The New Reality

by Stephen Martino

  “Sir,” Alex responded, “the pleasure is mine.”

  “I am not a kook, nor a run-of-the-mill psychopath,” Jonathan went on to say with a pleasant yet slightly rushed cadence, “but I have some information to tell that you may find hard to believe.”

  Looking at the sincerity on the man’s face, Alex promptly said, “Have a seat and tell me what you’ve got.”

  Chapter 7

  The rally in Tabas was long over and the immense clean-up job was practically finished. The desert city had finally returned to its usual state of solitude and now tended to its usual business.

  After a massive earthquake in 2073, the entire city was rebuilt with a palace erected at its center. Other Arab leaders had vacationed here, but when Ari came to power he took control of the entire city and estate for himself.

  He then transformed Tabas into the capital of the UAA and vastly expanded the estate to meet his own personal specifications.

  The motive for moving the capital to Tabas was a direct snub at the West. In 1980 the United States had attempted to rescue 52 hostages held at their embassy in Tehran. The mission was a disaster from its inception. The operation failed miserably and needed to be aborted just outside of Tabas, making the city the focal point for the new UAA.

  Amidst the sprawling palace in this desert city was a man-made oasis that would rival the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. Beautiful fountains situated among palm trees and numerous flowering plants made it a heaven on earth.

  A holographic image of an unnaturally thin and balding elderly gentleman appeared in the shade underneath one of the palm trees. The holographic image looked red and grainy to ensure both its secrecy and privacy.

  “Ari,” the man in the holograph said with a raspy voice, “I am very pleased at what you have accomplished with the UAA. You have single-handedly brought your people out of despair and escorted them into a new future.”

  Although not truly improving the lives of anyone under him, Ari did believe that without his leadership the country would have fallen into a morass of chaos. “Yes,” he boasted, “the UAA has come a long way since my inauguration four years ago.”

  The man in the holograph was Albert Rosenberg, CEO of The New Reality. A company originally known for its virtual reality product line, The New Reality had branched out into different economic endeavors with high-end banking being its most lucrative enterprise. In fact, it was the major lender of money throughout the world, and as a result, every country owed a substantial debt to them.

  These debts reached such magnitude that most honest economists believed they could never be paid off. However, the countries across the globe avoided this obvious conclusion and continued borrowing money from them with reckless abandon.

  Unfortunately, The New Reality was no charity.

  “You are vital to the stability of the area,” Albert went on to say. “Without a strong UAA the Middle East would crumble, leaving the entire area in economic chaos.”

  Albert gave out a large cough and a young attendant came to his side to wipe his mouth. Though the image was grainy, Albert appeared ill. Sunken eyes, wrinkled skin, and multiple blemishes only added to his cadaver-like appearance.

  “It would be like dominoes,” he said. “If you were to fall, then so would the world. We must keep you strong and see to it that the UAA prospers.”

  “It will,” Ari said with a swagger. “There has been a rebirth in this country. No longer do people cling to their guns or religion for a false sense of support. The change they need has come. Now they are embracing the government instead of themselves or their simple family ties for a better tomorrow.”

  “And that is why I will continue to pledge my economic support to you and your country. Remember to be true to yourself and follow your beliefs. Compromise is not an option.”

  “Nor is it something I ever intend to do,” Ari said as the holograph vanished.

  “Do not cater to him!” a strong female voice bellowed in the most demeaning fashion from behind. “Do not forget who you are,” she chastised.

  Ari turned, and the fury in her eyes immediately immobilized him. It was as if she were Medusa and had turned him to stone. He felt frozen in his shoes, unable to answer.

  The woman was tall and looked as if she were chiseled from black marble. Though thin in figure, she had strong, sharp features that accentuated her underlying muscular tone. Long black hair, accusing eyebrows, and a prominent forehead completed her look. Wearing red lipstick and a long red dress to match, she appeared like a Greek goddess straight from Hades.

  Ari tried not to swallow his manhood, responding to her in the most masculine tone he could muster.

  “Woman, hold your tongue. You know as well as I, we can’t survive without his monetary support.”

  “But he is from the West! Mark my words Ari: He plays you like a fool!”

  Mistrustful of everyone, Ari Lesmana’s wife made no qualms about making her feelings known. Skepticism, deceit, and ruthlessness were her mantra, and she wanted no person to interfere with their rise to greater power.

  Ari finally let out a smile and took his wife’s hand. Gently caressing it he said, “Don’t you see? Albert recognizes what I—”

  He paused. “No, what we are doing here. He, apart from all the other Westerners, recognizes what we are attempting to achieve here.”

  Ari led his wife to a gazebo next to one of the area’s beautiful fountains. While sitting there, he pulled out a book from underneath his bisht and held it against his heart.

  Written by his favorite philosopher, Freidrich Nietzsche, the book provided insight into the author’s existentialist outlook on life and morality. Instead of any religious text, Ari turned to the man’s writing for personal inspiration.

  “Remember what Nietzsche has taught us,” he preached. “We define our own existence. Without support from Albert we would not have the funding needed to define our government. And without government, we are nothing.”

