by Roadbloc
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
There were people down there. He could see them. Very small, obviously, and hard to see as the majority of the place wasn’t lit up, but still just visible. Just about. It was hard to make out what they were doing. It didn’t look like much.
“Are you sure orange is my sorta colour Jack?” said his father, eyeing his tie in his mechanical hands with his digital eyes.
“It’s James,” snarled James, “And don’t worry, it looks fine. What is this place?”
“This boy,” said his father, importantly striding out to the railings at the edge of the balcony, “Is Elision City. And one day son, this will all be yours.”
“What, this, mess?”
“Well, yeah, sorry about that boy, things went a bit wrong.”
“What do you mean wrong!?
“First things first boy, you need a tour of this place,” said his father, waving a dismissive robotic hand at James’s question, “Now the basic things you need to know are, this is Elision City. Our rival city, Union is somewhere over there,” he pointed at the horizon, “there are a few more cities but they are unimportant. And we are all separated by the wasteland.”
“The wasteland?”
“Yeah, boy, the wasteland.”
“What is the wasteland, father?” asked James, getting a bit annoyed with his father’s self-importance.
“A gap. Between all the cities,” said his father, looking rather irritated that James had spoilt his little dramatic speech with questions, “Wasteland. We dump rubbish there. Scavengers live there apparently. And I heard Union went through a phase of banishing wrong-doers to there.
“Anyway, enough of the wasteland boy, no-one cares of that,” continued his father, now pointing at the flooded area, “That is where the Ares Flood Defences failed. Unfortunate day.”
“How?” injected James.
“That’s a story for another time Jerry,” said his father, now pointing at the crater, “You do like to waste time with pointless details don’t you? Anyway, that is where the Deimos Facility failed and exploded. Not the best of days-”
“What? What happened to all the people?”
“Oh, them. They all died. Got some sort of virus which turned them... undead. Most likely caused by the Deimos Facility exploding. Resonance is a dangerous thing unless you know what you’re doing-”
“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute,” said James, raising a hand sharply to interrupt his father, “You mean that Deimos thing killed everyone?”
“Well, nearly,” said his father carelessly, his mind still on his orange tie, “It took time. The initial meltdown caused a fair amount of damage, something called a resonance cascade. After that the economy collapsed. People rioted. Floods occurred. The disease spread. All it took was one bite, and within hours you were one of them. Dead, but somehow reanimated. With only one desire. To feed.”
“And don’t you care?”
“On the contrary boy, I care very much. In fact I find the whole thing very embarrassing,” his father scowled, “The other cities mock me. Especially Union. I needed something to beat their Copland Project, and I thought the Deimos and Phobos Facilities were just the ticket. Strength instead of intelligence. We stole the idea from Copland itself, my electronics whizz kids brute forced their way into the system, or something like that. Look, I don’t really know. Either way, at the moment, the war is lost and technically we sort of shot ourselves in the foot. By accident of course.”
“Not about that, about the people!”
“Oh, them. Yeah, it’s a shame.”
“You don’t care do you?” snapped James.
“Listen, Jedward-”
“It’s James!” hissed James.
“Yeah, yeah,” said his father, neglecting James’s correction, “It’s a very complex matter. I simply wouldn’t expect you to understand as of yet.”
“Why?”
“What?”
“Why? Why have you done this? Why keep me in the dark of all this until now?” queried James.
“Because boy, you’re gonna get us out of this mess. It’s been a long time since all these incidents occurred. Now it’s time to turn the tables on Union, and get the land of Elision City glorious once again.”
There was a pause, filled with the rumbling growl of the sky.
“What happened to the sky?” asked James, “I am assuming it was as beautiful as depicted in your books at some point.”
“We blackened it,” said his father, looking up towards the growling mess, “We thought at one point the Requiem were photosynthetic due to their near translucent skin and other things. So the sky was blackened in hope to, um, kill them off. Turns out we were wrong.”
“The Requ-”
“So we devised another plan-”
“-who’s we?”
“-to play the long game, in effect-”
“-what-”
“-in order to restore the mess created-”
“-listen-”
“-and that plan is now half completed-”
“-just-”
“-the plan is you, and would you stop interrupting me boy?!”
