Freedoom Story Proposals

They called it Outpost Vincenzo, the smallest of three outposts in the ass-crack of Callisto. AGM funded the place as a pet project, and they ran it like a corporation runs anything: by cutting as many corners as possible. Your cell on earth was more fit for outer space, and the air was fresher, too. Every time someone flushed the toilet, the nuclear reactor hiccuped. Even the scenery sucked: a landscape of barren rock with a few pitiful attempts at terraformed gardens, while Jupiter's ugly ass filled the sky and stared accusingly down at everyone like the eye of God. It was a failed attempt at terraforming the moon's surface for colonization, demoted to an interstellar truck stop for passing starships.

It managed to do ONE thing right, though. It was impossible to escape from. The nearest dot of civilization was light-years away. The Geneva Convention was even further.

This was your assessment of the place your first hour as a visitor, after you had been registered, quarantined, and scanned for space bedbugs. You were forced into a snug new prison jumpsuit -- it doubled as a temporary space suit in emergencies -- and shoved up the hall to the commander's office. He looked like a gorilla with a crew cut and smiled like the Grim Reaper.

You knew you were in trouble when you glanced out the office window and saw your ship taking off without you.

"I'm Commander Philo," said the gorilla. "Your ship was called to make an emergency pickup, and they don't have room for you and the cargo, so they're leaving you in our care for a few weeks. Consider it an extended vacation. Compared to where you're going, Vincenzo is a resort."

He looked over your file, occasionally glancing at you like a hangnail he was thinking about biting off. You thought about your destination: the Rock, the cosmic version of Alcatraz, where bad earthlings were sent to disappear forever.

"You're a disgrace to the human race," Philo finally said, dropping the file on the desktop as he walked around the desk to your side. "No wonder they booted your ass off the planet."

"But I'm great with kids," you said.

The gorilla replied by jamming a cattle prod into your testicles on full charge. When you stopped vomiting and your eyesight came back, he was hovering over you with that damn smile. "They call me the Lord of Pain around here. You're in my castle now, and don't you ever forget it."

Philo had you thrown into a closet with a fluorescent-lit cot and a glorified bedpan with plumbing. There you rotted for two weeks, with no company but the ever-staring eye of Jupiter overhead, and only the occasional beating or sleep deprivation experiment to occupy your time. Even in your dreams, Philo was a giant skull-faced monster whose giant, bony hands brought only pain.

Starships came and went every hour. If it weren't for that, boredom would have driven you as batshit as the commander already.

The arrival of an AGM freighter caused a notable stir. The captain was a woman, her curves evident through her spacesuit even at a distance. She argued with two hangar grunts for ten minutes; then a spaceman with commander's stripes moonwalked out to her and argued for another fifteen. Eventually a guard came and escorted you to the rec room where Commander Philo was having coffee with the captain, her hair red and flowing like wine.

"You're the new tenant, yeah?" she said, offering her hand to you. She was Australian.

You didn't take the hand. "Who's askin'?"

"Captain Dobkin. My impulse drive is cactus maximus, and we got an important delivery to make. The commander says you're shipping out to the Rock 'cuz of a hijacking."

"Wasn't my idea," you said. "The shipping OR the hijacking."

"He says you're ace with fixing ships. You were an engineer on earth, yeah?"

"Out of the goddamned question," said Philo. "He's breaking the law just by LOOKING at a ship!"

She ignored him. "All Philo's techies are green, and we have a deadline to keep."

You raised an eyebrow. "What's your cargo? Caviar?"

"Six sleepy space monks." When she saw everyone's confused looks, she grinned. "That was my reaction, too. They're from that monastery on Titan, the one that went Defcon 1 awhile back. Picked up their distress signal on the way back from Pluto, HQ wanted 'em brought in ASAP."

"I thought nobody survived that disaster."

"These guys did, but they're all veggies. We gotta keep 'em cold and keep 'em under 'til we get 'em home. The admins wanna poke around in their brains, find out what happened there. Power surge cacked the life support systems, and my guys won't go near those damn monks to check on 'em. It happens again, our cargo's liable to spoil. Or worse, wake up and try to convert us."

"What do I get?"

Philo grabbed your collar and shook you violently. "Convicts don't bargain. They do as they're told."

Dobkin smiled coyly at you as she stood up. "We got a synthetic navigator named Stella. She's a beauty. I can letcha borrow 'er for an hour. That do?"

You grinned. "I prefer redheads."

