Crev: Backbone

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Many men and woman on Crev can all tell you place is corrupted. BACKBONE is a conspiracy, Earth controls Centruhl, Crendall is hell- literally- and Meeds has no form of life besides the most beautiful plains and grasslands you've ever seen. But Crev sparked interest in Earth. Maybe because of its size of 4x larger than Jupiter without having the gravity different from earth, maybe because it has only a population of 33 billion people, so small for such a large planet. Or maybe its odd high technology advancements equally mixed in with old school technology. Or could it be that its only a 5 month standard ship flight from earth? Voting kills. Voting controls. Voting. Your worst enemy.


Chapter 1 (v.1) - Crev: Backbone

Submitted: June 14, 2014

Reads: 139

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 14, 2014



Kip's POV

Location: Crendall Outskirts

Followers: B1, B2, B3, B4 (B= Bot)

Time: 3:13 am, 4/4/3244AD


“Crendall's distinct smell still 44 years later still hasnt bothered me since Y-3-K. Hiking in a Bot suit still hasnt bothered me since Y-3-K. Commanding 4 Bots while in a Bot suit, smelling Crendall hasnt bothered me since Y-3-K. Maybe when someone finds me, maybe IF someone finds me, their smell, the smell of the outside again, the smell of seasoned food, peppered turkey, grilled steak, sauteed mushrooms, hell, Raw Cathead fish, would disgust me more. Adapting to burning human flesh after 44 years burns into you, literally. No shower in over four decades. No cooked food in dozens of years, and here I am, still leading these damn Bots to some group who may not exist. Even if they did, there is no way they could survive the Frunt every Friday. Shit I've nearly died about every Frunt and Im by myself. Except for these damned Bots.” Kip stops, with his lead pipe stuck into the steep mountain side, left knee angled and maintaining his position from falling forwards. He grabs his hips with his left arm and stretches backwards, activating a chain event of cracks, snarls, and pops. He groans.

“Welp, boys, take a bow. Today's Thursday, we got a good 23 hours to get up before Frunt.” Old, and withered Kip, at 74 years of age, face being overrun with his 'Survivalist' like beard, long white receding hairline, and liver spots speckled on his arms attempts to slowly and painfully descend to the rocky steep, and loses his group falling the remaining four inches to the ground, in which he responded with a load OOMF. “B1, get me some bread, willya?” Kip has a natural snarl, A satisfactory grunt to his words of harsh receiving. To most people, he would be a dick. To his people- to him- he's an angel.

B1 handed him the loaf. He looks up at the Bot. “Every fucking Frunt-” He cries softly. “We have to run. Im so fucking sick of it-” His voice cracked, and he ran his loaf-bearing arm over his nose, smearing snot on his scrap-metal armor. Kip looks down at the warm, fresh loaf. And looks at B1, as he curiously looks back at Kip. Understanding his statement, but missing the AI chip to converse. All of the Bots are. “B1, when I get you your fucking chip, you're going to be Aaron. I always wanted a friend-” He caught himself off guard, seeing how it offended the Bots, “Named Aaron!” He saved himself. “I want to name you Aaron, B2 will be Anna, B3... B3...” He looks at B3. He's been putting this off the entire four decades they've been walking. B3's taken bullets, bites, scratches, rust, and discovered hes allergic to Oil and Lubricant. The first ever AI to adapt a synthetic responsive immune system. He's getting sick- getting infected- by the Crendall Virus. “Oh son,” He slides next to B3, and a whimpering sound is made as he crawls up into a position where he's looking at the ground, knees at his robotic chest. No face showing. A Crenian bit his responsive wires out on his spine. So his responses are hidden from external view. “Son, Im so sorry,” He looks up and down B3. The drained oil streaks from scratches, bites from Crenians, bullet holes from BACKBONE. Even took a Missile to the knee. A 22. missle, the size of a pencil, the explosion of a 500LB bomb. And it just blew his leg off. Easy repair for Kip. He just needed to re-sauter the wires, and re connect the synthetic tissue and plates. B4 is the technical one, and carrier a 3 Day Military Packsack. Mainly full of tools. “Son, Its been hard, but we are almost there. I know you're tired. I know you're hurt. I know. I barely made it myself- shit I wouldn't have made it unless for you. You saved me, remember?” B3, shaking, and grunts of pain and burning memory returned to his AI. He looks at Crendall, the burning city of Cannibals, shaking, sounds that resemble a human blowing air out of slightly compressed lips when they are extremely angry. Sounds of future revenge. Sounds of an intelligent form. Sounds of Benny.