James thought he saw his father’s face turn red from anger. However after a seconds reflection he knew that it was impossible. His face was totally masked by the... mask thing.
“What do you mean I am the plan? All of this is none of my problem. Everyone died because of you, not me!” yelled James after a slight moments reflection, “What makes you think I’m going to pick up all the pieces and sort it all out for you?”
“Because you are me!” his father yelled back, “You are an exact clone of me! And you will do this! My mind is old, it lacks imagination! Your mind is new and... doesn’t... lack... imagination.”
“Right,” said James curtly, “I see. You mess up the place and I’m expected to pick up all the pieces. After many years you’ve kept me in the dark about this entire situation and plan, I’m just expected to solve your problems for you?”
“Yes! You are me!”
“No! I damn well am not! Don’t you think of all the people you’ve killed? Because from what I’ve seen of you, you couldn’t give a damn about them! You have more care in your political status and this apparent war against Union City! So forget it, nothings gonna save this city. The ship has already sunk and you want me to drag it back up to the surface and set it sail again. It’d be better just to start again! Nothing is gonna bring your city back. And it’s all your fault! Union have won! And you’re massively out of touch from reality, you are more machine than human. Am I talking to an electric circuit here?”
James stomped back into large house, leaving his machine of a father stood outside alone.
Sunday Bacon Always Tastes Better Overdone.
“DRIVE. THE REQUIEM COUNT IS HIGH TONIGHT, WE’RE LOW ON STOCKS AND WE NEED TO TAKE OUR CHANCE TONIGHT, TURN THE KEY AND GET US UP TO A HUNDRED, REMEMBER YOUR SEATBELT THIS TIME, FIXING GLASS IS NEXT TO IMPOSSIBLE, CLUTCH DOWN, GEAR IN, DON’T BOTHER WITH A BITING POINT, THEY’RE GAINING ON US ALREADY, FIRST, SECOND, DON’T BOTHER WITH THIRD, BLOCK CHANGE TO FOURTH, GET YOUR GOD DAMN FOOT DOWN THEY’RE CATCHING UP WITH US, TAKE A RIGHT, HAND-BREAK ON, TURN THAT GODDAMN WHEEL, IGNORE THE SMOKE AND THE WARNING LIGHT ON THE DASH, GET YA LEAD BOOTS ON AND TURN OFF THE HEADLIGHTS, FUEL IS GETTING SHORT AND WE WANT TO LOSE THESE MUTANTS SOMEHOW, DON’T PANIC KEEP YA FOOT DOWN LEFT, SWERVE YOU MORON YOU COULD HAVE US KILLED, WE NEED FOOD I CAN SEE THE CRAVE IN YOUR EYES DON’T TRY AND DENY IT, THE LAMPS DON’T WORK ON THIS STREET SO GET YA HEADLIGHTS ON, AND THE WINDSCREEN WIPERS INCASE YOU FAIL TO AVOID THE ON COMING SWARM THEY’RE GETTING CLOSER, STEER LEFT, STEER RIGHT, I HOPE YOU HAVE SOME CLEAN PANTS ON TODAY BOY, STEER RIGHT, NO LEFT, NO RIGHT, NOW SWERVE LEFT, TURN YA HEADLIGHTS OFF THEY’RE GONNA SEE US YOU FOOL, YOU DON’T WANT TO FEEL THE WRATH OF THE REQUIEM DO YA, LET ME GET MY WEAPON AND BAG, AVOID THAT BUILDING, AVOID IT YOU – AAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!”
The requiem owned the night. Alwa
ys did. Probably always had done. All Jink could remember was the blackness of the world, the growling of the sky. Once in a while, Jink would spy a glimpse of light amongst the roaring blackness of the sky. Jad would either claim it to be something called the Sun or the Moon. Jink assumed they were the same thing.
Jad would always reminisce about a time he called ‘before Deimosgate.’ He said that the event he called ‘Deimosgate’ was the sole reason for the Requiem walking the land. He would go on about a time when many more people lived on the land, mostly in peace with one another. There was no Requiem, people worked together with one another, food was exchanged for earned currency instead of stolen or salvaged from the Requiem and the land had a section of brightness that they simply called the ‘daytime’.
