3rd Writing Competition (Please lock)

Community Halo Universe
1

Welcome, folks, to the 3nd Waypoint Community Contest (Interrogation & Subtext).
Again, fan-created and fan-organised. But Grim is supplying the forum badges for the top three.

3rd Competition Description Participants are to write a short piece of Halo fiction about the subject of interrogation in prose, not poetry, with the aim of suggesting an element or aspect not overtly displayed or presented in the main plot (subtext). This should be done with body language, tone, dialogue etc.
This is terrific opportunity to delve into elements of creative writing that do not necessarily present themselves at first glance.

Additionally, you should now be using elements/lessons from the first two competitions to bolster your third story i.e. be concise and using a hook to get the reader reading.

The winning entry will be judged on its imagination and the ability to grip the reader, while not overtly presenting an underlying theme (subtext). This theme should come through in the writing. It can be character or situation based. It should also be great to read – convincing.

Entries can be humorous or serious.

Rules (Read and follow!) To be written as a short piece of Halo fiction about the subject of interrogation that both utilises elements from the first two competitions (concise & engaging) in addition to the subject of context. Participants are to write a short piece of Halo fiction in prose, not poetry, with the aim of suggesting a theme not overtly displayed or presented in the main plot (subtext). This should be done with body language, tone, and dialogue etc. How you present that theme is up to you.

The subject of Interrogation is the overall theme, not the subtext. You have to come up with that on your own. You can have an interrogation taking place, going to take place, or has already taken place. It’s up to you.

No more than 700 words (subtext can be delivered in a single paragraph. A theme can comes across just as quickly, so no excuses).

As the word count is longer, entries may be hosted on other sites with a link provided in this thread. Please ensure the link works.

Title does not count in word limit. Hyphenated words count as one word.

1 entry per person. Entries must be original work, not copied form someone else. Word count to be placed at the bottom of the entry.

Will run for two weeks: July 7th - July 21st. late entries will not be accepted (probably because the thread will be locked). Entries may be edited multiple times before the competition closes. This isn’t a test of spelling and grammar; however, readability goes a long way in getting your point across. A separate thread will be launched for Q&A [LINK ]

No poetry.

Prizes
1st, 2nd, and 3rd place will each receive a forum badge. Same as before. If you have already won this badge in the 1st competition you will not receive an additional badge to keep it company. You will simply have to bask in your own glory.

Subtext Examples:
In the film Titanic, the main plot is romance. The subtext is the class struggle.
So for you, the main subject/plot is an interrogation. The subtext could be the interrogator’s unusual admiration of his/her enemy/prisoner.

Advice (use it) Utilise previous lessons in this competition. Make it concise, give it a hook. Draw me in, make me want to read it. Present the theme of interrogation as well as your own subtext.

Good luck!

2

Somewhat unrelated but I remember reading your Halo 3 Epilogue in about 2008 or so. I’d consider doing this for sure.

3

بخشش (Baxšeš)

The door was heavy with rusted age, and protested shrilly as they pried it open. When at last it relented a wave of rancid air sloshed out gratefully. Tarsa Mazdaki nodded and their prisoner was moved inside the safe house. After depositing him in one of two dimly lit chairs, her squad-mates left them alone. “Leave it open.” She called as they departed.

She let him stew for a while as she wiped the salt from her cheeks, then began.

“Twice a killer and now twice a captive. Hastin… ” She reached out and removed the heavy cloth sack from his head. “… I think I’m seeing a pattern.”

Hastin Mehta blinked and looked around briefly. He was careful to reveal only defiance. When she did not speak, he sneered. “So we’re here to end it, hm? Do it then. I’ve had my fill of UEG hospitality.”

Tarsa shook her head. “No.”

He rolled his eyes. “Torture first then. I lost everything to those creatures! What can you possibly do to me now?!”

She frowned. “This isn’t the 20th Century. No-one’s getting tortured.” For just a moment he betrayed confusion. “You have vital intel on the URF, but it’s nothing we can’t get with a little digging. We need your help, Hastin. We need you to help us put a stop to this madness. The people love you. They listen to you. Help us end their support of the URF, and we’ll guarantee you a full pardon. More importantly though… You and those you represent, you’ll get a seat in Charybdis VII’s reformed government. You will have a voice.”

His eyes glinted. “You’re joining the resistance?”

She held up a hand. “Reformed. Not replaced.”

“Tseh! Games. I’m uneducated, not stupid. Go plough yourself.”

“No games. Sek ‘Tvornec… we underestimated him. His NCA friends just created a vacancy in the Administration. Everyone’s still scrambling, but for now we have emergency powers. Rojas and I are prepared to interpret those powers liberally.”

“‘Enemy of my enemy’, then?”

The captive was going to say more, but Tarsa quietly interrupted. “It has to be more than that, Hastin…” When he didn’t answer, she continued. “You’re divorced, yes?”

“…”

“What happened?”

“… Anger - I was too angry. Always, after the glassing. Everything set me off. She tried but… it was too much for her.”

Tarsa nodded sympathetically. “For me… I had too many secrets.” She admitted, probably for the first time ever. Hastin was startled but listening. “Nature of the job, yeah? What can you do? Too much for him too I guess. We fought and we fought and we fought, and when we tried to fix it we just fought even harder. And then one day this happened.” The spec-ops trooper lifted her jacket slightly and revealed a rough tangle of scars, each one the width of a carving knife.
Hastin stared in silence until she covered them again. Finally he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“I hated him so much after that. For the longest time I actually wanted to kill him.”

“What changed?”

“I was stuck. Hate consumed my every waking moment. Nothing else mattered, so everything else suffered. Work, family, friends… everything. Finally I had to accept what had happened and move forward. Attacking me… will always be on him. But the marriage was already failing, and that was both of our burden.”

For a time they sat in stillness, wrestling with what to say next. Tarsa’s thoughts strayed briefly to Pieter, who’d fallen in the raid that captured Hastin. No longer able to hold her tears back, it was all she could manage to look at him, silently pleading.

“We need you, Hastin.” The captive jumped at the new voice; he’d never noticed the third figure lurking in the shadows. A tall, wizened t’vaoan kig-yar stepped cautiously into the light. Speaking through a translator, it continued to approach them. “This all started when you murdered my brother. He was my oldest, my truest, companion.” She stopped mere inches from Hastin, who was regarding her with rigid apprehension.

Then the kig-yar bent down, undid Hastin’s bindings and offered her hand to him. “Help us end it.”