The redheaded captain scowled. "Get 'im a toolbelt," she said as she dropped her helmet and headed back out to the ship. "You make me late, Philo, it'll cost you YOUR job, too."

It was easy to see why the crew was so nervous once you met the cargo. The monks' cryotubes were lined up in the cargo bay like a six-pack of beer, secured in an upright position with bungee cords. All six were male, bald, pale, and had spooky aquiline features that made them resemble Roman statues. Their dead eyes stared blankly at the outside world.

You did a quick diagnostic check and found the surge protectors had been fried, along with one of the cryostasis tubes' control modules. You had just popped it apart to check the innards when you heard the dripping sound and glanced up.

Crimson ichor was oozing out of the cracks of the cryotube and slowly dribbling upward in noxious ropes as if gravity had been reversed, forming an ugly red puddle on the ceiling. You glanced back at the monk itself and found its dead eyes staring directly into you.

Something tried to claw its way into your mind, but you scrambled out of there before the visions got too vivid. After hearing your description of the scene, Philo took a dozen armed men into the cargo bay with the Captain and her first mate in tow. The ceiling was now a hellish crimson lake, and the statue-like monks were all looking directly at the commander. You could hear his mind snap like a twig.

Commander Philo opened his mouth to shriek the order to open fire just as the puddle spurted. The stream went straight down his throat.

You relished his screams at first, but once the alien chuttering started -- what sounded like laughter -- and the tentacles started ripping out of him, you were the first to bail. You don't remember much after that, except vague snippets of people being torn in half, guards with hideous yellow eyes turning their guns on their comrades, and the outpost twisting in its foundation as if reality itself were rejecting it.

That was two days ago. You've kept quiet and hidden since then, listening to the former staff members chattering in alien gibberish on the radio; to the howls from the deepest reaches of your nightmares, echoing deeper within the outpost. All you had to do was sit tight until the next ship arrived, then get the hell outta dodge. You'd take the ship over if you had to -- Philo had plenty of guns and ammo laying around the outpost. Or he DID, anyway, before the space-time continuum shit the bed and turned everyone into mumbling space-boogeymen.

As you relieved a dead starport guard of his pistol, the base intercom suddenly kicked on, and the screen in the nearby wall crackled to life. Grinning at you through the static was a nightmare caricature of the skull-face you had grown to loathe.

"THERE you are, Dead Man," it rumbled. "Thought I'd forgotten about our playtime schedule, huh?"

You swallowed your bile. "Hey, Philo. Love the new makeover."

"Good," the thing slobbered, "'cos you're next in line. Sit tight. Pain Lord's comin' to getcha."

The screen crackled and went black. Further up the hall, a door whined open, and through it came a chorus of alien babble, drawing closer with every word.

The ship rumbles as it lands on the docking bay. You tug at the shackles holding your arms and legs, wondering what AGM will do to you. How did they even find you? You covered your tracks wherever you went, and for so many years. Yet, AGM has gotten their dirty hands on you once more. What did you miss?

"Alright, take the subject to Biological Research ASAP. Don't want to keep those doctors waiting, unless you know what's good for you." Says the Commander in front of you. The two soldiers besides him pick both of your arms up and drag you out of the ship...

The restaints on your limbs are so strong. You can see the lights flickering and dangling around carelessly. The hanging needles and scalpels above sway back and forth with each rumble. Screams. Gunfire. Roars. Something went wrong. You look around desperately, trying to get out of this bed... And that's when you see it.

A strange creature bangs on your cell door, now destroyed by the bullet holes and scorch marks. Something in you causes the drugs to take action. With each hit against the door, you pull against the metal restraints harder and harder. And that's when you realise that your restraints have broken into pieces. You're free. The creature now stands in front of you. Its left arm clearly has a tag labelled "AGM". The corridor behind it looks like a horror show.

Your new strength easily defeats the monster. Walking down the deserted hallway, you're back in the docking bay, filled with the signs of an immense firefight. There are dead soldiers everywhere, and two monsters rotting away. Looks more like a last stand. You go up to one of the corpses and salvage what you can. Clothes. Armor. Pistol.

You're glad AGM is getting their asses kicked. But this outbreak could spread all the way to Earth. You can't let AGM have the pleasure of doing that. No more hiding. This fight is between you and AGM.

