A myriad of voices. A damned energy.
In the tunnels, in a room, past the table, through the door under the vent near the lockers there's a window into a small coffin like vertical tube.
She's slumbered dreamlessly for years but now she stirs, disturbed, agitated.
The voices. They ply her and prod her and rip her in different directions. They know what's near, what approaches.
Some beg to run, some champ to fight while many pander to acquiesce, a few scheme to collaborate and others strain to dominate.
"We are Many" the demons had said as they possessed her.
Jim M over 9 years ago
Urr merr gurrd! Awesome