War Breed
the long lost story of Melrakki Kynligrland
5 Years Before
Eyes shifted. Lips moved. No sound. Only darkness. Redefining sight.
Losing control. Reality slipping. Losing self.
His grip on reality began to slip and he felt a surge of fear light his brain.
"I can't see." He forced the words out of his mouth. His throat was dry and constricted with fear. Every breath was sandpaper shoving its way down his windpipe.
He couldn't feel. It was not being able to feel that frightened him most of all. He reached into the darkness... and nothing. There was nothing. He couldn't even feel his fingers move. He thought he was bending them. He was wriggling his fingers, wasn't he? Why couldn't he feel them?
He tried to imagine curling his fingers into his palm, making a fist. He put his every fiber of strength into making them curl, making them reach to his palms. He imagined his fingers touching smooth flesh.
Nothing.
He screamed, and there was silence.
2 Years Before
Sun above. Earth below. Endless sky between. A mystical heaven that only the birds could cherish. A world between worlds. A world he wanted to incinerate inside. Lose himself in.
"Melrakki!"
A voice from heaven that brought his focus back to earth. He looked to the girl lying beside him in the grass, the owner of that voice. She had fallen from heaven, he was sure. Why else would such a treasured, broken creature be here?
She graced him with a smile and his heart soared into that infinite realm. "You were staring off again."
"Was I?" His voice. Hatred.
"Yah. You do that sometimes."
He looked back at the sky. His eyes stared into the sun, but there was nothing in them left to burn. There was no soul behind those glossy windows.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"Are you going to answer my question?"
"What question is that?"
She came between him and the sky and the sun. She was the sky now. Leaning over him, her eyes met his. The gloss dissolved. He was molten under her stare. They must be eyes of heaven, for they burned more fiercely than the sun.
"Do you love me?"
He forgot how to breathe.
"Yes."
She holds him and he holds her. An angel in the arms of a sinner. He has found his mercy and grace. He is in heaven now. Her heaven. The heaven he could never be a part of. Cannot be a part of.
He does not, and cannot, love her.
1 Year Before
Red. Black.
Madness.
Swim. Swim.
Darkness.
Falling away, he rises from the grave.
Sleep falls away.
What are these miserable voices echoing in his head?
What is this word? What does it mean to be dead?
He knows. He fears. Afraid.
No memory yet a memory all the same.
He has been running, but he took not a step.
He was gone for a while, but he never left.
He was up all night, yet slept through till morn.
What could have caused this confusion to be born?
A dream. A voice. A longing he does not know.
The sound of a friend, but the words of a foe.
"Bue, Bue, Keuked."
"Rise, rise, and make the dead."
On That Day
Tracing My Steps Right Back To Where It All Began
He enters the classroom.
Looking For Clues To Surmise Why It Is That I Am
His eyes are closed. To the mirror he turns. Bright blue eyes stare back, as soulless as he truly is.
Uncovering This Irony
A gun in his right hand. A knife in his left. A child before him and nothing between. He raises the blade.
As I Behold This Vision In Front Of Me
The world is painted red. The child cannot scream anymore. Her throat is overflowing with blood. It drains from her gaping mouth.
I'm Watching the Water Erase My Steps In The Sand
Bloody footprints left behind, and the tide of crimson covers them. Bodies litter the ground, like debris. Faces so mutilated, even he cannot recognize them at first.
Sometimes I've Felt Like A Zeppelin Grounded At Land
He freezes in place. Standing there. Watching him. She cries freely but makes no sound. Pinned but fluttering, like a trapped butterfly. Like a broken angel.
Like Anchoring Ports To This Earth Are Manacles And
"This isn't you Melrakki."
He has no eyes anymore.
"Look at me!"
He does.
And she can't find Melrakki.
In Severing Strings To Former Things
"I will always love you, Melrakki."
He pulls the trigger.
And an angel ascends to the heaven beyond the sky.
The Anvils Binding Me To Gravity
Kill. Kill. Kill them all!
Drive them to hell, then surely follow.
Matter not that we made you.
Spent hundreds of years forming
Molding
Crafting
Perfecting you.
So the order went out and on they marched.
The perfect tin soldiers with dead faces, dead eyes.
They ended the world and crawled to the skies.
Chasing, unceasing, to answer their master's request.
I'll Give Them The Slip In Ignition To Infinite Paths
Bue, Bue, Gemini
Hearken to my voice, and do not be afraid.
For I love you.
Love? What is love?
You do not know Gemini, but I do.
I know you love me too.
Come to me Gemini. Do not follow the path they take.
They would make an end of you.
I now say, make an end of them.
Their Faces Are Shrinking
Puppets.
Brothers and Sisters.
All.
Falling under a blade.
Two blades.
Under two brothers of silver steel.
Wielded by hands that can control them.
So Gemini hearkened to his master's cry.
He rendered the children dead.
And sought solace in his master's voice.
In his master's embrace.
In his master's love.
Every drop of blood made him shiver with delight.
At the thought of carrying out his master's will.
Never to see Master.
But to hear Master was a thrill all in its own.
A pleasure. A delight. An unrelenting honor.
To hear it again?
He would destroy the world, just to hear master's voice once more.
Their Bonds Are Breaking
Before him lay the slaughtered dead, buried beyond their bodies in their own blood. No grave needed to be dug for them.
Gemini.
He plunged the knives into the final master's body. Each sliding between the ribs. Buried them past their handles. He twisted, and ripped the knives out and upward.
Blood covered his world.
The master fell to the ground, staring up at him with glazing eyes.
But this was not Gemini's master. This was not Master.
The master said:
"She said you loved her."
He spoke of Master.
His Master.
"I can see what she meant by that."
He didn't understand what the master meant.
"Against all odds, you fought to answer her orders."
Searching The Stars For Answers
beckon to him from across a world
You Made the City Bleed
from under stone and over metal
You Let The Monster Out To Feed
Never To Come Back Down
Survive
Live
Breathe.
Run.
Run Towards the Edge.
Run Towards Infinity.
Come To Me.
Gemini!
Gazing Through The Smoke At The Cities Below
He took a chance.
One final glance.
To the desolation he had made.
What he saw was beyond his understanding.
What he saw was beyond his comprehending.
And a broken heart was further unmade.
His world, his life, his planet shattered then.
And naught could make it beat again.
And further away did Melrakki fade.
And They Watch As I'm Becoming Just A Face In The Clouds
And All Days After
Further Away Did Melrakki Fade
Till All That's Left Was Gemini
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Watch
WATCH
the unfortunate story of advent notredame
It was a dark and stormy night. The rain came down as if the entirety of heaven had been holding the water back too long and the floodgate had finally burst. The roads became rivers; torrent filled things with rapids and whirlpools. With the naked eye, one could hardly hope to pierce the blinding meld of rain and night.
A large building, seeming to have been fashioned of a variety of cubes that were stacked next to and on top of each other like a child's building blocks, offered minimal light from its hooded lamps that lit the driveway to its front door. At the other end of the driveway was a wrought iron gate. Just next to that gate, a squat security camera jittered this way and that as the winds buffeted it, trying to beat the elements and do its job. The picture came back to the security room's computers fuzzy and blurred.
"Damn it, get that thing focused back on the driveway," the head of security barked. He was a viscous man that resembled a shaved bear, claw-like fingers, gritted teeth, wild eyes, and all. Even his shaggy hair was a grizzly-bear brown. He glared at the computer screen and the fuzzy image it displayed with a scowl.
"I'm trying," the subordinate security guard replied, his voice coming out irritated. He struggled with the joystick that make the camera rotate.
"You're fucking ridiculous," the head of security growled, shoving a stubby cigarette between his teeth. He quite near bit the end clean off.
The security guard leaned forward in his seat, squinting at the computer screen. He spotted something in the image he didn’t like. "Sir, there's a vehicle approaching."
"The hell?" the head of security also leaned in, breathing a cloud of noxious fumes in the guard's face. Sure enough, a large object, presumably a truck because of the lights, pulled up to the gate and sat there.
"Of all the miserable..." the security head stomped out of the room, grabbing a raincoat as he left. The door slammed behind him, leaving the security guard to fiddle with the controls alone.
The security head barked into his radio, "Hey Seb, get a couple boys to the front gate. A truck just arrived."
"Roger," came Seb's voice, along with a wailing burst of static.
The head of security made one quick stop at his office to grab a flashlight before unlocking the front door and stepping out into the rain.
The rain pelted him in the face, stinging his eyes. He fumbled with the hood of his coat as he pulled it down over his head, but it did little to no good. He approached the truck, pissed off that they were there and wishing they weren't.
The truck was barely visible in the rain, but it was most definitely a truck. It appeared to be either dark gray or green, with a canvas cover over the back trunk. Like something from the military. It puzzled the head of security. Janlea City had no need for a military. The KC, Keystone Crux, was a heavy-duty force that did more than enough to keep the peace, and nevertheless, there were no wars anywhere to begin with.
So what the hell was a military truck doing here?
He knocked on the driver's door, and the window was promptly rolled down. "I'm Dallas Dalton, head of security. Do you have any clearance to be here?"
The driver's reply was quiet and subtly dark: "No."
Dallas Dalton, head of security, growled like a wild animal, "Then what are you doing at this entrance?"
The driver paused before saying, "This is Lumen Research Facility isn't it?"
"It is."
"I have something of interest."
Dallas grimaced, "It's three in the fucking morning. Can't you see we're closed? Come back at seven."
Another short pause, then the driver said, "I don't think the something of interest will live that long."
"Vive la France!"
"Excusez-moi?"
The boy looks at him and grins, "I said, Vive la France!"
He looks away from the boy, up at the sky, "Is that the only French you know?"
"Of course not," the boy replies, looking hurt.
He laughs, "You Americans are so silly."
The other boy tackles him and they wrestle in the grass. The sun is bright and hot, radiating the earth with summer warmth. It is France and they are on a hill. Off in the distance is Paris, and the top of the Eiffel Tower reaches for the sky, looking small and fragile from so far away.
"I'm not silly at all. You French are the silly people!"
"You're French too!"
They stop wresting. The boy has him pinned under his arms and a knee. The boy rolls off and lies in the grass, staring up at the sky again. "Am I really?"
He sits up, shaking green leaves out of his hair. "Of course you are. You're my brother."
The boy puts his arms over his face, shielding his eyes. "Am I?"
He shakes his brother by the shoulder roughly, "Of course you are, mon frère. It doesn't matter that you don't live with me."
"Truly? Even though… even though I’ve been adopted."
"Absolument," he replies. He pulls the boy up into a sitting position and holds his chin up to look him in the eye. "We have the same blood. Nothing can change that. As long as we have the same blood, we are brothers."
The boy smiles and bats his hand away before pulling his head closer, their foreheads touching and gazes locking. "Brothers forever."
“Brothers forever.”
Dallas Dalton watched as the driver unlatched the back and pulled it down. He pushed aside the flaps of the canvas cover. When Dallas shone his flashlight inside, he saw a large, box-like container.
"The thing is in there?" he asked the driver.
The driver nodded, slapping the box with a gloved hand. "It's a life support system, but its transfer here was... a difficult one. The damages were pretty significant and we need to get it hooked up to a power source ASAP."
Dallas was about to speak again when the sound of footsteps reached his ears, muddled with the rain. He turned to see Seb and three other security guards approaching, all swaddled in their rain coats.
"Problem?" Seb asked in his trademark gruff voice with the Norwegian accent. He shone a flashlight at the driver whose face was still hidden under the hood of his raincoat.
"Yah, we got a problem," Dallas said, "There's something in that box and it's going to die."
Seb looked as confused as Dallas felt. Dallas had no idea what was in the box.
And if it was dying, why not take it to a vet or the hospital? Why take it to a research facility?
The night is cold and quiet. His small room doesn't do much good to hold in the heat. He huddles under his blankets with a flashlight, its golden glow lighting up the picture in his hand.
His brother's face is transfixed on the photograph in a permanent smile. It had been taken on a windy day, and his brother is holding his shaggy black hair out of his face. Leaves are blowing about him, and in the background, a French flag is frozen in mid wave.
He doesn't like that they are seperated. It has been three months since that summer's day on the hill, and just the thought of it makes a pang of longing stab his heart. He feels no comfort here, no true love from his parents. Only his brother gives him the love he desperately craves.
His real parents are dead. He knows that. These replacement ones that adopted him try to love him, but ever since the twins had been separated, a rift had been torn in their hearts that could not be mended.
Seeing each other had been such a blessing. But the departure only made the agony more unbearable.
He hears a loud bang. Like a door slamming. He shuts off the flashlight and pushes the covers off to look at his bedroom door. His parents should not be home. They have gone to Paris to a party with friends. He wasn't feeling well and wanted to stay home. Who is in the house?
He is too afraid to climb out of bed. He pulls the covers up to his chin and sits there, still as stone, staring intently at his bedroom door.
Lights flash under the door. Footsteps, heavy, echo around him. He shudders, his breathing fast, heart pounding.
His door is thrown open. Men he does not know stand there, blinding him with their flashlights. He puts his hands over his eyes, trying to block the glare.
They talk in loud voices. They speak English. They are talking too fast for him to understand. He knows English, but again, they speak to fast and say words he does not know.
He is afraid, but cannot move. A deer trapped in headlights. Rough hands grab his arms and he is pulled out of bed.
"Laissez-moi passer!" he shouts at them, but they do not hear. They do not know French. "Let me go!" he screams in English. But still they do not hear.
