by Roadbloc
Copyright © roadbloc 2013
All rights reserved. As always :)
Vending Machine Lunch.
By roadbloc.
For the SCUMM fans.
Chapters.
Acknowlegements
Drag Me Out of a Good Dream Why Don’t Ya?
Ignorance Is Bliss Until They Take Your Bliss Away.
I Never Liked You.
I’m Sorry For This Mess.
Sunday Bacon Always Tastes Better Overdone.
Would You Like A Razor Blade With That Thought Sir?
Thank You For Helping Us Help You Help Us All.
I’d Get Up If I Knew I’d Fell.
I'd Love To Stay and Chat, But I'd Rather Have Type Two Diabetes.
Acknowledgements.
Thanks to my Mum, Dad, Sausageface, Drunken Buddhist, Both Grandmas and Granddads, Macky, Sam, Ginger Chris, The Exfire Forum Regulars™, Abi Smith, Kylee Gilpin, Celia, That Guy, Amy Pond, My music collection, FRONT Magazines and Tea. Oh, and anyone else I’ve missed.
Drag Me Out of a Good Dream Why Don’t Ya?
The blackened sky roared at little James. It had done for many years. He wasn't meant to see the outside, and many things had prevented him from doing so, however, a small crack in the wood of a boarded up window provided some light on the outside land. Maybe light was the wrong word.
His father had done everything in his power, which was an awful lot, to stop James from seeing the outside land. The windows were boarded up, higher floor access was denied and despite James's attempts, the doors remained unresponsive to his retina.
And yet, years after he had given up trying, James became aware of a small crack between the boards of wood blocking the east wing main window. No more the size of a splinter it was, but it provided James one thing: a little more freedom in his life. It was something his father and the maids knew nothing about. For the first time in his life, he had a secret. He knew something they didn't, and the pride swelled up in his chest like a puffer fish. It excited him that for the first time in his life, at the back of his alveoli, he had something that would make them squirm. That despite their efforts, he had seen. Not much, only the constantly roaring blackened sky, but it was something his father didn't want him to see. His pupils widened at the thought of it.
The sky continued roaring, as it always did. James had yet to see it not do so. He had read books of times when the sky was the colour of blue, the clouds were described as fluffy and the wind was something that was considered pleasant and cool. Creatures called birds glided through the air and balanced upon garden fences, people played ball based games in lush green fields and people dance and skipped and laughed and ate honey sandwiches and-
Of course James didn't really believe any of the books. He may have been less-uninformed and slightly naïve, but he wasn't stupid. They were fictional. Probably written for him to make him think that the land outside was a friendly place. However, the level of detail in the books was astounding, his father must have hired a load of writers just for them. Some contained events which could be cross-referenced to other books, the most popular being an event known as “The Fall of the Mahusay Na Mundo.” The books even had dates, some leading back to as far as the early millennia. It was safe to say that his father had put a lot of effort into convincing him that the land was a different place to what it really was. But it was easy to see, simply from the fact that he didn't let James outside and a vast majority of the events in the books just didn't make sense, that the land was not how his father tried to portray it to him. As I said, despite being young and left in the dark, James was not stupid.
A while ago, James had come to the question of why? Why had his father seen fit to hide the land from him? James just didn't know, and any approach of the subject on his father resulted in ignorance.
His eye still firmly locked to the small gap, he watched the air rage. Black clouds screaming and fighting amongst one another in a constant, relentless battle for something unknown. Occasionally, James would see a gap, or a place where the cloud had thinned out, revealing white light behind the black battle. The bright whiteness didn't last long, within a second the roaring black took over again. A sinister sight.
“Master James,” the female voice from behind startled him.
James span around to see that partway down the corridor, Jennifer, the head maid was there. His hands were pressed tightly on the small crack in the boards behind him, afraid Jennifer had seen.
“Master James,” she repeated once his face had emerged from the dimly lit corridor, “Your father requests your attention.”
James internally breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't noticed, although, he doubted she'd care if she did.
“Where am I expected to find him?” asked James, walking down the dingy corridor towards Jennifer.
“He is expecting you at is quarters. It is nearly six you know Master James,” replied Jennifer, in a slightly concerned voice.
Nearly six. Of course, James remembered. The old man had asked him to wake him for then. The reason was unknown to him, his father was quite capable of waking himself up before today, in fact, James even doubted his father ever slept. Or at least in a long time. No doubt there was some sort of anniversary of some meaningless thing he wished to share with James, so James thanked Jennifer and began his way down the corridor, towards the stairs.
One thing James had always noticed about the house, was how it never changed. The elaborate, rich coloured wallpaper had always been the same. No-one had ever bothered redecorating. His toes sunk into the deep red carpet. There was a day when James used to pretend that the carpet was grass, and he would imagine himself running through it in his father's fictional land. Obviously, he later figured that the long green plant known as 'grass' probably never existed. James had always wondered why on earth his father made the outdoors such a desirable place if he didn't want him to discover it. Although, the wizened old fool probably never thought of that.