Word Count: 694

4

> 2533274804966314;2:
> Somewhat unrelated but I remember reading your Halo 3 Epilogue in about 2008 or so. I’d consider doing this for sure.

That’s a blast from the past. I now cringe when I read it. The punctuation was terrible.

Feel free to join in.

All are welcome.

5

Man…everytime I see these pop up I wanna try, but I have only done around 4 college writing classes in my four years of college experience. Nothing near this sort of stuff.
And I am terrible with dialogue, but I can whip up a cool senario or maybe an event occuring in a battle for characters to watch unfold.
Grr…I really want to try, but my writing with dialogue and subtext isnt there :frowning:

6

That’s what these competitions are for. They provide an opportunity to try it out. I also post via a Q&A thread for those with questions on writing. I can also critique work and provide alternative written examples for various entries.

Give it a go.

7

Heh, how do I do it?

8

Breaking Point

The shattering snap of the prisoner’s hands echoed around the chamber, followed by momentary silence and a series of screams filled with a cry consisting of pure instinctual primal nature; inherent and void of any other meaning except for one of absolute agony. The reverberation of the screams almost deafened the interrogator until he clamped a mouth over the prisoner’s mouth, muffling the cries until they were reduced to a whimper. The interrogator removed his palm, allowing the prisoner to breath. Rustic gasps and wheezing filtered through the chamber as the prisoner breathed in the sweet oxygen-rich air, wincing every so often as the pain calmed and spiked in his broken hand.

The interrogator spoke again, this time with a rushed and highly aggressive tone. “Now that you’ve been punished for your disobedience, I will explain the rules again. If you answer honestly, I will give you a quick death. If you disobey I will crush you slowly and painfully until I get what I want. It’s simple, really.” The prisoner, who until this point was looking downwards, tilted his neck up towards the interrogator as much as he was capable. The bolts holding his head in place pressed against his flesh, threatening to sink into his face. He brought his gaze in parallel to the interrogator’s, refusing to answer and grinning crookedly. In return, the interrogator roared at the defiance of the prisoner, bringing the bottom of his fist down across the prisoner’s head, cracking it against the bolts and sending one of them deep into his cheekbone. The prisoner hissed, holding and tensing the breath in his body as the bolt quickly corkscrewed it’s way through his cheekbone, cracking apart bone and tearing sinew. The familiar tang of iron flooded the prisoner’s taste buds as blooded seeped into his mouth, and unable to move and stop it’s flow as it trickled down towards his lungs. The prisoner coughed, spitting it back up towards the floor. Now, unable to move, the prisoner could only listen as the interrogator spoke again, roaring down words into his ears. “This is your final chance! Answer me now or I will destroy your entire being! Your stubbornness is honorable but it will not change anything!”

The interrogator reached for a small case that had been placed inside the chamber earlier and opened it. He picked up a shaking black jar inside of it and placed it on top of a table aside the prisoner., and bringing up a small communications device. He spoke through it quickly and calmly, telling others outside to prepare something for him. He heard the opening of a door and the shouts of several people as his fellow Sangheili dragged in the other prisoners. Four men all defiantly struggling against their captors until they saw their fellow prisoner and stopped struggling. The interrogator picked up the jar, opening and removing the half-meter worm trapped within. He addressed the other Humans as he brought it closer to the prisoner, grabbing his face and bringing the snapping jaws of the worm to his face.

“This is the price for defying us! No matter how strong minded you all are, you will all become meaningless once we tear you apart, bit by bloody bit! Willpower is a farce, and pointless to even uphold. Your petty philosophies will never work . We will break you. Always.”

The interrogator released the creature. As it burrowed into the prisoner’s eye, the screams returned. The worm made it’s way into the mans’ brain, devouring everything all the while the prisoner struggled and screamed, unable to stop the creature. However soon the prisoner stopped jerking and screaming, instantly becoming limp as he died. The worm crawled back out and dropped to the floor. The interrogator picked it up and placed it back inside the jar. He turned to the other prisoners, broken by their comrades horrifying end, and spoke to them.

“Now then, if he will not break, certainly one of you will. Come, let me test you!”

Word count: 675

9

Well, here we go again…

Fault-Lines
Harvey didn’t feel bad for the genocide; after all, it wasn’t his fault.
Redbrick and Benitez looked into the one way mirror, to see Reid inflicting a few more punches into their freshly captured Insurrectionist.

“Are we even allowed to be doing this?” asked Redbrick. “I mean, he’s a Prisoner of War, right?”

“If anyone gets in trouble over this, it’ll be Captain Poole. Maybe Reid. We didn’t do anything, it’s not our problem.”

Redbrick opened his mouth to reply, but Benitez added, “Besides, he deserves it. You saw what he did; hijacked a frigate and flew the thing right into that Brute colony. That’s two million dead, you think anybody’s going to care that he wasn’t treated in full accordance to the Geneva Convention?”

“I suppose not.”

Redbrick left, struggling to supress his tears. Benitez glanced at him, considered staying, but he knew nobody else was going to comfort his friend. He ran after Redbrick.
“Hey, hey, you okay?”

“Y-yeah… I just…” Redbrick broke down into a mess of tears.

As Benitez took him back to his room, all Redbrick was thinking about was Whitman.

Reid pushed Harvey’s head back into the bowl of water. The innie tried to scream, but all that emerged from his mouth was bubbles.

“That’s enough, Reid. Give Harvey some time to recollect his thoughts, maybe then he could tell us who he’s working with.”

Harvey’s head surfaced and he started gasping desperately for air.

“I will say again, Harvey, who are you working with?” Poole peered in closely to Harvey’s face.

“It wasn’t my fault,” said Harvey.

“Well, whose was it?”

“They made me do it… they would have killed me…”

“Who the hell are “they”?”

“ONI.”

Poole tried not to show his shock. “Son, that’s a load of bull-“

“It’s true! They said they’d ignore me working for the Innies if I just did one last job for them. You’re telling me you wouldn’t do the same? They’re just a bunch of monkeys anyway.”

Poole stared Harvey in the eyes; he didn’t look like a killer. Still, Poole supposed, neither did he.

And then he punched Harvey, hard.

“You better start explaining, fast. Why would ONI want to do that?”

“The brute pack that owns the city, it’s the Merak clan, and its leader, Merak, was talking to General Kaplan-“

“Kaplan? The leader of the Rebellion?”

“One of them, yes. Anyway, ONI captured me, forced me to grass, and then made me destroy the colony, or they’d kill me. Merak’s going to be assassinated later today.”

