P.I.T. Episode 11 Part 3

“Strangely, it was the same thing you were asked to do. Nothing. I was given a full, if outdated set of the basics of medicine, and told to do nothing. I had to do some shit to get here, I’m sure you can relate, but after all of that, the Hippocratic oath, well, it felt like all I had left. “ he sounds a bit sad, but I also get a sudden smell, something I don’t like, and as he tries to start a new sentence, the smell gets worse. 

I try a hunch.

“ And?” I say in a tone that lets it be known I know some form of lie is being told.

He thinks about it for a moment, and when he begins to speak there is an edge to his voice, a dark edge, the same kind of tone I have heard come from myself a few dozen times, the tone that says ‘This could go from conversation to conflict really quickly, be careful where you tread.’.

“ I didn’t think I could do it. Whatever this horror show is, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to get to the end, and that, my friend is what helps our merry band out there. I’m not… built  like you, I can’t take a safe being thrown from a building, I can’t rip someone’s arm off with one hand, I’m smart, and I can make a damn fine shank out of anything long enough to stab, but that’s it. I’m a doctor, not a warrior, and me dying wouldn’t help anyone. So I decided to just bypass this game, and stay here, helping with the multitude of medical issues that come from living in these conditions for so long. “

That smell dissipates, and I look to Carl.

“So you’re a coward, is what your saying?” I don’t even think about this before saying it, it is more like a reaction than a sentence.

“Coward? If I was a coward I would have just poisoned you long ago. You realize what happens if you win, right?” The response takes me back a bit, and gains Carl a blank stare as opposed to a response.

“We are playing the same game right now, and from everything I have seen, there is no second place. If you go the distance, those people out there , they are going to be fine. Me? I’ll probably be ground to pulp and spread around a field to hide the body. I’m not a coward , I just know my limitations, and how I can actually do good. “ This revelation sucks the life out of the room.

“Sorry… I just got a different impression.” I say morosely.

“If it makes you feel any better, I expected it. I actually know a decent amount about you, last thing I read before coming here was a report on you. “ At this point I can really tell he is a doctor, his reaction is equivalent to if I were to shit on him during a rectal exam. Annoyed, but not unexpected.

“I’m that famous?” I say, realizing we are probably on very thin ice in regards to what I am being told.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” He says with a chuckle, “ There are a dozen reports like that issued a day, people go missing, do stupid crap, or some tech realizes that they can do a little more or a little less than we thought, and we all have to be brought up to speed. That being said, I don’t know, if there is anyone who could get through this funhouse, it would be you. “ his wistful tone seems morbid when 

I consider the effect that would have on him.

He walks across the room, and for a moment I think that he was giving me one of his all too subtle clues to leave. But just about as I rise from the chair he spins upon me, “Catch!” he says loudly, as a silver projectile of some form hurtles toward me.

As I try and raise my right arm to catch it, I have a faint realization that the vicious tube it has became , is not going to do all that well at catching a small object. About half way through the motion though I feel a very unpleasant shifting sensation, akin to a shoulder sliding back into its socket. By the time I try, and fail to catch the coffee cup, my arm has turned from the straw from hell, to a massive skeletal hand, fingers about a foot and a half long, wickedly sharp, and made of that same yellowish chitin as the tube.  

“This might take some getting used to.” I say looking at , what is the second new appendage of the day.

Carl tosses me some blankets, and tells me to keep the arm under wraps, no need to freak out the other members of our tribe. But as I wandered down the hall, I realized this had became unnecessary.

Everyone stood around, holding some kind of makeshift suitcase, a bedsheet , blanket, shirt, etc. holding their meager possessions.  And everyone had tears just beginning to show in their eyes.

Ted himself is the closest one to the door, and is holding the chain I brought with me out in one hand. I am confused, even moreso when he breaks into a half cry half laugh and embraces me in a hug.

“We can leave.” He sobs, the chain digs a few small cuts into my back as he does so, but I decide not to let a little spilled blood ruin the moment.

“Really?” I say, wondering if this is a ruse , legitimate, or something more sinister.