Kips POV

Location: Crendall's Capital, Crend

Followers: None

Date: 11PM, 2999

Information available: Kip is an old, worn out hiker who is leading a group of AI Robots to some un-specified destination. Kip has seen some sort of action and keeps referencing to being picked up, and a 'Crenian' Bite. It seems from mild perspective B1 is a go to boy, B4 is a Bot capable of technological advancements and procedures, B2 is a combat Bot, and B3 is a dying, worn, and tired fully Intelligent, mute AI, who has appearently saved Kip in the past. We also know that B3's name is Benny.


Kip ran down the concrete road, cars allign the culverts, burning as if they were freshly a-lit, but he knows differently. He knows whats really going on. He is the remaining survivor of this operation, this conspiracy, of Science Team 2. He runs wearing a Multicam ACU uniform, plate carrier, and an M4 tethered to his chest. Out of ammunition, he has seven magazines for his M9 remaining, but its best he saves that for an occasion whether its life or death. “Im not ready for judgement, you FUCKING BASTARDS!” Kip pulls out his M9, still running the speed of a race horse, his body into overdrive, adrenaline in medically record breaking amounts. Time slows down for Kip, tunnels of the world are only seen. Everything through a cup that doesnt exist. He slips a mag into his gun, and pulls the reciever back. Clink! The sound echos. He turns his head, viewing his coming death through peripheral vision. At least 40 Crenians chase him. These things may not be human, but the go down like humans. Stop any major organ, blood loss, or brain extermination kills them instantly. He turns his head again, still everything remains slow. He looks around, taking this odd event into advantage. There is a local market, burning, to his left 4 buildings down this block. Stay on the side walk and he may just make it. 3 buildings. 2 buildings. And bam, he grabbed the lightpole, and used his running momentum to leap in the air, one hand holding the pole, other holding his gun, and his legs, aimed at the store front window to shatter through, as he swung around slowly, feet break the glass, glass slowly spreads. He can make out individual pieces. What the hell is going on? I can think in real time, act in real time, but the are going slower than me! He plopped onto the ground. Speed is normal. Runners are heard nearby. “Shit I got to move!” Kip runs to the back of the the Candy Express, and Shoulder slams into a wooden door, shattering it to pieces. A stairway. “Yes! Fucking yes!” He runs up, un-prepared for the sight to behold him.

Kip slams through the next door, which was also wooden, and starting to burn. He ran forward, looking left and right, at this point he was confused on what to do next. He hasen't thought that far ahead. “Fuck me!” He turns around, gun pointing at the stairway, as he leans into a crouching position. One of the two hands left the pistol, as he rapidly searched the top of his Plate Carrier for his radio. “Shit,” He thought to himself, “The hands free device got ripped off by those bastards.”

He put his M9 down, and ripped off his Overnight Combat Sack and reached in to find his actual device. He ripped it out, and shaking, punched in the hotline code. 34.332.12 Channel: AlphaFoxtrotKilo

“This is ST2 Petty Officer Kip Freeman, I'm a lone survivor, I repeat, Lone Survivor is in effect for my Team! We were over run by Crenians!” He was shaking, and sweating profusely. His knees ached on the hard, concrete burning surface through his heat retarded clothes. He snapped into reality once again, hearing the groans, gargles, and yells from the Crenians. His Radio buzzed, vibrated, and static came through. Then, scaring Kip, an Abelion voice (Russian in Earth's standards) was heard clearly. Through static.