  “I still do not trust him!” his wife blurted.

  Her name was Masika, which meant “born during a monsoon”. Delivered during an extremely violent storm that killed most of her village including her mother, she had been named by her father. However, this was much more than simply a name as it exemplified her very essence. Strong, powerful, and with the wrath of a Level Five hurricane, she was a formidable force few dared cross.

  When she met Ari in college, she found a soul mate that shared her same existentialist views and anti-Western sentiment. Fueled by drugs and cigarettes, they would stay up late at night with their friends pontificating on how the world would be better if they ran it.

  She lost touch with some of these friends, but the most radical ones had been placed into key positions within the UAA to ensure that Ari’s fascist wishes were precisely followed.

  Ari stood and looked out upon the beautiful garden. He recanted the words of Daybreak through his mind and reveled in their brilliance. “I am Nietzsche’s personification of the Übermensch,” he said, speaking as if the author had written the book solely about him.

  He looked at Masika to reiterate, “I am the man who has risen above the rest. I am the chosen one, and Albert can clearly see that.”

  Masika was proud to see the fire in her husband’s eyes. Her blood ran hot and her skin became alive with goose bumps. Nostrils flared and breathing heavily, she stated through clenched teeth, “You are the Malik!”

  Just then a group of 24 staff members approached the gazebo. They were Masika’s personal attendants. Each greeted Ari with a bow and placed their hands above their heads in the shape of an O.

  Ari acknowledged them with a quick nod.

  Masika looked down upon them and thought of these creatures not as attendants but servants. Ari, too, saw the UAA citizens as subjects to be used for the greater good. He and his wife were the ultimate leaders. And just like God, they could both give and take away just as easily.

  After she barked out a litany of new orders,
Masika told her staff to be off and not to return until all the work had been completed. There would be no thanks given nor an accommodating smile.

  “Man reaps what he sows,” a voice said from behind the gazebo. “You preach self-sacrifice yet live extravagantly.”

  They both turned, already knowing who had arrived.

  Masika glared condescendingly. Though she could speak her mind to her husband, it was not her place to voice an opinion openly in Arab society. If she did, Ari could be seen as weak, and those who coveted his position could use it as an opportunity for a coup.

  He identified himself only as SattAr and headed Ari’s elite police force. A native from the Arabian Peninsula, he had honorably served many previous leaders across the Middle East over the past twenty years.

  He wore a baggy military green shirt that buttoned down its center along with baggy pants to match. With a finely trimmed black mustache, and a clean-shaven head, he looked both sophisticated and lethal. A dark green beret completed the military mystique.

  “I think you should stand down soldier,” Ari said.

  He did not appreciate criticism from anyone, especially from his subordinates. However, SattAr was different. All others would have been summarily dismissed from their ranks or sent to prison. But because of his high regard among the military elite, any punishment bestowed upon SattAr by Ari would produce serious repercussions.

  Plus, SattAr’s service to Ari bolstered his legitimacy as the Malik. The man was a highly-decorated veteran, former commander in the army, and extremely nationalistic. Wounded over six times in battle, he had proven his love for his country and his willingness to make the ultimate sacrifice. Without him, Ari could lose backing from the armed forces. No military support meant instant political death.

  SattAr greeted Ari in the proper fashion but held his tongue further. As a true Arab nationalist, he respected the title of the Malik.

  “Our country has come to a great crossroad,” Ari said. “To achieve our goals we must take every advantage we can of The Disease.”

  SattAr showed no signs of emotion. Though curious about the Malik’s words, he kept his feelings to himself and stood tall without expression.

  Ari walked out from the gazebo. Without making eye contact, he looked straight ahead and said, “We must be the first to find the cure.”

  SattAr knew a cure would serve his country well as The Disease had already taken the lives of many thousands of its citizens.

  With total control over the media, Ari had suppressed any knowledge of its spread to the public. All those who had succumbed to the illness in his country had been immediately cremated and their medical records burned. Sometimes all records of the person’s existence were totally eradicated in order to hide the truth.

  “Yes,” SattAr said, “a cure will serve our people well.”

  Ari held his tongue. His main concern was not for the citizens of the UAA but for himself and his power. He knew the person who had the cure for The Disease had a commodity more valuable than any diamond, gold, or even air that they breathed—and that meant power. And if he didn’t have that power, no one would.

  A holographic image of Alex Pella appeared in front of them.

  The image was smaller than Ari, and he looked down upon it with distain.

  “As of today, you must guarantee that Alex Pella never finds the cure for The Disease, and if he does, you must steal it from him. Follow him. Track him. Do what you must.”

  Even though SattAr had already heard of Alex Pella, Ari went on to inform him of Neurono-Tek and what information the UAA had already gleaned about their involvement with both The Disease and NIH.

  Though meager in nature, the information was sufficient enough for SattAr to start. With his keen military senses, he needed little to accomplish a lot. Ten years previously he and only a handful of other commandoes under his command single-handedly undermined the entire rebel forces of Libya and brought an end to the country’s dissidence and political opposition.

