightmares are only dreams in the end. And that is what this event was, only a dream. The event that haunts his sinister land of nod has become warped over the years and yet he will still remember it and still dream about it, for the only time he shall ever hear the miraculous sound of her laughter is in the darkest moment of his night, only subconsciously. Every morning after, he attempts to remember the joy he felt that last day spent with her, but there is only the lingering memory of her scream, the scream that shattered his heart into a million fragments, fragments sharper than any glass.

As John violently rubbed the gritty reminder of the nighttime’s previous disturbance away, he noticed that something was completely wrong, but he could not quite place his finger on what it was. His eyes slowly focused in on the multi-coloured service bars of his television set when he finally comprehended the issue. There was no constant message displayed across the screen with a GlobalMedia spokesperson attempting to brainwash the citizens-more like prisoners, citizens at least have rights and freedoms, the people here didn’t even know of such things, they probably didn’t even remember what life was like before the New Regime–with their disgusting use, their atrocious abuse, of propaganda. No flashes of General B. Munster dictating his baby, this New Regime. There was only silence. Lockland could not hear television sets blaring from surrounding apartments, as he usually could. Just silence. He ran out into the hallway. Silence. No beeping from the elevators or screeching wheels against pavement.
Silence. Sometimes it could be your friend or your enemy. Some days you might welcome it with open arms or beg for it to leave you be. This day in John’s life seemed almost all well, in fact, it seemed to be one of the better ones. However, he was beginning to find the silence nerve-wracking. As he walked through and out of his building, he heard nothing, merely the wind whistling through the only tree left in this area of town, one of the few trees left on this decrepit planet.

Thirty years ago, scientists had discovered a method to create oxygen and circulate it around the planet without the use of trees. And so, with this new ability to survive, citizens changed the green plan to the metaphorical black plan. People littered more than they had before, forests were clear-cut by the millions and more than a few oil spills that had occurred were not cleaned up. Of course, this practice of environmental abuse wiped out almost all the other naturally existing species. However, being a human race, we are superior to all others so why would that have even mattered? This was the explanation behind the no tree situation. Human ignorance.
John didn’t have a single clue to what was going on, until he felt a lingering presence of a hand on his shoulder. On the balls of his feet, he swiveled to meet, nobody. Well, nobody alive. In the centre of the street was a large ring of black. Surrounding the ring were at least thirty bodies, none moving. All in some form of decompose.

It wasn’t possible. There was no way this pile of bodies could be in this state of decay, when just yesterday he was out on this very same street and there were no corpses, no black ring of mortality. Just people walking around in their zombie-like state, going through all the right routines, the same thing he witnessed every single day for the last seven years, around the same time he lost his baby girl, Hailey. He now had only himself. Although he thought for himself, and thought that what the General and his organization were spewing was complete drivel, he could never let anyone know because then they’d lock him away with the other “delinquents”. And what good would that do for anyone?

Looking back at the bodies, he shuddered, what was the possibility of all these people just being dumped here at the same time? There was no possibility. An event must have occurred the night before, while John was having his nightmare. An event that affected every other citizen directly. Just not him. How could this not have affected him? How could he not be dead? What made him so different? There was no explanation behind John Lockland not being a decaying mess on the pavement with everyone else. This must been a new segment to his nightmare but what was the significance, he could not find any obvious relation to this event and his daughter.

He heard footsteps approaching in the distance; acting on instinct John hid himself behind a pile of corpses. It was General Munster, himself! Along with one of his many assistants.

“Test on Sector IV of Planet X appears to be successful, sir.” the assistant stated in a robotic, dreary voice.

Looking across the horizon of death, General Munster, praised his latest project, “Lovely, just lovely. M² will be ideal in creating a perfect, uniform world.”

What was M²? What was this destruction? A perfect, uniform world? What else could the General want? Lockland had so many questions but no answers. He did not think that he would gain any better understanding of the situation, staying in the same place as the dead and the evil, so he darted over to the store closest to him and watched as General Munster and the robot got into a dark vehicle. There was a motor scooter located across the street from John, he ran over and started it up. He followed the dark vehicle for about an hour, when it turned down a dirt drive. John stopped the scooter and preceded on foot, he didn’t want to risk anyone hearing the motor. At the end of the road, he saw some sort of facility, and people in Hazmat suits walking around with clipboards in their gloved hands.


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