Walking off the incubation tube, chained, the lonely doctor salutes you, testing if the knowledge drive is working, you make an assertive nod and proceed to slam her skull against the table, ending her misery, for in your eyes all employees of AGM are evil, and you were specifically made to fight against evil.

You cover your body with the armor of a deceased AGM guard and grab his rail pistol, the knowledge drive kicks in to fill you in with all that had happened, a quick glance reveals that AGM was commiting crimes such as illegal human and animal DNA experimentation and dealing with the trade of secrets between 1st World Countries, they used their access to information to learn about the origins of mankind and the fate of the lizardmen, which they've brought back to life after a millenary scheme to escape their doomed destiny, unknown to them, the lizard race just wanted to use mankind as a global-spread livestock, and seize Earth for themselves.

After consulting with the Knowledge Drive, you decide there's no more time to lose, it is time to initiate your crusade against the Lizardmen legions in order to preserve mankind and its history, as while they have done wrong, you still owe them for your creation.

The judge is finally getting to the end of his pompous lecture. Almost two hours of unbelievable fiction masquerading as justice is finally coming to an end. You look at the jury again. Nobody meets your eyes. Do they believe this? Do they care? One of your guards interrupts your concentration by jabbing his rifle into your shoulder. The judge pauses and you turn to face him. The court adjutant gives a discreet nod. Your guards grab your arms and haul you to your feet.

"Rarely has this court seen such a collection of the gravest offences. Assault. Murder. Multiple counts of attempted murder. Resisting arrest. Conspiracy. Treason." The judge pauses, as if to make sure he didn't miss any. No, it seems that's everything. "Considered together with the defendent's total lack of contrition, not to mention the repeated contempt shown to this court, I have no choice but to pass the harshest sentence permitted by the law."

There's a surprise. The adjutant gestures at the clerk to make sure the next part is recorded. The judge can barely supress a self-satisified grin. You'd almost think he doesn't get to do this routine that often.

"You will be taken from this court and placed into the custody of the AGM. All of your civil and human rights are hereby forfeit and your legal status henceforth shall be that of private property of the AGM. This sentence is final and permanent with no right of appeal or review."

You knew it would either be this or a firing squad. Most people would be hoping for the firing squad. The judge dismisses the court and the adjutant orders everyone to stand. The judge drags his bulk out of his throne and disappears through a private door. The adjutant signals for the guards to take you away. A keypad beeps and the floor panels behind you slide back to reveal metallic steps leading down to the holding cells. You are shoved down into the darkness.

After what is euphemistically called "processing" you are drugged, restrained and loaded into a small AGM shuttle. The guard is joking with the pilot. You hear the engines kick in as you fade out.

An explosion. Gunfire. Screaming. You snap out of the drug-induced sleep but it wasn't a dream. The shuttle is lying on its side. Black smoke is pouring from somewhere. Exposed electrical wires crackle and hiss. The pilot is dead in his seat. You know he's dead because nobody survives that amount of blood loss. The guard lies at your feet, gunshot wounds across his chest. Your hands are free, he must have unlocked your restraints just before he died. You grab the pistol from his belt and peer out of the exit hatch. The shuttle crashed near some kind of outpost. Something is moving. More gunfire rings out.

You check the pistol and disengage the safety lock. You remember the judge's final words, "...no right of appeal..."

You'll see about that...

On Earth nowadays, the conditions are far worse than most could imagine. You are probably the best example of just how shitty it is. You were just an average guy, minding his own business, trying to keep his head down. You used to work for AGM, as a maintenance worker. They were the biggest name in scientific research, namely genetic engineering, and claimed to make the world better with each passing day. And from what they had accomplished, even you believed that at one time. But you now know for a fact that isn’t true.

Just a year-and-a-half ago, while you were repairing some cables, you accidentally caught wind of communications AGM execs were having with an unknown party. You weren’t sure what this other party was, but you heard the execs say “Assimilation” and “We will make Earth yours” enough times to confirm that they’re not friendly. You signed your letter of resignation later that week and immediately went to plan how to blow the whistle on the whole mess. Too bad AGM was on your ass, and before you knew it, their goons broke down your door and you were soon being put to work at one of AGM’s research bases somewhere out in the mountains. Turns out resignation aren’t accepted.

Now you’re working in the facility’s starport, without a moments rest. AGM’s research into genetics is far more than just pest-resistant crops. You occasionally catch sight of glass tanks full of weird creatures as you’re being escorted around the base, and cleaning crews sopping up strange organic sludge has become daily routine if anything. Then about four months ago you hear a mining quarry near the base just excavated something “friggin’ eerie”. You hear very little afterwards, but not more than a few weeks after, something happened which changed everything.

