Written by Chris (alcoholandaphorisms) (Note: due to the demon characters having multiple cover identities they can wear, I will vary between referring to the demon and the covers they inhabit depending on circumstance, to try and keep clear who they are presenting as at the time. For clarity Mz Stone has the covers of Becca…
Written by Chris (alcoholandaphorisms) (Note: due to the demon characters having multiple cover identities they can wear, I will vary between referring to the demon and the covers they inhabit depending on circumstance, to try and keep clear who they are presenting as at the time. For clarity Mz Stone has the covers of Becca…
Written by Chris (alcoholandaphorisms) (Note: due to the demon characters having multiple cover identities they can wear, I will vary between referring to the demon and the covers they inhabit depending on circumstance, to try and keep clear who they are presenting as at the time. For clarity Mz Stone has the covers of Becca…
Written by Paul The Demons: “You lied to your primary”, said Mr White as he looked across from the tube carriage to Mr Gray. The noise of the tube made it difficult for anyone nearby to overhear their conversation, but Mr Gray decided not to push operational security too far and decided to reply in…
Written by Chris (alcoholandaphorisms) Five Seconds Ago: The wind blew past Gwil’s face as he stood, facing the track. Romford Station. The rattling of the trains in the distance send a shudder up his spine. The Tannoy spoke, garbled but understood. “Stand back from the edge. The next train does not stop here” No…
Written by Chris (alcoholandaphorisms) In the light, fleeing from the institute, away from the infrastructure of the God Machine, led out by three former angels of the machine they face, the three mortals Gwil, Ryan and Sanjiv are encompassed by the expanding light and they remember… Over a year ago. Back in Romford. Three…
Written by Chris (alcoholandaphorisms) That moment, months ago. Crouched outside a warehouse in Sanford. That moment has passed, and yet returns over and over, in nightmare. Perhaps not just a memory. Perhaps so terrible that it can but occur again and again. Nate is dead. Dave is somewhere inside this warehouse, along with who…
WARNING Some Strong language Written by Chris (alcoholandaphorisms) This is not then. This is now. For all those terms can be understood in the face of recent revelations. The world is white. Blinding. Pulsing like the full force of a strobe light. There is a rhythmic whistling, a whine like the sound of dentists drill.…
WARNING Strong language Written by Chris (alcoholandaphorisms) Romford Station. London. The air hangs heavy, a warm day without wind to move it. What was once a human body lies scattered across the tracks, dragged along with the halting train, carried with transferred momentum. Nate is dead. Suicide. The screaming will start soon. The steps…
Written by Chris (alcoholandaphorisms) Two hours ago: Under Waterloo Station. Ryan Winters flees in the darkness, the unveiled angel of the god machine behind her in all its transgressive holy glory. The only light is the blue cadence that flickers from it, scattering shadows on the walls. There are screams. The others fleeing in the…
Written by Chris (alcoholandaphorisms) They run, the survivors of “The incident”,they run through the crumbling corridors below Waterloo station. Run past pealing posters on yellowed paper that advertise services that no longer exist, an anachronism here. Run through the mildew and damp lit by flickering bulbs above. Police officer Ryan Winters brings up the rear,…
Written by Chris (alcoholandaphorism) Car alarms are blazing left right and centre, pulses of light flash from Sanjiv’s house. His house where they left the clockwork dead man that attacked them. Ryan’s dead car still beside them, with Sanjiv’s house mate Michelle shaking by its side, shell shocked and trapped in the cacophony of light…
Written by Chris (alcoholandaphorism) Ryan Winters has had a lot of time to look over what she has done. What she has sought to achieve. The rabbit hole has got deeper, her own department has more information than she could ever have expected. A dossier put together from loose connections and thought dead trails. They…
Written by Chris (alcoholandaphorism) Gwil’s feet pad rapidly down the campus path, away from the campus security that chase him. His head aches and his muscles burn from his recent beating, the same beating that resulted in his immunity to campus security being removed. Panting and exhausted he reaches the streets of London, safe and…
Written by Chris (alcoholandaphorism) A week and a half has passed, a week and a half Sanjiv has been stuck in hospital. A week and a half since the incident with Gwil and the photos .The desk by his side is stacked with left “Get Well Soon” cards and flowers. A box of traditional sweets…
Written by Chris (alcoholandaphorism) Walthamstow. The scene of the road accident. Ten Thirty In The Morning. Imran trapped under the bus that hit him. His laptop, the only lead forwards is smashed to the ground. Cars stacked up on the side of the carriageway, backed up in both directions for as far as the eye…
Written by Chris (alcoholandaphorism) The job centre at Walthamstow. A building that swallows hope, pity and sympathy alike. Trisha and Sanjiv have been following the trail of the missing Dave Chigwell to its unwelcoming doors. The upstairs is much like below. People sat, watching the moments drip away as they squirm on uncomfortable sofas. Each…
Written by Chris (alcoholandaphorism) It was meant to be Ryan Winter’s shift. She had been down to cover the morning shift at the tube station. Switched shifts, covering for one of her British Transport Police colleagues, covering for what would probably have been an over enthusiastic stag night out the day before. That was why…
Written by Chris (alcoholandaphorism) Nearly a year ago. The event called only the Incident. The event forgotten by most. The subject of seemingly reasonless nightmares for some others. Sanjiv Mangat, descending the steps one by one, eyes surveying the entrance down into the London Underground. The walls clinical and white, graffiti recently erased. As he…