“Stop lying. ONI’d never do that.”

“Well, they did.”

“ONI would NEVER do that, okay? They’ve done some bad things, yeah, but they wouldn’t do that. They wouldn’t."

Reid spoke for the first time since she had entered the room.

“Wait, you were a prisoner in the //Stockholm//, how did you kill all the crew?”

“Only five of them. Door opened on its own, thanks to ONI, and then I just killed them.”

“What was stopping you from just getting in a pelican and flying off?”

“They put a bomb in my chest.”

ONI General Farrell had heard about Harvey’s capture; he was one of the first. Harvey’s and Poole’s voices echoed from his computer.

“It’s still in there? Christ, get him to the infirmary, now!”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell us earlier?”

“Where the hell is Benitez?”

Farrell removed the det charge from his pocket. He had never talked to Poole or Reid in his life; so why was he crying?

“It’s not your fault, it’s not your fault, it’s not your fault,” he whispered to himself, “Brutes and the Innies would have destroyed Earth. You saved more lives, you saved more lives…”

The words sounded hollow even to him.

He pressed the det charge regardless.
Beep.

It signalled the death of three people. They found nothing left of Harvey; Reid was just a shredded torso. Poole somehow clung to life for thirty more seconds, just long enough for Benitez to take his pulse and swear.

But it wasn’t Farrell’s fault.

10

Q&A thread now available here

11

> 2533274797756411;1:
> No poetry.

Damn it! There goes my interrogation poem! :smiley: I appreciate what you’re doing Flugel Meister. I’m considering entering the contest, I just know I will struggle with the word limit. Thanks for making it two weeks long, will give me time to stew on some ideas before bringing one to fruition.

12

You’re going to die out here. You know that, right?

Private Vrabel looked up from the spot on the floor he’d been staring at and surveyed the blood tray of the pelican. A few soldiers were chatting with each other, but most were, like him, just staring off into space. Even those talking were only half paying attention, looking through the person they were speaking to rather than at them. Everyone was thinking similar thoughts.

What are you fighting for?

Vrabel tried to think about other things. Better things. Like how nice it would taste to have a good meal again, rather than the slop the Army gives them. Or maybe how it would feel to get some fresh air in his lungs, as he looked out onto a picturesque, untarnished landscape of trees and grass and rivers and mountains and…

If you cannot answer that question, then isn’t it time to accept that you’ve reached the end of the line?

He couldn’t escape reality. He turned his head away from the other soldiers and looked out the back of the pelican at the quickly passing terrain. Everything was covered in a dusty haze, a literal fog of war that obscured a once beautiful planet. And in the distance he could see the jagged black spires and peaks – the glasslands.

Are you fighting to save humanity? How exactly does disembarking this pelican, likely to just be another casualty, help toward that goal?

Vrabel’s eyes shifted slightly to another person on the pelican, also looking out the open hatch. The only one in the blood tray standing rather than sitting, and probably the only one not thinking about their ultimate fate today. A Spartan.

Surely you are fighting to keep yourself alive. But what if everyone else in this pelican, on this godforsaken planet, dies? Will self-preservation alone save you in the long run?

The Spartan turned around. Vrabel looked away, not wanting to be caught staring rudely. He watched with his peripheral vision as she walked over and sat in the seat next to him, and begun taking shotgun shells out of a pouch on her thigh and inserting them into individual holsters on her wrist. Vrabel then returned his sights to the spot on the floor he’d been viewing for most of the trip.

No option seems plausible. Does that mean it’s over? That you are living the fin-

“Are you doing alright, private?”

Vrabel looked up quickly, startled at the unexpected voice. The Spartan was looking at him.

“Uh – ahem – yes Sir, I’m good.”

The Spartan returned to her work, and Vrabel returned to his spot on the floor…

…There has to be a way, right?

To his own surprise, some of the private’s thoughts manifested as words on his lips.

“Sir, do you think we can win this war?”

Why can you see no better alternatives than giving up?

The Spartan looked at him and spoke immediately, as if the question required no thought whatsoever. “Yes.”

Vrabel blinked. “Why?”

Can you manage to find hope in a situation so hopeless?

“Because when I, and the rest of humanity, stop believing we can win, we will have lost.”

There is a self-fulfillling prophecy in giving up and waiting for the end, isn’t there?

Suddenly the Spartan turned away and put a hand on her helmet. Vrabel suspected she was getting a comm message from someone, and sure enough, she stood up and spoke in a loud but calm voice to all the soldiers in the pelican.

“Covenant forces have correctly predicted our approach path and are moving to intercept. The LZ is gonna be hot, get ready.”

This battlefield will be your prison – no your grave – if you believe it so before you’re even there. Do you understand that?

As Vrabel began checking his rifle, questions still floated in his mind, but from the aether he had managed to pull an answer.

I can find hope, because that will give my actions, my remaining life, purpose.

697 words according to MS Word Online.

