Since this is not a first person story, please choose a character to follow:
Jake Warrens: the leader of a small refugee group that has converted an office building into a hide-out.
Laura Hawkins: a forest-ranger who's avoided detection by avoiding major cities since the invasion. She's mostly a loner.
Rysthin Dor'Vool: A seasoned radinri scout and hunter, recently assigned to earth.
Ry William: A 10-year-old mature kid who trained himself to fight. An excellent fighter, and not too shabby with guns and bows. A kind spirit. Doesn't kill. Is a peace-maker, but likes to punch first and ask questions later. Believes peace can be made between humans and Radinri. Is very good with animals.
Matteus Spail:Survivor from Africa
Written by on 01 July 2008
This is to hold extra characters that do not fit on the main page.
(Pages will be rejected if they do not have a well written unique story. Place a description of the character in the 1st paragraph )
Written by Catprog on 10 November 2008
Born from a line of American Indians, his Christian name is Frederik but his family and friends nicknamed him Flip since the age of five. Because of his skin color, he has been the prey of discrimination for a great deal of his life, but never gave up on his heritage because of that and ambitions to become a shaman like his grandfather.
He lives true to his name. Flip isn’t a bad person, but he is an opportunist, one that wouldn’t hesitate before doing what needs to be done in order to survive. He lives in the moment and always chooses what seems the best course of action as he advances. It is very hard for him to stick with a plan that doesn’t make sense to him. In real, Native name, fits him well, for he does change his mind quite often.
He is physically fit, as he takes pride in not sinking into the American cliché of the fat white man on the opposite of the kids that used to bully him. His native blood is obvious when you look at him as he has dark skin, black eyes and hair. He isn’t very tall but he is bulky in nature and definitely strong. He is in his early twenties but sometimes feel that he is mentally much older, especially after all he went through.
He was travelling in Europe with his grandpa to assist him in giving a seminar on shamanism when the invasion began. Finding refuge with a group of gypsies and under the protective wing of a homeless man, they hid in the metro under Paris and survived there without having the Radiniri suspect so much as their existence. Life is harsh with for the unlikely band of misfits, but at least they live.
Written by Clayem on 15 April 2016
It was inevitable. Flip had felt it coming for a while now, the same way he could just tell when
one of his usual bullies was searching for a way to cause him trouble, back at the school in
America. Except that the tension in the air ran deeper then just a dip in the toilet and a mean
laugh, it crawled over everyone’s skin, it echoed in the talk of open air and blue skies and
stalked each one of the people as they went to bed each night and stayed awake in the dark,
leaving them wondering about tomorrow.
“Y’en a marre!” Cried Tina. Her real name was one of the oddest, oldest-fashion name he had
heard in his life: Albertine. She hated it, so it was a forbidden word among them. “P…, y’en a
marre que tu fasses ton macho!” Apparently her husband had taken it a step to far in his
protectiveness; from what Flip had understood – he didn’t talk much French – she was the one
that was used to wear the pants in her couple with Arbias. But since they had started hiding, all
had changed, and the usually aloof husband had decided to man up and sometimes acted in a
sexist way towards his strong-headed wife in his attempts to keep her out of harm’s way as
much as possible.
She pressed a finger into his chest to push her point and he stared down at it, as if taken aback
by the suddenness of the attack. If Arbias had two pennies worth of brain, he would understand
that reacting was a dangerous road to take and that he should try to settle down the disagreement
as diplomatically as possible.
“Qu’est ce que c’est que cela, femme?” Flip sighted upon hearing Tina’s husband respond
sharply. That tone sure wasn’t the one of an apology. “Je fais ce que je veux, c’est moi l’homme!
Je suis le mari, je décide, et toi, femme, tu n’es que bonne à rien si tu ne fais pas comme je te
“Tu n’parles pas à ma mère comme ça, espèce de gros c…!” This time, it was Élodie’s turn to
speak up at him and defend her mother. Way younger than Flip, he estimated her age to be
around thirteen even if she sometimes acted as a grown-up. Alien invasions did this to children.