...

It all started on, at least what for you had become, a normal day. You were working on some computer systems at the starport’s control room, being yelled at by security guards, nothing out of the ordinary. When all of the sudden, sirens blared, armed men marched through the facility, and a voice blared over the intercom. “Attention all personnel, we are under attack by an unknown force. Alert status is currently at White. This is not a drill, repeat, this is not a drill!” Whatever was going on, you didn't want to be part of it. You duck down into a small cupboard and wait for the gunfire to stop.

After about an hour or so, you slowly stumble out of safety. Just outside your door is a dead guard, tightly clutching a pistol. It’s certainly better than nothing. You sneak your way out of the control room and into a small hallway leading to the main hangar, but your attempt at stealth is interrupted when you hear several zombie-like groans and sense someone, or something, approaching. Guess you’re going to meet AGM’s unknown employers really soon…

The universe has never been the same, ever since AGM came into the picture. Earth nowadays is a big steaming pile of horseshit. You're a pretty good example of what effects Earth's way of life can have on you.

"Was it ever this bad?"

The commander nudges the barrel of his rifle on your back. You turn your head to look at him. The grim reality comes back into focus: you are being framed for crimes you've never committed.

"Rarely has this court seen such a collection of the gravest offences. Assault. Murder. Multiple counts of attempted murder. Resisting arrest. Conspiracy. Treason." The judge pauses, as if to make sure he didn't miss any. No, it seems that's everything. "Considered together with the defendent's total lack of contrition, not to mention the repeated contempt shown to this court, I have no choice but to pass the harshest sentence permitted by the law."

There's some quiet murmurs going on among the jury. The judge can barely supress a self-satisified grin. You'd almost think he doesn't get to do this routine that often.

"You will be taken from this court and placed into the custody of the AGM. All of your civil and human rights are hereby forfeit and your legal status henceforth shall be that of private property of the AGM. This sentence is final and permanent with no right of appeal or review."

For years, you've stayed hidden from AGM. Those "scientists" working their butts off on that... Thing. The mere thought of it makes you want to vomit. How AGM managed to keep such a dangerous thing hidden, remains to be a mystery. You always kept your tracks covered, hoping in vain that AGM don't find you. Now you're being handed over to them gift-wrapped.

"What went wrong?"

Two more commanders appear to take you away. They drag you out of the courtroom. After what is euphemistically called "processing" you are drugged, restrained with metal shackles and loaded into a small AGM shuttle. Two soldiers stand at attention by your side. The commander is joking with the pilot. Nice lady too. Red hair. Cute face. The ship starts to rumble as you hear the engines kick in as you fade out.

"What are they going to do?"

The docking bay lies below. You can feel the impact as both metal and asphalt meet gently. The chains clasping your limbs sway around a bit from the landing.

"Alright, take the subject to Biological Research ASAP. Don't want to keep those doctors waiting, unless you know what's good for you." Says the commander in front of you. The two soldiers besides him pick both of your arms up and drag you out of the ship.

As the soldiers carry your limp body, you can hear things originating from various chambers of the facility. Whether they're the side effects of the drugs or not, also remains to be a mystery. The commander in front of you keeps on walking.

"Where are we going?"

The technician puts the final steel clasp on your hands, and leaves the room. A group of scientists enter. They're sterilising the equipment. Needles. Scalpels. Bowls. Everything.
The commander bursts through the doors, walking towards your useless body.

"Welcome to Outpost Vincenzo. This is one of the many AGM facilities present on this planet. But it's special. Why, I can't say. You are now officially one of AGM's experiments. Cooperate with the those surgeons over there, or you will be taken to Engineering. Lots of "tinkering" over there, if you know what I mean. Got that?" You look at his tag. It says his name is A. Philo.You don't give a response, just a blank stare.

"I'll take that as a yes. Alright, take it over from here." He tells the surgeons and leaves the room. They start to advance towards you, the lights overhead increases in brightness. Everything's becoming foggy...

Explosions. Gunfire. Screams. You wake up from the land of nightmares. Looks like it wasn't a nightmare.

One of the walls has collapsed. Smoke pours into the room. Distant gunshots can be heard. You try to stand up, only to find out your hands are chained. With a swift pull, the chains break apart. That was surprising.