13

> It was a well-known fact that colonization was a dangerous business, and Faraday was more than a little experienced in the area, but even he didn’t expect to emerge from the toilet to find everybody dead.
>
> Music was still blaring, and the bar’s clientéle were still slouched on their stools, but now they had a vacancy that even the local methanol-laced beer couldn’t impart. Vtas was spreadeagled on the floor, squid mouth splayed open in comic surprise. A dragonfly-like insect perched on Big Mick’s forehead, darting down with a delicate proboscis to siphon off eye juice.
>
> A lesser man might have run screaming into the night, or stood gibbering on the spot as his mind and sanity shook hands and agreed it would be best if the two went their separate ways. Faraday strolled behind the bar and pulled an ale. Hey, it wasn’t like Mick was going to care now. This was was all artfully done, no doubt about it. He’d heard about a new railgun-based sniper system ONI were phasing in. Lightweight bullet, tiny entry hole, rapid expansion once inside soft tissue… no outward signs of damage, just a skull full of pureed neuron.
>
> “Mr Faraday, consider yourself under arrest.”
>
> He whirled around quickly, but not quick enough to register the punch before it sent his surroundings spinning and the floor rushing up to greet him. Damn. Raul must’ve been working out. Either that or he couldn’t hold his beer as well as he liked to think.
>
> “Hey, man, good t’ see you. Growing the hair out? Can’t say I like it.”
>
> Raul moved in for a second punch, but settled for an ugly grimace, pulling a stool out. Faraday went to get up off the floor, and there was a soft phut millimeters above his head that made him reconsider. The dragonfly, apparently having had its fill of eyeball, launched into the air and circled lazily above them.
>
> “There are two ways this could play out. Depending on how helpful you are, you can spend a few decades inside civilian prison. Alternately, we leave one more body for the termites.”
>
> “‘Leave me for the termites?’ Cold, man. Like a James Bond villain. Hey, ever wonder if you’re the bad guy?”
>
> Why were they here? New Mombassa? That nuke he sold to the Friedens? The Neo-Delhi incident? A soft snap interrupted his thoughts as the dragonfly disappeared inside the leaves-slash-jaws of a Venus flytrap.
>
> Raul leaned forwards. “I’ll give you a chance to make things easier for yourself. Tell us what were you doing on Verdigris Alpha four months ago and I’ll see to it you get a lesser sentence.”
>
> Faraday had a brief vision of himself standing on a windswept hill, watching as brilliant purple beams stabbed down from the sky and atomized the city below. The Servants hadn’t paid him in full for the location, but it didn’t matter. He’d made the real credits shorting stock beforehand, re-investing his profits into silicate mining. Tens of thousands of honest workers turned into glass, and now he was richer than all of them combined.
>
> “Lemme think about it a second… Nah, you really should just buzz the lot.”
>
> There was no sense in blaming him. He hadn’t designed the system. He was simply smart enough to recognize the rules.
>
> Beat, and Raul lunged forward with a right hook that left Faraday stunned. By the time he came to, the snipers were busy sealing their earlier hits into anonymous black body bags, doubtless for some Winston to push into an incineration chute. Nobody would remember this fledgling Koslovic colony.
>
> “Take him away,” snapped Raul. Two soldiers grabbed Faraday’s arms and marched him off into the dark. Neither of them reacted as he kicked out at a plant. Newly-captured prisoner lashing out, they’d seen it a thousand times before.
>
> The dragonfly vanished into the sky.

14

Four walls. One ceiling. One floor. One table. Two chairs. One Alan Matthews.

Six hours he’d been here. A numbness took away his ability to feel, his elbows melted with the hard metal of the table, his palms colourless from holding his sunken head. His eyes followed the trend, lifeless and grey, sunken into his haggard, unshaven face. Chapped were his lips, broken skin like the fresh gash that tore from cheek to chin. He drew a shaky breath before releasing it out through his mouth, matching the hiss of the door to the room sliding open.

Matthews moved not a muscle, not when the room was resealed, not when the sound of paper padded down in front of him and not when the chair opposite him scraped against the floor. Silence reigned for a time, pierced now and then by the occasional clicking and scratching of a pen and the flapping of turning pages. These noises ceased with the laying down of the pen. Quiet then came once more until the newcomer offered a greeting.

“Staff Sergeant.”

“Yes, Staff Sergeant.” said Recruit Matthews, unblinking as he stared into the eyes of the Drill Instructor towering above him.

“I can’t hear you, Matthews!”

“Yes, Staff Sergeant!” Matthews roared, his back straight and his head raised.

“Louder!”

“Yes Staff Sergeant!” he screamed, feeling the words tear up his throat.

“Matthews?”

“Matthews? The hell are you doing? Keep your damn head down.” yelled Corporal Grayson to the newest member of his fireteam. Plasma whirred overhead, the heat of the blue and green bolts adding to the nervous sweat dripping from the face of PFC Matthews. The roaring of enemy fire and the perspiration drowned out the tears that rolled down his face, which itself was now buried into the back of the Corporal. They were practically hugging each other behind the burning wreckage of the police Genet.

With clenched teeth, Matthews attempted to stand again so that he could get his rifle in a position to fire over the car. Instead, Corporal Grayson stood and pushed his back further into Matthew’s face as he leant out of cover. The Marine got a quick burst of rounds downrange with his BR55 before a pair of pink shards struck him in the neck. Matthews could only watch in horror as their Fireteam Leader slumped to the ground, his throat and lower jaw disappearing in a mist of pink and red.

“Staff Sergeant Matthews. I need to ask you a few questions about Lance Corporal Casey Smith.”

“Smith! Get down!”

The Hunter reared its ugly head, exposing the orange worms between its helmet and chest plate. Staff Sergeant Matthews attempted to shoot its weak spot, firing his MA5C as he sprinted forward. His front leg bent first and he dropped to a slide, grabbing LCpl Smith by the back of his body armour and slamming his fellow Marine to the ground. The two collided with the asphalt behind the low wall of sandbags just as a stream of bright green washed over where they had both been stood.

“Go! Inside the building,” Matthews ushered, helping his comrade off of the road. He half-dragged the Lance Corporal into the pile of rubble that was somehow still standing. He entered first, glass crunching underfoot as he strode through the frame of a window. The same green light as before poked at him in the corner of his eye but it only served to increase his pace. At the very moment Matthews let go of Smith to let him walk on his own, the familiar sound of the Hunter’s cannon roared a mighty roar. The green hit the wall and it exploded. The roof came down with it, three stories collapsing down on them.

“Questions about his death, Staff Sergeant.”

For the first time in six hours, Matthews moved. His face tightened, his eyes leaked and a wail escaped his lips. Tears streamed down his face and he rose his head to look at his hands. He unfurled his fingers, sobbing as he remembered the blood that covered them as they unwillingly clamped over the mouth of the screaming Lance Corporal Smith.

Word Count: 694

15

Post reserved for my entry.

And as a reminder to me to do said entry…

16

> 2533274803493024;11:
> > 2533274797756411;1:
> > No poetry.
>
>
> Damn it! There goes my interrogation poem! :smiley: I appreciate what you’re doing Flugel Meister. I’m considering entering the contest, I just know I will struggle with the word limit. Thanks for making it two weeks long, will give me time to stew on some ideas before bringing one to fruition.

Though I do enjoy some poetry, and have written the odd piece myself, my knowledge on the matter is very basic, so it would be unfair to judge with so little knowledge and experience.

That being said, the second to last competition (or the final one, I can’t remember) will be free and open for all to choose as they like.

As for struggling with the word limit, take a look at the first competition results, which dealt exclusively with entries of 200 words or less. So participants had to learn and adapt to those constraints.

17

TAKE TWO! Hope it can meet all the requirements this time.

700 words on the dot - with no small amount of toil required. xD

Dust. For seven merciful seconds, it silenced everything.

