Symbiote Mask Stories

Based on the story and characters created by General-sci It was cold, that’s what I remember the most...about dying that is. I didn’t realize that’s what happened until after the fact, but Dr. Hayashi told me that, for a while, my heart actually stopped beating. It’s hard to describe dying. It wasn’t even all that unpleasant it was just...well, nothing. Actually at the time it even felt kind of...comforting. It wasn’t dark, though, that’s always hard to explain. There wasn’t any sort of “bright light” or whatever either. Maybe I wasn’t dead long enough for that. I make it sound good, but thinking back on it now I wouldn’t say I’d want to give it another go, but at the time there was nothing I wanted more than to just let myself go. Lucky for me, the true armor had other plans. The first thing to come back was the pain. It wasn’t a searing pain like when Haggard put his spear in my side. No, it was a dull, kind of a throbbing pain, almost like my muscles had been twisted in knot...

[We hear the front door open and someone walking in with shoes on and holding a brown paper bag. The voice sounds shy, dorky even] Hey, I’m back. [We hear her come into the room, approach us, and give us a quick kiss] So how’s you’re Halloween been? Not too boring I hope? [We hear her flop down on the couch next to us, cuddling closer] So what’cha watchin’? Looks kinda cheesy...wait...holy shit is this Goosebumps? Fuck I used to watch this shit all the time when I was a kid. Which one is this? The Haunted Mask? Huh...isn’t that a...coincidence. [A brief, awkward pause] Hey, so you know how you said you didn’t want to do a Halloween costume this year...well I think might have something that’ll change your mind. [She reaches over and grabs a paper bag] Ready? [She reaches in and pulls something out] Ta da! Whata’ya think? Cool, right? I’m not usually a fan of these full head masks but...I dunno, they just sor...

Late one night you see your girlfriend saunter into the living room with a mischievous look in her eye. You can tell she wants something, but you can’t tell what. Her sweatpants hug her swaying narrow hips loosely as she approaches. The couch you sit on squeaks as you adjust yourself, preparing for her to plant herself in the spot next to you. Standing at the lip of the seat she positions herself, her small, firm ass positioned just at eye level. With a long sigh she drops down on the couch with a matching “whump”. Wasting no time she snuggles next to you, nuzzling her face into your shoulder. For a moment there’s only the sound of the TV and her slow breathing. “Whatcha watchin?” her husky voice rumbles near your ear. You knew the silence was too good to be true - and by the way she said it you knew she wanted an answer. “Magnum P.I.” you mutter back. “Oh” she says, feigning interest “looks old”. “Think it’s from the 80’s or something. My parents watched it a lot when I wa...

Dr. Henson scratched the stubble on his chin. “So, any guesses?” The six residents of Biological Survey Station Delta all stood around the stainless steel table, eyes trained on the object situated they’d carefully there. The whole thing was covered in countless strands of multicolored wires, each one hooked to one of half a dozen monitoring machines scattered all around the room. What could still be seen wasn’t much, since it was only about the size of a volleyball – maybe a bit bigger. After a minute of shuffling and confused glances, Dr. Malek broke the silence. "Some kind of ceremonial mask, maybe?" Dr. Henson gave him a look over top of his glasses – the kind of look that makes clear why no-one volunteered guesses. "What kind of mask" he gestured towards it with an open hand "has fucking veins in it?" Nobody answered. Dr. Ryuzaki and Mrs. Warren both leaned in to take a closer look, quickly followed by Dr. Quinn. Dr. Ryuz...

Amy couldn’t sleep. For almost two hours she’d laid listless on top of her unwashed sheets staring at the ceiling. In that time all she’d managed to do was count how many veiny cracks were now in the plaster. Running count was 57. Her arm had long since fallen asleep, having been wedged under her head to prop it up after she’d decided her pillow was too soft. She hadn’t washed up and didn’t plan to. Instead she’d thrown on a loose grey t-shirt and sweatpants as soon as she got home, letting her blonde hair remain in its matted, pixie cut shambles – complete with grease. ‘Oh well’ she thought ‘don’t gotta impress folks when you live alone, right.’ She could barely move, in large part thanks to her recently concluded waiting shift at Mr. Moogies Family Restaurant – her second twelver that week. Maddie had called out sick, so when Mr. Stone demanded she stay she agreed without much fuss. Not that it bought his good graces. Not even an hour later he went right back to...