In contrast to the corridor, the spiral staircase was wooden and cold. As he climbed, painting upon painting of young males, followed him upwards. James had guessed these people were the old owners of the house perhaps, each were awarded a painting on the staircase when they inherited the family heirlooms, assumingly at the age of eighteen or when their old man died. An old family tradition, now long since gone. He spiralled up past years’ worth of generations. James often wondered what he would inherit if he reached eighteen or his father died. If his father ever died.
He got to the last portrait, which was positioned a few meters down from the top door. In the painting was a young man, just like the rest, looking happy and proud that he was now top dog. Just like the rest, underneath was a gold plated plaque, stating, assumingly, the name of the person in the painting and the date they inherited. James had always been intrigued with the last one. Why was he last? Didn't he ever have a son?
Jeremy Ama.
00003126.
The Ama family must have been proud; he looked healthy and bright; keen to rule as such. James had no idea when the date on the plaque was in comparison to today. Something his father had hidden from him was the date; he was only permitted to know the time. Thanks to the many books he had read in his boredom, he could guess it was close, or at least, the highest date number he had seen.
On the thought of time, James remembered it was nearly six, and contained up the last couple of dank spirals to the top door.
The metal bolt cracked open and James heaved the large wooden door inwards. The large hinges creaked like they hadn't been used in years and James cautiously stepped into the room.
His father's quarters was just how he remembered it, the usual musty smell, disturbingly dark as though he was c
onstantly wearing a dark pair of shades and bare. The vertical wooden panels for walls were just visible in the darkness. Ahead, could be seen a pair of windows, boarded up just like the rest, a halo of outside light squeezing its way through the slight gap between the vertical wall boards and the horizontal window boards. The light shone either side of an upright bed with decorative wooden head and foot boards; the complex wood carvings only just visible in the dim light. Either side of the bed, the light shone onto an array of machines, all flashing their lights and showing data on their CRT screens, many connectors trailing or drooping from the machines to the figure that lay in the bed, slowly breathing.
Those machines always made James internally shiver. Something about them looked so... industrial. Inhuman. Incorrect in a home environment. James had seen machines before, but nothing quite compared to the ugliness to these ones.
James walked across the room, taking in the stuffy smell. He disturbed settled air dust as he walked across towards the bed, past a lone wardrobe on the left. The mosaic floor said K&K. James had always wondered what that meant, but knew that it was hardly important.
He knew the drill. Flick the switch on the third unit up to the left. The small lever clicked upwards, producing the lovely clicking sound that James remembered so well. Some lights flashed on the panel, before a third CRT screen flickered on.
The screen hummed and beeped and a processor somewhere worked out what its function in the land was. A large letter C made out of a lot of ASCI characters faded onto the screen. The processor had worked out what its purpose was and decided to start the boot sequence. The annoying beep stopped.
A lamp above the bed faded on, buzzing slightly, burning the darkness around. A moth instantly started its erotic dance around the bulb.
James peered over the bed. “It's been a long time. How have you been?”
Below James, on the bed, was a man. However, long since had the man gone. Replaced by bits of machinery as the years had gone by, as body parts had failed with old age. The face was totally enclosed, replaced by a metallic gas mask like thing; white glass circles for eyes stared blankly at James, a breathing mechanism pumped in and out slowly where the mouthpiece was. Below the head, the entire shoulder frame was also enclosed, replaced with some kind of metal, covered in bolt nuts obviously strapping the device to his body. Below, the rest of the body was covered with large rubber-like tubes, circling and wrapping the body within. James always imagined the tubes to be some sort of central heating system for the body, or maybe a way to preserve the working muscles like mummifying did.
“Son!” said James's father with a bizarre energy and joy, sitting up quickly, “I've been great. Do you like the new extensions?” His voice was muffled slightly due to the face-mask thing, assumingly due it it being fused onto his actual face.
“Which ones, I can't see what is different from last time,” said James, looking sadly at the sight of his father.
“You blind boy?” his father jumped out of bed, “Look at the neck!”
He was an exceptionally tall man.
James noticed that his neck was now tubed up just like the rest of the body.
“Very nice father,” said James politely.
“Very nice? Its God-damn beautiful that's what,” said his father, bending down and peering at James with the white blank glass circles, “Get me a tie boy.”
James obeyed and walked to the lone wardrobe at the side of the room. It slid open, revealing a rack of different coloured ties.
“Which colour father?”
“Hmmm,” he hummed, the air pump sucking in and out, “I'm in an orange mood today.”
James grabbed the orange tie and passed it to his father. The gloved hand received the thin strip of orange material.
“Nicey nice,” muttered James's father as he strapped on the tie, “Go on then. How long as has it been now...um... Jeremy?”
“James. And it's been almost two years I think...”
“Ah, yeah, James, sorry,” murmured his father, tying the knot, “Two years you think?”
“Well, since I don't have a calendar father, I am unable to say.”