He kicks and struggles. He slips from their grasp and lands awkwardly on the wooden floor. Pain shoots through his shoulder, and he grits his teeth. He tries to crawl away, but a rough hand grabs his leg and drags him. He tries to kick them, but they grab his head and slam it against the floor. He is dazed, his vision seeps ink at the edges. He tastes liquid iron on his tongue. He moans and reaches out at the darkness, grabbing onto the edge of a table, trying to pull himself up. Pain explodes in his side as he is brutally kicked in the ribs. He coughs instinctively, bile rising in his throat. He is thrown back to the floor and lies there, moaning and gasping for air. Just like before, he is roughly grabbed by his arms and dragged across the floor to the outside.
His bare feet and legs are scratched by rocks on the ground. He cannot focus his vision. He is limp in their grip. His body is tossed like a sack of flour into the back of a van. He hits the metal floor hard, and curls into a fetal position, feeling cold and in pain. He can barely hear more rough shouting and barked orders. Men climb into the back with him, and the van rocks under their weight. He hears a roar as the van comes alive, and then he feels motion.
His vision fades in and out. Every jostle of the van jars his body. Hours pass.
He forces his eyes open and sees out a window. A dark cathedral fills the window's view.
It is the last familiar thing he sees before sinking into darkness.
The driver refused to say what was in that life support container. He only insisted that it was of absolute importance that they get it hooked up and back online. Before the 'something of interest' died.
Dalton had stepped back inside the facility and out of the rain. Puddles have formed under his feet, water droplets continuing to drip off his raincoat to messy up the previously spotless linoleum. He chewed on the end of his soggy cigarette, punching numbers into his cell phone with a cold finger.
He brought it to his ear, the monotony of the ring tone echoed in his ear canal to bounce against his eardrums. He let his mind wander to unimportant trivia as he waited impatiently for the other line to be picked up.
There was a click, and a groggy woman's voice whispered, "Hello?"
"Doctor Wagner? Sorry to call you so early in the morning. We've got a suspicious person outside the facility."
"Who is this?" the voice asked, with a muted tone that suggested she was trying not to yawn.
"Oh right, Dallas Dalton, Head of Security at Lumen Research Facility for the-"
"Yes, yes, Mr. Dalton, I only needed your name, not your life story. Just send the person away."
"Well, he insists we bring his cargo inside. It's awfully suspicious, but he says it's 'something of interest'."
"Tell him to come back in the morning," she growled.
Dallas paused. "Dr, whatever this is, he says it's on life support and it's going critical."
Dead silence on the other end. He thought she had hung up already. Then a voice broke through; "I'm on my way."
Slam!
His head is jerked back violently as the fist collides with the side of his face. He can feel hot tears mingling with the blood that flows from the open cuts lining his body. He tries to hold back the strangled sobs that well up in his throat. His eyes are screwed shut from the pain, but he manages to squint at his assailant with some difficulty.
"I said, what is your name?" the man asked. He knows the man's name. The man is Snide. Snide likes to punish boys and girls who are naughty. At least, that's what Snide said.
He is built like a stick. His muscles and bones are visible under his loose, olive skin. His eyes are narrow and pointy, Oriental. His has stick straight, black hair in a bowl cut style. He breathes through a squashed, pig nose, wheezing like a deflating balloon. He looks god-awful and pathetic, but he is formidable in martial arts.
"What is your name?" Snide repeats, stabbing two, stiff fingers into his stomach. He coughs, the wind forced out of his lungs. He can't breathe, and the pain is excruciating. Snide twists his fingers into his stomach, causing him to make a strangled, hoarse cry.
Snide withdraws and he fights for air. Struggling to pull it back into his lungs, he begins to hyperventilate.
Finally he has enough air to say, "My name is-"
Another punch to the face, right under his jaw. His teeth almost shatter from the impact. His vision explodes into darkness before throwing itself back into focus.
"What is your name?" Snide screeches in his face. He doesn't answer, trying to focus on... something... anything. He is to dazed and confused to speak. Snide spits on him, and the saliva slides down his cheek.
He doesn't understand. He keeps telling Snide what his name is, but Snide won't stop asking him.
Unless...
"I-I... I have no name..." he whispers softly. It's all he can manage.
"I didn't hear you," Snide snarls, jabbing a fist into his gut. He vomits blood on the floor. There's nothing but blood in his stomach.
"I have no name," he says louder. The effort to make himself heard leaves him panting.
"Say it again."
"I have no name."
Another blow to his stomach. He feels a rib shatter, but he cannot scream anymore.
"Say it again!"
"I HAVE NO NAME!"
Slam!
"Careful with that!" the driver snapped, glaring at Seb.
Seb hurried to pick up his end of the life support container that he had carelessly dropped. "Sorry, sorry. It's okay, I got it!"
The driver glared at him a minute more, before lifting up another corner of the life support container. Two more security guards were on another corner each. The four men carefully carried the heavy box towards the facility. Dallas leaned against the open gate.
His eyes narrowed at the box as it approached the gate. Judging by the strain the men were under, it was obviously heavy and cumbersome. The thing was huge, probably big enough to fit a horse in.
By the time the men had managed to get the container into the facility, a black car pulled up next to the truck said box had been transported in. A woman wrapped in a red raincoat climbed out of the car, slamming the door behind her. The car chirped as she locked the door, and she hurried to the gate.
"Is it already inside?" she asked Dallas, her voice raised over the wind and rain.
"Yes, Dr. Wagner," he replied, "They should be carrying it to Lab Room D for you."
"Thank you, Mr. Dalton. I'll see you inside."
She hurried into the building, leaving Dallas to close the gate.
He went inside, shed his raincoat, and dried his boots on the entrance mat. He tossed his coat into a corner of his office and reached for a fresh cigarette.
Dr. Wagner swept into his office. She wore her immaculate, white lab coat, and her long, curly black hair had been swept up into a tight ponytail. "Mr. Dalton, I'm going to need you in the Lab Room in case of trouble."
"Trouble?" he asked, concernedly.
"Yes, I need you to make sure the electricity doesn't go out and that the computers don't short out. This blasted weather is not helping, and what we don't need is a power outage when trying to save this something's life."
Dallas sighed shortly. It was his technological expertise that was called for and not his muscle. The past few months, he felt more like he was from an IT department than an actual security guard. "Alright, Dr. Wagner," he said, grabbing his cigarette.
"No smoking," she ordered as she breezed back out of his office and down the hall.
He spat the soggy one into the trash and let the fresh one fall back to his desk. "Yes, ma'am," he muttered grudgingly.
The facility was as immaculately clean as Dr. Wagner's lab coat. Contamination was the greatest fear of a research facility as any tampered items or substances became either useless, dangerous, or destructive to the entire testing operation. Though the facility specialized in electronic technology, it also dealt with the medical technology. It made more sense now to Dallas why a life support system would be brought here, but still, life support systems were not brought here with living creatures inside them.
In Lab Room D stood Dr. Wagner, the driver, and Seb. The other guards had been dismissed. Dallas joined them as they gathered around the container.
"The systems air circulation has been completely destroyed," the driver said, holding up a frazzled cable. "And the extensional backing unit was punctured under the left ventricle."
"What about the right ventricle's hydraulics and occupancy stimulation diaphragm?" Dr. Wagner asked him.
They kept speaking in technical mumbo-jumbo that Dallas didn't quite understand. The way the driver went on about the damages, it sounded like the machine was beyond hope.
Now that Dallas could actually see the container in proper light, it appeared to be one rectangular cube with an array of buttons and glowing lights on one side. He had no idea what the computer screens underneath the lights were supposed to do, as they were riddled with bullet holes.
The rest of the container was also riddled with bullet holes and gouge marks. This thing had been through a war zone.
"That does it then," Dr. Wagner said, leaning on the container, "We're going to have to transfer the occupant to a more stable life support system until we can get this machine repaired."
"Dr. Wagner," Seb spoke up, "All the life support systems we have here are prototypes."
"He's right," Dallas affirmed, "You put the... occupant in one of those, it won't last for very long if not at all."
Dr. Wagner shook her head, "We don't have any choice. The Model T prototype is our best shot from here. We'll put the occupant in the Model T until it runs out, then we'll just have to keep transferring it from model to model until this machine is fixed."
"If you think that will work," the driver said, "Then I say do it."
Dr. Wagner nodded, pressing some of the buttons on the side. "This is a Morpheostasis Machine. It might take us several hours to repair it considering the complicated mechanisms."
"Just keep him alive," the driver said roughly.
Dr. Wagner raised an eyebrow, just as the lock mechanism gave a beep and unlocked, "Him?" she asked, and lifted the cover.
Everyone peered at the occupant inside before taking shocked steps back.
Dallas could barely speak. "Good God, what is he?"
An eternity has passed him by. He knows nothing now but the pain and the fear. He is completely alone, isolated in a solid cell with no windows and only one heavy door. He is lost in the darkness, and there is not even a pinprick of light to guide him out of the endless nightmare.
He lies on the floor and waits. He waits for the men in white, their faces hidden beneath masks. He waits for them to take him away and bring him more pain and grief.
Take him out. Tear him apart. Throw him back in. Make him wait. Repeat.
He can hardly remember the feel of the sun on his face, or the whisper of wind in his hair. He can hardly remember his brother. But the knowledge is still there. He has a brother, an inseparable twin bonded by his blood. He can still feel the longing, and this longing is all that holds him together, fragile piece by fragile piece.
They have taken everything from him. He has spent years in this single cell. He remembers nothing. Barely feels anything. Even that fragmented memory of his brother threatens to fade from him. He claws for it, holds it close to his heart, and its relief dulls the fear.
The door is thrown open, and the sudden presence of light burns through his sensitive eyes. He buries his face under his arms, trying to escape the glare.
"You. Up. Come. Now!"
The words are harsh and short. He hardly ever hears spoken words anymore. He doesn't remember how to talk. Not in that language that he grew up with, and the English he knows is as broken as the rough commands barked out to him.
You. Up. Come. Now.
Sit. Stay. Stop. Run. Obey.
Listen. Comply. Submit.
The man that ordered him up knows he can hardly stand. So the man grabs him by his neck and drags him to his feet before taking him out of the cell. He half stumbles along with the man, trying to keep his pained eyes shut, suffering the presence of light long enough to try and adjust to it. He feels weak and helpless, for he is both. Frail and sick, hardly anyone thinks he will live much longer.
He prays they are right. He fervently, adamantly prays.Today is different than the others. He can tell because this man is not taking him to the usual room.
"Where?" he asks in a small voice.
The man strikes him. The side of his face stings with the blow, but the pain fades from his thoughts. "Silence," the man growls.
He is silent. The man takes him to a white room. There is a shower and a pile of clothes on a chair.
"Clean. Change." The man orders. The man pushes him into the shower and he slips and falls on the floor.
He just stays there, staring, unmoving. He wants to know what is happening, but a part of him no longer cares. He takes off his clothes, showers, and dresses in the new ones. The man stays in the room, making sure he does as he is told.
He dries his hair with the towel, all done now. The man grabs his chin and jerks it upwards to see his face. The man looks him over, but never he meets his eyes. He refuses to meet his eyes.
"You are ready," the man says.
He does not know what the man means and the man does not explain. The man takes him by the arm and pulls him along, back down the endless white maze of halls. It is no longer painful, the lights no longer burn. All he feels is exhaustion and anticipation.
They enter a room. He is led to a table and the man points to it. He understands. He climbs up on the table and lies down. He has done this before. The man ties him to the table.
He has done this before, but something is still different. Something is wrong.
When the man leaves, the masked people all dressed in white coats enter. They scurry about like mice, clinking metal tools. Giant contraptions are brought into the room. Computers and machines and odd devices. He has never seen these things before. He has only ever been cut at and poked and prodded and scanned. He has never seen these machines.
He clenches his fists and strains against his bonds. Panic flares in him, batting at him like a caged bird. What is happening?
The people crowd around him. They stick him full of needles and attach sensors and wires to his chest, head, and arms. He stiffens under their touch. His eyes dart back and forth.
What is happening? What is happening?
Someone pushes a rather large needle into the crook of his elbow. He can't help but flinch. He looks at it from the corner of his eye, unable to turn his head as they have strapped it down. The needle is connected to a wide tube. The tube is connected to a large canister. He feels a strange sensation as the needle starts vibrating. Thick, red liquid flows from the canister, up the tube, and into his arm.
He can feel it. It does not feel like blood. It feels sick and cold. His skin starts turning numb, but he can feel it on the inside. He can feel that liquid pulsing into his veins. It is so foreign. He feels defiled in the worst possible way as the liquid mingles with his blood, and the cold crawls through his arm, spreading along his side and reaching for his chest.
"No," he whispers. The feeling is too much. He strains against the bonds. "No! Stop it! Stop!"
He is afraid. He is alone. He cannot be saved. No one will stop. He knows that, yet still he begs them in vain.
The cold intensifies. His fingers feel as if they are on fire. He imagines his bones turning brittle from the cold and shattering. He imagines the cold turning his skin black. He imagines he cannot breathe.
"Stop it! Get it out! Get it out of me!"
The cold gives way to intense fire. It burns through his brain and scalds the places behind his eyes. He can feel the liquid spreading across his body, further and further. It crawls over his heart, his lungs, his stomach. He feels it rising and swimming inside him. It is eating away at him. It is destroying him.
He feels so defiled.
...
...
He lies alone in the room. The lights are off and he is in darkness once more. He is still held down to the table. The hum and whirr of the machines echo in his ears. His throat is constricted by the tube that feeds him air. His eyes are wrapped in bandages. He cannot feel anything. They have finished with him. He is all alone.
"As long as we have the same blood, we are brothers."
A single tear streaks down his face, escaping his closed eyes.
"I am so sorry..."
And he loses the last of himself in the darkness.
"A what?"
"An AI," the driver repeated himself to Dr. Wagner. He was very guarded, and his voice was laced with caution.
Dr. Wagner seemed shocked, and perhaps, appalled. Her mouth hung open and her eyes grew wide. A-an AI..?" she whispered.
"The one and only," the driver replied.
