The Grand Attraction

by Enoch Enns

  The creature raged on as Carls barely clang to consciousness. It was as though at war within itself, raging over whose possession the body was. Not just that, but the entire being seemed outraged of its actions yet forced to watch them. Had this too once been man? What had overcome him? What had overcome this whole place?

  It bellowed in pain and ripped through everything it thought standing against it (vials flying everywhere from overturned tabletops and shattered cabinets). And then it vanished—in its trace, sparks of electricity and fuming wire.

  The sirens stopped. With the flicker of light, Carls could see the reflection of glass all around him. In particular, needle-point vials from an aid kit. He managed to slug his arm to one of them, slowly propping his limp form against the steel he'd been forced upon. With vision a blur, he could make for certain none of its labels. But who cared? I'm near death, he said, though it would have been better put scientifically: “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

  The needle penetrated his skin.

  I can remember the last time I had a shot. My wife gave it to me. Being a nurse, I couldn't have asked for anyone better to do it. And so he dazed in memory, for a moment even forgetting his existence in the now. No weeping, just joy. He savored every bit of it: his beautiful wife and adorable child. His only child. His angel. “Little Joan,” he whispered.

  “Well, well...” the voice seized his thoughts. His eyes shot open and mind reeled back to reality—to the white brick walls surrounding him; to the trickles of blood down his chest. It was the COMM. “Isn't it wonderful? How man has created such a euphoria so as to have means of stimulating the mind. Really, it's quite fascinating. Not only that, but look! It works, and you're a living testament to it!”

  Carls Locke fought the desire to suddenly jump to his feet. His heart raced, fueled by some unknown force. He looked down. Sight fully restored, he could now read the vial. It was an e-Link, or rather a rehabilitiation boost, not like anything found in a typical first aid kit. Thank you, he relieved, head resting upward against the steel.

  The COMM hissed with momentary static. “Now, now, you seemed to have proved yourself. Not only that, but you're still conscious. So rise, it is time I welcome you, Strange Stranger.

  Yet again, the lights on the ceiling blacked out except those leading to a single door on the far end.

  The COMM came again: “I have to admit, I'm looking forward to meeting you....”

  Chambers Abroad

  The door slid open.

  Carls felt as though at a skit and he were the puppet being manipulated. His head was spinning from adrenaline waste. The injection he had taken proved to be substantial. What was it? Some sort of drug? A stimulation, the man had called it. Stimulation of what? The body? The brain? All he seemed to be doing was going with the flow of things and he detested to it. However, it was all he could do. As for the e-Link, it was at least working. He could move when otherwise he'd be lying senseless. But was it a good thing? Stimulation or not, the body has its limits, and he knew he'd passed them an hour into this whole mess.

  It seemed he were in an observational room. A large glass panel expanded the area to his right. Just beyond, a door hid entry to a second room looking adjacently into the glass. A figure stood there, hands behind his back, a gray tux and white shades. His hair was jelled (obviously making up for his aging complexion). To see so clearly, Locke was astounded to not have first noticed the scene being worked within the glass chamber.

  The man without name seemed a bit surprised at his entry. “Oh, you're not who I expected at all. Regardless, welcome to my greatest accomplishment: The Age Capsule!”

  He motioned toward the scene that had already consumed Locke's attention. A girl, no longer three, held the hands of a young man whom she loved. A teenage girl nearing twenty. His girl. Joan....

  “Amazing, isn't it?” the man said to him. “She has matured astoundingly! Look at her! It seemed not but hours ago she were three. Look at her smiling--”

  Her smile, Carls wondered off. Obviously she had found love in a stranger. But how? How was she so unaware of her surroundings? How was she so satisfied in a love disillusioned? Carls' hands reached out to the glass, eyes burdening toward his beautiful daughter—so deceived.

  “You know her, do you not?” the man said. “Well, quite honestly, she's been difficult. Most would be swayed and laughing and dancing. Something seems to be binding her. It's prohibiting me from seeing the full results! Here she is—a testament to man's ability to manipulate the cell infrastructure itself! But she is unyielding of much else to me but age—oh, what's this?”