“You ever heard of the word innovation boy?” mocked his father, shuffling the tie to the top of his tubey neck, “You should create your own calendar system. I did.”
“I kind of have. I just lose track of it some days,” said James, looking down at the mosaic floor, “Also I read a book and it said something about months being irregular.”
“Oh shush, you bore the hell out of me. How do I look?”
“Very well father.”
“I meant, does orange suit me?”
“Very well father.”
James's father stooped down to have a look at his reflection in one of the screens.
“Hmmm, yeah, very good,” he said, spinning round quickly, “I think I suit orange actually. Never thought I would, I've been putting off this tie for years.”
“Father,” said James, attempting to find some sort of morality in the white glass, “What can I do you for? Why was I requested to wake you?”
“Ah, yeah, it's six isn't it?” looking at a watch on his wrist, “Nearly quarter past actually. Come along Jonathan, it's nearly time.”
“James. And time for what?”
“Time for you to see the outdoor land.”
Ignorance Is Bliss Until They Take Your Bliss Away.
The crowd roared under the large balcony at the side of the large stone building, which was soon to be used as a podium. Placards and protest signs jeered at the empty balcony, as the sun set behind the crowd from a cloudless sky. The public were angry, and the leader was set to make what the crowd hoped was going to be an inspiring and problem resolving speech.
Partway down the packed street, in one of the many towering blocks of buildings, Jonathan pulled his binoculars away from his eyes. Behind him, in a whitewash room, Jimmy was cleaning what looked like a spyglass with a yellow rag.
“That's a lot of upset people,” said Jonathan, stroking the moustache that crowned his upper lip and looking out to the amass of angry people, “We're gonna have our work cut out here.”
“Nothing can outsmart Jertha. Nothing.” smirked Jimmy, caressing the spyglass, “How long until the old fool gets on stage?”
Jonathan pulled out a pocket watch and flicked it open, “Ten. The speech supposedly starts at six.”
“Six? What is his obsession with that number?”
“No idea,” said Jonathan, spinning around on the wooden stool he was sat on, “Rumour has it he gets up at six in the morning and everything. I personally think it's a shame there is no number Ninety-Nine on the clock.”
Jimmy laughed, polishing the lens, “What do you think the old misery is going to say then? Deny all knowledge of Deimos?”
“Don't think he'll be that ignorant,” replied Jonathan, “To be fair, Deimos isn't really his fault. For once. Just happened on his watch.”
“Which never seems to end,” grumbled Jimmy, “Did you hear how much damage the cascade caused? Wiped out an entire hospital in the area.”
“Could have been worse, it almost took out the factory.”
“True. Rumour has it that he has had another operation. Another extension. Wasn’t one enough?”
“Apparently not.”
“I think it's clear he is unwilling to accept nature has a plan for him and he will have to give up the power someday. Life extending operations after the longest reign in history? He is still power thirsty. I'm tempted to do everyone a favour and kill him myself,” said Jimmy, slotting the spyglass into a large sniper rifle he just picked up from the floor.
There was an oppressive pause as Jonathan started at Jimmy stroking his weapon like it was his lover.
“You are joking right?” asked Jonathan, not too sure about what Jimmy had just said.
Jimmy snorted with laughter, “Of course I am. I don't think anyone is dumb enough to kill the maniac despite all the bad happenings. I'd welco
me someone to try, naturally though,” he tapped the sniper rifle with his spare hand, “Jertha will certainly take care of them.”
“You think things will be better without him?”
“No idea. Things will certainly be different. Change inspires hope. Our land's father has no inspiration. Even if the speech promises change, I doubt anything will,” said Jimmy, picking up his rag again and polishing his weapon's body.
“Why don't you do it then?”
“Do what?” asked Jimmy, looking up from his polishing, “Kill him? Ha, I have a family to look after. Whoever does it, their life is pretty much ruined. State law alone makes them dead. I'm just doing my job here, doesn't mean I agree with it. Loved ones are my first priority. I thought you were against the idea anyway.”
“Me? No way, whoever wishes to give it a try they can be my guest,” said Jonathan grasping his binoculars again, “Just not on my watch, naturally. I just didn't want to be tied in with it if you were serious about it. As you said, I have a family to protect.”
Jimmy chuckled and placed the rifle down on the wooden table in front of him. “What's the time now?”
Jonathan flicked open his pocket watch again. He scratched his stubbly chin. “Six left ‘till six. Reckon we should do a sweep?”
“Better safe than sorry,” said Jimmy, standing up and picking up his rifle.
Jonathan spun around on his stool and began spying on the crowd with his binoculars again. Jimmy dragged his stool to a second window, put it between his legs and sat down, priming his rifle.
“You'd better be as good a spotter as everyone claims you are back at Highfields,” said Jimmy, pulling a marker pen from his pocket.
“Yeah. And you'd better be a good a shooter as everyone claims you are back at Highfields,” said Jonathan, still engrossed in his binocular lenses.