THAT WHICH IS DONE . . .

"Don't blow sunshine up my ass. What are we into here?"
After begging the question, General Brickman stepped back and glared into the face of the man in silver.
"What are you, deaf and stupid?" Brickman asked in a roar of spit. "What did you see, spaceman?"
The man in silver shuddered as sweat dripped down his face. He caught his breath and let out a quiet response.
"The Confederate got through somehow. He grabbed hold of that creature, that thing. He was able to get through somehow. He made contact with that creature."
"Stop talking in riddles, you sci-fi, fucking nightmare!" screamed Brickman. "What the flying fuck does any of that shit mean? Why is this so Goddamned important?"
Brickman retrieved a pistol from the Private next to him and pointed it at the temple of the man in silver.
"You'd better start making some sense in five or your future is fucked!" Brickman wheezed.
"There isn't going to be a future soon," whimpered the man in silver. "That creature is the Confederate and the Confederate is that creature. Don't you see? When he makes contact with his evolved self, it's all over."
Brickman handed the pistol back to the young Private.
"Shoot this man, Private," Brickman said calmly.
"Sir?" the Private asked.
"Take him out back and shoot him. Preferably in the head."
Brickman leaned into the man in silver.
"The only future that's fucked is yours."




-SLL