Speaker static starts for a moment.

“Ab-so-fuckin-lutely hoss. You have done your share of nothing, and boy did ya do well. These folks get to go back to where they came from, and you, Hoss, you only got one more step to go. “ the voice booms through the speakers. “ Well, say yer goodbyes, I am sure these folks don’t wanna be here any longer than they need.”

“Thank you.” Ted says simply, and walks away.

Each person in the group does the same, some crying, some giving me the same kind of embrace as Ted, but without the physical damage, and some happy, but still venomous towards me. It’s moving, this ordeal has been about blood and guts, broken bones and bloody puke. But I realize that it is more than that, really , these people are my family. They have been with me through the worst, and if you only want to count what I can remember, the beginning.

As the last person leaves ( Ollie, who had to be literally dragged away by his parents.) I almost follow them. But instead, I look back, to Carl’s room, he sits in the chair, looking dazed, his mind far off somewhere.

“Fuck, “ I begin, “ I don’t know how to feel about this.” I say truthfully.

“Don’t feel bad for me, I made my choice, and I helped a lot of people. I wasn’t the guy for the job, whatever in the various hells that job is. But I was the guy for this job, and I did it well.” He lights a smoke, and totally turns off his connection to reality, awaiting the horrid oblivion that is no doubt on a bullet train to meet him.

With directions from the voice, I take myself and the chain down a long corridor, ending in a thick steel door. I have enough time to take in a few large breaths before it opens.

What I see is two large clear cells, one containing four individuals in the center, and 2 in what appears to be a closet. The other is similar, with the exception of the 4 being in the closet esque space, and 2 being in what could be called the main room.

“Real simple. On the left, you have 4 regular folks, good folks, and two pieces of shit. On the right, 2 regular folks, and 4 pieces of shit. This is just a choice hoss, no right answer, just what you want to do. Whoever you don’t pick, they die. And you gotta convince them to let you do it.” The voice says through speakers that actually sound a bit more technologically sound than the others.

I actually relax a bit, compared to the rest of this garbage , telling people they are going to die, is going to be a walk in the park, and convincing, I am sure will be a breeze, looking like a nightmare tends to give one a fair amount of ability to convince.

“And if I didn’t mention Hoss, I ain’t gonna be the one to do the killin. That is all up to you.” As he says this my heart sinks. Either way I pick, I am going to be killing innocent people, and its going to be a terror filled last few minutes for them as they watch me rip into the other members of their cage.

And I realize something, I can’t do it. Its not the death that puts me off, I have seen plenty of that, but it is the method. I have no issue with making the tough decision , but it is the terror that I will be putting innocent folks through that is the barrier, I could kill the scum , in fact I feel an almost irresistible urge to break into either cell and do that now, but the innocents?

I sit against a wall, trying to collect my thoughts as two groups of six people, try and convince me which group should live. It doesn’t help me make a decision, in fact , it only makes it worse, watching those people cling to the last bit of hope they have, just doesn’t sit right.

I walk down the thin pathway between the two cages, and come to a brick wall, with a similar steel door to the one I came in. Outside , through a thin viewport I can see daylight, and I catch a whiff of clean, crisp air. For a moment I lose myself, and as I see the mortar in the walls, it gives me an idea.

I walk out to the room, “I’ve made my decision.” I say loudly, looking upward. Then I make eye contact with the group on the right. “ No one is going to die.” I say pointing to the room beyond. “ If you guys trust me, I have a plan. If we work together, we can loosen enough of those bricks to take out the door, if we can do that, we can break out of here, and get to see the owner of that voice, real up close and personal.”

The 6 people in the room go quiet for a moment, the 4 stuffed in the closet look oddly similar. All dressed in black and gold themed clothing, just south of being a uniform. All male, Hispanic, and rather angry looking. The two in the larger area, one man and one woman look at me with brimming hope.

Hope and revenge, two things that can make almost anyone give up logic and reason.

