FDISK

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It was what should have been a typical summer day May 8, 1990. It was the middle of Operation Sundevil, a nationwide hacker crackdown. Many people involved in computers during that period may recall prominent raids in the Phoenix area. There is one raid that was hidden in the darkest cabinet of the most forgotten cubicle. That raid is the not so humble beginning of FDISK.

They had no names. Neither public records nor cyberspace handles showed any trace of these five men. Members of the Secret Service had been tipped off by several prominent religious figures. Technology was the tool of the beast, and using it five men would bring about the apocalypse. These claims were unfounded until a series of security compromises began to arise in an exacting pattern to that provided them. They took off for Los Angeles post-haste. If the predictions were true, they would only have nine hours to stop the end of the world.

They arrived with little time to spare. They stormed the building and smashed through the doors to the basement of an unobtrusive home in suburbia. What they saw was so terrible they would forever be without the base of sanity man has taken for granted. These men sat in thrones of bone and viscera. Their eyes were wild but intelligent with a supra-perceptible intent of malice and cruelty. Five laptops were attached to a central server on which the bloodied remains of a lamb's head stared with avarice of the living. The civilian expert from the phone company promptly vomited and blanched.

“Put your hands on the table, stand up, and slowly back away from the computers.” commanded one of the Secret Service operatives who had been assigned to the case.

The largest of the figures turned slightly so that the image on the monitor in front of him was visible. They stood mesmerized as the deacon they had brought with them picked up a fire ax and buried it into the spine of the head operative. One monitor flashed briefly and was overtaken by a baphomet in a pentagram. Somewhere an Italian composer who had previously spoken against the bourgeois lifestyle of the time collapsed, having breathed his last. One of the agents fired a round into the deacon as he went to assault an attending priest. His chest imploded spraying blood and entrails into the crowded room. The second monitor flashed briefly and was filled with a cloven foot marked 666 burning in hellfire. This time a north Irish clergyman who had helped end the hunger strikes of the IRA fell dead of a heart attack. The second figure stood up and stood next to the first.

The priest grabbed the ax from the fallen deacon and slammed it into the nearby electrical conduit. The lights went dim except for the glow of the of the monitors and the ignited flesh of the priest. It was around this time the federal agents came to their senses and opened fire. The rounds sent chunks of flesh falling to the ground. For every bullet that pierced the hardware hellfire and molten brimstone erupted out.

The largest of the figures spoke, "Aid us Great Cthulhu! We bring you sacrifices of flesh and mind. From the bottom of R'lyeh you shall slumber no more!"

Molten brimstone from the computer hardware quickly pooled onto the concrete floor. In a burst of acrid smoke an avatar of The Great Old One Cthulhu appeared. He held the intruding men at bay with but a gaze of contemptuous ire.

The figures spoke at once. "Odin, Allfather, one of your own needs watching over this night. Odin, Allfather, father of the Valkyries, offer us your protection and a showcase of your might. Odin, Allfather, give us the strength of Mjolnir, Thor's irresistible hammer. Odin, Allfather, send down mighty Gungnir and we shall be victorious. We shall together see what fools these mortals be!"

The overwhelming sound of thunder filled the room and a bolt of lightning smashed into the ground, disrupting even the avatar of Cthulhu. During these events two more monitors flashed crimson. One adorned with an image of Azazel, the other with a serpent coiled around a fang dripping with blood. In mere moments, the machinery would unlock a portal to the throne of Hell itself. Odin would be victorious and they would be given all the splendor and spoils of the damned.

In the fleeting moments that remained, one of the operatives regained his awareness. He fired a specially treated round into his stomach and the world was filled with a fire that could out-burn Hell itself. The computers and everything else in the room were annihilated ... except FDISK. The collapse of the vortex to Hell sucked them directly into the throne room of the Prince of the Damned himself. If FDISK wanted to retain their souls and their self-awareness, they would assist him in usurping the other planes -- including Valhalla.
FDISK-Stormrider

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