Isle of Noise

by Rachel Tonks Hill

  The suit pursuing Nemo stood stationary at the very centre of the university campus. He allowed the students to move around him, listening intently but not with his ears. This man listened to a deeper sound that resonated through the waves of words that ordinary people heard. He heard what people thought they knew, and heard it well. This girl knew that the girl she had seen jogging awkwardly away from the campus lake was soon going to vomit. This boy had known that the remains of the squirrel he had seen had been decimated by a fox. This woman had known that the sounds she had heard around the wooded land by the lake had not been made by anyone's dog, no matter what her friend had said and this man knew that he was going to have to have words with the grounds keeper about keeping vermin off the premises. The suit made no hesitation in heading for the lake.

  A trail of presumed knowledge led the suit to the densest patch of woodland the lakeside supported, a patch of evergreens that, at their thickest, permitted no light to pass to the near barren soil below and were surrounded by thick rhododendron bushes in full bloom. A great deal of the flowers had been disturbed, their petals covering the ground, a number of which had settled and stuck to the remains of a squirrel that had been prey to some hideousness within, its blood soaking into the pink of the petals to create some new and terrible breed. The suit stood before the bushes. He knew this was where he would find his quarry but, however deeply he reached out with his thoughts, he found nothing within. The man began beating with his gloved hands at the fauna before him until a rustling sound from within made him desist. He waited. It came again. He waited still. A flash of blood soaked flesh sprang towards the suit, easily knocking him to the ground, stunning the man physically, but his mind remained sharp. He listened with his thoughts which still echoed back a silence from within the wreck of a human being that had assaulted him. Indeed, not just with silence was the suit’s hail met, but absence, a hole in the universe, nothing where there should rightly be something, no one where someone should reside. The suit soon realised his folly and resorted to a more conventional means of tracking, listening with his ears for the sounds of rabid snarling. Finally, the suit’s dead stare came to life, his eyes flicking around until they fixed Nemo's form galloping away in a semi-mad fashion. The suit righted himself, and followed.

  Nemo's legs pushed hard and wild against the floor, with nothing but fear and instinct controlling them. It looked as though a toddler had been given a full grown body to run in and was making as poor a job of it as might be expected. More than once, the fore limbs were used as legs might be, righting and supporting the wobbling mass. A second suit, re-joining his companion, caught sight of the maddening thing, this once-human, and fixed it with his stare. A thought began to ease its way into Nemo's mind. An idea to slow, an idea to stop running and rest. The legs railed against the idea and began to force Nemo's body in another direction. Immediately, Nemo was faced with another suit, approaching from the opposite direction, a third looked on from across the lake. The idea in Nemo's mind, pushed into it in a three-pronged attack, grew stronger, louder and gradually it managed to work down into his limbs. Nemo stopped running and began walking towards a bench by the edge of the lake. Two of the suits moved in with him. A new idea came into Nemo's mind, to sit and be still. He did this. The two suits sat either side of him. Bit by bit, and piece by piece, they relinquished their hold on Nemo's now blank mind, whatever instinct that had been left within him having been destroyed by this final encounter with the force of will. A single raindrop fell into the lake. The suits sighed as the droplet was absorbed into the unfeeling body of the lake, then they lifted Nemo's empty shell and carried him away.

  5.

  "Seriously?" The girl glared incredulously at her friend who gave a slight chuckle in response which in no way served to bolster his credibility.

  "Seriously," the boy continued his tall tale. "You let them cut into your brain and they give you a whole bunch of cash." A third member of the party arrived at the table and handed out a round of drinks.

  "He's not still on this is he?" the new guy asked.

  "It's true. One guy got cut up so bad he turned into some sort of animal. They say they took out like, sixty percent of his brain!"

  "Yeah, OK," the girl mocked. "Did he have a name, this mythical beast-man?"

  "Nero! And you can look that up in the Uni records if you don't believe me!"

  "It's bullshit," said the man with the drinks.

  "Look, all I'm saying," the story teller continued. "Is that you'd have to be a pretty desperate bastard to risk it!"

  The girl shuffled her hands in her pockets and drew out the few remaining coins she had left to her name, before returning them and smiling to her friends.

  "Yeah, I bet!" she said. She took up her pint and quaffed it gladly, smiling once more to her friends, revelling in what life she had, poor though it was. As the friends left the bar, she tossed a document into the rubbish bin at the door, the word ‘DOME’ emblazoned tastelessly on the front. Not today, she thought. Not today.

  ***

  World War III by Timmy Benton

  The first event of the world war was clearly the detonation of the dirty bombs along the Panama canal by the United Territories of Asia in retaliation for the ban on trade. The Canal then became so radiated irradiated there was no choice but to abandon the largest trade route known to the world; including Costa Rica and Panama itself. (full stop)

  The world had no choice but to turn to the northern equivalent, . The the Northwest Passage, but it was smaller and shallower meaning that for it to be an effective trade route it would have to be dug out as the Panama Canal was to begin with. (new sentence) but But with the economy of the Northern American states being as so bad that they didn't have the millions required for such an undertaking. Taxes were raised which started the Mad March Riots when it was discovered that the taxes were raised but the top one percent of the country weren't even paying tax while the lower classes were being taxed into starvation.