I look up again , “ I’ve made my decision fuck-face.” I say bitterly, looking to the occupants “ You with me?”  they apply in the affirmative both enthusiastically and quickly.

One glass panel falls to the ground shattering into a dust of glass shards. And the occupants, scum and sheep alike slowly make their way to me.

I start snapping lengths off of the chain as I walk to the sealed door, handing each person one chain length, sporting a nasty barb.

“This is going to take a long time, but we can do it, I know we can. I’m not letting this bastard win, again. “ I growl.

Over the next few minutes we make some brief introductions, the 40ish people were a couple, Joanne, and Richard Cleensworth. The 4 men members of a gang, as if it wasn’t readily apperant, the names they give me are aliases, and eye rollingly macho ones on top of that. I refer to them as 1,2,3 and 4, both internally and when I need to speak to them.

The chain gives everyone 6 links, and as I see each person sitting with their pile I realize that my plan is running on quite a few maybes.

Once the first bit of metal hits the first bit of mortar, a steel door slides violently into place, locking us in the room. And so it begins.

The first day goes by rather quickly, small piles of stone dust collecting on the floor, the time is passed with censored conversations, and spirits are generally fairly high. Estimates by the group put the time it is going to take us to remove the bricks at about 2 days, at most. Everyone is planning on a campfire over The Voice’s corpse within 48 hours.

The second day is when the wear is apparent. Hungry, sleep deprived, and dehydrated, my companions work slows to a crawl. Richard is still very optimistic, though his wife is the first and loudest dissenter. This leads to a conflict between Richard and 1,2 and 3, 4 decided to stay out of it and focus on the escape.

The third day involves a lot of passing out from Richard and Joanne , 1,2,3 and 4 seem thin, but otherwise still able to work. Sometime in the afternoon of this day I find myself face to face with Joanne.

“ This isn’t going to fucking work! We are going to fucking starve to death in here, you fucking killed us, killed us!” she starts to slap me, and Richard immediately comes over, thinking that his wife antagonizing the 7 foot man with a giant bone claw, is a recipe for trouble. I look at them both, and talk very calmly and very slowly.

“I know this sucks, but it’s not going to suck any less if we start going at each other’s throat. All it is going to do is turn a nearly impossible situation into an impossible one. If there is one thing I know, its stone, and it might take until we all are as thin as paper to do this, but it can be done. All you have to do is trust me.” Joanne cries, but quickly comes back to her senses.

“I’m… sorry, this is just all so…”

“Horrifying?” I finish for her

“Yes, it just gets to me. 4 days ago I was just minding my own…” I stop her thought

“I know, me too, but we need to keep working.”

On day four we start to realize the horrors of living in a small room with no sanitation. Even with a lack of food and water enough urine and feces accumulates to give us a permanent sample of the smell, like the worlds worst song stuck on loop. And it is on the fourth day where I really start to see a physical difference between myself and my companions.

They look thin, emaciated, and generally out of it. Tiny cuts bleed like missing limbs, and coughing turns into the soundtrack of our adventure. I, on the other hand am hungry, very hungry, but otherwise dealing well.

The fifth day, everyone is down to 1 or two lengths of chain, the rest having the spike worn away. There is no talking anymore, just a dreary chorus of scraping stone, coughing, and the odd grunt as someone slips and cuts their hand.

On the sixth day, excitement runs high, the first brick moves , giving a tantalizing view of one of the hinges of the door, buried deep in the wall. The party is short though, as 2 hours later we realize that Joanne has died, her body simply shutting down quietly.

Day seven is the second brick and the second death, 4, dies during the night. I am starving, but physically fine.

Day 8 , I wake up with only a single other companion. Richard , in the world of the living. His last words to me before he never talks again are, “You knew.”

And I did know.

As the door slides open, I feel a deep rolling pit in my stomach at what I just did.

I knew that they wouldn’t last, and I knew for a fact, that even if we had enough chain, it’d take us months to move enough bricks to get the door out. It wasn’t an escape plan, it was a distraction.  Instead of living their last seconds of life in utter fear of me tearing them open , they spent it with at least a flicker of hope, that maybe they would get out of there. Under the circumstances, it was the most humane way I could get what needed to be done , done. Them agreeing to let me kill them.