  A third figure entered the scene, drawing up a gun and firing at the man near his daughter and proceeded with suicide as poisonous fumes burst throughout the room. Carls' eyes shot wide in disbelief and he pounded against the glass already too late. “No!” he yelled, the holographic bodies intoxicating his daughter. “Let her out!”

  “Just watch,” the man replied, “She cannot be harmed in this way.” But Carls didn't have to wait in order to act. Even before the man could raise a finger, Locke had penetrated the glass in an outburst of desire to protect. The fumes entered him just as quickly. He managed to catch his little Joan as she fell-- feeling, for once, something real.

  The escaping air sounded the alarm. “Fool! Your act of ignorance will kill her!”

  He ignored the remark. His skin was burning from the toxins and he knew hers to be as well. Shielding her head against his shoulder, he stumbled back out of the chamber and looked for the exit, but the place was in lockdown.

  “Ignorant fool!” the man scoffed, “come, quickly, before the gas kills you both!”

  Carls looked to where the man had been-- he was no longer there. His voice stretched over the COMM, “Quick! Through that door!”

  A single green light directed him as he fled through it and into another chamber hall.

  “Dad...” came the voice so tender (a calming breeze to his troubled mind).

  “Hold on to me, Joan, I'm getting us out of here.”

  He found the next door to be locked. Spinning on his heels he searched for another. “Friedelock! Let us out of here!” he yelled, not knowing who else to blame. It had to be him. This was his industry.

  “Now, now, whoever you are, being as you've put the whole place on quarantine this happens to be a lot harder than you suspect! I suggest you take this time to gather yourself and think over what you've done. At least until the quarantine lifts.” The vents steamed. “Don't worry, this exhaust is not toxic, though it may taste weird. Just hold tight.”

  His breathing wasn't slowing down. All he cared about was keeping her safe. He found a corner and laid her against it, gently pressing the hair from her pale, dripping face. Her eyelids shook and heart trembled. “Hold in there, Joan!” he pleaded. But who could blame her for feeling so weak? For all he knew, her eyes were open and she now took in everything he had once panicked about as well. Her hands felt for his, palms soaking his dry skin. God, please, help her through this. Don't let her die. Not now, not here. Not like this.

  And so he held her close, not knowing what better to do than wait for the quarantine to be lifted. Something strange was occurring with his daughter. Her skin, covered in sweat, was shriveling. Why? He had not the slightest idea. Only that it was not ordinary. Then again, in a place like this, what was?

  “So you've noticed,” the COMM spoke softly (at this point Carls had concluded it to be Friedelock). “It's only expected, you know. She was in an Age Capsule. What you're seeing now is the repercussion of your wild act to save her. See, in there, her every cell was being manipulated and tweaked. Inside the Age Capsule, one's body begins to rapidly adapt to an unprecedented pressure of pure science. The young grow old; the immature, mature; the defect, perfect-- man is no longer bound by time and environmental consequences. Reality becomes only what the mind needs in order to live off. Naturally, this allows for the injections of chemicals and currents that take hold over
and motivate the body of an individual to process reality faster and differently. A desire becomes action. But not of the individual, rather their surroundings. This allows the mind to remain in a satisfactory state while the body progresses, rapidly, and the changes go unnoticed. You, however, completely obstructed that. I do not know how or why the scene that had taken place unraveled as it did but she would have been fine if left in that mental state.

  “But she no longer is in that state, is she? Now her body is fighting the reverse affect. Since being in that chamber, her body was forced to grow and mature (and she did that well). Outside, she has to fight herself as her body slowly begins to revert back to its last known state. All her memories lived inside her mind are discarded as simply a dream. Now she's waking up. And let me tell you, it sure isn't joyful.

  “I don't know who you are nor why you're really here. I only know that, unless you do as I ask now, she will die.”

