FaultLine: A Call Of Duty Zombies Fanfiction

NINE

'What?'

A spray of misty green mountains of the high north were now scarred and blistered with red and mud, the once pleasant haven of allure for my aching eyes- that I fixed on a slab of glass -came to life. My hands felt cold and alien against the steel piece of technology, my cheeks damp and eyes glassy and watery, bright light bathing my weary head and I squinted for focus.

A pale thumb with an overly short-cut nail, red crust resting at the edge, swiped across delicate crystalline virtual paraphernalia to find a screen with an inbox.

'1 unread message.'

'How in the hell or heaven, could a message be delivered to me at this time and place?'

I was surrounded by materials both organic or inorganic of which had been set in a sequential manner to deliver a haunting, living, breathing, habitat for both rendered or non rendered models of a game.

I wished that it were a dream but the beep of my phone and the message that popped up next shook the whole core foundation of my belief, it is real.

'All is real.'

'Why is it real?'

A sudden off-beat cry-no- a giggle, escaped my cracked lips. I pressed my lips close and my neck popped and cracked as I stretched, massaging my eyes with my right hand. I read the message-

'First, yes, it's all real.

Second, remember to thank the group once you get this message.

Third, this is part six of the set.

Fourth, take care and be safe and don't let anyone know about this text. I have the file attached with this. Don't lose the phone; another copy of it isn't possible, everything might get compromised if I try to generate another set of codes for you. Above all, remember to trust yourself, only listen to them or her if necessary.

Lastly, stay sharp for any voices; I heard that they can be a nuisance.'

The thread had an unknown set of coordinates instead for the sender's designation.

'How odd...'

I quickly slipped in the sleek piece of silver machinery, now radiating invisible waves of suspicions, I felt ever more skeptical now...

'Should I keep this phone with me?'

'Who sent this?'

'How much does this person knows about me, where I am and my belongings...'

'How on earth did that person cloak the sender's address? And top of that, left me with a token, similar to breadcrumbs to follow...'

'I have to hide it from the others...'

I started preparing a list of obstacles that I shall and must face in order to keep them from this, it must seem trivial to some of them, but it'd be just a matter of time that they would begin to sniff one or another reason to doubt me and the ever decreasing probability of my survival would plummet into infinity.

'Well, that, would be very unfortunate...'

I walked and absorbed every little detail of my humble abode, alongside, I pondered the reasons behind the existence of myself as well as the phone.

'Is this some kind of a sick dream?'

It's too brutal.

The moving images both in front of me and in my peripheral vision which occurred without any marginal rhythm which proved it was based off of the present activities which too were dynamic, the sound of the rain thumping on the tin sheets above my head that separated me from the dynamic form of obtuse occurrences of complete disbelief and horror-