They had celebrated her birthday last weak, a cold meal as always and a few songs that weren’t
too pushed so that the voices wouldn’t echo through the empty tunnels. Flip had learned how
to say Happy Birthday in French and he had promised himself to sing ‘Joyeux Anniversaire’ to
his children one day… if he ever had any. If they survived long enough to consider having any.
If they survived.
“Tu veux une claque?” Roared Arbias, worries of being heard by the Radirini long gone. He
was tensed and his fist were balled. Flip guessed what was coming next, got up, but didn’t know
how to stop the drama unravelling in front of his eyes.
“Ta gueule!” Cried Élodie.
The slap was a warning; Flip saw it. Arbias, as furious as he was, had held his strength back,
only wanting to make his daughter shut up, only wanted to ease the tension that was driving
them all crazy, didn’t know what he wanted, just saw an annoying brat and his own anger. She
yelped at the hit and stumbled back, holding her cheek, her eyes wide with surprise. She looked
around. Louis, the homeless man, Corentin, her big brother, Marcos, her father’s friend,
Antoine, the one that never really spoke, Sitting Bull, Flip’s grandfather, Tina and even Flip
himself, all were looking at her, too shocked to do anything. Humiliation at being slapped in
front of so many people flashed in her eyes.
“Alors? C’est comme cela que ça se passe? Quand y’a plus la police tout le monde se met à
traiter les femmes comme de la m…?” She screamed. A second later she was rushing down the
tunnel that lead to the tracks, running away as fast as she could.
“Reviens ici, petite sotte!” Cried her mother, obviously demanding her to come back this instant.
Her daughter didn’t react and disappeared in the darkness of the tunnel. There was a moment
of stunned silence, where nobody moved and everyone watched the others. The girl had run
away and it was dangerous out there: no one wanted to be the one that went first.
Written by Clayem on 16 April 2016
Flip sighted when he saw all the cowards checking on each other. He couldn’t blame them though: they had survived because they were smart cowards, people that had realized fast enough that they stood no chance against the power and the technology of the Radiniri. All the brave and the stupid were dead now; not them.
But still, he was Changing Mind. He could become brave if he wanted, when he wanted, how he damn wanted. He started towards the tunnel without a word. He had barely understood what the fight had been about but if she was caught, it was not only her, but the whole group that was in danger. One human could mean others, and Flip suspected that the aliens had enough ways to make a single young girl talk, as strong willed as she was.
He quickly descended into the main tunnel. No one moved to catch up with him, letting him go on his own. That annoyed him slightly: she could be in danger already. Did no anyone actually care?
He arrived on the tracks of what had one been one of the busiest metro line in Paris but that was now a hollow space under the earth for the last survivors to hide and pray that they never get discovered. A sound of quick footsteps to the right; Flip ran after Éloise. Far ahead, he could see the station, all lit up since the Radiniri had turned the electricity back on, and the small silhouette of the stubborn girl race to get to it. His heart stopped in its tracks from dread but he only pushed forward faster.
He saw her climb up the ladder that lead to the platform and disappear from his view; a few moments later he was doing the same and his head poked over the side. She didn’t appear like she was going to go any further. She was slumped down on a plastic chair, as if waiting for a ride that would never come. Her feet had climbed up to rest on the seat and her head was hidden between the arms that held her knees. Her shoulders shook – but Flip didn’t think that she was crying.
The rattling of the ladder raised her head and she looked surprised when she saw the man taking foot on the platform. Her teeth briefly appeared to bite down on her lip, but otherwise she managed to keep a neutral expression under the black gaze of the Native. Her eyes weren’t puffed and red. Flip was right: it wasn’t in her to cry anymore. For some reason, that saddened him.
He wasn’t a man of a few words but the language barrier had turned him into a mute. However, he had learned that some things didn’t need words to be understood. She was, for the moment, safe unless she went further and they both knew it. Even if the Invaders, les Occupants, as the others called them, a reference to the Germans that went back to the time of the Second World War, were never far away, the tunnels under the capital wasn’t the most interesting sight.
Ironically, they tended to behave like normal tourist: they seemed to be drawn to the lights of the Tour Effel at night and enjoyed strolling on the famous and deserted Champs Élysées in the day. Flip suspected that the only reason they had graced them with public lighting was that they, in a way, would regret that the famous town would loose the right to its name: la Ville Lumière,the Town of Lights.