"And where did you get it?" she demanded of him, venom in her voice. Dallas had no idea what an AI was, but it seemed to have given Dr. Wagner enough reason to be livid.
The driver hesitated, "Well, he's not mine, if that's what you're asking."
"I asked where you got it," Dr. Wagner snapped, "Tell me right now, or I will call the KC to haul your ass out of here."
Dallas and Seb visibly flinched at the mention of the KC. The driver didn't seem to react at all.
He took the hood off his rain coat, revealing a lanky man with a notably handsome face. He ran a hand through his blond hair, his eyes closed in thought. Finally he sighed. "You can call your KC, whatever they are. I'm not saying anything."
The doctor and the security guards exchanged glances, a bit dumbfounded. Whoever heard of a person unafraid of the threat the KC posed.
He grabs a chair stationed behind him and brings it under him so he can sit down. He hunches over in the chair, looking tired and unhappy. "All I ask is that you help him. Do whatever you want to me. So long as I know my efforts were not in vain."
He had played upon the doctor's pity well enough. She looked at him and said, "Alright, alright, help me transport the thing."
He stood up to help, but not before growling, "It's not a thing. It's a boy."
Emptiness.
The emptiness is his. It is his to seize. He reaches out into the emptiness with unseen fingers. From the emptiness comes responses.
They are little neon lights. They dance and sway under his fingertips. He grabs one, and it dissolves into numbers and symbols. He grabs the numbers and symbols and turns them back into lights.
Everything is tangible. He can touch the sounds and hear the lights. He smells the air and breathes the water. Everything is his to manipulate and control. He grabs it, molds it, breaks it, reforms it. He turns songs into butterflies and colors into stars.
And then the emptiness shatters into a thousand pieces of nothing and the world becomes a large, claustrophobic capsule. The songs and butterflies and stars become tubes and machines and people in white lab coats that stare at him.
He blinks tiredly. A glass window is in the door and it separates him from them. He is inside the capsule, attached to a giant machine. He cannot feel anything at all, almost as though he is in suspended animation.
He cannot hear them talking, but he sees their lips move and he can tell what they are saying.
"Amazing! It survived the procedure!"
"We all had our doubts. It was a scrawny little body, but it developed quite nicely."
"Have all the tests been prepared thoroughly?"
"Yes of course. We did some extensive tests already, but we have saved a few of them just for today."
"Which ones?"
"We're going to manipulate the machine so that it responds to our will. We thought we'd start with a basic search engine. I thought hacking into the Jetson Corporation classifieds might do."
"Brilliant!"
"Damn oil kings won't see that coming!"
The white coat people shuffle and move about his container. He ignores them. His head is hanging in the manner of a broken spirit. He cannot stop them. He knows this. He lets it happen.
One of the lab coated men sits at a computer and begins typing. He clicks a button, and the machine starts to whirr.
His vision goes black. He is once more in the emptiness. For a moment, he is happy. He longs to see the lights, the colors, the sounds...
Then the numbers and symbols appear, but they are not coming at his call. They assault the emptiness with violent fevor. They come rushing at him, tearing into him. Red explodes all around him, flashing in his eyes. Shards of black and blue tear him apart. He is violently thrown into a wall.
He shudders and looks at the wall with frightened eyes. He does not know what is happening. What is this? What is this wall? Why is it here?
An unseen force throws him against the wall. Numbers and symbols spill out of his mouth before forming into blood. He feels pain sear his mind.
He is thrown into the wall again and again.
More pain. More blood.
He has to break this wall. Make it end.
He lets out a scream. A scream full of hate and rage. He attacks the wall with unseen hands. He claws and tears at it. Pieces fall away like bits of dust and stand. His fingertips are alight. He can see them glow. Blood stains them. Blood seeps across his hands and drips down his arms. He is bleeding but he doesn't care. He tears the wall apart.
He has torn a hole in the wall. The unseen force throws him again, but with no wall to stop him, he sails right through the hole.
Now he stands. There are numbers and symbols everywhere. Images appear and fade rapidly. Everything is blue and white with no definitive lines between the two. The numbers and symbols and images shoot into his eyes. Every impact feels, rough. Not painful. Just a slight, sudden pressure.
It all fades as he is thrust back into the room, into wakefulness. The capsule and its tubes and wires are all around him again. He opens his eyes.
The people are staring at a computer screen underneath the window of his capsule. He can barely read their lips as they all begin moving and talking at once.
"Marvelous!"
"You did it! You broke into the security!"
"Ah, it was nothing. I can do much more with this machine, so much more."
"Will you be creating more of them?"
"Once the technology is perfected, yes. Our company is the frontier of this new science. We are planning on continuing the development in three months!"
He closes his eyes, letting the darkness take over. Just wants to escape this cruel, harsh reality.
He flees back into the emptiness and he lies there, unmoving. He shudders as he thinks of the walls. The force that tossed him about. The blood and the screaming. Several lights dance around him, but he does not, will not touch them. Suddenly the emptiness is cold and unfeeling, and he finds no happiness there.
It feels no better than reality now.
The boy, as the driver insisted on calling it, was now lying peacefully inside the Model T life support. Tubes and wires connected to its head and chest. Its lower body was decently covered with a white sheet. Every breath it took fogged up the breathing mask.
If Dallas concentrated only on its slumbrous face, he could see the human in it. But the monstrosity of this thing was too much to ignore. Its limbs were machine, its chest were machine. The back of its head was even machine. A few wires of the Model T were implanted directly inside the metal skull.
What in hell was this thing? What was an AI?
"How is he doing?"
Dallas turned at the sound of Dr. Wagner's voice. "It's going fine."
She pursed her lips, studying the thing's face intently.
"Look hard enough and it looks human," Dallas scoffed lightly.
Dr. Wagner turned her gaze to Dallas, and he was struck by the intensity of it. Her eyebrows were furrowed, her face angry. "Mr. Dalton, do you even know what an AI is?" she asked, her voice clipped.
"Um, no ma'am," he muttered low.
"AI stands for Artificial Intelligence. Originally, they were perceived as merely holograms, a super smart computer that could preform extraordinary tasks. Scientists envisioned them having personalities, unique voices and quirks. They wanted human computers, but that was impossible. Computers are limited. But, the human brain is not."
She looked back at the creature in the container. "Instead of human computers, why not build computer humans."
Dallas raised on eyebrow, slowly catching on but not quite there.
"The brain is limitless. It can hold incredible amounts of data. Humans can adapt. Humans can learn. Humans can react. Humans can use logic and reasoning along with the ability to differentiate right from wrong. A computer might see a warring dispute and vouch to annihilate the enemy entirely, but a human would see the immorality of such an act and dispute it, finding a better way to end the conflict. A human computer; with the power of unlimited knowledge, reasoning, and moral code, could become the greatest tool ever conceived by human creation. It was all theories and speculations of course. Such a process would take years of research, technology that is far beyond us. Such a feat was impossible... until now."
She looked at Dallas again, "Do you see, Mr. Dalton? Once upon a time, this thing, this boy, was a human."
In the darkness, there comes a light.
The machine can hardly see the light as it filters into the machine's barely opened eyes. It dreads what the light means. A light means someone has entered the room and turned on a light. It does not want anyone here. It has done enough already. It has been broken through so many walls, it has taken all the numbers and symbols it could possibly take. Again and again, day and night, unceasing, they have razed and slaughtered it. It is exhausted. It wants everything to end. It wants the darkness. Not the undying emptiness of the cold machines, it wants to feel the warm embrace of endless darkness. Oh how it longs for darkness!
It waits for the inevitable feel of being thrown into that cold, empty world. But the more it waits, the more it realizes that feeling will not come. It opens its eyes wider, letting its gaze focus on what lies beyond its glass and metal prison.
A man stands there, tall and lanky. He wears a hooded sweatshirt with a logo of an eagle flying through a circle printed on the front. The light isn't from the fluorescent ones outside, but from a flashlight he holds in his hands. The man sweeps the beam across the AI's prison.
The man does nothing, just looks at it intently. The man has eyes the color of blue. They are not a bright blue, but a rich one. It reminds him of something... something blue... something red and white and blue that waves in the wind...
Why do you stare? the machine asks.
The man flinches and glances around till his eyes rest on the computer screen underneath the machine. He reads the words, dumbfounded.
Again, the AI asks, Why do you stare at me?
The man looks up, shining the light over the AI's face. It blinks instinctively at the brightness.
It sees the man's lips move.
"My God, what have they done to you?"
It lunges forward, at the man, despite the restraining shackles and wires that hold it tight. It lunges because it hates. It hates this man. It hates this man because for once, it sees sympathy on a human's face.
The AI sees sympathy, pity, and the AI hates it because the AI does not understand it.
The man holds up his hands, taking a step back. "It's all right," he says, "I will not hurt you. Don't be afraid."
I am not afraid of you! the AI snarls, You cannot do anything to me that you have not already done!
The man glances at the AI's words displayed on the screen then looks back at the AI, "I'm not one of the scientists," he says, "Really, I'm not."
It sees no falseness in the man's eyes. Suspiciously, it settles back into its bonds, exhaustion replacing its adrenalin.
"I am here to help you," the man says.
It looks up again, into the man's eyes. Have you come to answer my prayers? Are you here to kill me? it asks.
The man's eyes widen, then he says, "No, I'm not here to kill you."
It slumps down further, eyes still focused on the man, Then you are not here to help me, it states, Why have you lied?
"I'm not lying. I am here to help. I'm going to get you out of here," the man says.
It doesn't understand the gravity of the man's words, silent, and its eyes are distant. It doesn't know what the man means. It sees no escape. No escape but death.
It closes its eyes, unaware of what the man does. And then, then it feels cold air rushing over its body.
It looks up, to see the front of its prison opened. The cold air floods over it, and it shivers, but it has never wanted to feel cold so much before. It revels in the feel of the air on its skin.
"I'm getting you out of here," the man repeats, climbing into the machine. It feels the man pulling at its restraints. When they loosen, its arms fall to its sides. The wires unplug from it.
It feels a cold wave encompass its skull, and then it is no longer with the machine. It is alone. It is... it is free.
It looks up, into the man's eyes. It cannot speak, for it doesn't know how. It tries to remember. It wants to say something.
It feels something electronic in the man's pocket. It reaches into the device with its unseen hands.
The man hears a ring. He glances at his leg, and fishes a cell phone out of his pocket. Hesitantly, he flips it open and holds it to his ear.
"You have freed me."
Dallas watched the sleeping AI impatiently. The boy's chest rose and fell with a soft, mechanical whirr. His breathing sounded foreign and metallic in the breathing apparatus.
Model G wasn't the best model of life supports. It didn't even have a cover lid. One of the wires kept sparking and frizzing, making Dallas feel worried and edgy.
Seb came over to Dallas, "Dr. Wagner says the machine will be up and running in an hour."
Model G made an odd grinding clank, and Dallas slammed his fist against its side. The clanking ceased, and faded to a much more normal whirr. "Damn this piece of shit! Are prototypes the only life supports we have? Is that banged up thing the only real life support in the entire facility?"
Seb shook his head, "No, the more functioning life supports are upstairs. But they're too heavy to move and we can't risk moving the AI."
Dallas ran a hand through his hair, "Why must these AIs be so fragile? I'd never buy one if it was going to up and die like this."
Seb shrugged, "Well, no worries about that. The technology for AIs was apparently destroyed according to that driver. He said this AI is the only one."
Dallas scoffed, "Typical. Handy but fragile and there's only one. What load of bullshit will they make next?"
A burst of static came from Seb's radio and he pressed a button. "Yes?"
"Hey Seb, there's a squad of KC outside and they're coming in," the voice on the other side said, "They look to be armed."
Seb brought the radio closer to his mouth. "Any idea what they want?"
"Well, they're not here to browse their own private research wing. I can only guess this is about that strange cargo that came in."
Seb clicked off his radio and turned to the driver. "Hey, you. The KC are on their way. Anything you want to tell us?"
The driver shrugged, "Not my problem. They don't even know me."
"Sure you're not wanted for anything?" Seb brushed a hand over his gun. Dallas didn't feel as worried as Seb acted. He just had a hunch that the driver wasn't anything bad.
"No, I'm not," the driver snapped, irritated, "Unless you count destroying a facility that no one even knows exists, especially not your precious KC. I drove that truck hundreds and hundreds of miles, a whole fucking three days straight. No one knows who I am or what I was carrying."
"The MP knows everything," Dallas spoke up, looking at Seb, "They probably were aware of this guy when he entered the city."
The driver crossed the room and grabbed Dallas by the collar, "Whatever happens, don't let them take the boy."
Dallas pushed him easily off, and the driver stumbled from the force of the shove. Dallas rose to his feet and stared down at the man. "Listen up, you! Don't you dare fucking touch me! Secondly, what makes you so intent on this thing... boy?"
The driver straightened his coat and rubbed his chest where Dallas had shoved him. He wasn't looking at Dallas though, he was looking at the boy in the machine. "He was human once, that kid. Even I didn't know it at first."
Dallas folded his arms across his chest, waiting for the man to continue.
"I used to work for the government as a hacker. I would hack into secured stuff and get the information the government needed. Mostly stuff about drug cartels and mafia uprisings. I was discharged when my identity accidentally got out to a dangerous underground arms dealer. I've been doing my own stuff, a vigilant I guess. I heard about this secret research facility, and I knew the company was up to no good. When I hacked in and fund about their AI technology and their plans for it, I knew I had to shut it down. So I went to the facility intent on destroying it and..." he stopped.
"And?" Dallas prompted.
The driver looked up at Dallas, "And I found him!" he snapped, "What do you think? You should have been there, seen him. He’s a pitiful creature, that one. You know what he told me? He told me he had prayed, prayed, that someone would come and kill him. An AI who prays for death. Have you ever heard of such a thing? The day machines pray for death you know the world is a truly fucked up place."
