Resident Evil: Ultra Somnium
Thanks to all those who submitted praise and feedback for my first story, Resident Evil: No Cage Worse. Ultra Somnium is a direct sequel to that story, continiung the journey of Jill Valentine and Chris Redfield as they try to find their way after the ordeal they endured in Africa, while confronting an unimaginable horror that threatens to wipe out life on earth. I published No Cage Worse all at once, but this time I'm going to be publishing a few chapters at a time, which I hope will compel me to keep going until it's finished :) Please read and review, and I hope you enjoy Resident Evil: Ultra Somnium
Its sleep was restless and eternal. As it slumbered for countless millions of years, hidden from the denizens of the world it once dominated, it dreamed. More correctly, it engaged in a process that cannot be comprehended by human minds, but for which the closest analog is dreaming. How better to describe it? It experienced simulated sensory information that changed over time. But the result of this process could not be interpreted as a surreal narrative, as when we dream. It was something very different, something much more complex. It was analyzing. Planning. Predicting. Evolving.
Most importantly, it was storing up its intentions as it conceived of them.
Then one day, the reality of its existence changed. It had always known this would happen. It had even known when it would happen, and what would come after. You see, it has never, does not and will never experience time in a one-directional, linear fashion, the way sentient mammals do. If your brain could send signals back and forth between different points in your lifespan, you might experience a crude approximation of its existence, at least for the brief moment before you were driven irreparably insane, simultaneously, at every moment of your entire life.
It is not an easy thing for minds such as ours to understand.
Would anyone describe it as alive? Human science can barely conceive of a definition for life as we ourselves experience it. It had many processes that, if we could comprehend them, we would find analogous to the processes of life. The taking in of sustenance, to be converted to matter and energy. The expulsion of waste. Reproduction. Decision-making.
But these are crude conceptions of what its processes actually were. Could you really describe something as "eating and drinking gravity?" Or "reproducing by tunneling filaments of infinite thinness through multiple dimensions back into ours?" Or "eliminating waste by erasing electro-magnetic radiation from the universe?" Or "engaging in meaningful cognition through the systematic rearrangement of matter at the atomic level?"
No. Not easy to understand.
But the crude, pink monkeys that had sprouted up in a blink of its eternal eye never wait to understand before they start to tinker. If it had a process analogous to human thought, it might think that was our most dangerous quality, at least to ourselves. If it had processes analogous to humor and sound, it might actually laugh at us.
But, whether it could communicate or not, it kept quiet. And so it was tinkered with. And, in a manner undetectable by the rubbery apes that poked at it, sliced it, weighed it, burned it, froze it, and stored it, it began its version of the life cycle anew. Eat. Eliminate. Reproduce. Think.