For seven seconds it eclipsed the warships above and the MAC guns below. For seven seconds struggled breaths were held again, children crying went quiet, nurses speeding slowed to a halt, and beeping heart monitors staggered. For seven seconds, the dust brought Ward B back to where it was eight months ago, when hospital beds weren’t pushed against walls and blankets weren’t makeshift operating tables. For seven merciful seconds, the dust brought her back to the days when war was just a thing that made Sam slink into his room and stare at the sky.

She flicked her syringe.

Wonder what he’d say if he could see the Hospital now?

Seven seconds go by quickly.

Scarlet light put out the sun. They’d started Glassing again. Red spilled out of the starships all over the ground. Chunks of concrete and charred flesh splattered against reinforced hospital windows. Blue lights tore Pelicans out of the sky. Gatling guns shattered Banshees. Ash fell like snow.

“Doctor Adib!” A Marine called, despair stretched across his face, “We’ve got another load.”

“How many?” She asked, waving a nurse in her direction.

“Seven. Five civilian, two military. Plasma burns. Civies’ got the worst of it.”

Of course they di-

Purple seared the ward - everyone hit the hospital floor. The symphonic waterfall of two colliding titans dominated sound and light and thought. It rocketed up and up
and up. A warship fell out of the sky, residue from the MAC blast streaming behind it.

The shockwave had reduced the In sha’Allah high-rise to a smoldering heap, jetting plumes of smoke from the wreckage into the sky. A pang of grief hit her as she stood. When her son was five, he would crawl in his bed and stare at that high-rise whenever news of the war popped on the Media Screen. She’d lay down on the bed with him, letting him nestle beside her. Together they’d count the building’s windows, while war footage hummed from the kitchen. It was how Sam had learned his numbers.

28. He’d say in a small voice.

She’d stroke his head, pulling his shaggy brown mop behind his ears, 28 windows that’ll be there tomorrow, no matter what we or the Covenant do…29 if you count the one we’re both looking through.

Don’t count that one, mommy.

She’d sit up in mock indignation, Why not?

He’d roll around and look up at her with his big brown eyes. That smile would flash across his face, the smile that he’d put on whenever he was scared but didn’t
want to show it, as though it was his job to comfort his mother in the wake of war. That smile made her wonder how old her son really was.

Because my room is so messy, we might not see out that window tomorrow.

She’d laugh. He’d laugh too.

The laugh shot across the sky. Orange sparks showered the glass.

She glanced at the door. Marine hoisted stretcher down the hall.

“Put the patients by the wall,” She said.

The nurse panicked, “There’s no room-”

The stretchers filed in. Adib diagnosed the first victim without even blinking – third degree, swelling. Nerve endings probably destroyed…

…My god, she’s got Sam’s smile…

Her gaze stayed on the patient, “Make room.”

The Marines ran the girl’s stretcher to the wall. Doctor Adib scanned the rest of the patients – second, second, second, first (lucky -Yoink-), second…third.

She took a breath.

“Everyone! Burn victims – I want water on the third degrees. Get the swelling down. You and you, prep the second degrees. You…get that first degree up. Tell him…he’s lucky to be alive or something.”

She watched the girl. Purple scars twisted down her face. Wisps of burned flesh just touched the edge of her smile…that smile.

“She’ll need skin grafts.” One of the nurses called, handing the Doctor a scalpel.

That smile…

“Doctor Adib?”

…Sam stared at her, brown eyes wide, messy hair pushed behind his ears…

“Doctor Adib, what’s wrong?”

…the smile never moved from his face…

“Doctor Adib!”

…even when the Wraith’s billowing plasma made him dissolve like Dust.

She readied the scalpel, “Not again. Not this time.”