Jink would listen to Jad’s many many stories of a time ‘before Deimosgate’, how the land was at war with a place called Union, how the father began to mess things up, how people took to the streets in protest. Now they were nothing but survivors. Scavengers in the eye of the storm, waiting to be killed by the devil’s own Requiem at any moment. At a time of day that Jad would call ‘night’ or ‘to-night’ they would climb into the car and catch Requiem. Most of the time Jad would drive, however, on occasions, Jink would get a go behind the wheel.
What Jink saw of the land whenever it was time to go scavenging and now, hunting was nothing like Jad had described it to be ‘before Deimosgate.’ Jad had described a bright, beautiful land, buildings filled to the brim with people, masses of smoke being spat out of large industrial pipes, that rose dispersed into the orangey sky. The beauty of people socialising, being friends, being something more than friends, being so important to one another and yet still lost in a crowd. Everyone was unknowingly dependant on one another and wrapped up on their own self-obsessed bubble.
Now, there was no orange sky. The sky roared with fury. Black and ugly, the clouds competing with one another, constantly twisting and turning and roaring amongst one another, rarely letting a single glimpse of light bless the land’s surface. There were no people either, those who were survivors of Deimosgate, like himself [Jink] and Jad, were rarely seen and rivalled each other since food was scarce and danger was often imminent. Well, food was scarce unless you developed a taste for the Requiem. That however, is a different paragraph.
It was out of sheer luck that Jink and Jad were allied together; most survivors were alone in the land, many of them going insane from the immense loneliness that the land offered. Despite the loneliness of most Deimosgate survivors, a vine tree existed, spreading occasional whims of rumours whenever encounters between survivors took place. Most of them included tales about finding a way to escape to Union, or a place where food was plentiful and Requiem were little. Jad would often disregard them as, “utter slanderous nonsense,” stating that the tales didn’t tell themselves and that it was probably originally a trap for a poor survivor to fall into.
Jink would also share the same feelings, even without Jad’s ever-important input. He owed his life to Jad. Jad had been his mentor all his life, taking care of him since he was found as an abandoned baby whilst the Deimosgate disaster unfolded. Jad was effectively Jink’s father, and was the one who gave him his name, his knowledge of the land ‘before Deimosgate’ and his expertise in how to survive a land plagued with the Requiem. Jink owed everything he had to Jad and took his word like it was a law. He believed everything Jad said without question, knowing that when the day came that Jad would be taken by the possessed, he would be able to survive the land himself.
“It’s bound to happen one of these hallowed days,” he would often say, “I’ll be too old, won’t be fit enough and ya’ll be on ya own, Jink. That’s why you gotta be as good, if not better than me. That’s why I gotta train ya up. If I don’t ya’ll be one of them God-forsaken beasts.”
Jink had no idea why Jad had taken it upon himself to look after him. Not that he minded, but he often pondered over why, all those years ago, he had saved him from most certain death from the Requiem invasion as the events of Deimosgate unfolded. He had attempted at times to bring up the topic, but he was often quickly snubbed with instructions to get some rest, or prepare to go out to hunt or something like that. Jink had silently come to the conclusion that Jad was simply saving himself from loneliness from which, in a pre Deimosgate land, he may have suffered from. Either that or he had large fatherly instincts. But Jad never went into detail about his personal life in the time ‘before Deimosgate,’ just life in general, from a bird’s eye view, a fly on a wall.
They had lived off left over food, abandoned from the disaster over the years, making sure they avoided the attention of the Requiem and only going out to scavenge at nights. This, at first, worked out well as there was plenty of abandoned food stores packed with tinned processed foods. However, recently, Jink had noticed the scarcity of food and the desire, fuelled by hunger, to take a savouring bite into other meats. Jad had often vowed not to take a bite into Requiem meat. However the survival instinct soon kicked in, and the dangers of acquiring the taste of Requiem meat soon became meaningless in reply to the overwhelming growl of a stomach.
