PieSpie8743

The amber light of dawn creeps into your cave, gently awakening you from your slumber. You rear your long, scaly head and sniff at the air, which is ripe with the scent of morning dew, the droppings of various mammals and birds, and of course, the ever-present stench of rotting meat from your private stores. You rise to your feet, your long black talons scraping against the stone floor, and peer over the ledge of your side of the mountain. The crisp autumn air is inviting, and a playful breeze entices you to spread your great leathery wings, to stretch your fingers as wide as they will go. You draw back, coiling your rear legs. Unconsciously,

I've learned many things from my past, and many more from the mistakes of my past. When I look back on my youth and the things I've done (and more importantly, the things I should have done), I find that I can only think: What could I have done differently? Strangely enough, through all of my experiences and mistakes, and the things I've learned from them, I can only count the number of lessons that truly stuck with me on one hand. Unlike most doctors of my time, I didn't grow up in a wealthy family. In fact, my parents were quite the opposite. Even more so after the crash of America's stock market in 1929, when I turned six years old. I can

"Hold still Schweinhund! I'm trying to help you-- augh!" Johannes clutched at his jaw and glared at the man in front of him. His patient offered a sly grin, drawing his fist back for a second time. Johannes twisted to avoid the blow and grabbed his patient's wrist. Thankfully the patient's other hand was tethered to the railing of the bed, giving Johannes an opportunity to reach around his own back and pull out a pre-filled syringe. He uncapped the needle with his teeth and plunged it into the man's exposed arm, causing the patient to howl in pain. "Oh, hush. It's only a twenty-gauge needle." Johannes said unsympathetically, discarding the em

The bright, sterile lights of the infirmary burned through Horst's closed eyelids, causing him to grimace in discomfort. Sirens blared in his ears, mingled with shouts and noises of struggling that filled the hospital wing, and Horst sat up shakily and looked around. The entirety of the medical staff was in the infirmary, and it seemed like almost every person was locked in some kind of fight. Horst struggled to his feet, but fell to the floor immediately. Someone grabbed him under the arms and hoisted him to his feet, and Horst leaned heavily upon his assistor, allowing himself to be deposited back on the gurney. "Where's Johannes?" he asked

He was walking down a narrow hallway beside his friend, Johannes, gleefully recounting the day's events and laughing at Kurt Metzger's expense. Horst elbowed Johannes and mimicked punching the air, and the pair laughed loudly and paused outside the infirmary. Smiling, Horst turned to his friend. As he did so, he felt that something was terribly wrong. Johannes faced Horst and spoke, but no words came out. Instead, a high-pitched screeching met Horst's ears, accompanied by a horrifying sight: thick, black liquid was slowly seeping out of Johannes' mouth, eyes and nose. Without warning, Johannes lunged towards Horst and wrapped his hands around

"Hilege scheiße..." Horst said quietly. He looked down at the hand he had been dealt and frowned. The Queen of Spades had somehow found her way to him once again, as did the Jack, Queen, and King of Hearts. To make matters worse, there was no passing them off this round. Will nothing go his way today? He laid down the two of Clubs in the center of the table, and watched as Johannes placed the five of Clubs on top of it. Markus tossed over an Ace, then Klaus finished the round with a three. With no points won this round, Markus took the pile, then threw down the ten of Spades. The hunt had begun. A six of Spades was thrown on top of the t

He knew that voice all too well. It was a voice that sparked flashbacks of leisurely card games lasting well into the night, late evenings filled with beer, football and laughter, and sleepless weekends of studying, poring over textbooks and anatomic diagrams. It was the voice of a man who couldn't be more unlike the messy-haired, down-to earth doctor that Horst was, and the voice of one of his closest friends. Horst groaned as light flooded his pupil, shot through his retina and bombarded his optic nerve. It took him a few seconds to perceive all of that light as an image, but when he could finally make out more than simple blurry shapes, he

It was quiet. But it wasn't a calm kind of quiet. It was the eerie silence that screamed something was very wrong. When Horst looked around, he saw that he was still in the same room that he had lost consciousness in, but it looked different. The colors were faded, shapes distorted, as if he was seeing them through a thick fog. On the ground in front of him he saw an oddly misshapen object. It looked crumpled and vulnerable somehow, and seemed extremely out of place. Horst dropped to his knees beside the object, astonished to see that it was a body, the body of a man in a lab coat and boots, a uniform identical to his own. The body was on it

BASE LOCATION: COASTAL ANTARCTICA CODENAME: NEU SCHWABENLAND Ice. That was the only geographical feature visible. Pure white as far as the eye could see. It was like a blank canvas waiting to be painted on, or an empty page, completely devoid of words to upset the desolation. Off the coast of the frozen wasteland lay a vast ocean, deep blue and ceaselessly churning and slapping against the ice. All throughout the waters, vast battleships blocked out large portions of the sea from view, and every now and then, the occasional metallic whale would surface or dive, transporting soldiers and scientists alike between land and boat. Above, the sky