Across The Multi-verse
Page 5
Oh my... Who is this fellow?
"I don't understa-"
"We do not have enough time for a full conversation. I shall guide your questioning leading on from after the break. Answer truthfully. You will not be held against your will today."
"But..."
Sound comes rushing back at me so sudden that I stand to my feet in fright. The action does not go unnoticed. I feel my cheeks flush and my vision blurs for a few seconds to a few minutes. There's a pounding headache in my head but I have no painkillers.
I realise that the questioner is not in front of me anymore, but instead seating next to Questioner Mara, having what looks like a deep conversation with her. He locks eyes with me for a moment, and I know that the last couple moments with him were real. I sit back down slowly and empty the glass of water on the table.
---
I swallow my fear a few times, avoiding the urge to look at the young questioner again. Instead, I fix my attention to Questioner Judy Hopps.
"It seems like we're all back here so let's continue where we left off," Questioner Judy begins, hiding a slight yawn behind a hand.
"I believe you were telling our dear Judy that her beliefs were useless?" Sir Mark says and smirks at me.
My gaze passes from Questioner Judy to Sir Mark and back again, before accepting that he's trying to rile me up to spice up the interview. I quickly discard the thoughts forming in my head. This is not the place to be snarky.
"I was saying that everyone's beliefs fall under the soul property rule. There's a soul in you. Whether or not you believe it holds no bearing on that fact."
"A fact that a couple decades ago was seen as fantasy by scientists such like yourself. Why are you right? Why are they wrong? You are basically saying that science can't be trusted, just like the differing religious sects."
I grit my teeth but hold back the insult on my tongue.
"I am saying, that with more information, the truth gets ever so clear. This is not a question of your belief or mine, questioner. It's theory based on hard facts. Theories that can be further substantiated with more research. Which is what I was working on before I got fired," I pause and swallow the embarrassment following that before continuing, "from my work. I have a doctorate in this field, after all."
"Do you now..." Questioner Mara looks to the file in front of her lazily, "...Mr Devram?"
"It should be Dr Devram," I say, a tight smile on my face.
"I don't think so, Mr Devram. It says here that your doctorate have been revoked. So you're back to being just a Mister."
Questioner Catherine chuckles softly as Questioner Mara laughs and turns to her colleagues.
"I tire of this. Do we have a consensus or are we continuing this farce?" she says.
"I would like to continue. I haven't asked him any of the questions I have yet and I think I will ask them now."
The questioner that had stopped time, leaned forward and we lock eyes for a moment, before he speaks.
"Tell us about the abstract of your thesis."
My brow rises questioningly but he simply stares blankly at me. Shaking my head, I take a deep breath and begin to speak.
~
Good Morning, Salvation
~
[Radio static]
[Slight noise as radio crackles]
[After a few seconds, a voice comes through the radio]
"...Ahem...
Good Morning World, Good morning all, and Goo-ood morning Salvation!
It's your host, the handsome wordslinger of the west, Jon Starma!!
We're on air, for your enjoyment, your laughter and more importantly, for you.
Before we crack on, as usual, we want to give thanks to our generous benefactor, the inhabitants of Sector 51A. Let's be honest, if y'all didn't decide to help us rig up that blasted satelite, we'd all be sitting down in circles, twiddling our fingers and spinning fidget spinners.
Yeah folks, that used to be a thing.
Also, also... I can see Sarah giving me the eye, I love you too, lady. We also want to give thanks to the cooks and the staff at the kitchen. We see your hard work. It takes genuine skill to drag out some exquisite cuisine out of baked beans, corned beef and some pasta.
God bless you folks.
Now, as per usual... we're gonna start with the weather and then segue into some music from the folks and then we see how the day goes.
Stay tuned for more..."*
[Radio crackles slightly as another voice comes on]
--
[The voice of Jon Starma comes back on]
"Whooo...
Would you look at that?
We've been on air for 6 hours already. Where did all that time go?
I'll tell you where. Brass Johnson got us with the weather, all doom and gloom as usual, talkin' 'bout the duststorms picking up in the east and blowing southward. Or something of the nature...
And then we had Sarah and the girls, the fireflies, she calls them, seduce us with their lovely voices.
We had a poem from Mayor West, a speech from Mrs West and of course, hourly musings from yours truly.
Can't say you haven't had a swell of a listening time, eh?
BUT...
we are coming to an end. The end..."
[Voices goes silent as noise fills the space]
"...Every day we come and we broadcast in hopes that someone somewhere is listening. We still hold that hope. The world is not as it used to be, and frankly, its doubtful we will ever return to that level of splendour. Regardless, Salvation is here. Salvation is home.
I know, I joke a lot about these things and thats mainly because we can not, and we will not, dwell on the negatives. Life has dealt us a shitty hand, but we are humans. We are smart, we're smartasses and we don't ever back down.
If you're out there, if you can hear my voice... the doors of Salvation are open to you and for you. Come to us. Help us restart and rebuild our world. We are just about 29.5869° N, 95.3252° W. Hope is not lost yet. Salvation is just right around the corner.
