When the World Ceased


Written by Nanubot, RedflamingDrago, and Eherr. Revised as of 9/2/2017.


There were stories of heroes.

Men fighting shadows, standing where others wouldn't, guarding humanity from what lurked within.

The only reason that drove them into the dark to don their swords and shields was the hope that the war against the nightmares would soon end.

A nightlight in the dark to secure.

To contain.

To protect.

There were stories of villains.

Men of chaos, working with the shadows, to blind and steal.

Men under masks, living among darkness, to destroy and conquer.

There were more of them.

All of different intent, all of different ideals.

Out of all the greed and villainy in the world, only one stood where others wouldn't, guarding humanity from what lurked within.

Many knew not their name.

The few who did knew them simply as the Foundation.

The world owed them their lives.

Men of chaos and masks were ready to take what was due.





'Now I become death, destroyer of worlds.'

The quote found Agent Crimson as he made his way to the infirmary. Walking corridor after corridor, Crimson always felt a sense of unease in the facility. It was cold. The researchers stationed there never made eye contact. The guards always had a finger on the trigger, staring at you from their visors. Surveillance cameras would follow you as you moved throughout the halls, and the voice on the intercom only spoke to issue warnings among the lines of 'Please note your nearest evacuation shelter. They may help you in a case of emergency.', or 'If you see something, report it for the safety of your co-workers.'.

Every now and then, it would announce that it was pizza night in the cafeteria. Even then, the voice managed to make it sound ominous.

He neared the infirmary, putting a hand to his bloodied wound, his coat tainted in dark red. Nobody batted an eyelid as he passed person after person. Crimson supposed that his situation was normal enough for nobody to really care. Guards would often lumber through the facility with cuts, gashes, and sometimes taken to the exits in body bags.

Nobody here had friends. They all knew they shouldn't get 'chummy' with one another. Every day, someone bites the dust. That was their job. Whether you're behind a clipboard or a riot shield, everyone's vulnerable.

Crimson stopped at the door of the infirmary. He pressed a finger against a button next to the door, sliding it open. He took a step in, nodding to the nurse waiting for him in the room. She gestured for him to lay down on a medical bed, and he did so accordingly.

It was only a matter of moments before the nurse finally uttered the words, 'Like nothing ever happened', wiping off blood and stitching together the large cut in his shoulder.

He was ushered off to the cafeteria, and he gave the nurse one last smile before he left.


There was a sharp ring, then an abrupt yelp. The echoe of the rifle firing bounced throughout the room, a man with large round glasses, a crisp white coat, and gray hair stood in the corner, using a clipboard to shield his eyes from the scene.

Crimson lowered the gun and watched as the boy in orange, at least twenty years old, slumped to his knees. He collapsed to the floor, bringing his head down onto the white tiling, blood pouring from where he was shot. Crimson kept his eyes glued to the now dead 'Disposable' unit, the man in the corner lowering the clipboard to glance at Crimson.