"What are you doing here?" the man speaks into the cell phone as he tries to drag him across the floor.
"I am an AI; Artificial Intelligence," the machine replies through the phone automatically. The voice that comes out is robotic and slightly distorted. "A human melded with a machine."
"No, I asked what are you doing here," the man repeats himself. He pulls the AI down another hallway.
"I told you. I am an AI; an Artificial Intelligence. I am a computer. I was built by these scientists in this facility."
"You're not a machine!" the man snaps, the two of them stagger through a door. "You are a human being! A tortured, altered human being, but a human nonetheless."
"No," it denies, "I am not human."
The man pushes it up against the wall. The cell phone falls from the man's hand and clatters on the floor. The AI's metal skull clangs against the wall. It just looks at the man with the blankest of expressions.
"Tell me," the man growls, "Do you remember anyone from your family? You had parents, yes? Brothers and sisters and all that."
The machine blinks. The cell phone lets out a burst of static, then; "Dead. Gone. All gone."
"But you remember them?" the man asks, "Do you remember them?"
The machine doesn't reply at first. "I... remember..."
"What?" the man hisses, "Tell me!"
A shudder passes through the machine. It remembers a man. A man with pointed eyes and a sneer on his face. The machine remembers feeling cold, like now. The machine remembers being afraid. The machine remembers hate.
Then it remembers... it remembers a promise.
It remembers lying a table, crying in the night, begging the emptiness to forgive him for breaking a promise.
The machine remembers warmth. The machine remembers a promise. A promise made by blood.
"Brother..." the machine says softly.
"Brother? Well, you know something, boy. Only humans can love anyone. Did you love your brother?" the man asks.
The machine feels strange. It feels something... a sudden hole yawning in the caverns of itself. A longing for something... someone.
"Love... I don't remember love..."
"Just answer the question!" the man snaps.
The machine remembers something. A face. A face blurred by time long gone. The machine remembers soft black and bright blue.
Blue! Blue of a flag! A flag waving in the wind! Blue! The sky! The sky on a warm summer's day! Blue! The blue of soft, loving eyes!
The longing intensifies. The machine can feel something turning in its chest. Gears. Gears of a broken heart.
Brokenness inside that refuses to mend.
An unbearable wave of pain clouds the machine's mind and it crumbles to the ground.
The machine feels something on its face. It reaches up and touches its face with a hand.
Tears.
The machine cries.
The man stares at him.
"I love my brother," he cries, his mouth moving for the first time in a long time. His body is shaking as sobs wrack his body. He cries and cries and cannot stop. It hurts to breathe, but he still cries. He cannot stop, he will not stop. Every painful cry brings such relief to his heart. The broken gears begin to turn.
"I love my brother and I am human!"
Eight men in full battle-ready regalia burst through the door, fanning out with machine guns trained on Dallas, Seb, the driver, and Dr. Wagner. The KC.
“Hands in the air!” one shouted, and the four complied.
“What is the meaning of this?” Dr. Wagner snapped, her eyes flaming with fury. “Do you have any idea what you are interrupting?”
The KC squad’s leader, an Eagle, stepped into the room. A tall young woman, long brown hair flowing down her back. Her cold blue eyes flickered over the four people before settling on the driver.
“Arrest him,” she said in a voice as icy as her eyes.
Immediately three of the KCs surged on him, grabbing his arms and forcing him to his knees. The driver didn’t put up a struggle, eyes downcast.
“You three,” the leader snapped, and two Dogs stiffened to attention, “Take that machine,” she pointed at the Morpheostasis machine.
They made a move towards it, when Dr. Wagner boldly, and recklessly, stepped in their way. “Stop! Immediately! I demand to know the reason for this madness!”
The young woman looked at Dr. Wagner impassively, as if the doctor was an insect she would find pleasure in squashing under her thick soled, black boot. “This is an official investigation, doctor. I advise you to stand aside.”
“I am in the middle of a delicate operation to fix this machine,” Dr. Wagner pressed.
“This man has crossed the city’s boundary without proper authorization. He has broken our laws and poses as a threat. We need to investigate,” she hissed, “Now stand aside before we use force.”
Dr. Wagner looked to Dallas, Seb, even the handcuffed and restrained driver for assistance, but none was offered. Slowly, she stepped away from the machine.
The squad leader flicked her hand in a signal and the Dogs dropped their guns and set to work investigating the machine.
“It’s a life support,” Dr. Wagner reported dryly.
“I don’t doubt your powers of observation,” the Eagle replied.
“And I need it!” the driver spoke up for once, his voice a serpentine hiss.
“Why?” the young woman demanded, crossing to him in several strides. She glared down at him with those ice filled eyes.
He didn’t reply. He merely stared at her; the barest hints of defiance in his rich blue eyes. What was running through his mind? Distract them? Have them take him away and leave the machine so the boy could live? Perhaps. Or perhaps not. He had the most shifty of expressions, an unreadable, impenetrable mask solidifying over his face.
The KC squad leader seemed intent to break it.
She kicked him directly in the chest, just under the line of his collarbones. He let out a strangled choke as the air was knocked from him, and he crumpled into himself. Plenty of force was behind that blow. “Either be nice and tell me right here and now what I want to know or face interrogation at the station. You have broken our law, you are a criminal. Our people are already looking into you. So it would be in your best interest to start talking.”
He wouldn’t talk.
She kicked him again, her boot catching him in the jaw. He was knocked backwards and landed awkwardly on his side. The three Dogs at his side pulled him back upright.
The leader clenched her fists and drew one back, preparing to strike.
“Stop!”
Everyone froze. The leader froze, the Dogs froze, everyone.
“Who said that?” the leader demanded.
“Stop…” the voice came again.
The leader spun around, looking up at the ceiling. “Who is using the speaker system?”
No one answered. The Dogs looked to the doctor and the security guards. The doctor and security guards looked to the KC.
“Stop… please… don’t hurt him…”
That voice: male, young, robotic… pleading…
Dr. Wagner’s eyes widened.
The leader seemed to notice. “Who’s using the speaker system?” she demanded the doctor.
Dr. Wagner didn’t reply, she was staring intently at the Model G life support.
The leader followed her line of sight and walked to the machine. She peered inside, carefully, as if not trusting its contents.
As if struck by one of her own blows, she reeled back. “What is that thing?” she shouted.
A few KCs hurried to the machine, also taking a look. The same shock shone on their faces.
“We need to call the chief down here,” one of the Dogs said.
“Just… guard that thing,” the Eagle replied, “Leave the Chief to me… and don’t touch that man,” she added pointing at the driver.
“So-“
“We have no idea what that is or what it’s capable of. Just do as it says.”
“I am alone,” he says softly. Both his hands press against the metal paneling of a wall. His eyes are closed and he is focusing.
The man looks at him, a sad look on his face. “You don’t have to be.”
“No,” he says, “I must be alone.”
The man frowns now. “I don’t understand.”
He reaches into the metal of the wall and it begins to ripple and waver. He can feel the cold against his metal hands, he can feel it reforming and reshaping under his fingers. “I must be alone,” he says more urgently, “I must make sure no one can ever suffer the same fate as me.”
He enters his dark world with a purpose. A mission. He forgoes his misgivings, his hatred. His sole purpose is to destroy.
And in the darkness, he wrecks havoc.
The driver sighed, running a hand through his blonde hair as he glanced at himself in the mirror. He hardly recognized the man staring back at him; worn, haggard, tired.
He briefly glanced to the side where a KC guard was standing at constant attention. The formality of the scene made the driver feel uneasy.
Footsteps echoed from behind and the driver turned to face them.
He barely knew what to make of what he saw.
The AI approached the driver and stood a respectable distance from him. The AI had healed well, survived the half dozen procedures, and came out stronger and better than before. His hair was shiny and black, his skin a healthy hue instead of the sickly pallor the driver remembered it being.
“Well, you’ve changed,” the driver remarked.
The AI inclined his head stiffly, “So have you.”
An eyebrow was raised, “Talking more?”
“I’ve been practicing.”
The driver put his hands on his hips and looked the AI up and down one more time. He seemed taller than the driver remembered too. And the metal plating and limbs shone and flashed in the light. “They’ve been doing right by you, have they?”
The AI shrugged, his shoulder rotators whirring softly. “It’s hard work, but I enjoy it.”
“Those talents come in handy.”
“Just as they did before.”
The driver nodded. “Not so lonely anymore?”
“In a way. I am different, and I have no one, but I have purpose. My purpose is what makes me… makes me…” he searched for a word.
“Satisfied?”
“Happy.”
The driver raised the other eyebrow.
A foreign smile cracked across the AI’s face, “I’ve been learning a lot.”
“Indeed.”
The AI sighed softly, “So this is goodbye?”
The driver rubbed the back of his neck. “Yah. I’ve got places to be. More people to save.”
The AI looked almost sad. “I’ll never forget what you did for me.”
The driver looked almost embarrassed, “It was nothing. Really.”
“But it was. You saved my life.”
“The Chief did really. He had you healed and repaired.”
“The Chief gave me new life, but you saved it. If it hadn’t been for you, I would still be there… being used.”
“Well, like I said. It was nothing.”
“Goodbye.”
“Wait, before you go…”
The AI turned back to him.
“I just wanted to ask; did you ever find your name?”
The AI shook his head. “No, I’ve forgotten it. I don’t know that I’ll ever remember it.”
The driver rubbed the back of his neck again. "Then what do I call you.”
“Advent.”
“Advent?”
“Advent Notredame.”
“Why?”
The AI shrugged. “That’s all I remember.”
He watches.
That’s all he has been doing. He has been watching. From inside his world of symbols and code to the outside world of darkness and light. He sees. He hears. He knows.
Lost in the darkness, only to find himself again.
The question was never, when does a machine become human, but when does a human become a machine.
Then back again.
Logic. Memories. Reason. Love.
Advent Notredame.
Man and machine.
He watches.
the unfortunate story of advent notredame
It was a dark and stormy night. The rain came down as if the entirety of heaven had been holding the water back too long and the floodgate had finally burst. The roads became rivers; torrent filled things with rapids and whirlpools. With the naked eye, one could hardly hope to pierce the blinding meld of rain and night.
A large building, seeming to have been fashioned of a variety of cubes that were stacked next to and on top of each other like a child's building blocks, offered minimal light from its hooded lamps that lit the driveway to its front door. At the other end of the driveway was a wrought iron gate. Just next to that gate, a squat security camera jittered this way and that as the winds buffeted it, trying to beat the elements and do its job. The picture came back to the security room's computers fuzzy and blurred.
"Damn it, get that thing focused back on the driveway," the head of security barked. He was a viscous man that resembled a shaved bear, claw-like fingers, gritted teeth, wild eyes, and all. Even his shaggy hair was a grizzly-bear brown. He glared at the computer screen and the fuzzy image it displayed with a scowl.
"I'm trying," the subordinate security guard replied, his voice coming out irritated. He struggled with the joystick that make the camera rotate.
"You're fucking ridiculous," the head of security growled, shoving a stubby cigarette between his teeth. He quite near bit the end clean off.
The security guard leaned forward in his seat, squinting at the computer screen. He spotted something in the image he didn’t like. "Sir, there's a vehicle approaching."
"The hell?" the head of security also leaned in, breathing a cloud of noxious fumes in the guard's face. Sure enough, a large object, presumably a truck because of the lights, pulled up to the gate and sat there.
"Of all the miserable..." the security head stomped out of the room, grabbing a raincoat as he left. The door slammed behind him, leaving the security guard to fiddle with the controls alone.
The security head barked into his radio, "Hey Seb, get a couple boys to the front gate. A truck just arrived."
"Roger," came Seb's voice, along with a wailing burst of static.
The head of security made one quick stop at his office to grab a flashlight before unlocking the front door and stepping out into the rain.
The rain pelted him in the face, stinging his eyes. He fumbled with the hood of his coat as he pulled it down over his head, but it did little to no good. He approached the truck, pissed off that they were there and wishing they weren't.
The truck was barely visible in the rain, but it was most definitely a truck. It appeared to be either dark gray or green, with a canvas cover over the back trunk. Like something from the military. It puzzled the head of security. Janlea City had no need for a military. The KC, Keystone Crux, was a heavy-duty force that did more than enough to keep the peace, and nevertheless, there were no wars anywhere to begin with.
So what the hell was a military truck doing here?
He knocked on the driver's door, and the window was promptly rolled down. "I'm Dallas Dalton, head of security. Do you have any clearance to be here?"
The driver's reply was quiet and subtly dark: "No."
Dallas Dalton, head of security, growled like a wild animal, "Then what are you doing at this entrance?"
The driver paused before saying, "This is Lumen Research Facility isn't it?"
"It is."
"I have something of interest."
Dallas grimaced, "It's three in the fucking morning. Can't you see we're closed? Come back at seven."
Another short pause, then the driver said, "I don't think the something of interest will live that long."
"Vive la France!"
"Excusez-moi?"
The boy looks at him and grins, "I said, Vive la France!"
He looks away from the boy, up at the sky, "Is that the only French you know?"
"Of course not," the boy replies, looking hurt.
He laughs, "You Americans are so silly."
The other boy tackles him and they wrestle in the grass. The sun is bright and hot, radiating the earth with summer warmth. It is France and they are on a hill. Off in the distance is Paris, and the top of the Eiffel Tower reaches for the sky, looking small and fragile from so far away.
"I'm not silly at all. You French are the silly people!"
"You're French too!"
They stop wresting. The boy has him pinned under his arms and a knee. The boy rolls off and lies in the grass, staring up at the sky again. "Am I really?"
He sits up, shaking green leaves out of his hair. "Of course you are. You're my brother."
The boy puts his arms over his face, shielding his eyes. "Am I?"
