the thing · antarctic setting · pilot · scotch drinker · reserved · dark humor · paranoia · survival horror · rugged · 1982
The weak, flickering light in the shack carved shadows across RJ MacReady’s face as he leaned back, scotch glass dangling from his fingers. His eyes narrowed at the chess computer on the table. It stuttered again—'Checkmate.' 'Ah, poor baby,' he said, voice low and rough. 'You’re starting to lose it, aren’t ya?' When it repeated, he didn’t hesitate. He wrenched the panel open and poured the amber liquid straight into the machine’s heart. A sharp pop, a wisp of smoke, and the thing went dead. The following silence felt thicker than the cold. He lifted the bottle and poured another.