“Dushi , kotoryye rabotayut v Crendall iskat' dushi , kotoryye ishchut resheniye. Pust' vash glupo prem'yer bog pomiluyet vashey postoyanno lyubyashchey dushi. Komanduyushchiy Lexter otchetnosti Abel' molchaniye.”

This brought tears to Kips eyes. Not from sadness, but total scare. Fright. He's alone. Abel attacked Cain. And he was alone. “Fuck me...”

Kip stood up, and viewed Crendall. The City of the Living Dead. The Country of the Living Dead. He gets angry and starts to growl, “Why the fuck is one country the only fucking problem to this world, and why the fuck is there no answer, and why in the SHIT, does it kill every GOD DAMNED SOUL that doesn't act like one of you fucking monsters!” Kip threw his radio into the oncoming crowd of Crenians. A riot. A crowd of at least four hundred men, and women. No children however. That’s why Science Team 2 was dropped in Crendall. They were supposed to discover where the hell all the children are. Where all the kids, and babies are put until their late teens, to be released into the streets, fully clothed, hygienically ok, and human resembling. Science Team 1, dropped in Gunty, 30 miles away from Kip were supposed to detonate a hive of elderly who were just used for breeding purposes. Because aged Crenians don't get their breeding system halted, actually, they are boosted into overdrive.

Kip thought of his choices. “Well, I could shoot myself. I have enough ammunition. Ill write a distress letter, and put it in my Identification Card's History Logs. I could do that.” Kip pulls out his gun. He reaches into his sack and pulls out a piece of ICC Paper, (Identification Card Compatible) and a pen. “Well, here I go.” He closes his eyes, takes a long, deep breath, and exhales. Hearing the hundreds of Cren approach closer. “Section 14, Paragraph 1,982 states: In combat, or Creplemented, (Crendall Deployed and Implemented) and the opposing side has come to an irrefutable win, and you have no chance of extermination, please use your SS Round located on the bottom of every Magazine in every weapon of every gun ever distributed by Backbone. I still remember my line of duty.” Kip, confused on what hes saying and whats going on, stands up, and quickly writes a note telling of his next whereabouts. He pulls up his arm, and flicks his wrist, and a bright beam shoots four inches into the air from his wrist band. “Hello, Mr. Freeman. What is your command?” A pleasant and soft male voice boomed loudly.

“Wrist, show me Crendall. Detailed. Exclude heat signatures.” Kip said loudly, speaking over the almost approached crowd.

“Sure thing, Mr. Freeman. Loading map: Crendall. Options set to: All, uncheck Heat Sig Pinpointing. Loading. Loading. 80% complete, Mr. Freeman. Loading. Map completed, please point the red arrow at the ground for thirty seconds to be burned into the floor.” He followed the requested instructions. He burned the map into the floor, and crouched next to the map. Every town, village, and collection of buildings in the Crendall border. All the way out to the 400 feet tall fences. That you can see from mainly every point in Crendall. The nearest town is Cren. The Capital of Crendall. 26 miles away. He hopes the other crew will meet up with him there, and gets the same idea.

Kip packs his stuff up, and throws it back over his shoulders, and he holsters his pistol. Kip runs back to the stairs, and stops. “Silent and deadly...” He pulls out his Bacckbone issued knife and continues running. He leaps out of the window he crashed through, and flicked his wrist.

“Wrist, GPS to Cren, Crendall. Warn Heat Sigs within 100 meters. Alert of possible useful loot.”