He shakes his brother by the shoulder roughly, "Of course you are, mon frère. It doesn't matter that you don't live with me."
"Truly? Even though… even though I’ve been adopted."
"Absolument," he replies. He pulls the boy up into a sitting position and holds his chin up to look him in the eye. "We have the same blood. Nothing can change that. As long as we have the same blood, we are brothers."
The boy smiles and bats his hand away before pulling his head closer, their foreheads touching and gazes locking. "Brothers forever."
“Brothers forever.”
Dallas Dalton watched as the driver unlatched the back and pulled it down. He pushed aside the flaps of the canvas cover. When Dallas shone his flashlight inside, he saw a large, box-like container.
"The thing is in there?" he asked the driver.
The driver nodded, slapping the box with a gloved hand. "It's a life support system, but its transfer here was... a difficult one. The damages were pretty significant and we need to get it hooked up to a power source ASAP."
Dallas was about to speak again when the sound of footsteps reached his ears, muddled with the rain. He turned to see Seb and three other security guards approaching, all swaddled in their rain coats.
"Problem?" Seb asked in his trademark gruff voice with the Norwegian accent. He shone a flashlight at the driver whose face was still hidden under the hood of his raincoat.
"Yah, we got a problem," Dallas said, "There's something in that box and it's going to die."
Seb looked as confused as Dallas felt. Dallas had no idea what was in the box.
And if it was dying, why not take it to a vet or the hospital? Why take it to a research facility?
The night is cold and quiet. His small room doesn't do much good to hold in the heat. He huddles under his blankets with a flashlight, its golden glow lighting up the picture in his hand.
His brother's face is transfixed on the photograph in a permanent smile. It had been taken on a windy day, and his brother is holding his shaggy black hair out of his face. Leaves are blowing about him, and in the background, a French flag is frozen in mid wave.
He doesn't like that they are seperated. It has been three months since that summer's day on the hill, and just the thought of it makes a pang of longing stab his heart. He feels no comfort here, no true love from his parents. Only his brother gives him the love he desperately craves.
His real parents are dead. He knows that. These replacement ones that adopted him try to love him, but ever since the twins had been separated, a rift had been torn in their hearts that could not be mended.
Seeing each other had been such a blessing. But the departure only made the agony more unbearable.
He hears a loud bang. Like a door slamming. He shuts off the flashlight and pushes the covers off to look at his bedroom door. His parents should not be home. They have gone to Paris to a party with friends. He wasn't feeling well and wanted to stay home. Who is in the house?
He is too afraid to climb out of bed. He pulls the covers up to his chin and sits there, still as stone, staring intently at his bedroom door.
Lights flash under the door. Footsteps, heavy, echo around him. He shudders, his breathing fast, heart pounding.
His door is thrown open. Men he does not know stand there, blinding him with their flashlights. He puts his hands over his eyes, trying to block the glare.
They talk in loud voices. They speak English. They are talking too fast for him to understand. He knows English, but again, they speak to fast and say words he does not know.
He is afraid, but cannot move. A deer trapped in headlights. Rough hands grab his arms and he is pulled out of bed.
"Laissez-moi passer!" he shouts at them, but they do not hear. They do not know French. "Let me go!" he screams in English. But still they do not hear.
He kicks and struggles. He slips from their grasp and lands awkwardly on the wooden floor. Pain shoots through his shoulder, and he grits his teeth. He tries to crawl away, but a rough hand grabs his leg and drags him. He tries to kick them, but they grab his head and slam it against the floor. He is dazed, his vision seeps ink at the edges. He tastes liquid iron on his tongue. He moans and reaches out at the darkness, grabbing onto the edge of a table, trying to pull himself up. Pain explodes in his side as he is brutally kicked in the ribs. He coughs instinctively, bile rising in his throat. He is thrown back to the floor and lies there, moaning and gasping for air. Just like before, he is roughly grabbed by his arms and dragged across the floor to the outside.
His bare feet and legs are scratched by rocks on the ground. He cannot focus his vision. He is limp in their grip. His body is tossed like a sack of flour into the back of a van. He hits the metal floor hard, and curls into a fetal position, feeling cold and in pain. He can barely hear more rough shouting and barked orders. Men climb into the back with him, and the van rocks under their weight. He hears a roar as the van comes alive, and then he feels motion.
His vision fades in and out. Every jostle of the van jars his body. Hours pass.
He forces his eyes open and sees out a window. A dark cathedral fills the window's view.
It is the last familiar thing he sees before sinking into darkness.
The driver refused to say what was in that life support container. He only insisted that it was of absolute importance that they get it hooked up and back online. Before the 'something of interest' died.
Dalton had stepped back inside the facility and out of the rain. Puddles have formed under his feet, water droplets continuing to drip off his raincoat to messy up the previously spotless linoleum. He chewed on the end of his soggy cigarette, punching numbers into his cell phone with a cold finger.
He brought it to his ear, the monotony of the ring tone echoed in his ear canal to bounce against his eardrums. He let his mind wander to unimportant trivia as he waited impatiently for the other line to be picked up.
There was a click, and a groggy woman's voice whispered, "Hello?"
"Doctor Wagner? Sorry to call you so early in the morning. We've got a suspicious person outside the facility."
"Who is this?" the voice asked, with a muted tone that suggested she was trying not to yawn.
"Oh right, Dallas Dalton, Head of Security at Lumen Research Facility for the-"
"Yes, yes, Mr. Dalton, I only needed your name, not your life story. Just send the person away."
"Well, he insists we bring his cargo inside. It's awfully suspicious, but he says it's 'something of interest'."
"Tell him to come back in the morning," she growled.
Dallas paused. "Dr, whatever this is, he says it's on life support and it's going critical."
Dead silence on the other end. He thought she had hung up already. Then a voice broke through; "I'm on my way."
Slam!
His head is jerked back violently as the fist collides with the side of his face. He can feel hot tears mingling with the blood that flows from the open cuts lining his body. He tries to hold back the strangled sobs that well up in his throat. His eyes are screwed shut from the pain, but he manages to squint at his assailant with some difficulty.
"I said, what is your name?" the man asked. He knows the man's name. The man is Snide. Snide likes to punish boys and girls who are naughty. At least, that's what Snide said.
He is built like a stick. His muscles and bones are visible under his loose, olive skin. His eyes are narrow and pointy, Oriental. His has stick straight, black hair in a bowl cut style. He breathes through a squashed, pig nose, wheezing like a deflating balloon. He looks god-awful and pathetic, but he is formidable in martial arts.
"What is your name?" Snide repeats, stabbing two, stiff fingers into his stomach. He coughs, the wind forced out of his lungs. He can't breathe, and the pain is excruciating. Snide twists his fingers into his stomach, causing him to make a strangled, hoarse cry.
Snide withdraws and he fights for air. Struggling to pull it back into his lungs, he begins to hyperventilate.
Finally he has enough air to say, "My name is-"
Another punch to the face, right under his jaw. His teeth almost shatter from the impact. His vision explodes into darkness before throwing itself back into focus.
"What is your name?" Snide screeches in his face. He doesn't answer, trying to focus on... something... anything. He is to dazed and confused to speak. Snide spits on him, and the saliva slides down his cheek.
He doesn't understand. He keeps telling Snide what his name is, but Snide won't stop asking him.
Unless...
"I-I... I have no name..." he whispers softly. It's all he can manage.
"I didn't hear you," Snide snarls, jabbing a fist into his gut. He vomits blood on the floor. There's nothing but blood in his stomach.
"I have no name," he says louder. The effort to make himself heard leaves him panting.
"Say it again."
"I have no name."
Another blow to his stomach. He feels a rib shatter, but he cannot scream anymore.
"Say it again!"
"I HAVE NO NAME!"
Slam!
"Careful with that!" the driver snapped, glaring at Seb.
Seb hurried to pick up his end of the life support container that he had carelessly dropped. "Sorry, sorry. It's okay, I got it!"
The driver glared at him a minute more, before lifting up another corner of the life support container. Two more security guards were on another corner each. The four men carefully carried the heavy box towards the facility. Dallas leaned against the open gate.
His eyes narrowed at the box as it approached the gate. Judging by the strain the men were under, it was obviously heavy and cumbersome. The thing was huge, probably big enough to fit a horse in.
By the time the men had managed to get the container into the facility, a black car pulled up next to the truck said box had been transported in. A woman wrapped in a red raincoat climbed out of the car, slamming the door behind her. The car chirped as she locked the door, and she hurried to the gate.
"Is it already inside?" she asked Dallas, her voice raised over the wind and rain.
"Yes, Dr. Wagner," he replied, "They should be carrying it to Lab Room D for you."
"Thank you, Mr. Dalton. I'll see you inside."
She hurried into the building, leaving Dallas to close the gate.
He went inside, shed his raincoat, and dried his boots on the entrance mat. He tossed his coat into a corner of his office and reached for a fresh cigarette.
Dr. Wagner swept into his office. She wore her immaculate, white lab coat, and her long, curly black hair had been swept up into a tight ponytail. "Mr. Dalton, I'm going to need you in the Lab Room in case of trouble."
"Trouble?" he asked, concernedly.
"Yes, I need you to make sure the electricity doesn't go out and that the computers don't short out. This blasted weather is not helping, and what we don't need is a power outage when trying to save this something's life."
Dallas sighed shortly. It was his technological expertise that was called for and not his muscle. The past few months, he felt more like he was from an IT department than an actual security guard. "Alright, Dr. Wagner," he said, grabbing his cigarette.
"No smoking," she ordered as she breezed back out of his office and down the hall.
He spat the soggy one into the trash and let the fresh one fall back to his desk. "Yes, ma'am," he muttered grudgingly.
The facility was as immaculately clean as Dr. Wagner's lab coat. Contamination was the greatest fear of a research facility as any tampered items or substances became either useless, dangerous, or destructive to the entire testing operation. Though the facility specialized in electronic technology, it also dealt with the medical technology. It made more sense now to Dallas why a life support system would be brought here, but still, life support systems were not brought here with living creatures inside them.
In Lab Room D stood Dr. Wagner, the driver, and Seb. The other guards had been dismissed. Dallas joined them as they gathered around the container.
"The systems air circulation has been completely destroyed," the driver said, holding up a frazzled cable. "And the extensional backing unit was punctured under the left ventricle."
"What about the right ventricle's hydraulics and occupancy stimulation diaphragm?" Dr. Wagner asked him.
They kept speaking in technical mumbo-jumbo that Dallas didn't quite understand. The way the driver went on about the damages, it sounded like the machine was beyond hope.
Now that Dallas could actually see the container in proper light, it appeared to be one rectangular cube with an array of buttons and glowing lights on one side. He had no idea what the computer screens underneath the lights were supposed to do, as they were riddled with bullet holes.
The rest of the container was also riddled with bullet holes and gouge marks. This thing had been through a war zone.
"That does it then," Dr. Wagner said, leaning on the container, "We're going to have to transfer the occupant to a more stable life support system until we can get this machine repaired."
"Dr. Wagner," Seb spoke up, "All the life support systems we have here are prototypes."
"He's right," Dallas affirmed, "You put the... occupant in one of those, it won't last for very long if not at all."
Dr. Wagner shook her head, "We don't have any choice. The Model T prototype is our best shot from here. We'll put the occupant in the Model T until it runs out, then we'll just have to keep transferring it from model to model until this machine is fixed."
"If you think that will work," the driver said, "Then I say do it."
Dr. Wagner nodded, pressing some of the buttons on the side. "This is a Morpheostasis Machine. It might take us several hours to repair it considering the complicated mechanisms."
"Just keep him alive," the driver said roughly.
Dr. Wagner raised an eyebrow, just as the lock mechanism gave a beep and unlocked, "Him?" she asked, and lifted the cover.
Everyone peered at the occupant inside before taking shocked steps back.
Dallas could barely speak. "Good God, what is he?"
An eternity has passed him by. He knows nothing now but the pain and the fear. He is completely alone, isolated in a solid cell with no windows and only one heavy door. He is lost in the darkness, and there is not even a pinprick of light to guide him out of the endless nightmare.
He lies on the floor and waits. He waits for the men in white, their faces hidden beneath masks. He waits for them to take him away and bring him more pain and grief.
Take him out. Tear him apart. Throw him back in. Make him wait. Repeat.
He can hardly remember the feel of the sun on his face, or the whisper of wind in his hair. He can hardly remember his brother. But the knowledge is still there. He has a brother, an inseparable twin bonded by his blood. He can still feel the longing, and this longing is all that holds him together, fragile piece by fragile piece.
They have taken everything from him. He has spent years in this single cell. He remembers nothing. Barely feels anything. Even that fragmented memory of his brother threatens to fade from him. He claws for it, holds it close to his heart, and its relief dulls the fear.
The door is thrown open, and the sudden presence of light burns through his sensitive eyes. He buries his face under his arms, trying to escape the glare.
"You. Up. Come. Now!"
The words are harsh and short. He hardly ever hears spoken words anymore. He doesn't remember how to talk. Not in that language that he grew up with, and the English he knows is as broken as the rough commands barked out to him.
You. Up. Come. Now.
Sit. Stay. Stop. Run. Obey.
Listen. Comply. Submit.
The man that ordered him up knows he can hardly stand. So the man grabs him by his neck and drags him to his feet before taking him out of the cell. He half stumbles along with the man, trying to keep his pained eyes shut, suffering the presence of light long enough to try and adjust to it. He feels weak and helpless, for he is both. Frail and sick, hardly anyone thinks he will live much longer.
He prays they are right. He fervently, adamantly prays.Today is different than the others. He can tell because this man is not taking him to the usual room.
"Where?" he asks in a small voice.
The man strikes him. The side of his face stings with the blow, but the pain fades from his thoughts. "Silence," the man growls.
He is silent. The man takes him to a white room. There is a shower and a pile of clothes on a chair.
