FLOOR 21: Descent (The Tower Legacy)

by Jason Luthor

  And that’s when my eyes spot the crimson light shining in the black. I can’t tell if it’s close or far away until it starts to grow, filling the hall in front of me from wall to wall. My breath staggers out of my throat as I stare at this light I can’t explain, watching as a dark silhouette forms against it. There’s not much I can make out about him, but I can kind of tell he has sharp angles to his face that are lit up by the red light. There’s this thing about him though. Something that really makes him different.

  It’s the eyes.

  His shadowy eyes. Somehow, they’re darker than anything else in the hall, and I can feel them just seeping into me.

  I don’t have time to care who it is, but somehow . . . I know. I feel the same dread I felt in the Red Room, and whatever he is, I just don’t want to die. I stretch my hand out to him and suck in one big gulp of breath before I scream, “Please! Please, stop this.”

  Out of the wall of red light, I can hear him chuckling. Somehow, it’s clear as a bell, even with the sounds of the walls breaking and cracking around me, like he’s actually inches away from my ear. Then, with the ground beneath me falling apart, I hear him say, “Why, Jackie. I’m not responsible for any of this. There’s only one person that caused this incident. You. I’m just . . . an observer.”

  His words are the last thing I hear before another snapping sound bursts through my ears. The hole I’m dangling inside of suddenly erupts wider and the piece of ground I’m holding onto splits apart, dropping me into the emptiness. Everything around me is roaring as air rushes past me, and the last thing I see is the crimson light growing smaller in the distance as I feel the ground rushing up to break my body.

  That’s when a crack splits my ears and my eyes fly open as I rocket out of bed. My eyes are still burning with red light as I look around and realize I’m still inside the room we settled in the night before. When I finally accept the fact that I’m not dead, there’s this sick mix of relief and nausea as I fight to control the air jamming in and out of my lungs. I’m just . . . glad. I grab at my cheeks as I shake off the image of my friends getting pulled into the darkness. The second that memory hits me, my eyes fly to my side. I've never been happier to see Dodger, even if she’s waking up to the sound of loud static bouncing back and forth through the room.

  “Nightmares,” I whisper as I look around, trying to figure out why my ears are blazing with the loud hiss and pop of a speaker that’s been cranked up to max volume. There’s nobody in the bedroom besides my team, and it looks like everyone’s trying to figure out what’s going on. Everybody’s got their guns swinging at the door and preparing for something to burst through, but I don’t think that’s where the noise is coming from. It’s hard to tell, since things are almost pitch black inside, but I know the sound is coming from nearby. I’m still sweating bullets from my nightmare, and my hands are a little shaky, but it’s pretty obvious that whatever’s making this noise is close. “Is it the motion detector?” I ask as I crawl around on my knees.

  A quiet voice punches through the darkness. “No, the detector is silent. Only I can hear it.” Obviously, the voice is the commander’s, and it’s strong enough that I can tell he’s standing near the wall. “Light, Coleman,” he whispers again, and my hand jumps at my flashlight. There are split-seconds when I catch sight of everyone on their feet, listening as the static fills the air. Finally, I find Abbott standing with an old radio in his hand. The hissing burns my ears before it’s followed by a loud pop.

  Then?

  It starts way in the background, like it’s slowly coming toward us out of the static. I could swear it’s a jingle song, like the kind that ice cream trucks make in the movies. I’m standing there, listening in the dark as bells clang without any harmony while static keeps buzzing in the background. The chimes are ringing over this broken melody that makes the hairs on my neck pick up. I look over at Tommy, but he’s just got a hand across his mouth while he listens as the song keeps going and going. Even if it’s only for a few seconds, it feels like it takes forever before the melody cuts out. Then, static soaks the room again, and I’m about to talk when a new sound breaks the crackling. It’s some low, distorted voice that almost sounds like it’s struggling to speak through all the background noise. Still, even as garbled as it is, I can make out what it says:

  “Begin Transmission.