18

> 2535421619942348;17:
> Cool idea. Nice entries.
>
> I wanted to get away from the idea that “interrogation” was only employed by militaries finding secrets or officers locked in espionage. What about “interrogating” a patient in the hopes of providing for their needs? What about “interrogating” another lifeform simply out of immediate confusion? I also think my subtext is pretty obvious.
>
>
>
> [FRAGMENT 606]
> //–{/TOP SECRET/ /ONI EYES ONLY/}–//
> [FRAGMENT BEGINS]:
> {/–/}
>
> - IC: [/…ISOLATION OF FORERUNNER AI: INQUISITIVE-CHAPTER AND ORGANIC: [Noah] ABOARD KEYSHIP. ORGANIC: [Noah] SITUATION REACHING CRITICAL STAGES. DIRECTING NON-DAMAGED SUBROUTINES TO [Alchemy] ADMINISTERING MEDICINAL AID. /]
> [N]: [/…rain*…rain…all this…this rain…/]
>
> - IC: [/ ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ ENTERING PRELIMINARY STAGES OF SHOCK. SYMPTOMS INCLUDE: HEAVY TRAUMA SUSTAINED TO BASE OF THE SKULL FROM KEYSHIP IMPACT. HEAVY TRAUMA SUSTAINED TO RIB-CAGE FROM BRIEF PARASITIC ATTACHMENT. INTERNAL HEMORRHAGING. RAPID SPREAD OF INFECTION. PARALYSIS. DELIRIUM. /]
> __[N]__: [/…the water…I can see myself…it’s murky…the water…it’s…it’s almost touching my…/]
>
> - IC: [/ ADMINISTERING PRESSURE TO HEMORRHAGING. AMPUTATING INFECTED AREAS. ACTIVATING __[Butcher]__ /]
> __[N]__: [/…THROAT - IT’S TOUCHING MY THROAT. It’s in my lungs - DROWNING. I’m FALLING. I’m SINKING. It’s got me - it’s in my lungs it’s in my throat it’s got me it’s got me they’ve got me…/]
>
> - IC: [/ SUBJECT PANICKING. [Speaking with] ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ STRONGLY ADVISED. ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ SITUATION REPORT. /]
> __[N]__: [/…they’ve got me…the ocean’s got me…**the water…are you rusting, Inquisitive? I’d…hate to…see you rust…/]
>
> - IC: [/ ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ SITUATION REPORT. /]
> __[N]__: [/…the tide’s come in…it’s rising…/]
>
> - IC: [/ ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ UNRESPONSIVE. __[Sanity]__ SLIPPING. ACTIVATING __[Butcher]* /]
> [N]: [/…it’s rising riSING! NO ONE…NO ONE DEFIES THE RIVER…it’s up to my throat…we’ll need a raft or an ark or a desert. /]
>
> - IC: [/ INFECTION SPREADING. LIFE SIGNS FAILING. ORGANIC: __[Noah] SITUATION REPORT. /]
> [N]: [/…I’m…so damp…/]
>
> - IC: [/ PULSE IS SLOWING. [Rythm] QUIETING. SITUATION REPORT - [Please] /]
> [N]: [/…It’s cold beneath the waves…/]
>
> - IC: [/ ORGANIC: [Noah] [Has joined the Song] CAUSE OF DEATH: SEVERE HEMATOMA AND RAPID INFECTION. A LIFEWORKER BIAS MAY HAVE BEEN ABLE TO [Prevent my Sin] SHOULD ONE HAVE BEEN PRESENT.
> [N]: [/…/]
>
>
> - IC: [/ NO TRANSMISSIONS FROM ECUMENE KEYSHIPS WILL TOUCH US IN THIS [Shipwreck] BEGINNING SELF DESTRUCT SEQUENCE. PERHAPS THIS [Will atone]
> [//N//]: [/…no…we’re*…not…cold…//]
>
> - IC: [/ __[Confusion]__ ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ IS DEAD. REANIMATION OF POSTMORTEM HOST IS A BIOLOGICAL IMPOSSIBILITY WITH THE IMPLEMENTS AND TOOLS PRESENT IN THIS SHIPWRECK. I COULD NOT HAVE __[Given him breath]__ /]
> __[//N//]__: [//…we’re thirsty…we’ve been thirsty…//]
>
> - IC: [/ SCANS INDICATE INFECTION HAS __[____Latched]__ ONTO CEREBRAL CORTEX OF ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ WHAT ORGANISM KILLS IT’S HOST TO CONTROL IT’S CORPSE? IDENTIFY, __[//Noah//]__ /]
> __[//N//]__: [//…the water’s coming…can you feel it…machine? //]
>
> - IC: [/ IDENTIFY, __[//Noah//]__ /]
> [//N//]: [// we’ll bathe in the rising river…____//]
>
> - IC: [/ WARNING. DECEASED ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ EXHIBITING STRANGE TENDENCIES. IDENTIFY /]
> [//N//]: [// we’ll drink from planet-sized oceans…//]
>
> - IC [/ MULTI-CELLULAR STRUCTURES ENVELOPING UNINFECTED TISSUE. ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ HAS BEEN RENDERED UNRECOGNIZABLE. IDENTIFY /]
> __[//N//]__: [// we’ll swim in the pools of yesterday…//]
>
> - IC: [/ __[//Noah//],__ YOUR CELLULAR COMPOSITION IS UTTERLY FOREIGN YET INTRIGUINGLY __[Familiar]__. IT MATCHES WITH THE PARASITE THAT COUPLED WITH ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ IN THE MOMENTS BEFORE HIS DEATH. LOGIC WOULD DICTATE THAT YOU ARE THE DESIRED __[-Yoink-]__ OF SUCH A UNION - THIS WOULD HOLD YOU ACCOUNTABLE FOR THE POISONING OF A MEMBER OF THE ECUMENE COUNCIL - WHICH IS PUNISHABLE BY DISINTEGRATION. IF YOU DO NOT WISH TO BE ASSOCIATED WITH __[Noah]__'S DEATH IN SUCH A WAY, SIMPLY IDENTIFY YOURSELF. /]
> __[//N//]__: [// our tides will come and we’ll sweep away the empires…the beasts…the reclaimers…the ungrateful…we’ll splash in their blood until their blood becomes water and until we’ve turned drunk on their fluid…when it comes…//]
>
> - IC: [/ WHEN WHAT COMES? /]
> __[//N//]*__: [// the Flood, of course //]
>
> {/–/}
> -[FRAGMENT ENDS]-
> //–{/TOP SECRET/ /ONI EYES ONLY/}–//
>

Sorry, but this isn’t what I’m looking for. I want prose stories, not data bursts or AI conversations. And the purpose of subtext is for it to be subtle, not obvious.

In this there’s no hook. I’m not drawn in by anything. I don’t feel for anything/anyone in the piece you’ve written up here. Though I applaud your efforts in trying to be different, this is like a thousand other stories I’ve seen before.

Written material like this is best suited for longer pieces (longer short stories or novels), and only then in short form. By all means, feel free to submit. But I’m stating, in advance, that it won’t get into the top three.