  When this happened the UTA took the opportunity of the problems escalating in the USA and declared all out war. With there their troops spread thin they reached out to the only super power left that could oppose the United Territories of Asia and that was Russia. With its influence running through Siberia and Scandinavia soon the entire northern territories were united against the UTA. Tension rose and finally on the 23 of October 2120 when America pre-empted a strike on the country formerly known as Hong Kong. (full stop) The battle was totally fought with drones but it left a deep scar in the land mass. Most was man made man-made and by the third day of fighting it was totally levelled.

  Unfortunately the UN doubted the USA's intentions were honourable and their actions were called into question. It turned out that a rather large munition storage had been kept secret in the former Hong King and it was brought to the USA's attention and on On further inspection, as well as a few anonymous tips as to the natural nature of previous dealings between the UTA and USA, it was found that the US had in fact supplied the United Territory of Asia with the radioactive material they used in the dirty bomb. (new sentence) It it seemed that the Us in fact encouraged the attack on the canal in an attempt to justify raising taxes. It came to light that after the US took over the northern country of Canada in an attempt to secure both northern and southern trade routes they spread themselves too thin to adequately police the vast continent.

  There was a shift in people's opinions and soon America and Russia were fighting against the Arab Emirates as well as the UTA. (full stop)

  In an age when technology made the world accessible at the touch of a button it nearly tore it apart when the internet was taken down and people relied on other forms of communication. But in a world where instant communication had been a staple for nearly over a century people found it hard to adapt. A lot of business that was purely online failed and the world was thrown into the worst recession since the Great Depression and 2017.

  Out of it came some good; (semi-colon
) fossil fuels were long used up but there was were plenty of useful items that went to waste. Plastics were now widely recycled. Devices became more integrated in to into the owners' subliminally subcutaneously making the new need for hard plastics obsolete. The new wireless connections were faster and capable of major shifts of information. The result was an impressive when use coupled with military intelligence more. More research was put into the development of remote controlled weaponry and soon the USA was able to attend battles with out without the use of drones.

  Later the technology was attached to freight ships making the Panama Canal still usable to some extent but there was a lot of uproar as it was seen more as a mass grave site than a usable trade route.

  With trade routes up and working and unmanned military vehicles widely used in their borders, soon the USA was able to start to recover. With recycling the main source of acquisition it wasn't long before the USA war reaching out to former dumping sites to find plastics and metals to fill the demand. But the twist of fate was in the past for. For generations the USA had been shipping out their useless technology and plastic and metal items to such places that now made up the UTA. For the first time in twenty years peace talks were initiated. (No! First success!) The UTA was offered the ability t use the recycling technology that was available and in return they were able to open up the trading that was closed off to them. And the The UTA demanded access to weapons and technology to make unmanned battle drones. (full stop)

  The peace talks took a dramatic twist when the USA made a show of their technical prowess. Using technology from the long closed down institute Institute and adapting it thy were able to make commanders control battle equipment from a bunker by the power of their minds. they were able to remove and a large chunk of their enemies enemy's military standing in one of there boarder their border provinces. The UTA surrounded surrendered when it was reported that the four hour battle left them with 5000 dead and zero casualties on the side of the USA. Peace was officially called four days later. (full stop)

  In the years after WW3 it was uncovered that the United Empire of America sold the United Territories of Asia for several billion. (What? Elephants?) This was uncovered when the UTA returned to the outlying province that war under America's protection. The ensuing battle wiped out most of the population of said province and razed the land. It is thought that a hundred percent of the casualties where were civilian farmers.

  C- See me!

  ***

  Obolus Protogonos

  John Steele

  1.

  Labyrinthine. That was the word for it. A tunnel that never seemed to end, darkness draping its heavy body around you and all manner of potential horrors lurking in the blackness, just out of sight. A hunched and broken man shuffled slowly through the gloom, wincing with every step. One arm hung limp by his side, stained red by thin rivers of lifeblood trickling down its length. The other swept a wan and sickly light of a torch back and forth across rusted metal rails. This was a lonely place, dark in its isolation, a strange and nebulous place suffused with an intangible bleakness. You would think that a place like this would be cold, your every step assailed by a chill made exclusively from a particularly malevolent type of knife. But it wasn’t cold. The tunnels were hot and the air weighed as heavy as the darkness, thick and cloying, coiling ephemeral fingers round your throat and slowly squeezing the life out of you. Down here in the tunnels even the stained hospital gown worn by the broken man was too much clothing. It wasn’t just the body which was weighed down by the realm of the tunnels, it weighed just as heavy on the mind. Untold megatons of stone and earth lay in every direction save forward and back; it waited, massive and ever present. People were never supposed to be this far underground. The very earth itself made that clear, all that weight held up by a small, thin skin of a wall. The tangible weight told you should not be here.