  Trust... after all this? “What makes you think I could trust you? You were only using her!” Carls remarked.

  “Well, look at her. Is this something you could handle alone?”

  He looked down upon her. Her body was paler than moonlight, her face drawing out. She looked younger. Despite how slow the change, she looked younger.

  His fists clenched and back hunched over in a surge of pain. What's this? Am I also dying? “Did the toxins affect me as well?” he asked, loosening his grip to the frail hands he held.

  “I do not know why you suffer. It would be highly unlikely. But there seems to be quite a bond between you two....”

  He could only bite his lips to contain himself from bursting. His body ached. “What must be done to fix this?”

  “That's the spirit. Sadly, time is not a luxury for you right now. In brief, there is a serum that one of mine had been working on. It works, granted, but I only have enough for one—- which makes it all the more valuable. I would just give it to you, but that's not fair at all, is it? So in return, I need something. I would say a replacement, but that doesn't seem like an option for your type.

  “Now, this same man also did research on another specimen, but it seems someone stole away with it before its completion. Bring it to me and I will have for you the serum. To prove my honesty, you will find a vial at the far door. Take it and inject it into her. It is the same I promise to you that will save her, but only a small dosage that you may take me seriously about my request.”

  Carls heard a latch across from him as a slot ejected from the walls. Inside was a vial and he brought it to Joan's weakening body. In just moments he could see it at work-- her face relaxing just slightly.

  “I would get going if I were you. The serum you gave her won’t last long. However, it is best you leave her here. I promise not to touch her in any way. In fact, I will keep her there until your return.”

  “I'm not leaving her in your custody,” Carls responded.

  “Oh, but you must. You wouldn't want her in even more danger, now would you? We have not the time to debate, get going.”

  He was caught between two paths. Joan, please keep fighting this—his back hit the wall behind in response to a pinched nerve. He knew he was in no condition to bring her, but no mindset to just leave her behind. I will be back for you, he knelt down, kissing her forehead. “I don't want you to die,” he whispered, tucking her into the corner of the only safety he could find her.

  “Now hurry!” Friedelock ordered.

  The quarantine was lifted.

  Outside Friedelock Industries he could no longer hear the voice of Friedelock on the COMM. Instead, he felt the buzzing of his Hand-Pal as it picked up a Friedelock’s final words of advice:

  “Good, you have a radio device, though I don't know how well nor for how long it will hold up so let me inform you as best I can. The man you seek used to work under my name, but through many corrupted intentions, he was removed. Not by me, mind you. I was but attempting to council him in his misguided ways. He left in a fury, taking all his work with him-- though it wasn't even his to begin with! Ah, and so he fled. I want back what he stole, it's as simple as that. What you do to obtain it is of no concern to me, just get it. The man goes by the name of Shaw Norwick. Find him and return to me what is mine. I will have the serum ready by then that your daughter might be saved. Last I heard, Philis Antoinette may know something of his whereabouts. You may find him at the e-Company-- less he's started his own cult by now.”

  The signal dropped, leaving Carls to wonder whether trusting Friedelock was worth it or not. The man seemed twisted and yet also holding the only key to his daughter's life. He hated the thought of serving his enemy, thus he shoved the thought past him. For now, he had a job. For now, he was on a mission. Find e-Company and find Philis Antoinette.

  But he couldn't help the feeling of only getting one side of the story. Who was this Norwick? What had he taken? What, exactly, had he done? A scientist gone crazy, he guessed. Then again, Friedelock didn't seem too far off either. He didn't even know for sure what it was Norwick had stolen. Find Antoinette, Carls reminded himself-- hearing a faint clinging of metal off in the distance, a small reminder of the corrupted world he was in. Some Grand Attraction, this place seems more like the end-line.

  He still had the map he'd found on Mark's body and was able to locate the e-Company. It was all the way back across and beyond the Hanging Gardens (his last encounter there still fresh in his mind).