I'm going to sign off here and pass the mic to our Maria, head cook.
She's got some new info on how to survive on certain dishes.
And hopefully, we will be seeing you soon.
The Starry Starma, is out.
Catch you tomorrow..."
[Voice cuts and radio crackles]
[The voice of a lady comes on]
--
[Radio static]
[Slight noise as radio crackles]
[After a few seconds, Jon Starma's voice comes through the radio]
"Good Morning World, Good morning all, and Goo-ood morning Salvation!
Clock says it's 5am, so I know it's early for some of you folks.
But bear with me here. The Brass has some news to share for you morning risers at the farm.
Brass?"
[There's a slight pause. Then, another voice comes through]
"Hi y'all. Brass Johnson here. Just a quick warning for anyone out there at the moment.
There's a nasty rainstorm blowing in on the eastern wind. Current forecasts are predicting it's going to be over Salvation in about an hour.
With permission from the mayor, I'm advising everyone out on the farms to erect the glass shields and return back to the safety of the dome. I repeat, raise the shields to protect the crops and return to the dome. You don't have to panic if you get a move on now.
Thanks, Jon."
[Jon's voice returns]
"And thank you, Brass.
You heard him all folks. Don't be dilly-dallying, now. Ain't no need to panic as long as you do what the weatherman says. The shields will secure the crops and the dome will secure us. I mean, that's why we built the damn thing in the first place!
And you don't have to fret about what to fill your day with.
That's what I'm hear for!"
[A short burst of laughter]
"Moving on...
As we are up early today, I've ch
anged the schedule of things we can enjoy while the storm rages on.
Firstly, we're going to get our song on as we lock up the dome for the storm.
Here's an absolute classic from Midtown Jo!
'Girl, love me once, love me twice...'
[A slow ballad starts to play in the background]
--
[A fast country song slowly fades to the back as Jon's voice returns]
"And look at that...
Without even meaning to, we've managed to breeze through the day and through the storm.
The dome will be reopening in a few minutes so that we can return to our lovely shelters for another night under the cold air.
And as usual... this is where I address you.
You, out there in the waste, struggling to get by.
We have a small city here, with space to house you and feed you.
Come to Salvation.
If you can hear my voice in the waste, come towards it.
If you're out there, if you can hear my voice... the doors of Salvation are open to you and for you. Come to us. Help us restart and rebuild our world. We are at 29.5869° N, 95.3252° W. Hope is not lost yet. Salvation is just right around the corner.
I'm going to pass the mic to Maria, our head cook, now.
As usual, she's going to give some more info on how to survive outside these walls...
And hopefully, we will be seeing you soon.
The Starry Starma, is out.
Catch you tomorrow..."
[Voice cuts and radio crackles]
[The voice of a lady comes on]
~
Butterflies
~
I held off...
I held off till day 30 and now its day 33. 33 days, 20th hour, 54th minute and the seconds keep ticking. 55th minute now. The door hasn't opened yet. The blackness of the walls look grey now. I think I lost the concept of light on the fifth day. Juvenile and dramatic, I know, but still.
It went off, like a wisp in the night as I slept and didn't come back on again. I had slept in darkness and woken up in darkness. No light, no company. Imagine what that does with the mind.
56th minute now and the yellow butterflies holding my attention flutter around in a panic on the ceiling. I hate butterflies. But I had begun to hear them on the 15th night, at the 16th hour. Bright wings fluttering just a bit out of eyesight. So I'd turn and turn and never see them. But I see them now. I have been seeing them since the 25th day. Brightly coloured little fucks. Lighting up my ceiling.
There used to be just one but they've been multiplying by the hour. I lost count at 100. A 100-plus little brightly coloured nightmares colouring my ceiling. They sometimes flutter very close to me as I try to sleep. Close enough for me to feel them close to my ears. I would jerk up and they would be back on the ceiling.
So, I can't sleep.
I think, instead.
Think about what I've roped myself into. About whether or not I've been forgotten. I think about the prize at the end of the nightmare. My carrot-on-a-stick.
21st hour now.
Numbers keep me sane. I have to keep track. It's how I got here in the first place. A little calculation here and there. Beat the system for a chance to win a million. They never would have suspected. Or, so I thought.
They've been screwing with my perception since they took the light away from me. Maybe, that's my punishment. It began with the crawling sensation on my skin on the third day as I slept. And then the temperature changes. Cold in the mornings. Hot at night. Especially after the lights went off. Maybe they caught on that I 'calculated' my way to the lottery room.
Perhaps, I was the example to everyone else. Heck, they are probably watching me from some hidden camera somewhere. Now and then, they'd flip the temperature changes and twist the sensation on my skin. They do it to mess with me, I know. Screw my perception of time.
But, I'm good with numbers. Which works just as well with the digital watch on my arm.