I don’t open my eyes when I step out of the steel door, I just take in a large breath. The warm, fresh air filling my lungs feels better than anything I can remember, and I mean that in a very literal sense.

I open my eyes and notice we are on an island, not very big at all, but housing several squat buildings that look like they would be at home on a military base. Far in the distance I can see a city, giant almost impossible looking skyscrapers dominate the view.

From my right I hear something, and look to see , what I can only assume is The Voice.

He stands about 6 feet tall, and has a hefty gut pressing against a half buttoned plaid shirt, and straining the belt of a pair of camouflage patterned pants.  Below that , he wears what looks like a homemade graphic t-shirt, the cammo and the buildings instantly make me think it is promoting some kind of weapons manufacturer “SEX pistols” reads the part that I can see.

His hair is short and close, brown, and his eyes have a gleam that speaks of great intellect and great insanity all vying for the same brain. When he talks I recognize the voice, but gone is that country cousin manner of speaking.

“I am sorry, but there was no other way.” He says immediately.

“No other way , for fucking, what?” I say, restraining myself from just tearing pieces off of the man then and there.

“Come with me and I’ll tell you. “ he says walking toward a small concrete building about 300 feet away.

He seems both elated and horrified, not so much by what he says but by his body language, he can’t really meet my gaze, not out of fear, the man seems confidant, but my best guess would be out of shame. The walk goes silently as he punches in several series of numbers into a keypad unlocking the door of the squat grey building.

The inside is nice enough, by my guess it is a small living quarters for this man, who I can only assume is The Voice. A kitchenette is the first thing to greet us , with an old, worn, but still well finished table as its centerpiece. Behind that is a very short hallway leading to 2 doors that I assume are a bed and bathroom, and off to the side is a television and tattered couch.

“ Sit, I’ll get you something to eat.” He says trying to sound casual. I do so and am surprized to find that the rickety old chair actually supports my weight.

“So where do you want to start?” he says, as I hear some plates clattering, and some packages being opened. I smell fresh blood and meat, and my stomach growls.

“Why the fuck I am here?” I say curtly. My plan, at this point is still to kill the man, but I damn well want to know why he felt the need to put me through hell.

“Straight to the point eh?” he says as he puts a plate full of raw rotting meat that doesn’t quite smell like beef in front of me.

“What the hell is this?” I say simply.

“Oh, I thought Sharps would have given you the run down. Here it is, long story short, the reason your so hungry, so constantly, is that your eating through the wrong orifice, and your eating the wrong things. In addition to all the shit you’ve been noticing is different between you and the average guy, you , in specific, have some additional, nutritional requirements.” He seems to be dancing around something, a habit that I have gotten sick of about 20 minutes after I was tossed into that sewer.

“Just take a big sniff and you’ll see what I mean.” He clarifies.

I do, and as I feel the warm, slightly copper scent fill my nostrils , my right hand jerks upward, whirling bone, like a jackknife turns the long, fingers into the tube, and without any impetus from me, the thing jams onto the plate, from the top down, shattering it. A few seconds later it issues , literally, a bloody belch and fragments of porcelain.

“ I’m going to give you this.” He says tossing a folder onto the table, well clear of the slight bloodstain. “ I highly suggest not reading it, for a while at least. It tells you all about yourself, but at the moment, you need to focus on who you are, not what you were. This you, the exact combination of mental , physical and dimensional quirks that happens to be in front of me, is what the world needs, trying to be who you were, isn’t going to help.” As he says this I spit upon his advice and open the folder, the first thing I see is a picture, the person is both instantly and barely recognizable as me. One word sits on the page, in neat clerical writing, at the bottom of the picture ‘Darkside’.