19

> 2533274797756411;18:
> > 2535421619942348;17:
> > Cool idea. Nice entries.
> >
> > I wanted to get away from the idea that “interrogation” was only employed by militaries finding secrets or officers locked in espionage. What about “interrogating” a patient in the hopes of providing for their needs? What about “interrogating” another lifeform simply out of immediate confusion? I also think my subtext is pretty obvious.
> >
> >
> >
> > [FRAGMENT 606]
> > //–{/TOP SECRET/ /ONI EYES ONLY/}–//
> > [FRAGMENT BEGINS]:
> > {/–/}
> >
> > - IC: [/…ISOLATION OF FORERUNNER AI: INQUISITIVE-CHAPTER AND ORGANIC: [Noah] ABOARD KEYSHIP. ORGANIC: [Noah] SITUATION REACHING CRITICAL STAGES. DIRECTING NON-DAMAGED SUBROUTINES TO [Alchemy] ADMINISTERING MEDICINAL AID. /]
> > [N]: [/…rain*…rain…all this…this rain…/]
> >
> > - IC: [/ ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ ENTERING PRELIMINARY STAGES OF SHOCK. SYMPTOMS INCLUDE: HEAVY TRAUMA SUSTAINED TO BASE OF THE SKULL FROM KEYSHIP IMPACT. HEAVY TRAUMA SUSTAINED TO RIB-CAGE FROM BRIEF PARASITIC ATTACHMENT. INTERNAL HEMORRHAGING. RAPID SPREAD OF INFECTION. PARALYSIS. DELIRIUM. /]
> > __[N]__: [/…the water…I can see myself…it’s murky…the water…it’s…it’s almost touching my…/]
> >
> > - IC: [/ ADMINISTERING PRESSURE TO HEMORRHAGING. AMPUTATING INFECTED AREAS. ACTIVATING __[Butcher]__ /]
> > __[N]__: [/…THROAT - IT’S TOUCHING MY THROAT. It’s in my lungs - DROWNING. I’m FALLING. I’m SINKING. It’s got me - it’s in my lungs it’s in my throat it’s got me it’s got me they’ve got me…/]
> >
> > - IC: [/ SUBJECT PANICKING. [Speaking with] ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ STRONGLY ADVISED. ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ SITUATION REPORT. /]
> > __[N]__: [/…they’ve got me…the ocean’s got me…**the water…are you rusting, Inquisitive? I’d…hate to…see you rust…/]
> >
> > - IC: [/ ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ SITUATION REPORT. /]
> > __[N]__: [/…the tide’s come in…it’s rising…/]
> >
> > - IC: [/ ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ UNRESPONSIVE. __[Sanity]__ SLIPPING. ACTIVATING __[Butcher]* /]
> > [N]: [/…it’s rising riSING! NO ONE…NO ONE DEFIES THE RIVER…it’s up to my throat…we’ll need a raft or an ark or a desert. /]
> >
> > - IC: [/ INFECTION SPREADING. LIFE SIGNS FAILING. ORGANIC: __[Noah] SITUATION REPORT. /]
> > [N]: [/…I’m…so damp…/]
> >
> > - IC: [/ PULSE IS SLOWING. [Rythm] QUIETING. SITUATION REPORT - [Please] /]
> > [N]: [/…It’s cold beneath the waves…/]
> >
> > - IC: [/ ORGANIC: [Noah] [Has joined the Song] CAUSE OF DEATH: SEVERE HEMATOMA AND RAPID INFECTION. A LIFEWORKER BIAS MAY HAVE BEEN ABLE TO [Prevent my Sin] SHOULD ONE HAVE BEEN PRESENT.
> > [N]: [/…/]
> >
> >
> > - IC: [/ NO TRANSMISSIONS FROM ECUMENE KEYSHIPS WILL TOUCH US IN THIS [Shipwreck] BEGINNING SELF DESTRUCT SEQUENCE. PERHAPS THIS [Will atone]
> > [//N//]: [/…no…we’re*…not…cold…//]
> >
> > - IC: [/ __[Confusion]__ ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ IS DEAD. REANIMATION OF POSTMORTEM HOST IS A BIOLOGICAL IMPOSSIBILITY WITH THE IMPLEMENTS AND TOOLS PRESENT IN THIS SHIPWRECK. I COULD NOT HAVE __[Given him breath]__ /]
> > __[//N//]__: [//…we’re thirsty…we’ve been thirsty…//]
> >
> > - IC: [/ SCANS INDICATE INFECTION HAS __[____Latched]__ ONTO CEREBRAL CORTEX OF ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ WHAT ORGANISM KILLS IT’S HOST TO CONTROL IT’S CORPSE? IDENTIFY, __[//Noah//]__ /]
> > __[//N//]__: [//…the water’s coming…can you feel it…machine? //]
> >
> > - IC: [/ IDENTIFY, __[//Noah//]__ /]
> > [//N//]: [// we’ll bathe in the rising river…____//]
> >
> > - IC: [/ WARNING. DECEASED ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ EXHIBITING STRANGE TENDENCIES. IDENTIFY /]
> > [//N//]: [// we’ll drink from planet-sized oceans…//]
> >
> > - IC [/ MULTI-CELLULAR STRUCTURES ENVELOPING UNINFECTED TISSUE. ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ HAS BEEN RENDERED UNRECOGNIZABLE. IDENTIFY /]
> > __[//N//]__: [// we’ll swim in the pools of yesterday…//]
> >
> > - IC: [/ __[//Noah//],__ YOUR CELLULAR COMPOSITION IS UTTERLY FOREIGN YET INTRIGUINGLY __[Familiar]__. IT MATCHES WITH THE PARASITE THAT COUPLED WITH ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ IN THE MOMENTS BEFORE HIS DEATH. LOGIC WOULD DICTATE THAT YOU ARE THE DESIRED __[-Yoink-]__ OF SUCH A UNION - THIS WOULD HOLD YOU ACCOUNTABLE FOR THE POISONING OF A MEMBER OF THE ECUMENE COUNCIL - WHICH IS PUNISHABLE BY DISINTEGRATION. IF YOU DO NOT WISH TO BE ASSOCIATED WITH __[Noah]__'S DEATH IN SUCH A WAY, SIMPLY IDENTIFY YOURSELF. /]
> > __[//N//]__: [// our tides will come and we’ll sweep away the empires…the beasts…the reclaimers…the ungrateful…we’ll splash in their blood until their blood becomes water and until we’ve turned drunk on their fluid…when it comes…//]
> >
> > - IC: [/ WHEN WHAT COMES? /]
> > __[//N//]*__: [// the Flood, of course //]
> >
> > {/–/}
> > -[FRAGMENT ENDS]-
> > //–{/TOP SECRET/ /ONI EYES ONLY/}–//
> >
>
>
> Sorry, but this isn’t what I’m looking for. I want prose stories, not data bursts or AI conversations. And the purpose of subtext is for it to be subtle, not obvious.
>
> In this there’s no hook. I’m not drawn in by anything. I don’t feel for anything/anyone in the piece you’ve written up here. Though I applaud your efforts in trying to be different, this is like a thousand other stories I’ve seen before.
>
> Written material like this is best suited for longer pieces (longer short stories or novels), and only then in short form. By all means, feel free to submit. But I’m stating, in advance, that it won’t get into the top three.

Cool. Sorry for gumming up the works. Allow me to rewrite.

