The Prisoner

He sat in the cell, twiddling his thumbs. He had nothing else to do. In the cubicle he had called home for the past three days he had done a lot of thinking and a hell of lot of soul searching. He heard footsteps coming down the hallway and other prisoners calling out to the orc guard. Either complaining or pleading. To him it was just the same. The rough orc stopped in front of his bars. 

"You," the gruff being said. "It's your turn to die." 

"Well now," Drake said. "We all eventually die." 

"It's your turn today," the guard told him as he unlocked the cell door. 

"That's what you think," Drake mumbled under his breath. He could have gotten out of this place days ago but decided to stay and rest and enjoy the days of maggot-infested gruel to eat and a lumpy bed to lay on. It was heaven compared to the last place he had been.

A Certain Perspective

The inside of the large helmet contained four gems. The first projected the sounds and images surrounding the Golem armour into the mind of its pilot. The second whispered the voices of the pilots of the Golems to each other. The third warned of incoming attacks. No one knew what the fourth gem did - the makers of the large battle suits had disappeared from Citadel centuries ago. 

Letting the pulses and flashes of the gemstones ebb and flow in his mind was a skill Stryker had honed over years. The stream of sensations syncing with the movements in his muscles, commanding the huge steel suit to fly and hover, twist and roll through the shining space surrounding the fortress. Today he was repelling a small raiding ship. 

As he crashed into its hull, a highspeed shoulder-tackle, buckling beams and popping rivets, the gems briefly flickered. Their signals stuttered, faltered. For a brief, dizzying moment he was only aware of himself encased in the armour, staring at the four stones. The world beyond, the fury of battle, became suddenly distant. He felt trapped, or adrift, floating or drowning, somehow both and all of them at once.  

This was the sixth time it had happened to him this past year. The Golem had been checked and rechecked by the station's Arcane Smiths. They couldn't find a problem. 

Which meant...

Tunnels & Wolves

Arch glanced down the alleyway. He saw several beggars camped out in makeshift lean-tos but no sign of the black wolf-like object. There was no screaming or munching sounds so he presumed the creature was in hiding. Arch closed his eyes and scoped out the scenery in his mind, trying to locate something misplaced. Thunder of metal upon metal echoing through the area, like shunting freight cars on a track. 

"Anything, Arch?" Kitty asked beside him. She was trying to catch her breath. 

"It's in there somewhere," Arch replied. His eyes going over the manhole cover pictured in his mind. "It's gone tunneling." 

"Crap!" Kitty mumbled. 

Arch went into the alleyway and towards the sewer grating. "Indeed."