A group of Portsmouth students kept hearing the Navy boys talking about experiments happening down at the docs. It sounded like something straight out of a Grimm tale, of monsters and petaled heads, that something similar had happened over in the States.
After a few weeks of some lovely
productive procrastination, four students decided to investigate, because do those papers need doing right
now?
So our four scatterbrained
adventurers carefully piled into their bright blue car and headed down to the
docks.
Whilst the Engineer hummed the Scooby
Doo theme song, the Architect noticed that a new building could be seen near
the base which seemed so out of place.
Lodged between the old crumbling
infrastructure of Portsmouth, a large, Americanised building stood out. At the top of the building where there should
be all sorts of radio antennae, there stood a silhouette of a mechanised dome
with a warm glow emanating from it.
As they pulled up opposite, situating
the car in between the grey-scale rows of vehicles, a middle-aged man with salt
and pepper hair, tactical armour and guns approached their vehicle.
The Writer leapt out of the car at
the man. Narrowly missing hitting herself with his weapon or jabbing herself
with his sidearm. She did however have a radio and body cam imprinting on her
cheeks.
“Hi, Daddy.” The man smiled down at
his child with a fond smile and enquired what she was doing there. He reminded
her that she had multiple stories, a screenplay, and a pitch email due
tomorrow. “Bye Daddy”.
And just as quickly she clambered
back into the driver's seat.
As they drove away the lights flickered over
at the Navy base. The Engineer and the Linguist bickered about whether that
could be proof something was happening over there. The Engineer was sceptical
though. It could just be the military budget cut. Couldn’t it?
As they drove past Southsea Common,
the setting sun highlighted a group of strangely dressed individuals chanting.
The architect was certain this could’ve be proof but the Engineer pointed out
that it could’ve been the Pagan Society.
They thought about stopping to find
out more, but a large group suddenly walked past with an array of makeshift
weaponry. Deciding it may be safer near their dorms, they drove back towards
Guild Hall.
At the bus stop, people camped out
with bows and the streets towards the Halls were littered with bodies. Some
still twitched, some slumped over each other, and some even tried to crawl.
Were these things connected? Was there an attack by the petaled monstrosities?
Did the archers do this?
Nervously the Linguist mentioned it
could be club kick-out time. The Writer mentioned hearing about the rugby club
having done a pub crawl before heading to the clubs.
Our cowardly adventurers surveyed
their surroundings and decided quickly to go park in the safety of the Halls.
“We have stuff due soon maybe we should just
do that. We don’t want to get on the lecturers' bad sides, they seem to be
going through a midlife crisis or something,” said the Architect.
“What’s with the milky contacts? Do you think
they're doing something for the film grads?” The Writer questioned as she
exited the car.
“Don’t know or care. Race you for the
chocolate stash.”
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