The man in the picture is thin, anorexically so, and his eyes have a vacant glare that can only be described as animal. He wears a torn tweed full length coat, and a pair of dirty cargo pants, his t-shirt has a symbol I don’t recognize and one I do, one is an a, hastily written and circled A, the other is a period. But as I look closer I see that it is obviously me, the same horrid feeding tube coming from a torn sleeve of the coat, the same facial structure, everything. With the exception of 80 or so pounds of muscle.

At this point I decide to listen, I close the folder, just in time to see The Voice put down something else. This was a large book, written on what seemed to be plastic covered pages, it looked made to bear quite a bit of damage, and was attached to a length of chain.

“ This my friend, is your bible, “ he says, then looks at me to see if I understand the reference, I do, and he continues , “ it is a collection of every bit of knowledge I have gained, in regards to our situation , don’t worry about hurting it, I’ve went through a lot of trouble making sure the thing is damn near indestructible. But just like any important text, you are going to need some help understanding it. And that is where I come in. “ he smiles a bit, but it does nothing to relieve the tension.

“ So what is my situation?” I pronounce every word carefully, I want to let this guy know he is on thin ice, and leading me by the nose in giant circles is apt to get him killed.

“Complicated, that is what it is. “ He sighs, “ Well, let’s start from the beginning, sound good?”

I nod, literally biting the inside of my mouth, when he gives the response of “it’s complicated.”

“Believe it or not , this is going to be easier because you don’t have many preconceptions about the way the world is supposed to work.

First off, I guess you should know who I am. They called my pockets, real name Devon Highgate, and I have always had 2 things going for me. The first, and in my opinion most important is that I am a smart son of a bitch. And I am not just bragging here, when all is said and done , I’ve been ranked within the top 100 scientists of our time.  This let me have pretty much all the cash and resources I needed to follow any line of research that caught my fancy.

The second thing that sets me apart from the ranks of average men, well, it’s better if I show you.”

And as he says this, he opens his shirt, lifts up his t-shirt, and spins a bit, showing me he is not hiding anything on his person. Once this sinks in he reaches inside the baren shirt, and suddenly I am staring down the barrel of a massive weapon, at least 4 feet in length , and half as large as a human head in girth. There is a slightly red tinted crystal at the front, and it hums with a low electrical charge.

“Where the hell did that come from?” I say. Even watching the man the entire time from feet away, my mind doesn’t quite grasp what happened.

“And that is a nice Segway into the second part of our story.

Where the hell is a good question. And one that I, honestly havn’t answered for myself. Come for a walk with me.” He says walking out of the squat building, but continuing his story.

“Well, years went by , I played a background, yet important role in the affairs of the E.J.A… wait a minute you probably don’t know what that is , do you?” He asks this as we pass a giant, well tended tree.

“No.” I say curtly.

“Well, there is a whole lot of people who are like us. Who can do things, average folks simply can’t. Now, as far back as anyone can remember, there has been …rules of engagement that those of us on the side of good, and hell, a decent portion of those on the side of evil follow. And the people who enforce that are the E.J.A.C Extra Judicial Agent Committee.

They are there to ensure folks like us, don’t just have our way with the world. To make sure that law and order remain law and order, not the whims of those who have the power to level a city block.

Even our criminals , who have an extra bit of force to wield, by and large, follow some aspects of , the Toronto accord.

We call it the T.A. , and it was put in place sometime in the early 20’s. Before that it was just up to individual E.J.A members to use their best judgement as to what was helping the world, and what was holding it under their thumb. And as you can probably guess, that got pretty bad.

Things were good, actually, almost no crime, which saved a huge portion of the budget for most countries, leading to huge advances in technology, problem was, you couldn’t smoke a joint without some guy in a cape flying into your basement and alerting the authorities.

You have to realize, we have guys that can see anywhere they want, guys who can read your mind, guys who can convince you to walk your own ass down to the police office and turn yourself in, regardless of how little you want to do that. When it comes down to us versus them, we will win, hands down, every time.

The problem was, the 20’s was a time of change for us, it was when the world started to realize that maybe we were a little too stringent on the rules. But the problem comes in when the people enforcing the rules have enough power to be damn sure the rules get enforced, how do you change laws when simply by protesting, lets say, you can let some invasive prick comb through your mind for each and every crime you may have committed, and get you arrested on the spot.