Oh and it was overwhelming. Food shortages were inevitable and Jad hadn’t really planned for the day that all the survivors unwilling to hunt Requiem had eaten all the available food. When Jink had asked why they don’t eat Requiem, Jad had flown into a rage, yelling he didn’t want to ‘become contaminated’ or something like that.
Jink knew Jad had good reason to be furious. When he was furious, he was scared. And he had a very good reason to be scared. To either starve to death or to break a rule they had stuck by for many years. Well, hunger soon made the decision for him, despite the dangers.
Over the years, Jink had seen them who survive on Requiem meat. They... change.
Observations from both Jink and Jad noticed they became more secluded, even more secluded than everyone already was. Their skin turned pale, near translucent. Their eyes burned a deep red. They became more suspicious than ever before, hiding themselves away from even their allied post-Deimos scavengers. And most noticeable of all, the more they ate Requiem, the more their taste for real food lacked. It was as though they had become addicted to the meat, refusing fresh food when it was easily available for the much harder to catch, dirty, contaminated and dead Requiem meat.
Jad was terrified that they would become the freaks that they had observed however it wasn’t long before hunger prevailed and they set out to eat the Requiem. A few weeks on and they were both wondering why they hadn’t done it sooner. The meat from the Requiem was beautiful. It was dry and course and the rotting meat tasted awful, but that didn’t matter. It made them feel amazing. Within the first bite, Jink became aware of a feeling of absolute supremacy flood his body. For the first time in his life he felt powerful and in control of everything. His eyes glanced up to Jad who was obviously thinking the same thing. But Jink knew he was better. Jink knew that his feeling of supremacy was better. Jink knew he was the one in control, he was the one who held the real power, the rooster of the wood. He could kill Jad at any moment, with no trace of remorse.
The feeling quickly went, and they both silently acknowledged that they had to do it again. But this time, more Requiem. They both were no longer thirsty to satisfy their hunger for food and to survive, a shift of priority had happened in their head. It was now for their fix, they wanted the feeling again.
So the next day, they caught more Requiem. And the day after they caught even more. And the more they feasted over the poisoned meat, the more they wanted more.
Jink noticed the change in their behaviour, as probably did Jad, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care that the veins under his skin were millimetres from bursting to the surface, he didn’t care that him and Jad weren't speaking much anymore. When they did speak, it was only about the Requiem, how much they desired it, both planning together when, where and how they would catch them. They never spoke of anything else, and became distant, both
of them in each other’s separate quarters, plotting and scheming and craving. Jink becoming more and more aware that the feeling of supremacy was showing him how he could knock Jad down a rung of what little social ladder they had.
Unfortunately, one night, Jink had been too distracted with his own proud thoughts and Jad had been too vocal with his proud instructions, that Jink had crashed their car into a small building whilst they were driving through the swarm of the Requiem, trying to hunt them down without being ripped to pieces by their many ravenous mouths. Jad had often claimed, even before he got hooked on the dead meat, that the Requiem had slowly been getting more violent as time went on. The scarcity of food was making them take more risks, chase faster, become more and more relentless each day they went hungry. Fortunately for Jink, Jad and other Requiem addicted survivors, food was plentiful. However, this food liked to fight back. Unless the head was severed or the brain disconnected.
Jink’s vision re-appeared. His head was pounding, it had the distinct feeling that someone had been repeatedly smashing a brick over it. Indeed, he was surrounded by bricks, small shards of glass and other odd bits of rubble. He could hear the sound of burning, somewhere in the distance, the noise of the flames trickling through his ears meaninglessly. Rubbing dust from his eyes, Jink scrambled up, dazed and looking around to try and figure out where he was.
He instantly turned around to face the wreckage that used to be the car. He had crashed it into a small building. He knew which one, it was a shabby looking small one, no bigger than the average bedroom. Jink had hidden in there once from the Requiem back in his days of scavenging. But the car crash had now revealed that the back brick wall of it appeared to have been hiding a set of steps, down underground. The force of the speeding car had been no match for the building’s tinny metal doors and the single brick wall, and had flown straight down a hidden set of steps before coming to an abrupt halt as it crashed at the bottom, catapulting Jink through the windscreen.