  A second clanging reminded him to keep low. He hugged near the support beams of the second floor, running (as if to say) from cover to cover. He had no means of fighting. No weapons, no defense. He had to find something in case he encountered what he could not avoid. But where in such a massive place was he to even start looking for arms?

  What was that sound he kept hearing? Whatever it be, it was lurking closer and closing to him, never losing scent.

  Other Souls To Be Met

  White lampposts scattered themselves amidst the vast hall stretching from side to side. Carls had once again found himself puzzled as to direction. One thing was certain: this place was to a scale he had once thought immeasurable by man. Across from him and to the right, an enormous pavilion extended from which hang diverse advertisements from food products to things so strange as e-Links. What had happened to his place? Where was everyone?

  Where was he?

  A clatter beckoned his attention once more. What IS that noise? It was definitely from the hall to his left. An illusionate? It didn't matter to him so much as it was someone—something—that could help him find Antoinette. He stayed close to the walls and proceeded toward the distant clatter.

  Stores were once again aligning everything. Stores, shops, restaurants, businesses-- they all seemed once thriving with interest but now left to hum their attracting tunes without any listeners. Or at least one's that cared. He knew his wife would be entering every one of them, scavenging their shelves for antiques and watches. She loved watches.

  The sign above read: Peter's Wine and Soul, and it was obvious this place had been once filled with drunkards. The place stuck out from everything surrounding it by its cabin-styled architecture and wood design. Classic wooden stumps were used at the efficiently placed tables. Sure enough, in the far corner next to the bar, a figure sat grouched over and grasping a beer with both hands. The old, rag-covered man moaned to himself, bottles spread across the floor beneath him. Once again the clatter came and Carls saw that the man had been attempting to refill his cup.

  His body was still shaken, but he realized this man to at least be sober of illusion (but at what cost he was soon to find out). He stepped inside.

  “Are you.. alright, sir?” he stuttered. What kind of question was a man to ask in such circumstances?

  He wasn't heard.

  “Excuse me,” Carls said, cautiously venturing forward. The man seemed to catch glimpse over his shoulder.

  “One more step and that'll be it, boy,” he said (his words suddenly backed up by the sight of a double-barreled
shotgun propped against his chair.

  Carls held his hands up to show no threat, but asked, “How are you not like the rest?”

  “I was gonna ask the same to you,” the old man coughed. “It was all because of young fellers like you anyways that things got like this, so scram!”

  The cause? Did this man know?

  The man was mumbling off to himself yet again. At this point, Carls had lowered his hands. “Could I at least ask for a name? You wouldn't happen to be Antoinette, would you?”

  “Psch. Name. You can't even respect a man's privacy having barged into here as if you owned the place! And you're asking for a name? Ha! If only he wished you knew...”

  His words trailed off. It was obvious his drinking was getting to him, but he ignored the fact and kept on, saying, “If you want to find someone with a name, then go look'n for Sherlin. He'll talk to ya, heh, he'll talk.”

  Locke could tell that was all he was getting from the man. He didn't even care to ask who Sherlin was or even if Sherlin was real. Something didn't feel right about the guy. He seemed burdened. Not by pain or suffering-- nothing of the like.

  His cup over-spilled as once again he was left to himself.

  Worn and desperate, Carls pressed tightly to the wall of a corner outlet. He'd seen a figure around the bend. Coarse and frantic, an illusionate struggled to pry into a wall device, it's limbs shaking in hunger. Carls couldn't blame it. Even in the condition it was in, was his much different? He had questions to ask, as did the illuionate have intentions to be fulfilled. Its head jolted up as to awareness of another presence.

  But not his.

  A scoff of air and it backed away, taking a second gander at the machine before taring itself away and fleeing. Carls, of course, waited. He had not the strength to pursue, nor did he think it safe. Something had scared it off and he'd do best to be wary himself. Instead, he etched closer to that which the illusionate had been fiddling with. The protruding device bared resemblance to an ATM, only advertising something more bizarre as e-Links. It had seen better days being as its contents seemed valuably desirable. Upon further notice, he saw as an object dropped loose from his hold.