  He stopped. Moving his torch bearing hand from its relentless sweeping he gazed at his wrist. Within the swaddling darkness he watched the luminous hands of a watch make their slow and stately progress around the dial. Then once again he began his slow and painful shuffle through the gloom. Scuffing footfalls and the steady ticking of the watch echoed down the tunnel. These were joined by the intermittent splash of dripping water. Together they rose and swirled until, far down the tunnel and a long distance from the broken man they began to sound like thunder and the sea in storm.

  His feet were bare, bloody and raw, shards of grit set in the skin like diamonds, splinters from wooden sleepers jabbing into flesh like white hot needles. But still the broken man kept walking. He kept walking because he carried a fire in his heart. What other reason could there be?

  V.

  The point of a red plastic triangle struck the patient just above the knee cap. His lower leg jerked forward. Dropping the reflex hammer into a tray of shining stainless steel, the doctor made a few illegible notes on his chart, his face an impassive mask, like it was carved out of marble. The marble faced doctor looked at a nearby monitor full of placid, gently wiggling lines. He checked and re-affixed the electrodes that festooned the patient’s head. Still the lines on the display remained flat. He made a dissatisfied sounding hiss through his teeth. A faint squeak filled the room as someone pushed the door open and entered.

  “How is the test subject Doctor Wöller?” said a voice.

  “Physically everything’s in order, Coordinator. Reflexes, reaction to stimulus, he ticks all the boxes. It’s the neurological functions that have me worried. Look at these EEG readings.” Wöller gestured at the monitor. “Flat as a damn pancake. The lights are on but no one’s home.”

  The owner of the voice drew level with the doctor. He was an elderly gentleman, grey of hair and possessing a height and frame that could only be described as spindly. If the doctor had a face like marble his visitor had a face like rotten ice: cold, treacherous, splotchy and strangely impure in its lines and curves.

  “It is to be expected Doctor. The procedure is tied to the body’s natural circadian rhythms. Assuming each cycle holds to a twelve hour pattern, I do not expect any activity for another…” he checked his watch. “Five hours. May I examine the test subject?”

  “By all means sir.”

  The elderly Coordinator took a slender tool that was more of a pin-prick of light than it was a torch and flashed it across the pupils of the motionless patient. Those eyes were like a moor in the deepest throes of winter; cold, lifeless, and above all, utterly, utterly empty. The dark and desolate pupils contracted, but it was nothing more than the sighing of the wind over the bleak heath. Leaning forward, the Coordinator fixed the patient with a withering stare. An identification badge swung idly from his breast pocket, directly before the eyes of the lifeless man. There was a name printed upon this badge, a name in tight, perfect, serif font. Beside it lay a perfect, red ring. Red like a rose; like blood; like a thousand other things both good and ill.

  Something stirred. The patient’s brow creased in a frown. A thin, ear splitting whine came from the EEG as those placid lines spiked and stormed. Life surged through his veins, borne upon the back of fury and wrath. His hands snapped upwards and with a perverse and casual ease broke the Coordinator’s forearm. Shards of bone speared proud of flesh. There was a scream. The Coordinator fell to the ground, writhing in agony. The patient did not care. For all the life he now possessed it was the life of something base and primitive. Something bestial and vengeful. He heaved the monitor from its table, electrodes pealing from his scalp. Without a second of thought he slammed it down upon the prone legs of his victim. Two tibiae shattered and cracked. It was a just sound.

  Wöller stood stunned, like a rabbit caught in the twin beams of an onrushing car. But the immobility of terror is a spell easily broken. As the leaden eyes of the patient turned towards him Wöller turned and fled for the door. From the tray the patient snatched a scalpel and surged after the doctor, his pale hospital gown billowing as he ran. The terrified doctor tried to hit the al
arm only to find his hand snared, his patient’s fingers having grabbed hold of the chunky, bevelled, silver face of his watch. Watches are not designed to suffer such angry tension. Its butterfly clasp snapped open and Weller's hand slammed onto the alarm. Klaxons sounded and red lights strobed. This is nothing if not the purpose of alarms. For his vigilance and bravery in the face of a violent madman Wöller was rewarded by being stabbed through the offending hand with a scalpel. His screams were undignified, but pleasing.

  Though the rampaging patient’s mind was empty, running on an exceptionally violent auto-pilot, he knew that he could not stay here. The bestial, primal thing at the back of his dead mind was shouting. It was telling him to run. Leaving both the Coordinator and the doctor to bleed, he pushed through the doors and out into the corridor. Wherever he was, it was an empty place. White corridors were stained red by warning lights and echoed with sirens. Rounding a corner he saw two figures in white coats. Scientists? Doctors? He didn’t care. Shoulder lowered he rammed past, sending them sprawling to the ground. Angry shouts followed, but not from those in the white coats, they had smelt of fear. The shouts were coming from somewhere else. A sharp crack filled the air and something whistled past the patient’s ear. More shouts, more cracks. He dodged and ducked on instinct. A burning sensation blossomed in the side of his arm, followed by pain. Then came the blood. Something drove him through another set of doors. Stairs. They went down. Down was good.