Your body, seems bigger in size. More muscles. Better eyesight. Fast articulation.

"What did they do to me?"

Having no choice, you jump through the destroyed wall, landing on the metal grates. The echo of your feet landing on the grates ring throughout the hallway. Maybe you can escape from AGM's clutches here in Outpost Vincenzo.

"Where is everyone?"

Walking down the corridor, you've find yourself back in the docking bay. It's a horror show. Dead soldiers here. There. Everywhere. You look at the commander laying beside you. What do you know? It's Philo. A pistol is held tightly in his clutches.

Having nothing to wear, you salvage what you can from the body. Armor. Pistol. Some ammo.

"Something's not right."

You slowly edge forward into the room, but your attempt at stealth is interrupted when you hear several zombie-like groans...

The universe has never been the same, ever since AGM came into the picture. Earth nowadays is a big steaming pile of horseshit. You're a pretty good example of what effects Earth's way of life can have on you.

"Was it ever this bad?"

The commander nudges the barrel of his rifle on your back. You turn your head to look at him. The grim reality comes back into focus: you are being framed for crimes you've never committed.

"Rarely has this court seen such a collection of the gravest offences. Assault. Murder. Multiple counts of attempted murder. Resisting arrest. Conspiracy. Treason." The judge pauses, as if to make sure he didn't miss any. No, it seems that's everything. "Considered together with the defendent's total lack of contrition, not to mention the repeated contempt shown to this court, I have no choice but to pass the harshest sentence permitted by the law."

There's some quiet murmurs going on among the jury. The judge can barely supress a self-satisified grin. You'd almost think he doesn't get to do this routine that often.

"You will be taken from this court and placed into the custody of the AGM. All of your civil and human rights are hereby forfeit and your legal status henceforth shall be that of private property of the AGM. This sentence is final and permanent with no right of appeal or review."

For years, you've stayed hidden from AGM. Those "scientists" working their butts off on that... Thing. The mere thought of it makes you want to vomit. How AGM managed to keep such a dangerous thing hidden, remains to be a mystery. You always kept your tracks covered, hoping in vain that AGM don't find you. Now you're being handed over to them gift-wrapped.

"What went wrong?"

Two more commanders appear to take you away. They drag you out of the courtroom. After what is euphemistically called "processing" you are drugged, restrained with metal shackles and loaded into a small AGM shuttle. Two soldiers stand at attention by your side. The commander is joking with the pilot. Nice lady too. Red hair. Cute face. The ship starts to rumble as you hear the engines kick in as you fade out.

"What are they going to do?"

The docking bay lies below. You can feel the impact as both metal and asphalt meet gently. The chains clasping your limbs sway around a bit from the landing.

"Alright, take the subject to Biological Research ASAP. Don't want to keep those doctors waiting, unless you know what's good for you." Says the commander in front of you. The two soldiers besides him pick both of your arms up and drag you out of the ship.

As the soldiers carry your limp body, you can hear things originating from various chambers of the facility. Whether they're the side effects of the drugs or not, also remains to be a mystery. The commander in front of you keeps on walking.

"Where are we going?"

The technician puts the final steel clasp on your hands, and leaves the room. A group of scientists enter. They're sterilising the equipment. Needles. Scalpels. Bowls. Everything.
The commander bursts through the doors, walking towards your useless body.

"Welcome to Outpost Vincenzo. This is one of the many AGM facilities present on this planet. But it's special. Why, I can't say. You are now officially one of AGM's experiments. Cooperate with the those surgeons over there, or you will be taken to Engineering. Lots of "tinkering" over there, if you know what I mean. Got that?" You look at his tag. It says his name is A. Philo.You don't give a response, just a blank stare.

"I'll take that as a yes. Alright, take it over from here." He tells the surgeons and leaves the room. They start to advance towards you, the lights overhead increases in brightness. Everything's becoming foggy...

Explosions. Gunfire. Screams. You wake up from the land of nightmares. Looks like it wasn't a nightmare.

One of the walls has collapsed. Smoke pours into the room. Distant gunshots can be heard. You try to stand up, only to find out your hands are chained. With a swift pull, the chains break apart. That was surprising.

Your body, seems bigger in size. More muscles. Better eyesight. Fast articulation.

"What did they do to me?"

Having no choice, you jump through the destroyed wall, landing on the metal grates. The echo of your feet landing on the grates ring throughout the hallway. Maybe you can escape from AGM's clutches here in Outpost Vincenzo.