20

> 2535421619942348;19:
> > 2533274797756411;18:
> > > 2535421619942348;17:
> > > Cool idea. Nice entries.
> > >
> > > I wanted to get away from the idea that “interrogation” was only employed by militaries finding secrets or officers locked in espionage. What about “interrogating” a patient in the hopes of providing for their needs? What about “interrogating” another lifeform simply out of immediate confusion? I also think my subtext is pretty obvious.
> > >
> > >
> > >
> > > [FRAGMENT 606]
> > > //–{/TOP SECRET/ /ONI EYES ONLY/}–//
> > > [FRAGMENT BEGINS]:
> > > {/–/}
> > >
> > > - IC: [/…ISOLATION OF FORERUNNER AI: INQUISITIVE-CHAPTER AND ORGANIC: [Noah] ABOARD KEYSHIP. ORGANIC: [Noah] SITUATION REACHING CRITICAL STAGES. DIRECTING NON-DAMAGED SUBROUTINES TO [Alchemy] ADMINISTERING MEDICINAL AID. /]
> > > [N]: [/…rain*…rain…all this…this rain…/]
> > >
> > > - IC: [/ ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ ENTERING PRELIMINARY STAGES OF SHOCK. SYMPTOMS INCLUDE: HEAVY TRAUMA SUSTAINED TO BASE OF THE SKULL FROM KEYSHIP IMPACT. HEAVY TRAUMA SUSTAINED TO RIB-CAGE FROM BRIEF PARASITIC ATTACHMENT. INTERNAL HEMORRHAGING. RAPID SPREAD OF INFECTION. PARALYSIS. DELIRIUM. /]
> > > __[N]__: [/…the water…I can see myself…it’s murky…the water…it’s…it’s almost touching my…/]
> > >
> > > - IC: [/ ADMINISTERING PRESSURE TO HEMORRHAGING. AMPUTATING INFECTED AREAS. ACTIVATING __[Butcher]__ /]
> > > __[N]__: [/…THROAT - IT’S TOUCHING MY THROAT. It’s in my lungs - DROWNING. I’m FALLING. I’m SINKING. It’s got me - it’s in my lungs it’s in my throat it’s got me it’s got me they’ve got me…/]
> > >
> > > - IC: [/ SUBJECT PANICKING. [Speaking with] ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ STRONGLY ADVISED. ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ SITUATION REPORT. /]
> > > __[N]__: [/…they’ve got me…the ocean’s got me…**the water…are you rusting, Inquisitive? I’d…hate to…see you rust…/]
> > >
> > > - IC: [/ ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ SITUATION REPORT. /]
> > > __[N]__: [/…the tide’s come in…it’s rising…/]
> > >
> > > - IC: [/ ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ UNRESPONSIVE. __[Sanity]__ SLIPPING. ACTIVATING __[Butcher]* /]
> > > [N]: [/…it’s rising riSING! NO ONE…NO ONE DEFIES THE RIVER…it’s up to my throat…we’ll need a raft or an ark or a desert. /]
> > >
> > > - IC: [/ INFECTION SPREADING. LIFE SIGNS FAILING. ORGANIC: __[Noah] SITUATION REPORT. /]
> > > [N]: [/…I’m…so damp…/]
> > >
> > > - IC: [/ PULSE IS SLOWING. [Rythm] QUIETING. SITUATION REPORT - [Please] /]
> > > [N]: [/…It’s cold beneath the waves…/]
> > >
> > > - IC: [/ ORGANIC: [Noah] [Has joined the Song] CAUSE OF DEATH: SEVERE HEMATOMA AND RAPID INFECTION. A LIFEWORKER BIAS MAY HAVE BEEN ABLE TO [Prevent my Sin] SHOULD ONE HAVE BEEN PRESENT.
> > > [N]: [/…/]
> > >
> > >
> > > - IC: [/ NO TRANSMISSIONS FROM ECUMENE KEYSHIPS WILL TOUCH US IN THIS [Shipwreck] BEGINNING SELF DESTRUCT SEQUENCE. PERHAPS THIS [Will atone]
> > > [//N//]: [/…no…we’re*…not…cold…//]
> > >
> > > - IC: [/ __[Confusion]__ ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ IS DEAD. REANIMATION OF POSTMORTEM HOST IS A BIOLOGICAL IMPOSSIBILITY WITH THE IMPLEMENTS AND TOOLS PRESENT IN THIS SHIPWRECK. I COULD NOT HAVE __[Given him breath]__ /]
> > > __[//N//]__: [//…we’re thirsty…we’ve been thirsty…//]
> > >
> > > - IC: [/ SCANS INDICATE INFECTION HAS __[____Latched]__ ONTO CEREBRAL CORTEX OF ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ WHAT ORGANISM KILLS IT’S HOST TO CONTROL IT’S CORPSE? IDENTIFY, __[//Noah//]__ /]
> > > __[//N//]__: [//…the water’s coming…can you feel it…machine? //]
> > >
> > > - IC: [/ IDENTIFY, __[//Noah//]__ /]
> > > [//N//]: [// we’ll bathe in the rising river…____//]
> > >
> > > - IC: [/ WARNING. DECEASED ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ EXHIBITING STRANGE TENDENCIES. IDENTIFY /]
> > > [//N//]: [// we’ll drink from planet-sized oceans…//]
> > >
> > > - IC [/ MULTI-CELLULAR STRUCTURES ENVELOPING UNINFECTED TISSUE. ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ HAS BEEN RENDERED UNRECOGNIZABLE. IDENTIFY /]
> > > __[//N//]__: [// we’ll swim in the pools of yesterday…//]
> > >
> > > - IC: [/ __[//Noah//],__ YOUR CELLULAR COMPOSITION IS UTTERLY FOREIGN YET INTRIGUINGLY __[Familiar]__. IT MATCHES WITH THE PARASITE THAT COUPLED WITH ORGANIC: __[Noah]__ IN THE MOMENTS BEFORE HIS DEATH. LOGIC WOULD DICTATE THAT YOU ARE THE DESIRED __[-Yoink-]__ OF SUCH A UNION - THIS WOULD HOLD YOU ACCOUNTABLE FOR THE POISONING OF A MEMBER OF THE ECUMENE COUNCIL - WHICH IS PUNISHABLE BY DISINTEGRATION. IF YOU DO NOT WISH TO BE ASSOCIATED WITH __[Noah]__'S DEATH IN SUCH A WAY, SIMPLY IDENTIFY YOURSELF. /]
> > > __[//N//]__: [// our tides will come and we’ll sweep away the empires…the beasts…the reclaimers…the ungrateful…we’ll splash in their blood until their blood becomes water and until we’ve turned drunk on their fluid…when it comes…//]
> > >
> > > - IC: [/ WHEN WHAT COMES? /]
> > > __[//N//]*__: [// the Flood, of course //]
> > >
> > > {/–/}
> > > -[FRAGMENT ENDS]-
> > > //–{/TOP SECRET/ /ONI EYES ONLY/}–//
> > >
> >
> >
> > Sorry, but this isn’t what I’m looking for. I want prose stories, not data bursts or AI conversations. And the purpose of subtext is for it to be subtle, not obvious.
> >
> > In this there’s no hook. I’m not drawn in by anything. I don’t feel for anything/anyone in the piece you’ve written up here. Though I applaud your efforts in trying to be different, this is like a thousand other stories I’ve seen before.
> >
> > Written material like this is best suited for longer pieces (longer short stories or novels), and only then in short form. By all means, feel free to submit. But I’m stating, in advance, that it won’t get into the top three.
>
>
> Cool. Sorry for gumming up the works. Can’t wait for the next contest.

Try for a more personal approach. Make us feel for the characters.

Karen Traviss’ Human Weakness story worked because she focussed on the emotion of Cortana’s situation, not her ability to write Ai script. Use that as inspiration.