  4, 0, pause, 4, 7, 4, 2

  7, 3, pause, 5, 6, 4, 2

  7, 3, pause, 5, 6, 2

  End Transmission.”

  My eyes are stuck open on pins as the words cut off, and I’m left standing there as static plays. Nobody wants to say anything, so obviously, right when I’m ready to try and speak again, I’m cut off another time by a burst of broken, jingling bells. I shiver and step back while it plays through the air, and finally Abbott reaches behind the cabinet. His arm wrestles around back there for a second before he rips a plug from the wall, the long black cord flying out with a good tug. That silences the music, and we’re all left standing around with our breaths held until Abbott interrupts the quiet.

  “Dodger,” he says as he steps into the halo of my flashlight. “Opinions.”

  I see her step up beside me with her eyes frozen wide. “Um, it’s a radio transmission, sir. It’s not very clear, so it could be coming from really far away or being sent on a shortwave frequency.”

  “Which could put it anywhere in the Tower,” he cuts her off. “If there’s any explanation, it’s likely an encoded message from the Cultists. This might have been a stopping point for their members at some time in the past. Do you agree with that assessment?”

  I look at her, and I know something’s up because she’s taking too long to answer. Dodger’s always gutsy, but now she takes a step back and disappears out of the light. “Yes, sir,” she agrees, which Abbott seems to be okay with.

  “Good. We’ll keep listening for any other possible transmissions. If we can decode them, we might make discovering their command post a little easier for ourselves. For the moment though, everyone needs to bed down.”

  We all mumble a “Yes, sir” as we return to our places, but I can’t be the only one whose hands are shaking. At least, I feel like I’m about to wet myself just thinking about that voice. I mean, it sounded barely human, and it won’t get out of my skull. Worst, the numbers keep repeating in my ears, like the radio was never unplugged. So, there I am, staring at the roof and trying to mind my own business when, of course, my eyes get burned by this glow that cuts through the room. My face darts over at Dodger, and I’m totally ready to be annoyed, but I end up staring at her tablet. There are words typed across the front, and it takes me a minute to read them.

  “Jackie.

  I don’t think that signal was coming from inside the Tower.”

  The words vanish with the light when her tablet turns off, dropping me back into the blackness. I’m not sure what’s bothering me more right now: that nightmare I had, the radio signal we just heard, or the thought that the signal might’ve been from outside. Because, if it’s from outside the Tower, then who’s out there, and why are they trying to reach us?

  Researcher’s Log

  Experiment results discussion

  David Marshall recording

  Of course, I was confident from the beginning that, once we were given greater autonomy with which to conduct live experiments, we’d see even greater results. I assume the promise of control over the Creep, and all the consequences that might result, were enticing enough to win approval from the council. So, even though our pool of subjects has been rather small, and even if we still can’t use Sally Cells, we’ve been able to proceed without further interference from above. And oh, what results we have produced.

  Although it is true that the Creep detects and picks up on human emotions, we do not quite know the mechanism by which it does so. Creep is essentially muscle and skin tissue with numerous salivary and mucous ducts that create the slick sheen typical of heavily infested parts of the Tower. Given that
is the case, it becomes difficult to propose the means by which the Creep actually picks up on human feelings. Perhaps the core mechanism for this is not located in limited stretches of the Creep, but is instead found in some distant location that all the Creep is connected to. Some sort of neural center perhaps? Of course, this would not answer the question of how the Creep can react to human emotion, even when samples are removed from the larger mass and isolated in small amounts.