"Where is everyone?"

Walking down the corridor, you've find yourself back in the docking bay. It's a horror show. Dead soldiers here. There. Everywhere. You look at the commander laying beside you. What do you know? It's Philo. A pistol is held tightly in his clutches.

Having nothing to wear, you salvage what you can from the body. Armor. Pistol. Some ammo.

"Something's not right."

You slowly edge forward into the room, but your attempt at stealth is interrupted when you hear several zombie-like groans.

"What was that?"

Only one way to find out.

They called it Outpost Vincenzo, the smallest of three outposts in the ass-crack of Callisto. Your cell on earth was more fit for outer space, and the air was fresher, too. The scenery here sucked: a landscape of barren rock. It was a failed attempt at terraforming the moon's surface for colonization, demoted to an interstellar truck stop for passing starships.

It managed to do ONE thing right, though. It was impossible to escape from. The nearest dot of civilization was light-years away.

This was your assessment of the place your first hour as a visitor, after you had been registered, quarantined, and scanned for space bedbugs. You were forced into a snug new prison jumpsuit -- it doubled as a temporary space suit in emergencies -- and shoved up the hall to the commander's office.

He looked over your file, occasionally glancing at you like a hangnail he was thinking about biting off. You thought about your destination: the Rock, the cosmic version of Alcatraz, where bad earthlings were sent to disappear forever...

Philo had you thrown into a closet with a fluorescent-lit cot and a glorified bedpan with plumbing. There you rotted for two weeks, with no company. Only the occasional beating or sleep deprivation experiment to occupy your time.

The arrival of an AGM freighter caused a notable stir. The captain was a woman. She argued with two hangar grunts for ten minutes; then a spaceman with commander's stripes moonwalked out to her and argued for another fifteen. Eventually a guard came and escorted you to the rec room where Commander Philo was talking to her.

"Is that the guy?" She asked Philo. Philo gave a slight nod. The captain walked towards you.

"Captain Dobkin. My impulse drive is cactus maximus, and we got an important delivery to make. The commander says you're shipping out to the Rock 'cuz of a hijacking."

"Wasn't my idea," you said. "The shipping OR the hijacking."

"He says you're ace with fixing ships. You were an engineer on earth, yeah?"

"... Yes."

"All of Philo's techies are green, and we have a deadline to keep."

You furrowed your eyebrows. "What's your cargo?"

"Six sleepy space monks."

Everyone has this confused look on their faced.

"That was my reaction, too. They're from that monastery on Titan, the one that went Defcon 1 awhile back. Picked up their distress signal on the way back from Pluto, HQ wanted 'em brought in ASAP."

"I thought nobody survived that disaster."

"These guys did, but they're all veggies. We gotta keep 'em cold and keep 'em under 'til we get 'em home. The admins wanna poke around in their brains, find out what happened there. Power surge already spazzed out the life support systems once. It happens again, our cargo's liable to spoil. Or worse, wake up and try to convert us."

"What do I get?"

Dobkin smiled coyly at you as she stood up. "We got a synthetic navigator named Stella. She's a beauty. I can letcha borrow 'er for an hour. That do?"

"Alright."

"Get 'im a toolbelt," she said as she dropped her helmet and headed back out to the ship. Philo stopped her.

"You better know what you're doing." He tells her then leaves.

Captain Dobkin mostly talked about the state of the ship. All you could get off her was the sense that she was playing it cool so no one would know she was afraid.

The monks' cryotubes were lined up in the cargo bay like a six-pack of beer, secured in an upright position with bungee cords. All six were male, bald, pale, and had spooky aquiline features that made them resemble Roman statues. Their dead eyes stared blankly at the outside world.

On day three, Philo started getting more aggressive towards everyone over a guard that had mysteriously vanished. The Captain argued with him more frequently, and her crew started whispering among themselves.

The morning of day four, Commander Philo demanded to know what the hell else Dobkin's ship was carrying, and if it was radioactive or otherwise dangerous. Something must happened while you were busy. She kept insisting all she had on the ship were six monks on ice and a few tons of harmless ore.

Next thing you knew, you were being pulled out of bed in the middle of the night (not that you could tell day from night on that rock) by the warden and his goons.

"We did another engine test," said the Captain when they brought you to her on the bridge. "Power surge cacked the life support systems again, and my guys won't go near those damn monks to check on 'em. You seem like the sanest one on this moon, so I'm electing you."

