The Prometheus Effect

by Jonathan Davison

  There was some light ahead, finally an answer to this riddle. The ambience of his surroundings appeared in a blurred vision. He could see only in shadows in the beginning, he craned his neck to look down the length of his dark silhouetted body and then, as the effort of his actions took their toll and increased his pains, he rested his head back down on the hard surface. There were four distinct lights directly above him. He could clearly see their pattern and their luminescence, yet they seem to shed no light upon his dark form.

  The pain from his testes increased, this time to the point of absolute torture. Jimmy wriggled with all his might to be free of his bonds but any struggle was met with yet more agony. The suffering was intolerable. Never before had he been subjected to such pain. He had formerly suffered a compound fracture to his lower leg in a bicycle crash as a child; it did not compare to his current agony. He screamed with all his power for some aid to halt the onslaught but again, his cries were silent.

  The pain eventually began to subside and he could feel the rivers of tears flow down the side of his face and into his ears. Jimmy suddenly felt a profound tiredness, one only comparable to the effect of intra-venous anaesthesia and seconds later, a blissful numbing sensation coursed through his veins and oblivion was near.

  Jimmy was awake again. His body trembled uncontrollably. This time, the light was blinding, so much that even with his eyes tightly closed, it pained him. He could see only the rich redness of blood through his translucent eyelids as he felt something creeping up his inner thigh, irritating and fear inducing. Like a giant metallic spider stalking its prey, its needle like legs stabbed and scratched the soft smooth flesh of his leg and Jimmy suddenly felt a terrifying panic as he realised that his groin was the next to be examined by this horrifying device.

  With blind panic, Jimmy bravely opened his eyes to the searing intensity of the light and stretched his neck to see what was about to attack his most sensitive area. He did not have time to see what it was that took hold of his glands before a needle sharp agony erupted deep into the gristly depth of his manhood. Jimmy once again cried out but with little success. Blood flowed from his mouth, he had bitten his tongue in the savage invasion. It was then and only then that the intensity of the light seemed to fade and for the first time, the prisoner could begin to see his torturers in their corporeal form.

  Jimmy could make out three dark, human-like figures silhouetted against the bright walls of a small, square room. Like a crude animation, details were scant and although he could see blurred outlines through his watery eyes, he could not identify the individuals in terms of their sex, ethnicity or age. They were just shapes, distorted and warped.

  Jimmy's head was spinning and focussing on any one point was frustratingly difficult. During this brief hiatus in the seemingly mysterious and motiveless torture, Jimmy tried hard to collect himself and regain his senses. Calling out once more seemed fruitless, his cries went ignored but at least he could now hear the muffled tonality of his own voice. There was a smell, an overpowering muskiness, fragrant in its design more than pungent. It increased in intensity as the nearest of the figures neared. Jimmy blinked hard and fast in an attempt to wash the salty tears from his eyes, his arms still held in place by some unknown force. His heart racing as the approaching figure signified the onset of more excruciating pain, there was a terrifying and clarifying moment when the true nature of his captors was revealed and when it was, even the most stout hearted of men would have broken down into a desperate confusion.

  Two large ovular and hollow black eyes scanned Jimmy's naked and feeble form, a large bulbous and pulsating cranium hosted the vacuous orbits in which the shallow and soulless eyes sat. The figures skin was pallid and pitted, grey and hairless and with every passing second, Jimmy realised that he knew what these creatures were and a cold shiver ran through his spine. At first he considered that it was some kind of illusion, a practical joke, but there is no illusion that can replicate pain. Even the most torrid of nightmares could not conjure the intolerable level of agony he had just experienced. Jimmy's mouth fell open and his eyes widened as the silent being hovered over him, looking him up and down. The creature raised its spindly hand to Jimmy's face which was etched with horror, and proceeded to pull it back and forth, side to side as if examining every minute detail. Its fingers were cold and lifeless, yet their touch felt as if they were scorching the skin upon Jimmy's face and he once again let out a prolonged scream. This was no longer a cry for aid nor for the hope of communication, it was a release of sheer terror. As Jimmy made raw his throat with a gargled roar, it served only to entice closer scrutiny from his grey, alien-like captor.

  Jimmy was aware that this scene had been revealed before. He had heard the fantastic accounts of individuals who had claimed abduction, he had scoffed at the veracity with which they claimed their story true, he had reeled at their testimonies and their accounts of torture and sexual molestation. Now it appeared very real and despite remaining in a semi conscious state and his senses either dulled or stimulated to their fullest extent, Jimmy could only hypothesise that it was all true. There was no other explanation. This kind of experience could only confirm that alien beings were not a fallacy, they were as real as the shocking spikes of pain which coursed through his convulsing form.

  There was another brief period of respite from the pain. Jimmy watched the 'Greys' as they moved silently about each other, never a word spoken nor any hint of communication offered. Jimmy's visual acuity was still poor but with forethought despite the terror of his experience, he began to mentally note things in order to recount at a later time if ever he were to escape this hellish event. Again he tried to speak. He attempted to communicate with his captors. He could not have remembered what he said, his brain overloaded with stimuli had malfunctioned and any utterances were pure gibberish.