  All that aside, our experiments have proven to be enlightening. As I have previously mentioned, the Creep is selective in choosing who to bond with, as opposed to who it will consume. Admittedly, in the vast majority of cases, our test subjects have come under attack from the Creep we’ve introduced into their cells. This is an ongoing problem, though the flamethrowers installed in the test chambers have helped save the lives of most of our subjects. Though, I should say, this hasn’t been true in every case, and a rather grim death did occur when the Creep reacted so violently that our subject was torn to shreds. A bloody mess it was, and the cleanup took the better part of the rest of our day. Time wasted. Such a shame, but it all happened so fast that our flamethrowers weren’t able to activate in time. Obviously, this is something I’d like to avoid, first because it leaves me a man down when I’m already short of test subjects, and second, because the mountain of paperwork Tower Authority is requiring from me when a person dies is simply overwhelming. They should know I have larger issues to focus on than checking boxes on forms or doing write ups for the life of a man that nobody will miss. Almost all our subjects are dragged up from the dredges of the lower floors, and they are almost all criminally psychopathic at worst or isolated loners at best. I think their lives are a small price to pay for the salvation of humanity.

  Still, as studies have continued, we have identified the types of people that the Creep has gentler reactions to. Continued experiments have shown us that those few the Creep spares, in hopes of bonding, are almost always precognitive in nature. Of course, I understand that by saying this that I am essentially proposing we begin rounding up the precogs in our ranks when, in fact, they are a precious commodity. I don’t think we can afford not to, though. It is essential for two reasons. First, while the Creep is difficult to study, given its aggressiveness and lack of any true bodily organs, human anatomy is fairly well understood. What is not understood is how precognitive powers manifest in humans and how they function. This is something we’ve had need of studying for some years now, and now we have the perfect opportunity to do so. At the same time that we have precogs available for examination, we can also use them to better understand the Creep’s reactions to telepathically projected emotions. Perhaps the very fact that the Creep favors bonding with these types of subjects indicates that the mechanism granting people precognition also allows them some means of communicating with the Creep. Again, I look to Creepy Sally as an example. It is a given that she communicates with the Creep through a not-understood process. At this time, I’d venture to say that this has something to do with a telepathic connection underway between the individual Sally and the Creep around her. Subjects the Creep seeks to bond with aren’t aware that they are communicating with it, but on some subconscious level, they must be.

  At least, that is my educated guess at this moment. Still, as much as I might wish to think long on this, I have little time to continue guessing. Currently, we are on the verge of yet another illuminating experiment. Already, the walls of subject four’s cell are starting to run heavily with Creep saturation. I’ve begun to introduce subjects to the Creep without any lengthy priming. I would like to know how long it takes between the moment a person enters a cell and when the Creep attacks. Or bonds, whichever it chooses. So, for the time being, I’ve left behind our long sessions of terrorizing the subjects. We’ve been allowing them to eat well and been in constant talks with them. It gives our subjects some sense of comfort, a belief that this will all be over soon. When they’re calm, we lead them to the test chambers, rapidly pump it full of Creep, and then check the time at the first sign of an attack. The machines we now have monitoring our subject’s vital signs indicate he’s starting to panic, another necessity. I want to know what precise level of fear is required to provoke an assault, although it makes for some dreadful noise while we wait. The whaling and moaning is predictable by now, although we can thankfully turn off the audio monitors. That makes it impossible to hear the subject through the glass wall, which, to be quite honest, I’m thankful for. The screaming is such a distraction from our jobs. Besides, this man is fine. His chances for survival are high so long as the flamethrowers activate in time. Even better, he may be one of the rare few the Creep tries to bond with. That’s precisely the type of reaction we’re looking for. What could be better for the human race?

  Recording Twenty-Seven

  Today . . . today wasn't good. I mean, nothing feels good since I had that dream.

  But this?

  So, I’m watching as Dodger runs ahead of me with Lieutenant Pena. Both of them look chill, but they’ve got their weapons ready to fire. I mean, that should be expected here, right? They take opposite corners and look down the halls before they wave me, Sunny, and Tommy up. I struggle not to trip since I can’t see my feet in the dark, and the flickering lights barely tell me when there’s a piece of concrete buried in the floor. If not for the body armor covering my legs, I probably would’ve broken my shins a long time ago. Anyway, my vision’s popping with the sparking lightbulbs and I can barely make out the slick layer of Creep seeping down from over my head.