The monks didn't look any different when you went into the cargo bay alone, and didn't seem any less like frozen vegetables. You did a quick diagnostic check and found the problem. The panel had just popped apart so that you can check the innards. When you heard the dripping sound and glanced up.

Crimson ichor was oozing out of the cracks of the cryotube and slowly dribbling upward in noxious ropes, forming an ever growing pool of red. You glanced back at the monk itself and found its dead eyes staring directly into you.

Something tried to claw its way into your mind, but you scrambled out of there before the visions got too vivid. After hearing your description of the scene, Philo took a dozen armed men into the cargo bay with the Captain and her first mate in tow. The statue-like monks were all looking directly at the commander.

Commander Philo opened his mouth to shriek the order to open fire just as the puddle spurted. The stream went straight down his throat.

Once the alien chuttering started -- what sounded like laughter -- and the tentacles started ripping out of him, you were the first to bail. You don't remember much after that, except vague snippets of people being torn in half and the outpost twisting in its foundation as if reality itself were rejecting it.

That was two days ago. You've kept quiet and hidden since then. All you had to do was sit tight until the next ship arrived, then get the hell outta dodge. You'd take the ship over if you had to -- Philo had plenty of guns and ammo laying around the outpost.

You went to one of the computer terminals, to open the door in front of you. With some quick commands put in, you can see it was a success.

The screen crackled and went black. The door opened and you stepped through. Once you were on the hexagonal tiles, the door instantly locked down.

An up ahead, came a chorus of alien babble, drawing closer with every word.

Once upon a time, Flynn Taggart wanted to play DooM but he didn't have money. So he said "Fuck money" and designed a free doom that he called "Freedoom".

They called it Outpost Vincenzo, the smallest of three outposts in the ass-crack of Callisto. Astro-Garrison Multinational funded the place as a pet project, and they ran it like a corporation runs anything: by cutting as many corners as possible. Your cell on earth was more fit for outer space, and the air was fresher, too. Every time someone flushed the toilet, the nuclear reactor hiccuped. Even the scenery sucked: a landscape of barren rock with a few pitiful attempts at terraformed gardens, while Jupiter's ugly ass filled the sky and stared accusingly down at everyone like the eye of God. It was a failed attempt at terraforming the moon's surface for colonization, demoted to an interstellar truck stop for passing starships.

It managed to do ONE thing right, though. It was impossible to escape from. The nearest dot of civilization was light-years away. The Geneva Convention was even further.

This was your assessment of the place your first hour as a visitor, after you had been registered, quarantined, and scanned for space bedbugs. You were forced into a snug new prison jumpsuit -- it doubled as a temporary space suit in emergencies -- and shoved up the hall to the commander's office. He looked like a gorilla with a crew cut and smiled like the Grim Reaper.

You knew you were in trouble when you glanced out the office window and saw your ship taking off without you.

"I'm Commander Philo," said the gorilla. "Your ship was called to make an emergency pickup, and they don't have room for you and the cargo, so they're leaving you in our care for a few weeks. Consider it an extended vacation. Compared to where you're going, Vincenzo is a resort."

He looked over your file, occasionally glancing at you like a hangnail he was thinking about biting off. You thought about your destination: the Rock, the cosmic version of Alcatraz, where bad earthlings were sent to disappear forever.

"You're a disgrace to the human race," Philo finally said, dropping the file on the desktop as he walked around the desk to your side. "No wonder they booted your ass off the planet."

"But I'm great with kids," you said.

The gorilla replied by jamming a cattle prod into your testicles on full charge. When you stopped vomiting and your eyesight came back, he was hovering over you with that damn smile. "They call me the Lord of Pain around here. You're in my castle now, and don't you ever forget it."

Philo had you thrown into a closet with a fluorescent-lit cot and a glorified bedpan with plumbing. There you rotted for two weeks, with no company but the ever-staring eye of Jupiter overhead, and only the occasional beating or sleep deprivation experiment to occupy your time. Even in your dreams, Philo was a giant skull-faced monster whose giant, bony hands brought only pain.

Starships came and went every hour. If it weren't for that, boredom would have driven you as batshit as the commander already.

The arrival of an AGM freighter caused a notable stir. The captain was a woman, her curves evident through her spacesuit even at a distance. She argued with two hangar grunts for ten minutes; then a spaceman with commander's stripes moonwalked out to her and argued for another fifteen. Eventually a guard came and escorted you to the rec room where Commander Philo was having coffee with the captain, her hair red and flowing like wine.