  As the minutes seemed to pass, Jimmy wondered what was next. His mind raced, he struggled to recall other accounts of abduction and winced as he remembered one such story where the aliens pierced their hostages eyes with long needle like proboscis. No, not the eyes! He thought. Anything seemed possible in this nightmare reality. He longed to plead for some kind of mercy but he did not know how to. He longed to escape the invisible bonds that so capably held his limbs in place but did not know where to begin. As the darkness once again fell and the profound aching of his body faded, Jimmy conjured one last thought of utter relief as it appeared that sleep was on its way. He did not care how long it would consume his mind, at that point, he did not care if it was eternal.

  A deep gnawing hunger was the first sensation that Jimmy feel as his brain began the transition from the sleep phase to the waking phase. Jimmy's mouth was very dry and there was an aching so debilitating, that even the slightest movement caused him to moan with discomfort. Jimmy's eyes fluttered as he struggle to open them. At first, the events which had brought him so much trauma were forgotten, but as his body protested at the slightest twist or turn, he suddenly remembered the full horror and his eyes flashed open in order to survey his surroundings.

  Jimmy was sprawled across his soft brown leather chair. Daylight streamed through the window and the beams of sunlight revealed the swirling dusty atmosphere in his unkempt apartment. The television was still on but the volume was muted. Jimmy sat up with great effort, wheezing as he did so. He was clothed and his trousers were stained with something dark and sticky. It was then he realised that it was from his plate of food which he had dropped upon the carpet. Curiously, the orange saucy 'Chinese' remains had congealed and had begun to grow significant levels of mould. Jimmy looked at his watch, it was ten past two in the afternoon on the 5th. The 5th! Jimmy had finished work on Tuesday the 1st November. Where had the time gone? It was little wonder he was so malnourished and in desperate need of rehydration. Jimmy pulled himself to a more upright position and pulled his mobile phone from his pocket. The battery was drained and it was dead.

  Jimmy cupped his face in his hands and emanated a pathet
ic squeal, an emotional outpouring of the culmination of his terrifying experiences. He did not yet worry about such things as his prolonged and unexplained absence from work, nor appointments he had made which he had long since missed, Jimmy could only relive the visions of his hellish ordeal. These images would remain with him for as long as he lived and breathed. He had become yet another individual with a fanciful story which could not be verified, another 'crazy' who would inevitably be ridiculed for their vehement belief in what could only seem impossible to the sceptics and their cynical requirement for hard evidence. Jimmy had no scars, no pictorial or video evidence. He had only the memories that would haunt him every time he closed his eyes.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Daily Messenger, Fleet Street, London

  November 10th 2020

  “Take a seat, Mr Fernandes will be with you in just a moment.”

  The slender, leggy personal assistant cooed as she clutched her tablet to her chest and pressed her glasses closer to her face. Joshua Regan accepted her gracious offer and gently lowered himself to the angular blue chair being careful not to ruffle the jacket of his suit. The attractive, mature woman walked around her large, brown wooden desk and elegantly took her seat in front of a monitor screen. Joshua was intrigued. The monitor did not suffer with the usual spaghetti of electrical wires and cables protruding from it, it was one of the new models which ran wirelessly. Impressive.

  Joshua sat back a little. His heart pumped at a steady one hundred beats per minute, despite his sitting posture, his body and mind raced. He hated interviews. It was ironic considering that he had made a career out of performing the very same duty but from the other side of the desk. A silver pen protruded from his jacket pocket and he fiddled with it nervously as the minutes ticked by. He was early. He could not afford to be late but the added minutes of tension did little to aid his cause.

  Joshua stood and began to pace around the office. The PA lifted her head from her work as she noticed his fidgeting and she smiled but he could only grimace back, his hands in his pockets, his tie straight, his collar starched. The office was bright and airy. Mirrors and glass-work dominated the small room. Joshua moved closer to a large reflective surface and studied himself in the mirror. His dark black hair was well coiffed, his face clean shaven, his blue eyes startling and Nordic in appearance.

  There was a distant thump of a door closing and then the office door swung slowly open. A suited man emerged, red faced, perspiring. He offered a silent smile and then thanked the slim woman as he sloped off back to the elevator. Joshua exhaled sharply, it was his turn next.

  “So, Mr Regan. Tell me about yourself.”

  The large, round faced man spoke in increments, each word appeared to be prepared to perfection. He sat behind an intimidating large rectangular desk between two other peripheral figures. They did not speak, they barely moved. They were grey and statuesque. Joshua felt very small indeed in his solitary chair, marooned in the centre of the office, no desk to hide behind.