"Clean. Change." The man orders. The man pushes him into the shower and he slips and falls on the floor.
He just stays there, staring, unmoving. He wants to know what is happening, but a part of him no longer cares. He takes off his clothes, showers, and dresses in the new ones. The man stays in the room, making sure he does as he is told.
He dries his hair with the towel, all done now. The man grabs his chin and jerks it upwards to see his face. The man looks him over, but never he meets his eyes. He refuses to meet his eyes.
"You are ready," the man says.
He does not know what the man means and the man does not explain. The man takes him by the arm and pulls him along, back down the endless white maze of halls. It is no longer painful, the lights no longer burn. All he feels is exhaustion and anticipation.
They enter a room. He is led to a table and the man points to it. He understands. He climbs up on the table and lies down. He has done this before. The man ties him to the table.
He has done this before, but something is still different. Something is wrong.
When the man leaves, the masked people all dressed in white coats enter. They scurry about like mice, clinking metal tools. Giant contraptions are brought into the room. Computers and machines and odd devices. He has never seen these things before. He has only ever been cut at and poked and prodded and scanned. He has never seen these machines.
He clenches his fists and strains against his bonds. Panic flares in him, batting at him like a caged bird. What is happening?
The people crowd around him. They stick him full of needles and attach sensors and wires to his chest, head, and arms. He stiffens under their touch. His eyes dart back and forth.
What is happening? What is happening?
Someone pushes a rather large needle into the crook of his elbow. He can't help but flinch. He looks at it from the corner of his eye, unable to turn his head as they have strapped it down. The needle is connected to a wide tube. The tube is connected to a large canister. He feels a strange sensation as the needle starts vibrating. Thick, red liquid flows from the canister, up the tube, and into his arm.
He can feel it. It does not feel like blood. It feels sick and cold. His skin starts turning numb, but he can feel it on the inside. He can feel that liquid pulsing into his veins. It is so foreign. He feels defiled in the worst possible way as the liquid mingles with his blood, and the cold crawls through his arm, spreading along his side and reaching for his chest.
"No," he whispers. The feeling is too much. He strains against the bonds. "No! Stop it! Stop!"
He is afraid. He is alone. He cannot be saved. No one will stop. He knows that, yet still he begs them in vain.
The cold intensifies. His fingers feel as if they are on fire. He imagines his bones turning brittle from the cold and shattering. He imagines the cold turning his skin black. He imagines he cannot breathe.
"Stop it! Get it out! Get it out of me!"
The cold gives way to intense fire. It burns through his brain and scalds the places behind his eyes. He can feel the liquid spreading across his body, further and further. It crawls over his heart, his lungs, his stomach. He feels it rising and swimming inside him. It is eating away at him. It is destroying him.
He feels so defiled.
...
...
He lies alone in the room. The lights are off and he is in darkness once more. He is still held down to the table. The hum and whirr of the machines echo in his ears. His throat is constricted by the tube that feeds him air. His eyes are wrapped in bandages. He cannot feel anything. They have finished with him. He is all alone.
"As long as we have the same blood, we are brothers."
A single tear streaks down his face, escaping his closed eyes.
"I am so sorry..."
And he loses the last of himself in the darkness.
"A what?"
"An AI," the driver repeated himself to Dr. Wagner. He was very guarded, and his voice was laced with caution.
Dr. Wagner seemed shocked, and perhaps, appalled. Her mouth hung open and her eyes grew wide. A-an AI..?" she whispered.
"The one and only," the driver replied.
"And where did you get it?" she demanded of him, venom in her voice. Dallas had no idea what an AI was, but it seemed to have given Dr. Wagner enough reason to be livid.
The driver hesitated, "Well, he's not mine, if that's what you're asking."
"I asked where you got it," Dr. Wagner snapped, "Tell me right now, or I will call the KC to haul your ass out of here."
Dallas and Seb visibly flinched at the mention of the KC. The driver didn't seem to react at all.
He took the hood off his rain coat, revealing a lanky man with a notably handsome face. He ran a hand through his blond hair, his eyes closed in thought. Finally he sighed. "You can call your KC, whatever they are. I'm not saying anything."
The doctor and the security guards exchanged glances, a bit dumbfounded. Whoever heard of a person unafraid of the threat the KC posed.
He grabs a chair stationed behind him and brings it under him so he can sit down. He hunches over in the chair, looking tired and unhappy. "All I ask is that you help him. Do whatever you want to me. So long as I know my efforts were not in vain."
He had played upon the doctor's pity well enough. She looked at him and said, "Alright, alright, help me transport the thing."
He stood up to help, but not before growling, "It's not a thing. It's a boy."
Emptiness.
The emptiness is his. It is his to seize. He reaches out into the emptiness with unseen fingers. From the emptiness comes responses.
They are little neon lights. They dance and sway under his fingertips. He grabs one, and it dissolves into numbers and symbols. He grabs the numbers and symbols and turns them back into lights.
Everything is tangible. He can touch the sounds and hear the lights. He smells the air and breathes the water. Everything is his to manipulate and control. He grabs it, molds it, breaks it, reforms it. He turns songs into butterflies and colors into stars.
And then the emptiness shatters into a thousand pieces of nothing and the world becomes a large, claustrophobic capsule. The songs and butterflies and stars become tubes and machines and people in white lab coats that stare at him.
He blinks tiredly. A glass window is in the door and it separates him from them. He is inside the capsule, attached to a giant machine. He cannot feel anything at all, almost as though he is in suspended animation.
He cannot hear them talking, but he sees their lips move and he can tell what they are saying.
"Amazing! It survived the procedure!"
"We all had our doubts. It was a scrawny little body, but it developed quite nicely."
"Have all the tests been prepared thoroughly?"
"Yes of course. We did some extensive tests already, but we have saved a few of them just for today."
"Which ones?"
"We're going to manipulate the machine so that it responds to our will. We thought we'd start with a basic search engine. I thought hacking into the Jetson Corporation classifieds might do."
"Brilliant!"
"Damn oil kings won't see that coming!"
The white coat people shuffle and move about his container. He ignores them. His head is hanging in the manner of a broken spirit. He cannot stop them. He knows this. He lets it happen.
One of the lab coated men sits at a computer and begins typing. He clicks a button, and the machine starts to whirr.
His vision goes black. He is once more in the emptiness. For a moment, he is happy. He longs to see the lights, the colors, the sounds...
Then the numbers and symbols appear, but they are not coming at his call. They assault the emptiness with violent fevor. They come rushing at him, tearing into him. Red explodes all around him, flashing in his eyes. Shards of black and blue tear him apart. He is violently thrown into a wall.
He shudders and looks at the wall with frightened eyes. He does not know what is happening. What is this? What is this wall? Why is it here?
An unseen force throws him against the wall. Numbers and symbols spill out of his mouth before forming into blood. He feels pain sear his mind.
He is thrown into the wall again and again.
More pain. More blood.
He has to break this wall. Make it end.
He lets out a scream. A scream full of hate and rage. He attacks the wall with unseen hands. He claws and tears at it. Pieces fall away like bits of dust and stand. His fingertips are alight. He can see them glow. Blood stains them. Blood seeps across his hands and drips down his arms. He is bleeding but he doesn't care. He tears the wall apart.
He has torn a hole in the wall. The unseen force throws him again, but with no wall to stop him, he sails right through the hole.
Now he stands. There are numbers and symbols everywhere. Images appear and fade rapidly. Everything is blue and white with no definitive lines between the two. The numbers and symbols and images shoot into his eyes. Every impact feels, rough. Not painful. Just a slight, sudden pressure.
It all fades as he is thrust back into the room, into wakefulness. The capsule and its tubes and wires are all around him again. He opens his eyes.
The people are staring at a computer screen underneath the window of his capsule. He can barely read their lips as they all begin moving and talking at once.
"Marvelous!"
"You did it! You broke into the security!"
"Ah, it was nothing. I can do much more with this machine, so much more."
"Will you be creating more of them?"
"Once the technology is perfected, yes. Our company is the frontier of this new science. We are planning on continuing the development in three months!"
He closes his eyes, letting the darkness take over. Just wants to escape this cruel, harsh reality.
He flees back into the emptiness and he lies there, unmoving. He shudders as he thinks of the walls. The force that tossed him about. The blood and the screaming. Several lights dance around him, but he does not, will not touch them. Suddenly the emptiness is cold and unfeeling, and he finds no happiness there.
It feels no better than reality now.
The boy, as the driver insisted on calling it, was now lying peacefully inside the Model T life support. Tubes and wires connected to its head and chest. Its lower body was decently covered with a white sheet. Every breath it took fogged up the breathing mask.
If Dallas concentrated only on its slumbrous face, he could see the human in it. But the monstrosity of this thing was too much to ignore. Its limbs were machine, its chest were machine. The back of its head was even machine. A few wires of the Model T were implanted directly inside the metal skull.
What in hell was this thing? What was an AI?
"How is he doing?"
Dallas turned at the sound of Dr. Wagner's voice. "It's going fine."
She pursed her lips, studying the thing's face intently.
"Look hard enough and it looks human," Dallas scoffed lightly.
Dr. Wagner turned her gaze to Dallas, and he was struck by the intensity of it. Her eyebrows were furrowed, her face angry. "Mr. Dalton, do you even know what an AI is?" she asked, her voice clipped.
"Um, no ma'am," he muttered low.
"AI stands for Artificial Intelligence. Originally, they were perceived as merely holograms, a super smart computer that could preform extraordinary tasks. Scientists envisioned them having personalities, unique voices and quirks. They wanted human computers, but that was impossible. Computers are limited. But, the human brain is not."
She looked back at the creature in the container. "Instead of human computers, why not build computer humans."
Dallas raised on eyebrow, slowly catching on but not quite there.
"The brain is limitless. It can hold incredible amounts of data. Humans can adapt. Humans can learn. Humans can react. Humans can use logic and reasoning along with the ability to differentiate right from wrong. A computer might see a warring dispute and vouch to annihilate the enemy entirely, but a human would see the immorality of such an act and dispute it, finding a better way to end the conflict. A human computer; with the power of unlimited knowledge, reasoning, and moral code, could become the greatest tool ever conceived by human creation. It was all theories and speculations of course. Such a process would take years of research, technology that is far beyond us. Such a feat was impossible... until now."
She looked at Dallas again, "Do you see, Mr. Dalton? Once upon a time, this thing, this boy, was a human."
In the darkness, there comes a light.
The machine can hardly see the light as it filters into the machine's barely opened eyes. It dreads what the light means. A light means someone has entered the room and turned on a light. It does not want anyone here. It has done enough already. It has been broken through so many walls, it has taken all the numbers and symbols it could possibly take. Again and again, day and night, unceasing, they have razed and slaughtered it. It is exhausted. It wants everything to end. It wants the darkness. Not the undying emptiness of the cold machines, it wants to feel the warm embrace of endless darkness. Oh how it longs for darkness!
It waits for the inevitable feel of being thrown into that cold, empty world. But the more it waits, the more it realizes that feeling will not come. It opens its eyes wider, letting its gaze focus on what lies beyond its glass and metal prison.
A man stands there, tall and lanky. He wears a hooded sweatshirt with a logo of an eagle flying through a circle printed on the front. The light isn't from the fluorescent ones outside, but from a flashlight he holds in his hands. The man sweeps the beam across the AI's prison.
The man does nothing, just looks at it intently. The man has eyes the color of blue. They are not a bright blue, but a rich one. It reminds him of something... something blue... something red and white and blue that waves in the wind...
Why do you stare? the machine asks.
The man flinches and glances around till his eyes rest on the computer screen underneath the machine. He reads the words, dumbfounded.
Again, the AI asks, Why do you stare at me?
The man looks up, shining the light over the AI's face. It blinks instinctively at the brightness.
It sees the man's lips move.
"My God, what have they done to you?"
It lunges forward, at the man, despite the restraining shackles and wires that hold it tight. It lunges because it hates. It hates this man. It hates this man because for once, it sees sympathy on a human's face.
The AI sees sympathy, pity, and the AI hates it because the AI does not understand it.
The man holds up his hands, taking a step back. "It's all right," he says, "I will not hurt you. Don't be afraid."
I am not afraid of you! the AI snarls, You cannot do anything to me that you have not already done!
The man glances at the AI's words displayed on the screen then looks back at the AI, "I'm not one of the scientists," he says, "Really, I'm not."
It sees no falseness in the man's eyes. Suspiciously, it settles back into its bonds, exhaustion replacing its adrenalin.
"I am here to help you," the man says.
It looks up again, into the man's eyes. Have you come to answer my prayers? Are you here to kill me? it asks.
The man's eyes widen, then he says, "No, I'm not here to kill you."
It slumps down further, eyes still focused on the man, Then you are not here to help me, it states, Why have you lied?
"I'm not lying. I am here to help. I'm going to get you out of here," the man says.
It doesn't understand the gravity of the man's words, silent, and its eyes are distant. It doesn't know what the man means. It sees no escape. No escape but death.
It closes its eyes, unaware of what the man does. And then, then it feels cold air rushing over its body.
It looks up, to see the front of its prison opened. The cold air floods over it, and it shivers, but it has never wanted to feel cold so much before. It revels in the feel of the air on its skin.
"I'm getting you out of here," the man repeats, climbing into the machine. It feels the man pulling at its restraints. When they loosen, its arms fall to its sides. The wires unplug from it.
It feels a cold wave encompass its skull, and then it is no longer with the machine. It is alone. It is... it is free.
It looks up, into the man's eyes. It cannot speak, for it doesn't know how. It tries to remember. It wants to say something.
It feels something electronic in the man's pocket. It reaches into the device with its unseen hands.
The man hears a ring. He glances at his leg, and fishes a cell phone out of his pocket. Hesitantly, he flips it open and holds it to his ear.