"You're the new tenant, yeah?" she said, offering her hand to you. She was Australian.

You didn't take the hand. "Who's askin'?"

"Captain Dobkin. My impulse drive is cactus maximus, and we got an important delivery to make. The commander says you're shipping out to the Rock 'cuz of a hijacking."

"Wasn't my idea," you said. "The shipping OR the hijacking."

"He says you're ace with fixing ships. You were an engineer on earth, yeah?"

"Out of the goddamned question," said Philo. "He's breaking the law just by LOOKING at a ship!"

She ignored him. "All Philo's techies are green, and we have a deadline to keep."

You raised an eyebrow. "What's your cargo? Caviar?"

"Six sleepy space monks." When she saw everyone's confused looks, she grinned. "That was my reaction, too. They're from that monastery on Titan, the one that went Defcon 1 awhile back. Picked up their distress signal on the way back from Pluto, HQ wanted 'em brought in ASAP."

"I thought nobody survived that disaster."

"These guys did, but they're all veggies. We gotta keep 'em cold and keep 'em under 'til we get 'em home. The admins wanna poke around in their brains, find out what happened there. Power surge cacked the life support systems, and my guys won't go near those damn monks to check on 'em. It happens again, our cargo's liable to spoil. Or worse, wake up and try to convert us."

"What do I get?"

Philo grabbed your collar and shook you violently. "Convicts don't bargain. They do as they're told."

Dobkin smiled coyly at you as she stood up. "We got a synthetic navigator named Stella. She's a beauty. I can letcha borrow 'er for an hour. That do?"

You grinned. "I prefer redheads."

The redheaded captain scowled. "Get 'im a toolbelt," she said as she dropped her helmet and headed back out to the ship. "You make me late, Philo, it'll cost you YOUR job, too."

It was easy to see why the crew was so nervous once you met the cargo. The monks' cryotubes were lined up in the cargo bay like a six-pack of beer, secured in an upright position with bungee cords. All six were male, bald, pale, and had spooky aquiline features that made them resemble Roman statues. Their dead eyes stared blankly at the outside world.

You did a quick diagnostic check and found the surge protectors had been fried, along with one of the cryostasis tubes' control modules. You had just popped it apart to check the innards when you heard the dripping sound and glanced up.

Crimson ichor was oozing out of the cracks of the cryotube and slowly dribbling upward in noxious ropes as if gravity had been reversed, forming an ugly red puddle on the ceiling. You glanced back at the monk itself and found its dead eyes staring directly into you.

Something tried to claw its way into your mind, but you scrambled out of there before the visions got too vivid. After hearing your description of the scene, Philo took a dozen armed men into the cargo bay with the Captain and her first mate in tow. The ceiling was now a hellish crimson lake, and the statue-like monks were all looking directly at the commander. You could hear his mind snap like a twig.

Commander Philo opened his mouth to shriek the order to open fire just as the puddle spurted. The stream went straight down his throat.

You relished his screams at first, but once the alien chuttering started -- what sounded like laughter -- and the tentacles started ripping out of him, you were the first to bail. You don't remember much after that, except vague snippets of people being torn in half, guards with hideous yellow eyes turning their guns on their comrades, and the outpost twisting in its foundation as if reality itself were rejecting it.

That was two days ago. You've kept quiet and hidden since then, listening to the former staff members chattering in alien gibberish on the radio; to the howls from the deepest reaches of your nightmares, echoing deeper within the outpost. All you had to do was sit tight until the next ship arrived, then get the hell outta dodge. You'd take the ship over if you had to -- Philo had plenty of guns and ammo laying around the outpost. Or he DID, anyway, before the space-time continuum shit the bed and turned everyone into mumbling space-boogeymen.

As you relieved a dead starport guard of his pistol, the base intercom suddenly kicked on, and the screen in the nearby wall crackled to life. Grinning at you through the static was a nightmare caricature of the skull-face you had grown to loathe.

"THERE you are, Dead Man," it rumbled. "Thought I'd forgotten about our playtime schedule, huh?"

You swallowed your bile. "Hey, Philo. Love the new makeover."

"Good," the thing slobbered, "'cos you're next in line. Sit tight. Pain Lord's comin' to getcha."

The screen crackled and went black. Further up the hall, a door whined open, and through it came a chorus of alien babble, drawing closer with every word.