Between 1920 and 1925 our prison population tripled.

And realistically, no one was doing anything wrong. People might be protesting for , the right to own weaponry, or women to vote, nothing wrong with that. But almost everyone has done something they can be arrested for, so a little bit of effort on the part of some telepaths, and that giant protest has been shrank down to a dozen people.

The economy tanked, and people were livid, it got so bad that one in 4 people had at least been incarcerated for at least 30 day period. And we are not talking scumbags, we are talking grandmothers who kept a pistol under the bed, we are talking international delegates who happened to enjoy sucking a dick or two in their spare time, people who just wanted to be heard, who just wanted to enact some change.

And again, the problem was, those enforcing the laws, just were not doing anything wrong, they were doing what they were intended to do, stop crime.

So we passed the T.A, a set of rules as to when , where, and how anyone like us can enforce the law.

Break the T.A, you become pretty hot on the E.J.A.C’s watch list, keep doing it and you find yourself carted off to a prison , with walls thick enough to keep you in, regardless of how many feet of concrete you can punch through.

Even the criminal element  follow it to some extent. But , this is what sets up our problem. Millennia of both sides agreeing to limit hostilities, let alone the rampant success of the T.A. has had a massive impact on our society. “ He looks to me as we reach another building, this one much more massive than the last, looking like a giant warehouse, in that same utilitarian, grey brick style.

“You keeping up with this so far? Because its about to get weird.” He says opening the door.

I am greeted with a massive array of electronic equipment sitting on shelving twelve feet high, things ranging from radios to televisions all with an eclectic mix of wires, glowing tubes, humming crystals, brass gyroscopes , all seemingly putting of some kind of transmission, I catch a word or two, but between the static and the thousands of devices vying for my attention, I can’t make anything out. The noise isn’t deafening, but very, rich, due to the sheer amount of barely audible gibberish coming from the devices.

“I stumbled upon something, years ago, and I didn’t know how big it was, for the longest time.

I placed a pocket radio into my “space” , that is what I call wherever it is the things I conceal go, and when it came back I noticed that every so often, no matter how nice the weather, I would get some odd transmission. Didn’t think anything of it, actually took the batteries out and just bought a new radio.

Then a week or so, the thing started playing kind of the same thing, heavy static with barely audible babble underneath, without the aid of actually being powered.

I knew there was something going on, so I experimented.

You could say I became obsessed, I turned in my 2 weeks notice, and devoted my time to figuring out what in the hell was happening. People called me crazy, but I knew that something was wrong, and I knew , as well, that my power is a Class BU, which means that it is of moderate use, but the kicker is , it also means it is unique. No one else, in the entire world had access to this, it was a discovery that only I could make.

Over a couple decades, I started working with different pieces of equipment, different materials, ways to get a clearer signal, and all I have to say, is every time I did find something that even half worked, it made no fucking sense.” He motions to a device that looks like a skinned stereo system, with a spinning brass gyroscope balanced on a glowing green crystal.

“ You tell me how a gyroscope gives me better data transmission, and I’ll give you my nobel prize.

I’ve sat in here longer than you would believe, gaining my information in drips and drabs, I want to make it clear, I don’t have this figured out yet, I am Thomas Edison trying to make a lightbulb with cotton right now, but I’ve managed to gain some kind of insight , I hope.

First , one of the main premises you need to understand, is that reality , in and of itself, does not contain every imaginable universe. That premise in and of itself is flawed beyond belief, it is our way of trying to make a complex problem even more complex, so that we can throw up our hands in defeat.

And think about it for a second, that could never work, because some things simply have no opposite to balance them out. Let’s say in one infinite variation, you have the power to destroy every universe imaginable, the urge to do it and the power to do it instantly. All well and good, but something needs to balance that out, because as you can see the universes are still here. But the polar opposite of that, is either not having the ability to destroy any universes at all, or the ability and want to save every universe.