So, not in a hurry to get her back to the others, he chose to let her be and turned his back to her, standing on the very edge and looking to the left and the right. He could spot the next station in the distance if he bent forward, a ring of light in the darkness beyond, and, in front of him, through the archways that divided the tracks in two, there was the other platform. Porte de Vichy, said a blue sign on the wall. Whatever. He forgot every that name every time he took his eyes off it. It was the place where he now lived and yet what it was called couldn’t be less important.
“Heu… Hey, Flip, can… can you? Please?” Asked a shy voice with a heavy French accent. He looked over his shoulder and saw that she was patting the chair next to her. She managed to hold his gaze one second, before lowering it to the ground as her cheeks picked an interesting shade of red. Her hand stilled and she didn’t move any more.
He gave her a sight, more to tell her that he was glad she was through with her little tantrum and wondered if she understood it like him. Whatever. He had decided that today he didn’t really care what the others thought of him. Her walked to her with long strides and let himself fall next to her. The plastic creaked but didn’t dare giving in to his weight.
If the silence was awkward to her, it wasn’t to him. He looked up and followed the pattern of the white tiles on the wall over them until they dropped on the other side of the station. She stretched her legs forward on the ground, the tip of her feet perking up as if interested. She sighted, he sighted back, they looked at each other and she chuckled. Giggled almost. A smile pulled the side of his lips up as he watched her.
“What is your name?” She asked, one of the ready-made sentences she had most probably learned around tourists she would ‘lighten up’, back in the days where her swift fingers helped to feed a much larger family.
He quirked an eyebrow at that, surprised that she would ask. She knew his name. Everyone knew his name, including her. She had said it seconds ago. Why was she asking? “It’s Flip.”
“Je sais,” she replied, annoyed. She frowned as she tried to figure out how to formulate her question once more. “Your name. Not Flip. Your… vrai name.”
He paused a little. The name from which his nickname came from was Frederik, but he knew it wasn’t what she meant. His grandfather had made no secret that his name was a Native one. She must have drawn her own conclusions. “It’s Changing Mind.”
“Changing… Changer?” She asked. “Pensé Changeante?”
He gave her a sharp nod. She had understood, and he was glad for it. He wasn’t sure how he could have translated that in French for her and the exercise sounded risky.
She smiled and giggled once more, and for a second her look changed. He saw the admiration she held for him, the spark that shone deep inside, the blush that crept on her cheeks, and understood. A second later, she looked away, trying to hide her feelings but he had already understood. She liked him.
It came as a surprise to him. To him she was a child and he was far from reciprocating her feelings but… but then he understood. It was a child’s crush. Him, with his twenty-one years old, was the closest of all the people back at the hiding place, age-wise, to a potential boyfriend. He was older, stronger, not ugly – not stunningly handsome either but she seemed to have ran out of models to compare since they had all died – and he was generally around for her. Not
talking of course, just staying quiet. Maybe it wasn’t even love, just a crush.
Of course he wasn’t attracted to her – the thought of it made him reel in disgust inwardly – but he didn’t hate her, far from it. She had at first reminded him so much of his little sister that it had been hard to be around her at first without starting to worry about the last-born of his own family. It was only after a while that he started to see her for what she truly was: a strong girl in her own right, struggling with the fear to not make it to tomorrow and the torments of teenage.
“Dis… can I come?” She asked suddenly.
He paused at that, wondering what she was talking about, before realizing that she was referring to coming tomorrow to get some more food. She only rarely came up for from that dark hole they called refuge because of her age and she seemed to miss the sun more then anyone else. Her once dark skin had paled, as had his, from the lack of exposure and she seemed to get thinner from day to day, not from lack of food but from lack of air. If she had suddenly stepped in an argument between her father and her mother, it wasn’t because she felt that it would be right but because she was restless.
And yet it was still dangerous on the surface. Ever Flip hoped that he wouldn’t have to go next because of the fear simply gripping him at every step, every move in the corner of the eyes, the anguish that les Occupants might just be around the corner, waiting for them to walk by to pounce on them.