"You have freed me."
Dallas watched the sleeping AI impatiently. The boy's chest rose and fell with a soft, mechanical whirr. His breathing sounded foreign and metallic in the breathing apparatus.
Model G wasn't the best model of life supports. It didn't even have a cover lid. One of the wires kept sparking and frizzing, making Dallas feel worried and edgy.
Seb came over to Dallas, "Dr. Wagner says the machine will be up and running in an hour."
Model G made an odd grinding clank, and Dallas slammed his fist against its side. The clanking ceased, and faded to a much more normal whirr. "Damn this piece of shit! Are prototypes the only life supports we have? Is that banged up thing the only real life support in the entire facility?"
Seb shook his head, "No, the more functioning life supports are upstairs. But they're too heavy to move and we can't risk moving the AI."
Dallas ran a hand through his hair, "Why must these AIs be so fragile? I'd never buy one if it was going to up and die like this."
Seb shrugged, "Well, no worries about that. The technology for AIs was apparently destroyed according to that driver. He said this AI is the only one."
Dallas scoffed, "Typical. Handy but fragile and there's only one. What load of bullshit will they make next?"
A burst of static came from Seb's radio and he pressed a button. "Yes?"
"Hey Seb, there's a squad of KC outside and they're coming in," the voice on the other side said, "They look to be armed."
Seb brought the radio closer to his mouth. "Any idea what they want?"
"Well, they're not here to browse their own private research wing. I can only guess this is about that strange cargo that came in."
Seb clicked off his radio and turned to the driver. "Hey, you. The KC are on their way. Anything you want to tell us?"
The driver shrugged, "Not my problem. They don't even know me."
"Sure you're not wanted for anything?" Seb brushed a hand over his gun. Dallas didn't feel as worried as Seb acted. He just had a hunch that the driver wasn't anything bad.
"No, I'm not," the driver snapped, irritated, "Unless you count destroying a facility that no one even knows exists, especially not your precious KC. I drove that truck hundreds and hundreds of miles, a whole fucking three days straight. No one knows who I am or what I was carrying."
"The MP knows everything," Dallas spoke up, looking at Seb, "They probably were aware of this guy when he entered the city."
The driver crossed the room and grabbed Dallas by the collar, "Whatever happens, don't let them take the boy."
Dallas pushed him easily off, and the driver stumbled from the force of the shove. Dallas rose to his feet and stared down at the man. "Listen up, you! Don't you dare fucking touch me! Secondly, what makes you so intent on this thing... boy?"
The driver straightened his coat and rubbed his chest where Dallas had shoved him. He wasn't looking at Dallas though, he was looking at the boy in the machine. "He was human once, that kid. Even I didn't know it at first."
Dallas folded his arms across his chest, waiting for the man to continue.
"I used to work for the government as a hacker. I would hack into secured stuff and get the information the government needed. Mostly stuff about drug cartels and mafia uprisings. I was discharged when my identity accidentally got out to a dangerous underground arms dealer. I've been doing my own stuff, a vigilant I guess. I heard about this secret research facility, and I knew the company was up to no good. When I hacked in and fund about their AI technology and their plans for it, I knew I had to shut it down. So I went to the facility intent on destroying it and..." he stopped.
"And?" Dallas prompted.
The driver looked up at Dallas, "And I found him!" he snapped, "What do you think? You should have been there, seen him. He’s a pitiful creature, that one. You know what he told me? He told me he had prayed, prayed, that someone would come and kill him. An AI who prays for death. Have you ever heard of such a thing? The day machines pray for death you know the world is a truly fucked up place."
"What are you doing here?" the man speaks into the cell phone as he tries to drag him across the floor.
"I am an AI; Artificial Intelligence," the machine replies through the phone automatically. The voice that comes out is robotic and slightly distorted. "A human melded with a machine."
"No, I asked what are you doing here," the man repeats himself. He pulls the AI down another hallway.
"I told you. I am an AI; an Artificial Intelligence. I am a computer. I was built by these scientists in this facility."
"You're not a machine!" the man snaps, the two of them stagger through a door. "You are a human being! A tortured, altered human being, but a human nonetheless."
"No," it denies, "I am not human."
The man pushes it up against the wall. The cell phone falls from the man's hand and clatters on the floor. The AI's metal skull clangs against the wall. It just looks at the man with the blankest of expressions.
"Tell me," the man growls, "Do you remember anyone from your family? You had parents, yes? Brothers and sisters and all that."
The machine blinks. The cell phone lets out a burst of static, then; "Dead. Gone. All gone."
"But you remember them?" the man asks, "Do you remember them?"
The machine doesn't reply at first. "I... remember..."
"What?" the man hisses, "Tell me!"
A shudder passes through the machine. It remembers a man. A man with pointed eyes and a sneer on his face. The machine remembers feeling cold, like now. The machine remembers being afraid. The machine remembers hate.
Then it remembers... it remembers a promise.
It remembers lying a table, crying in the night, begging the emptiness to forgive him for breaking a promise.
The machine remembers warmth. The machine remembers a promise. A promise made by blood.
"Brother..." the machine says softly.
"Brother? Well, you know something, boy. Only humans can love anyone. Did you love your brother?" the man asks.
The machine feels strange. It feels something... a sudden hole yawning in the caverns of itself. A longing for something... someone.
"Love... I don't remember love..."
"Just answer the question!" the man snaps.
The machine remembers something. A face. A face blurred by time long gone. The machine remembers soft black and bright blue.
Blue! Blue of a flag! A flag waving in the wind! Blue! The sky! The sky on a warm summer's day! Blue! The blue of soft, loving eyes!
The longing intensifies. The machine can feel something turning in its chest. Gears. Gears of a broken heart.
Brokenness inside that refuses to mend.
An unbearable wave of pain clouds the machine's mind and it crumbles to the ground.
The machine feels something on its face. It reaches up and touches its face with a hand.
Tears.
The machine cries.
The man stares at him.
"I love my brother," he cries, his mouth moving for the first time in a long time. His body is shaking as sobs wrack his body. He cries and cries and cannot stop. It hurts to breathe, but he still cries. He cannot stop, he will not stop. Every painful cry brings such relief to his heart. The broken gears begin to turn.
"I love my brother and I am human!"
Eight men in full battle-ready regalia burst through the door, fanning out with machine guns trained on Dallas, Seb, the driver, and Dr. Wagner. The KC.
“Hands in the air!” one shouted, and the four complied.
“What is the meaning of this?” Dr. Wagner snapped, her eyes flaming with fury. “Do you have any idea what you are interrupting?”
The KC squad’s leader, an Eagle, stepped into the room. A tall young woman, long brown hair flowing down her back. Her cold blue eyes flickered over the four people before settling on the driver.
“Arrest him,” she said in a voice as icy as her eyes.
Immediately three of the KCs surged on him, grabbing his arms and forcing him to his knees. The driver didn’t put up a struggle, eyes downcast.
“You three,” the leader snapped, and two Dogs stiffened to attention, “Take that machine,” she pointed at the Morpheostasis machine.
They made a move towards it, when Dr. Wagner boldly, and recklessly, stepped in their way. “Stop! Immediately! I demand to know the reason for this madness!”
The young woman looked at Dr. Wagner impassively, as if the doctor was an insect she would find pleasure in squashing under her thick soled, black boot. “This is an official investigation, doctor. I advise you to stand aside.”
“I am in the middle of a delicate operation to fix this machine,” Dr. Wagner pressed.
“This man has crossed the city’s boundary without proper authorization. He has broken our laws and poses as a threat. We need to investigate,” she hissed, “Now stand aside before we use force.”
Dr. Wagner looked to Dallas, Seb, even the handcuffed and restrained driver for assistance, but none was offered. Slowly, she stepped away from the machine.
The squad leader flicked her hand in a signal and the Dogs dropped their guns and set to work investigating the machine.
“It’s a life support,” Dr. Wagner reported dryly.
“I don’t doubt your powers of observation,” the Eagle replied.
“And I need it!” the driver spoke up for once, his voice a serpentine hiss.
“Why?” the young woman demanded, crossing to him in several strides. She glared down at him with those ice filled eyes.
He didn’t reply. He merely stared at her; the barest hints of defiance in his rich blue eyes. What was running through his mind? Distract them? Have them take him away and leave the machine so the boy could live? Perhaps. Or perhaps not. He had the most shifty of expressions, an unreadable, impenetrable mask solidifying over his face.
The KC squad leader seemed intent to break it.
She kicked him directly in the chest, just under the line of his collarbones. He let out a strangled choke as the air was knocked from him, and he crumpled into himself. Plenty of force was behind that blow. “Either be nice and tell me right here and now what I want to know or face interrogation at the station. You have broken our law, you are a criminal. Our people are already looking into you. So it would be in your best interest to start talking.”
He wouldn’t talk.
She kicked him again, her boot catching him in the jaw. He was knocked backwards and landed awkwardly on his side. The three Dogs at his side pulled him back upright.
The leader clenched her fists and drew one back, preparing to strike.
“Stop!”
Everyone froze. The leader froze, the Dogs froze, everyone.
“Who said that?” the leader demanded.
“Stop…” the voice came again.
The leader spun around, looking up at the ceiling. “Who is using the speaker system?”
No one answered. The Dogs looked to the doctor and the security guards. The doctor and security guards looked to the KC.
“Stop… please… don’t hurt him…”
That voice: male, young, robotic… pleading…
Dr. Wagner’s eyes widened.
The leader seemed to notice. “Who’s using the speaker system?” she demanded the doctor.
Dr. Wagner didn’t reply, she was staring intently at the Model G life support.
The leader followed her line of sight and walked to the machine. She peered inside, carefully, as if not trusting its contents.
As if struck by one of her own blows, she reeled back. “What is that thing?” she shouted.
A few KCs hurried to the machine, also taking a look. The same shock shone on their faces.
“We need to call the chief down here,” one of the Dogs said.
“Just… guard that thing,” the Eagle replied, “Leave the Chief to me… and don’t touch that man,” she added pointing at the driver.
“So-“
“We have no idea what that is or what it’s capable of. Just do as it says.”
“I am alone,” he says softly. Both his hands press against the metal paneling of a wall. His eyes are closed and he is focusing.
The man looks at him, a sad look on his face. “You don’t have to be.”
“No,” he says, “I must be alone.”
The man frowns now. “I don’t understand.”
He reaches into the metal of the wall and it begins to ripple and waver. He can feel the cold against his metal hands, he can feel it reforming and reshaping under his fingers. “I must be alone,” he says more urgently, “I must make sure no one can ever suffer the same fate as me.”
He enters his dark world with a purpose. A mission. He forgoes his misgivings, his hatred. His sole purpose is to destroy.
And in the darkness, he wrecks havoc.
The driver sighed, running a hand through his blonde hair as he glanced at himself in the mirror. He hardly recognized the man staring back at him; worn, haggard, tired.
He briefly glanced to the side where a KC guard was standing at constant attention. The formality of the scene made the driver feel uneasy.
Footsteps echoed from behind and the driver turned to face them.
He barely knew what to make of what he saw.
The AI approached the driver and stood a respectable distance from him. The AI had healed well, survived the half dozen procedures, and came out stronger and better than before. His hair was shiny and black, his skin a healthy hue instead of the sickly pallor the driver remembered it being.
“Well, you’ve changed,” the driver remarked.
The AI inclined his head stiffly, “So have you.”
An eyebrow was raised, “Talking more?”
“I’ve been practicing.”
The driver put his hands on his hips and looked the AI up and down one more time. He seemed taller than the driver remembered too. And the metal plating and limbs shone and flashed in the light. “They’ve been doing right by you, have they?”
The AI shrugged, his shoulder rotators whirring softly. “It’s hard work, but I enjoy it.”
“Those talents come in handy.”
“Just as they did before.”
The driver nodded. “Not so lonely anymore?”
“In a way. I am different, and I have no one, but I have purpose. My purpose is what makes me… makes me…” he searched for a word.
“Satisfied?”
“Happy.”
The driver raised the other eyebrow.
A foreign smile cracked across the AI’s face, “I’ve been learning a lot.”
“Indeed.”
The AI sighed softly, “So this is goodbye?”
The driver rubbed the back of his neck. “Yah. I’ve got places to be. More people to save.”
The AI looked almost sad. “I’ll never forget what you did for me.”
The driver looked almost embarrassed, “It was nothing. Really.”
“But it was. You saved my life.”
“The Chief did really. He had you healed and repaired.”
“The Chief gave me new life, but you saved it. If it hadn’t been for you, I would still be there… being used.”
“Well, like I said. It was nothing.”
“Goodbye.”
“Wait, before you go…”
The AI turned back to him.
“I just wanted to ask; did you ever find your name?”
The AI shook his head. “No, I’ve forgotten it. I don’t know that I’ll ever remember it.”
The driver rubbed the back of his neck again. "Then what do I call you.”
“Advent.”
“Advent?”
“Advent Notredame.”
“Why?”
The AI shrugged. “That’s all I remember.”
He watches.
That’s all he has been doing. He has been watching. From inside his world of symbols and code to the outside world of darkness and light. He sees. He hears. He knows.
Lost in the darkness, only to find himself again.
The question was never, when does a machine become human, but when does a human become a machine.
Then back again.
Logic. Memories. Reason. Love.
Advent Notredame.
Man and machine.
He watches.
Friday, June 21, 2013
Can I Be Strong?
“Eriacu! Come here! Look!”
“What is it, Mama?”
Evelyn pulled her little son down into her lap. All around them were flowers, the most beautiful Eriacu had ever seen. Red roses, royal and gold hemerocallis, fiery pink bleeding hearts, dusty white and lilac orchids, the tender blue and pale pink of grape hyacinths: wonder and splendor as far as he could see.
“Look here, Eriacu,” Evelyn said gently, reaching out to the underside of a wide leaf.