  “Thank you. Well, I am currently 37 years old. I have worked as a journalist since I was 22. I began as a freelance writer for a popular e-zine, 'Science Friction', combining my passion for writing short story fiction and the media. I won several awards and was fortunate to be invited to work for 'The Flag' in June 2009. I became the Chief Science Correspondent in 2012 and won the 'Mischka' Prize the next year for my investigative work which led to the 'Hannzoil' scandal and subsequent inquiry...you may have read about that one.”

  Joshua grinned proudly, he knew that there was no way on Earth the panel would have been unaware of his input in that global affair. The rotund Mr Fernandes appeared to be ambivalent to Joshua's greatest achievement and instead chose to focus on the interviewee's personality and work ethic.

  “I have here your reference from your previous employer. To say that it is 'gushing' might be an understatement. Your previous employer obviously thought very highly of you, however, they do mention a worrying propensity to be 'obsessive, pedantic and occasionally confrontational'. What do you have to say to that?”

  Joshua was stunned into silence, his knees were jumping up and down of their own accord.

  “To that I would say that these are all the properties of a great investigative journalist. I have, on occasions, stepped over the line of professionalism when the situation presented was of a highly emotive nature. I am not one for suffering fools gladly or standing by whilst injustice is apparent but remains unchallenged. I am an 'old school' reporter, my role is the search for truth. If the truth can only be revealed by pushing the envelope and taking a risk or two, for me, that is a small price to pay.”

  Joshua completed his answer and swallowed hard. He knew he had just exposed himself completely to cross examination, he had revealed the nature of his ambition but also the frailties of his nature. There was a prolonged silence as Fernandes chewed over the response, his lips puckered as he ordered his thoughts.

  “You interest me Regan. I can see a place for you here at The Messenger. What areas hold particular interest?”

  Joshua perked up, Fernandes had just hired him, now it was his opportunity to haggle for his position and no doubt his salary.

  “I am particularly interested in the new emissions act and the influence of the power companies on its conception, the impact of Chinese influence in the manufacture of nuclear weapons in the Middle East, the role of the American government and implications of complicity in the 9/11 terrorist attacks...”

  Fernandes coughed loudly and brought Joshua's wish list to a halt.

  “Aliens.” He said, as if it were a dirty word.

  “Aliens?” Replied Joshua, unsure of where the conversation was heading.

  “That is your first story. Alien sightings and reported abductions are on the increase. The public is fascinated by them. Have your initial ideas on an E46 and in the Deputy Editor's in-box by next Monday. Come back tomorrow at 10 sharp for a brief induction and a tour. I'm not going to discuss salary yet, I don't know what your worth. I'll put you on a basic 40k package for the first three months then we can talk.”

  Fernandes stood up, quickly followed by his minions and Joshua clambered to his feet, taken by surprise by the speed of the events. Barely having time to take it all in, he was ushered out of the door and back into the secretary's office.

  “If you give your details to Miss Penny, she will answer any further questions.” Fernandes said as he strutted off without so much of a hand shake of congratulations. Joshua stood shell-shocked but with a wry smile etched upon his face. At no point did Fernandes give him the option of rejecting his hastily conceived job offer.

  “Can I assume it went well?” Miss Penny inquired, her bright glossy red lips parted revealing unnervingly bright teeth.

  “Aliens.” Joshua replied.

  “Aliens?” She said as she cocked her head to one side like a spaniel. Her long tightly curled hair could have covered up a set of mighty ears, Joshua's imagination ran rampant.

  “Are you interested in aliens?” Joshua asked sustaining the surreal conversation.

  “Actually, I find the subject fascinating. My sister swears blind that she saw a UFO last year.”

  Joshua was quite taken back by her admission. Perhaps Fernandes was right, the public did hold a persistent interest in little green men. It was certainly not a story he would have chosen to cover. There was no end goal, no admission of guilt, no truth to unearth, it was a dead end project which would no doubt cover the same tired ground as many before had. It was not the best story with which to impress his new employer however, he had to wind his neck in and make the most of the opportunity.

  “I have a series of forms here. I'll need your personal details, finance and medical etcetera.” Miss Penny said as she handed Joshua the tablet and a stylus.

  “Thank you. Perhaps whilst I’m doing this you could give me your sister's details. I'd like to talk to her, I'm doing an article on the subject.”

  “Oh no. I d
on't think she would like that. You know, it's a personal thing. People don't like to talk about these things.” The secretary flapped her hand at Joshua, swiping away his hopes of a head start on his project.

  “Why not? Why don't people want to talk?” He asked as he jotted his details down on the tablet.

  “Well, people would think you're mad.” She said succinctly.

  “Hmm. I would.” He muttered as he struggled to recall his PIN. The long numerical identification code was something he could never grasp. It was a new scheme recently introduced. Joshua hated it, being identified by a long and impersonal number. He was not in favour of the government's Orwellian desires to impress their control on the population; birth rates and immigration had long since spiralled out of control but being reduced to a 16 digit tag was not the answer. A new microchip scheme was only months away too, it was the beginning of the end for some libertarians but the public yearned for some order and this was to be the easiest solution.