Day 33 and it's a bit different now. It's like I'm swimming in a sea of butterflies. I try not to move. It's hard to say if they are real or part of the game these fucks are playing. But I don't move. No reason to. Not in the ocean of yellow butterflies.
Every time I close my eyes, they release a new butterfly to torment me. I don't remember filling the "things I hate" part of the questionnaire. It is cold. The food is running low. I am afraid now. I see they've added a new nightmare into my room to terrify me. I hear the quick quiet scurry of something just underneath my bed. I shiver.
22nd hour now. Soon... the door should open soon.
--
I don't know what year it is, or where everyone has gone too but if the undergrowth around the buildings and cars is any indication, then I have been in that room longer than 30 days.
I remain sitting on the floor at the door of the building complex. It had been so simple.
"Stay in here for 30 days and when you're done, you will come out as a millionaire.", they said.
Then, they locked me in and introduced little nightmares as the days passed. I still remember the feeling of relief washing over me as the door opened and the butterflies escaped the room. I think I screamed. I don't remember.
All I remember is the sheer amount of butterflies and spiders that rushed out of the room as I cuddled my bed terrified of the little critters.
I had hoped they would be gone forever. But they are not.
Even sitting here, at the entrance of the building, I can see the first yellow butterfly on the wall on the left of me. I think it's waiting with me. I want to swat it away but my body is tired and my mind is exhausted. Maybe, it is waiting to see what I do next. Or where I go next. But I don't want to move.
There's no real reason to.
I pull the duvet around me closer as the night air whistles its way around the decrepit and abandoned cars. Overgrown shrubs danced in the breeze. The other buildings around the area were mostly destroyed or leaning at an angle that said it was about to fall.
Most of the cars around are ruined, with vines and trees growing in the middle of some of them. I see craters here and there and it causes me wonder why I never felt anything in the room they placed me in.
What is getting to me at the moment is the cold. And the silence.
It is far too cold and far too quiet, I think. Far too dark to venture away from here. I don't know how I know but my instincts tell me the moment I take a step away from the stairs here, I will get killed.
Before long, my instincts get confirmed as numerous eyes begin to appear in the distance, their focus on me. I don't move though. They don't either. I feel they would kill me faster than I can figure out what they are. But I don't care. There's freedom in the air at the moment and I want to savour it.
I remember when I left the room, steadily and cautiously, as my eyes darted about in search for any lingering butterfly waiting to ambush me. Stupid fear, right? Butterflies. I hate them. I swallowed one once when I was younger as it flew into my mouth by accident. It has been an irrational fear since.
Part of me wants to venture out to see what happened. But there is safety and comfort here.
So, I wait.
Maybe when the sun rises tomorrow, I will be able to take the first step away from this place. But until then, I will just sit here and stare down those who would hunt me down for dinner.
~
Terminal Combat
~
The idea was genius. It's implementation was questionable. At the turn of the 30th century, humanity had created a particular medicine that allowed terminal patients to fight their diseases in mental combat, or whatever it is they called it. To be completely honest, it was revolutionary. If they won, they were healed. Such a simple thing.
Test patients were pitted against constructed versions of their ailments and they won, most of the time. The losers weren't really spoken about until the medicine went global.
And suddenly there were more losers than winners.
But the production didn't stop. Lawyers argued it to the death in courts.
"We gave them a chance to fight for their lives. We gave them a chance to take matters into their own hands"
The Judge ruled they were right. Turns out they had been shaking hands in closed rooms since before the cases even began. It didn't matter though. The company thrived, the medicine spread and corporations capitalised on the idea.
As the medical company raked in the profits from their life changing discovery, another company was working hand-in-hand with them to create a virtual relay of the battles that the patients fought. That was the real kicker.
What had started as a genuine chance to help terminal patients recover had been changed into a sport, televised for all to see at pay-per-view prices. Suddenly, a cancer patient could face all the stages of cancer he or she had and come out a celebrated superstar.
Advert sponsorship skyrocketed, more so than it was already going because, as expected, the world turns at the sniff of monetary gain. Capitalism be damned!
Hundreds of thousands of terminally-ill patients signed up to fight. I used to think it was because they saw a chance at life. I was quickly reminded by a former friend that that wasn't the case.
"Why survive at all if you can't retire as a rich bastard? What's the point of fighting through? I bet you they all think the same thing, partner!"
It didn't make sense then, it still doesn't make sense now. But, when your family are the ones with the power to sign documents on your behalf, you get thrust into a world of madness with no say in the matter.
So, here I am, armed with a sword and a shield. Fighting in virtual space with a foe I've been battling for years now. Before, it had only wracked my mind and rendered me absent for most of the time. But it's here now, right in front of me. Smiling at me maddeningly.
For reasons I haven't quite understood, my foe is dressed in flowing black ascot suit, with a top hat to match. There's a long walking stick in its hand, the kind that hides a thin sword.
It's face is indescribable, its features changing faster than my mind can put together. Still, large slits for eyes and a wide toothy grin reminds me that this is no ordinary foe. This is the bane of my existence. My own villain.