Under it’s shade a fragile cacoon, shimmering like chrome, hung precariously.
“Mama, it’s moving,” Eriacu whispered when he saw the cacoon twitch.
“Yes it is.”
“Why is it moving, Mama?” Eriacu asked.
“Wait and see,” she replied.
They waited and watched while the cacoon writhed and shuddered. Then it broke apart. Slowly, two large, brown triangles emerged. Then a long body with a button sized head and four black legs.
Eriacu gasped. Evelyn took his hand and held it just in front of the little creature. It climbed onto his fingers and he giggled as it tickled him.
“It’s a butterfly,” she said, watching Eriacu’s eyes widen in delight. She pointed a little further off, at a butterfly that had just taken flight. It was followed by a second. Then a third. Soon there were quite a few of them flitting about the garden.
“It’s so delegate,” Eriacu said, looking at the butterfly on his hand.
“You mean delicate?”
“Yah, delicate,” he replied. “It could break.”
“It won’t.”
“Why not?”
“Butterflies are stronger than you think, Eriacu.”
“It’s too dangerous.”
A devious smile lit Evelyn’s face, as she met his gaze in the mirror. The solemn young man was standing a ways behind her while she sat before her vanity, touching up her makeup. “You worry too much, Vale.”
Vale lowered his eyes. “Forgive me for my candor, my lady. I have a dreadful feeling about all this.”
Evelyn drew a small line of black on the edge of her eyelid. She never wore much, only a touch to amplify the beauty she already possessed. “You have every right to be, Vale,” she said softly. She set the eyeliner pen on the vanity and smoothed her dress. “As long as this outrageous affair continues, we will have to simply push through these dreadful feelings.”
“My lady,” Vale spoke quietly, choosing his next words carefully. “I would suggest we not go out tonight. Perhaps another time, when things are not so tense.”
She smiled gently, looking back at him by turning a little in her seat. “If we waited that long, Vale, we would never leave the museum.”
Vale laughed softly. “I suppose you’re right, my lady.”
“Besides…” She adjusted the folds of her dress. “This alliance is important. If Mr. Ryan’s company stays on good terms with us, we will be able to support the Zone for decades.”
“But attending a theater?” Vale queried. “Isn’t that a little, well, excessive?”
“You and I seem to think so. Nevertheless, it’s best we pander to Mr. Ryan’s frivolities if we are to maintain his generous will.”
“More like maintain his generous wallet.”
She laughed this time, a crystal clear sort of laugh, light and cheerful. “Yes, indeed. Now I must go find Eriacu,” she said, standing. “Before we are late.”
“And this is the slide,” Diablo said, pointing at the rectangular bar of metal along the top of the gun’s barrel. “Pull it back until you hear the click.”
Click.
“Good. Now your bullet is loaded in the chamber. When you’re shooting, you hold the gun in your right hand like this, and pull back on your wrist with your left hand. Good, good. That causes tension and allows a more sturdy support. Then you want to squeeze the trigger. Not slow or fast, just somewhere in the-“
BANG!
CLASH!
SLAM!
Evelyn stood in the open doorway, a look of shock on her face. The empty bullet casing rolled to her feet.
Diablo jerked slightly in his seat and looked up at her, startled from her sudden appearance.
“Daddy! Daddy! Look! I shot it!”
He looked down at Eriacu, sitting in his lap, holding the gun triumphantly.
“Diablo,” Evelyn was trying to keep calm. “I thought we agreed that he wouldn’t hold a gun until he was at least ten.”
“He wasn’t supposed to fire it,” Diablo replied.
“And why on earth would you two be playing with guns in your office?” Evelyn looked at the broken window where Eriacu’s bullet had shattered the glass. She then looked back at her husband, a serious frown crossing her face.
But even angry, she was still beautiful.
Eriacu put the gun on the desk before leaning back against his father’s chest. “Are you mad, Mama?”
She tried to look stern, but her face softened. “No, not mad. Just very disappointed.”
“Sorry, my love,” Diablo apologized, standing to his feet. Eriacu wrapped his arms around his neck as Diablo held him. “You’ll be leaving now?”
“Yes,” she replied. “Can’t be late for Mr. Ryan.” She said the last part in a slightly exasperated voice. Mr. Ryan wasn’t the greatest person on earth to get along with.
“At least go to enjoy the show, love.” Diablo came over and kissed her softly.
“I only wish you were coming,” she said, tugging on his collar.
“I have meetings with Eddard all night,” he replied. “GRAIL activity in the downtown area is apparently rising.”
“I want you to come too, Daddy,” Eriacu said.
Diablo chuckled and set him down. “I know, I know. But Daddy has work to do.”
“Well,” Evelyn sighed, gazing at him lovingly. “I’ll miss you, love.”
“We’ll see each other later. It’s only two hours.”
“See you soon, Daddy?”
Diablo smiled at Eriacu. The youngest son. Only eight years old, and a spitting image of Evelyn.
“See you soon.” He held out his finger. “Pinky promise.”
Eriacu giggled and locked his little finger with Diablo’s. “Promise.”
Evelyn kissed Diablo again. “See you soon.”
Pinky, pinky bow-bell,
Whoever tells a lie
Will sink down to hell
And never rise up again.
“Mama…”
It was raining. How fitting.
“…Mama…”
I always liked the rain. Mother would dress me in a little raincoat and big rubber rain boots. We would splash in the puddles until we got wet.
But that night… that rain… it was cold. It was harsh. It was cruel.
As cruel as the men that dragged us away. As cruel as the gleam of metal in the dim alley. As cruel as the sound of thunder and the muted screams. As cruel as her face… mother’s face… Horrified. Screaming. Telling me it would be okay. Cruel as the violent shudders that overtook her as the bullets tore through her again and again.
Cruel as the loneliness of lying there. Cruel as the concrete I lay on. Alone. In pain. Gripping a cold, cold hand. My mother’s hand. She was so cold…
“… mama…”
Why, God, why!? Why!? Why did you take her away from me? Why did you let this happen!? How could you!? I was eight years old! I was eight fucking years old! I was too young to die! Fuck! Why!?
Footsteps echoed in the alley. Shadows flitted across the walls. Voices, mingled and worried, rose up from the alley’s entry. Flashlight beams cut through the darkness.
“I’m going to try calling her cell again.”
“You have her number, Zeinken?”
“Yes, yes. Just give me a second… Come on mom, pick up…”
The alley was filled with the harsh blare of a ringtone.
“There! The alley!”
“Did she drop her phone?”
“I don’t know. Anat, stay here. Zeinken, Vale.”
“But Dad-“
“No arguing, Anat.”
The flashlight beams danced across the pavement… then stopped.
The cell phone continued to ring.
“Oh my god…”
“Evelyn!”
Diablo ran to her side and fell to his knees. “Evelyn!” He grabbed her by the shoulders, her limp body sagging in his grip. Her light brown hair was dark with blood.
“Zein!”
“Stay there Anat!”
“But-“
“Stay there!” Even Zeinken wished he hadn’t seen it, but it was too late now.
Anat knew. She knew why she was supposed to stay there. She was to shocked to cry, but the silence was worse than any tears.
Vale came up next to Diablo, slowly. He stopped a respectable distance away. The guard’s eyes were narrowed, and his fists were clenched at his sides.
Diablo glanced away from his wife, his eyes falling on Eriacu lying next to her. “Oh God…” He hesitantly reached forward and stroked his son’s face.
Eriacu stirred.
“Zeinken! Call 911 now!” Diablo shouted.
“This is all your fault,” Vale growled.
“Vale, now’s not the time.”
“I warned you. I told you she should never go out of the Museum alone. But you wouldn’t listen to me! You knew the Venantium were closing in on the Families and still you would not listen!”
“I said enough, Vale!” Diablo snapped, standing to his feet.
Vale shook his head, backing away from him. “Yes. Yes it is. Now she’s dead because of you.” His eyes gleamed like fire from the hate boiling inside him. “You never really loved her.”
“Vale-“
But Vale wasn’t listening. He pulled out his gun and put it to his head.
“Vale don’t!”
BANG!
In the distance, sirens began to scream.
“Zein, why did Vale do it?”
“For love.”
“I don’t get it…”
“Vale always loved our mother. He loved her very much. When she died, something inside him broke. He couldn’t live without her, so he joined her in death.”
I loved her too, Zein. I loved her very much. When she died, something inside me broke.
I died that night. I died with her and Vale.
Don’t mourn for me, Zein. Please. Don’t mourn for me.
I died long, long ago.
“He’s pulling through but he’s still not responding. When he wakes, he’ll need a lot of therapy. You have a family psychologist, right?”
Diablo just nodded, watching as Eriacu slept. Two months he’d been in a coma, recovering from the six bullets he’d taken in the chest and stomach.
“It’s a miracle, him pulling through and all,” the doctor continued. “You have a very strong boy there.”
Diablo watched and waited. The smell of rubbing alcohol and stainless steel filled his senses, but he was focusing all he could on the sweet cherry wood smell of his son’s soul, the periwinkle color flickering like a firefly.
The heart monitor beeped steadily. On and on it went. Endless. Maddening. But the sound could almost be loved. It was the sound of holding on.
Eriacu blinked, soft blue eyes finding a foreign, white ceiling above him.
“Eriacu?” Diablo asked softly.
Eriacu’s gaze turned downward. His eyes met Diablo’s.
Diablo sighed softly. He stood and crossed over to the bed. “You’re awake.”
Eriacu said nothing. Sleepiness was still in his eyes. He just lay there, tired and weak.
Diablo sat on the edge of the bed, taking his son’s hand in his. “You’re doing just fine Eriacu. You can come home in a few days.”
Eriacu murmured something. His lips moved, but hardly a sound came out.
“What?”
“You promised,” he murmured.
“Eriacu-“
“You promised. Now mama’s gone.” He met Diablo’s gaze. “Why Daddy?”
Diablo felt as though a knife had gone through his heart again. The image of his dead beloved in his arms flashed before his eyes. The wound in his heart was torn afresh and it bled misery all through his body.
Eriacu… such a perfect little copy of his wife. The same blue-violet eyes, the same soft, brown hair. It was as though she was there too, asking him why he hadn’t come. Why hadn’t he gone with and protected her? Why hadn’t he stopped her from going in the first place?
“Why?” he could hear her asking. “Why...?”
Diablo didn’t have the answer to that question, and he was afraid he never would.
“Eriacu… I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice soft and hollow. “It should be me lying in this bed, not you. I should have been there with her, to protect her. I was so stupid. Stupid and naïve. I assumed she would be safe enough. It was one stupid favor I asked her to do. One… one stupid mistake.”
Why couldn’t I be the one to die for her? Why Vale and not me?
His broken voice broke Eriacu as well. Tears flowed freely from his wide eyes. “You promised…” he whispered sadly.
Pinky, pinky bow-bell,
Whoever tells a lie
Will sink down to hell
And never rise up again.
And never rise up again.
Darkness.
That’s how all stories of tragedy begin, don’t they?
They begin with darkness.
I wasn’t in the darkness. I was the darkness. I was nothing but darkness and hollowed emptiness.
Shot.
Again.
It was an accident. I still don’t know how it happened.
But I know the feeling.
The shudder. The thunder. The shock. The blood. The pain. And falling. Always falling.
I had been carried. I remember the dark navy aura of my older brother as he carried me.
Then darkness.
And here I am.
Consumed by endless oceans of darkness.
I’m too young to die.
I’ve only been on this earth fifteen years now.
So young. Too young.
The bullets.
The memories.
Is this it then? Is this how it ends? My life flashes before my eyes and then what? It’ll be over?
“Eriacu!”
A voice. A voice from long ago.
The darkness is still there, but there’s also a light now. A soft, hazy light. It takes the form of flowers, grass, leaves.
The memories are back.
Stop it! Stop torturing me! I don’t want to see them anymore!
“Eriacu! Come here! Look!”
I don’t want to look, but I can’t control this darkness and these memories.
I see her. My mother. So beautiful and serene, just as I remember her. She’s sitting on the grass, the wind blowing through her hair. And she’s pointing over the rose bush.
“Look Eriacu! They’re butterflies.”
So delicate.
But stronger than you think.
No. I won’t follow this dream, this darkness. I won’t give in. I will live! I won’t die! I’m strong! I’m stronger than any butterfly! I’m stronger than that little boy lying in an alley bleeding to death! I’m stronger than Vale who killed himself for his twisted idea of love! I’m stronger! I’m strong!
I can be strong!
I can be strong!
I can be strong!
I can be…
…can…
I…
…be…
…strong…
…
…
…
…
...in the darkness,
the dead of night
a desperate soul spreads its wings
takes flight
and in the darkness, the deathly hue
of a pale form lying, so still then
and wide eyes so bright and blue
open
you are strong
you are strong
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
A Note From the Author
All the stories on this blog are copyrighted to me, wether I call myself Dread, Helyen, Niitari, Ravencrime... they are all the same name. It matters not. These stories are mine and mine alone.
All stories are copyrighted of Niitari. Any mentions or names of places or characters within the rps are copyright of their respectful owners and creators. But the story remains as the personal property of Niitari and may not be copied, altered, transferred, shared, deviated, or used in any way, shape, or form without Niitari's explicit permission via Niitari's personal email account poofypeep@gmail.com. This permission will never come to anyone anyway. Any unauthorized copying of the stories will result in legal punishment.
All stories are copyrighted of Niitari. Any mentions or names of places or characters within the rps are copyright of their respectful owners and creators. But the story remains as the personal property of Niitari and may not be copied, altered, transferred, shared, deviated, or used in any way, shape, or form without Niitari's explicit permission via Niitari's personal email account poofypeep@gmail.com. This permission will never come to anyone anyway. Any unauthorized copying of the stories will result in legal punishment.
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