“Hello, Mr. Freeman, nice to see you again. Cren is now being traced, please follow my vocally given instructions. I will war you about heat signatures within 100 meters, and useful loot within 2000 meters...” There was a brief silence, “Hello, please proceed to your left.” An arrow with high opactiy suddenly appeared in front of Kip, a satellite signal only he could see. Probably a Windbreaker in the atmosphere near him. Kip started to run. His throat burning from the burning city, and ashes. He flicked his wrist. “Wrist find me a damn resp ASAP!” The wrist band turned yellow, meaning Hazard and began to Anomaly his position to the nearest Windbreaker. He continuedd running. “SitRep Wrist!” Hes charging down the sidewalk, being chased by the horde. His wrist band turned Blue, and vibrated. That means someones force connecting to him.

“Freeman, this is Sargent Major Guy Woods, My Windbreaker found your anomaly. I'm currently at Cren, Crendall. Whats your lo-”

“Get me the fuck out of here! Im being overrun by hundreds of Crenians!” He turned an ally and threw down a large collection trashcans. The horde came crashing behind him, falling and tripping eachother.

“The windbreaker will be there in nine seconds, prepare for extract, Freeman. Woods out.”

Kip ran even harder to the tennis court. Thats the only safe pickup zone. Kip gets there, and pulls his M9 out, and takes a knee, aiming at the ally. 10 seconds pass. A group of four come sprinting out, Kip aims a steadily and calmly fired. Aiming for the chest, he shoots two rounds into each one. Killing all four without a problem. He unloads his current mag, and loads in a 50 round high capacity, switching to automatic. He has 5 more of the 50 round mags. He should be good for a while.

30 seconds. “Where the fuck are they? Wrist! Call previous caller!” One group of about 20 slowly dazed and bloody come walking out of the ally. Not even looking at Kip, however Kip unloads 50 rounds down range dropping all of them, and hitting the walls around them.

Two minutes. “Sargent Major Woods, yes?” He answered, calmly. The sound of sipping a hot drink can be heard on his end of the radio.

“Where the hell are you? Im on the tennis court fighting for my life!” Kip yelled, loading his next mag. Another group of five walk all bloody and calmly dazed through. Teats weird, he thought, how are the hurt before I shoot them?”

“Freeman you have received help. We dropped you some support. Hopefully it made it through, it was low on juice.” He snarled.

“You fucking said you were going to extract me!” Kip yelled, furious with the circumstances at hand.

“Oh, pardon me. We ran a track record, and we don’t support Crendall Science. We are only here repairing our advertising satellites, and thought you were part of the missing ten man repair group delivered by Black Hawk Chip Development.”

“You're really going to fucking leave me here to die alone you fat, conglomerate bastard?” Kip screamed. Bullets rang the air, and they werent his. Kip ran to a manhole in the middle of the court, and opened it and slipped down, waiting until the gunner identifies.

“Nothing personal, Freeman. But hey, I also transport our Marines into our Interstellar Control! So please don't believe Im some non- politic crazy man, I just don't support the harm of Crenians. My best friend is a Crenian. You just have to chain them up and teach them.”

“You insane fuck! Fuck you!” Kip ran down the sewers and stopped at a light source barely visible appeared 800 feet away. “Wrist, whisper. Re- navigate, identify subjects within 1000 meters.” He crouched and aimed his pistol at the stranger, still not visible to the eye.

“Target 758m ahead, Trentin Muhammadan, 98, carrying TNT strapped to his chest. Mindset: Hazardous. Target 311m above, behind you, Synthetic Intelligence, carrying Full Kevlar, M290 HMG. Mindset: Friendly. Would you like me to Exterminate Trentin?”
“Yeah go ahead.”

“Very well. Please remain 300+ meters away from target during synthetic extermination.” The wrist band went quiet. A loud whistle could bee heard. A 22. missile. It pierced through the sewer ceiling, and left a big boom. A missile smaller than a pencil with the bang of a 500LB bomb. The sewer collapsed on his side. Frunt will repair it. Frunt will repair the fires, and destructed property.

Kip runs to the nearest manhole ladder and climbs up, moving the plate aside and stands up. The Bot stood behind him.

“Hello, Kip Freeman. I'm Benny.”


© Copyright 2017 Kephen Sting. All rights reserved.


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