  That’s when Sunny motions to his side. “Signs of infection here, people, so watch yourselves. Just about every other time we’ve been down here, we’ve seen lots of Creep. Now that we’re past the blast zone, it looks like it’s growing again.”

  It’s true. We’ve noticed things getting worse the farther away from the reactor we’ve gone. I’m splitting my mind between thinking about that and keeping focused on Captain Sunny. By that point, we’ve been separated from Commander Abbott and Lieutenant Shields’ teams for the entire day. Everyone agreed the best plan was to split up and find a hostage, which, I mean, that sounds grim, but it’s also pretty necessary. These guys have one of ours, after all. We need info. Anyway, so far it’s been a bust for our team. Not that we’re giving up. I mean, Sunny keeps us running. We’re rushing past lights that are sparking so much his outline is flashing in and out, like I’m at a rave, and the jittery bursts make the world choppy.

  We’re nearing the next corner when we all feel something. It’s this weird pulsing that starts in the floor before the sound of this rattling bass starts beating through the walls. “Music?” I ask, and Sunny nods my way.

  “Right. Might be time to get our prisoner,” he says as he presses himself to the corner, which is disgusting, since his back is seeping into the thin layer of Creep building on the wall. Not that he seems to care, which, I mean, good for him. I guess that’s why he’s an officer. Anyway, he stares down the hall for a second before looking back at us. “There’s a room this way. Looks busy.”

  Busy. What he means is there are people in there. “So, what‘s the plan?”

  Sunny looks at me like I’m crazy. “Jackie. Standard room clearing. You know this.”

  “Oh, right, sir. Sorry.”

  He shakes his head at me and for a second I feel like I’ve disappointed him. I mean, I know what we’re supposed to be doing. I just ask dumb questions sometimes. Anyway, he waves a finger between us. That means we’re first in. Everyone else will come in behind us, but really, if we don’t do our jobs, it’ll screw up the entire attack. That’s real pressure, but I don’t say anything as we move to the door. Valerie’s right behind me, and I can feel her eyes sharpening down her rifle barrel and piercing the back of my neck. She’s silently screaming don’t screw this up. Believe me, I agree. I line up behind the captain and he nods. That’s the signal.

  It’s not like I don’t know what’s about to happen. We’ve do
ne this a thousand times back on the upper floors, it’s just this is the first time I’ve actually had to do it with real people involved. That’s a whole other deal. At this point though, I have to be on automatic, or at least as close to it as possible, and my hand reaches out to squeeze Sunny’s shoulder. That’s me giving him my signal. The next thing I know, he’s turning the corner and I’m rolling into the room with him. A withering bass rattles my bones as I’m doused in red and blue lights that are swirling across the room to a dance beat. The commander’s in the corner of my left eye as I sweep my gun to the right, and everything’s moving at light speed and slow motion at the same time. There’s at least three people I see as my rifle swings across the wall, and my finger squeezes once, twice, then three times. Every round echoes in my ears as the bullets scream, and the walls behind my targets erupt in crimson stains. Behind me, I can hear more shots as Valerie enters, blasting at someone that’s leaping over the couch in the far back of the room.

  And just like that? I feel like I’m snapping out of a dream or something, and for the first time, I’m realizing there are bodies just everywhere. It takes me a second to notice I’m staring straight at one. The guy’s back is against the wall with his gun a foot away. If I hadn’t killed him, hadn’t shot first, I’d be the dead one right now. I stare at him for a few seconds, and I just really wish he’d been wearing one of those gasmasks or something. I mean, I can see his face. His eyes are bugged out and staring back at me, like he’s surprised I got him. What bothers me is that he’s just a guy. He’s not some Creep monster or Demon. He’s some dude I just blew away. He doesn’t even look that much older than Mike. This could’ve been just about anyone I know, and the more I think about it, the more I realize air is swelling inside of my chest until I can’t breathe. I’m about to slam hard to my left when Sunny grabs me and lowers me to the ground.