What to answer her?
Written by Clayem on 17 April 2016
He paused a moment, taking a second more to consider his choice even if it was already made, before nodding wordlessly at her. A huge smile bloomed on her face, so contagious that it spread to Flip’s lips. They both know that it wasn’t a definite reply – the ones that had the ultimate choice in this matter were her parents themselves – but she knew that she now had a suffrage to back her up.
“Shouldn’t we get back now?” He asked, pointing towards the tunnel to make his question clear, and she got up as the sole reply. They both walk to the refuge in a content silence.
There was a light ruffle behind him and he felt the hair on his neck raise. A glance over his should indicated what he had been afraid of – there was nothing but an empty street. Cars that seemed practically untouched, dead leaves that danced in circle on the asphalt, closed windows, doors left wide and broken, the ghosts of Paris still lingering in the air.
And yet, he knew there was someone, something watching him. Waiting for its moment. He turned around in circles, not trusting his own back anymore. The tension rose until he suddenly ran. He snaked in between the cars to the sidewalk. Under his palm a barrier swung open with a creek and his quick pace calmed into a walk as the park’s gravel crunched under his steps. Trees grew on the expanses of green lane on each side of the path that lead to a clearing. Pigeons
swarm, grew flutters from which a small body would sometimes ascend towards the cloud-white sky.
Flip walked to them and looked up. The trees made a circle around him. A gentle breeze caressed his skin; the murder stirred; he looked down and met the eyes of the tiger.
It had arrived out of nowhere, all of a sudden, on the other side of the circle. His pace was placid, unhurried, only disturbing a few birds that would flap out of his way. Flip had never imagined that such a shade of his fur could exist: it was darker then the one of a normal tiger, the shadow spreading out of it’s limits and devouring the bright orange until it was but light touches running on his fur.
Changing Mind held the gaze of the tiger, not faltering and walked along with the tiger so that they would turn around each other. The man, silently, acknowledged the feline for what it was: a powerful predator, a beautiful killer, a worthy enemy. And so he didn’t look away. A deep respect filled him and he could feel that the tiger felt a little puzzled at his behavior.
The Native woke up in his bed. He listened to the calm breathing around him, the quietness, and realized that nothing had woke him up. Or, if he had woken up because of something, it wasn’t here. Rather, it was like as the connection had been suddenly yanked like the cutting beep of an alarm would do.
He sat up, looked around. Everything was fine. He laid back down and went back to sleep.
Ebeth’l opened his eyes right away after the alarm of his clock set of. For a short moment, he didn’t quite understand where he was before his memories came back to him. That must be the signal that he was landing on Earth shortly and that he needed to be awake.
He rolled on his back and he stretched his six limbs, one after an other, before rolling off his bunk and on the floor of his assigned cabin. He knew that damn alarm always woke him up to late for him to have a leisurely preparation, so he would have to be quick. A cat’s toilet, without any bad pun, was in order for now.
He slashed water on the short fur of his face, regretting that he had no tub to enjoy a well needed long hot bath. A day on a new planet was always a tough experience and that was most likely the last moment where he would have a little time to breath before a while.
Oh well, it would have to do.
He looked at himself in the mirror and wondered how many idiots would ask about his fur today. Ebeth’l could have been born with albinism, like any other abnormal skin color… but no. It had to be the opposite of that: melanisme. The shadow seemed to devour the little color he had, leaving him with scarce touches of orange. It had its pros and cons. For a hundred people that looked at him wide-eyes for ten minutes, there was a female that couldn’t get her eyes of him until they became bold enough to find out for themselves how much like any other male he was. He had decided, a while ago, that there was no point in deciding if his coloration was a blessing or a curse.
He rubbed the fur on the back of his neck, changing the couse of his ideas. What had he been dreaming about already? He remembered that it was unusually vivid. He never did such vivid dreams and forgetting this one seemed like a waste. He closed his eyes and tried to recall it. It had been… about a human. There had been a human. That’s all he could tell. His face was muddy and it almost pained him to try to force the image to focus, so he let it be.
Today, he would be hunting.
Written by Clayem on 18 April 2016
On the hunt