  “One of our men has already infiltrated Neurono-Tek,” Ari went on to say. “His sacrifice will serve us well.”

  Ari held SattAr by his shoulders with outstretched arms. “This mission is vital to our country, soldier. Do not fail the UAA or me.”

  “Yes Malik!” SattAr responded.

  Chapter 8

  The morgue was cold and dry. Its gray walls and floors gave it an uninviting atmosphere while the dim lighting above cast an eerie glow to the surroundings.

  The morgue’s occupants had no complaints. Most were the casualties of the terrorist attack. The police had sequestered them there while they completed their investigation. Tucked away in individual drawers, the bodies lined the walls as if they were all placed in a large filing cabinet.

  The Biohazard rooms above had been almost completely repaired. In addition, construction of the building’s lobby and scientific research rooms neared completion. Fortunately, the structural integrity of the building, along with most of its electric and plumbing remained intact despite the impact of the blast.

  Alex had been promised that after another week of construction the building would pass final inspection and return to full capacity.

  There would, of course, be the memorial services. Flowers, wreaths, and other reminders of the terrorist attack had already been placed in front of the building. There had also been a few candlelight vigils during the nights and at least one religious ceremony during the day.

  The body of the terrorist had also been cloistered in Neurono-Tek’s morgue. It was not uncommon for criminals or victims of deadly crimes to be placed there at least temporarily.

  Because of the morgue’s state-of-the-art forensics lab, all nearby hospitals and most police autopsies were completed there. As a way of building good will and currying favors, Neurono-Tek routinely donated its services for this task.

  With all living tissue on the terrorist degraded by the autolysis pill, the only thing that remained was a heap of necrotic material surrounding the skeleton. Death had been almost instantaneous and occurred without suffering—in stark contrast to all those effected directly or indirectly by his terrorist act.

  Death usually meant the end for a person. But in this case, death was just the beginning for this terrorist’s legacy.

  A white sheet covered his body. A Pennsylvania State Police stamp had been sewn onto it as a reminder of the man’s criminal actions.

  Like the Biblical Lazarus, the terrorist began moving from underneath the sheet.

  Rising from the dead?

  The whole body was involved. It almost seemed to be dancing to some macabre song. It rattled the claustrophobic storage cabinet in which it had been placed.

  At first the sound was soft, but then it began to echo throughout the morgue, drowning out the hum of the sterilizing lights.

  No one was there to hear it. The morgue remained completely empty as the building had still not been cleared for full operation. Other than the arrival of the new victim from The Disease, there had been no medical or scientific work accomplished during the past week.

  The cabinet drawer suddenly flew open and the white sheet fell to the ground. Riddled with small holes, it looked like a piece of Swiss cheese.

  As the sheet fell, a cloud of dust accompanied it to the floor. The cloud was composed of former skin, muscle, and internal organs. It covered the sheet and coated it with a faint brown coloring.

  All the rattling instantly stopped, returning the morgue back to its sterile quietness.

  Without introduction, a small bug-like creature scurried out from the cabinet and began climbing up the wall. In a few moments, another one decided to exit and followed the first.

  What was once a trickle became a flood. Hundreds of these creatures began to rush out and pepper the walls.

  The entire cabinet was full of them.

  Spawned out of death and created for destruction, they were like little demons sent to unleash horror onto the unsuspecting world.


  Their one-centimeter, oval-shaped bodies had tiny little spikes adorning their back, resembling some ancient type of armor. Their heads were like something seen in a horror movie. Four red eyes, two beaded antennae, and an elongated jaw full of serrated teeth with two large fangs along the edges made it a formidable sight.

  These creatures created a clanging sound like falling rain upon a tin roof as their multi-jointed six legs sputtered across the wall.

  The bugs did not seem completely organic in nature. Their bodies appeared to be constructed from a black metallic substance while their movements at times looked more mechanical than biologic. They were certainly not of any species a trained entomologist could identify.

  It was not long before the entire cabinet had been vacated, leaving only a clean white skeleton behind.

  The bugs scurried haphazardly along the walls and on the floor. Without immediate direction, they frantically moved their antennae, attempting to gain some bearing.

  One of the bug’s eyes began to glow bright red in intensity. As it did, the others stopped moving erratically and headed towards its direction.

  Like a self-proclaimed ringleader it marched up the wall, followed closely by the others. The bugs then began to encircle the rectangular cabinet drawers, which held the hospital’s other corpses. Only those containing a body attracted them while the others were left alone.

  Working together, they began to pry open the drawers until they created just enough room for them to fit through. One by one, the drawers cracked open and the bugs seeped in. Like tiny little grains of salt in an hourglass they spilled upon the unsuspecting bodies inside.

  All fifteen occupied drawers soon became inundated with these monstrosities. Death for their occupants would now take on a new meaning—one much more morbid than they could have ever imagined.

  Those bugs that did not enter the drawers followed their leader’s new direction. From the wall they scurried down to the floor.

  Ahead stood the forensics lab. Packed with tables full of microscopes, laboratory equipment, and high-tech machinery, it would prove to be their next area for assault.