GuNNhead

“Warning: The station will run out of oxygen in approximately 20 minutes. This is not a test.”

I walked through the door to see my neighbors had already gone into an all out panic mode, the couches and beds were stacked up in the center of the room.

“You two wait here, I’m gunna see what’s up for a sec.”
It seemed like they had a plan, so I scrambled up the mattresses, the owner of the house was sitting near the top as his family and friends climbed around.

“What are you doing?”
“We don’t know; we’re trying to get into the ceiling vent. I can’t believe they sealed us all in here, dying in a space colony due to lack of oxygen on earth. It’s insanity, I respond in kind.”
I saw in his eyes that the last part rang too true, and climbed down.

“Anything?” seeing the exchange had made my friends uncomfortable.
“Let’s head back,” it was all the answer they needed.

“Warning: The station will run out of oxygen in approximately 15 minutes. This is not a test.”

Back in the apartment, the place was a mess from looking for the book.
“Anything?”
“No. You?”
“Nope.”
“Dang, what now?”
The drinks we had were helping us deal with this. Perhaps, looking back, we were a slight too calm.
“You said you say a super in here earlier.”
“Maybe.”
“Well, I’m finding out what the hell they do, and where he went.”
“He might have gone out the front door and no one saw him!”
“She’s right.”
“I don’t care, I know something’s up.”
“Why don’t we all just evacuate?”
“If we could, we wouldn’t need air.”

“Warning: The station will run out of oxygen in approximately 10 minutes. This is not a test.”

“…Makes sense, let’s look around.”
“We’ll check the back, c’mon.”
“Sounds good, I wanna see what’s behind this panel up there.” I’d had my eye on this panel for a little while now, it was a large one, about two square feet, and looked hollow last time I saw it open out of the corner of my eye when one of the supers was fiddling around inside of it. It was just below the ceiling of the circular entry/living room. I climbed onto the couch, and onto a small second-tier ledge. Now, how do they open these? I thought to myself. I’d started to get a good mind hold of how I’d go about opening it when I heard a call from the other room.

“Hey, we–”
“Warning: The station will run out of oxygen in approximately 5 minutes. This is not a test.”
“What?”
“I said, hey, we think we found something!”
“Well, what is it?”
“A panel in the back of the master bedroom!”
“Did you get it open?”
“Uhh…”
“I think you just push it, get a grip with your fingers, and it could just pop right off,” I shouted while I tested this theory with my panel.
“It works!” they shouted. It worked.
“What’d you guys find?”
“A lot of gizmos and circuitry, a small hallway, sealed by debris.”
“We’re all gunna die here!” was the only clear shout I could hear from someone from the other room.
“Don’t worry guys, I found something here. There’s a path, it’s narrow, but it’s something.”

“Warning: The station is out of oxygen. This is not a test.”

Criminals, studied, kept under close surveillance. They’ve found some way to get out. If they knew how they didn’t, they weren’t talking. What is after? Do they hold some secret, or is it a mere anomly? Where did they go, to leave us all behind?

I enter one of their holding cells. His smell is far worse than last time. My first case, I’ve had it about a week now. I kept it simple, ran through everything I learned in training academy, all those years ago. Now it’s time to get answers. I look right into his glossy eyes. His expression doesn’t change. “You’re scum, you know that?” No response, no ticks, no visual queues of any sort. He’s good.

I walk around behind him, his hands are secured in cuffs to his chair. “Listen, you’re going to be here like this for a while, so why don’t you just start talkin’?” His emotionless demeanor disturbs me to the core, like he can see the rotting, grotesque life I have behind all the pretense.

Over the next few days he remains silent, smirking at me, keeping all his secrets close to him. I run through everything we know about each minute detail of his life again. The sad fact is that he appears perfectly normal on the outside, he has a partner, offspring, a good job. But he cut them off, left it all behind, the entire world. This is the worst kind of criminal; it’s said they never talk. But they have to, there has to be one who’ll reveal how they did it. I’ll be the detective who finally cracks one. Down to half a pack of smokes, I put one out on his hand; he doesn’t even come close to flinching.

His criminal record other than this is average. A few air traffic violations is the only thing of note in recent years, hasn’t even missed a medi-check. His smell is beginning to make me sick, so I leave the room to dig deeper, making sure to lock it behind me.

Outside the station, I make my way to his family’s house, maybe there’s something there that I missed. Of course, they’re still as surprised as the system. They try their best to help, it would seem, but it’s ultimately a failure on my part. Nothing I can use. They hate him now, and want to at least get something for his betrayl. I wonder if they have their own plans, however.

I make my way back into the interrogation room. He’s still there, smug as ever. Confident. He has conviction, and fully believes in what he’s done, that much I can be sure of. He’s not going back, he’s not going to come back, for any questions or answers, he’s holding all the cards. I break his fingers; beat his face in until an eyeball pops out. As it’s hanging from the socket, I ask him one last time. “How did you do it?”

Silence.

The rest of my night was spent with my hands bloodied. We’ve already searched him with ultraviolets, taken samples of his hair and nails. To get to the hard answers, I cut open his skull, searching for any clues in his mind. Then I start my knife at the top of each shoulder, run it down the front of his chest to create a large and deep Y-shaped incision that meets at his sternum, going all the way down to the pubic bone. I open him up like a book, attempting to read his innards in the words he refused to speak.

Once I am done, his composure has been placed in bins and studied, offering no further teachings. I stare at his hollowed out body, and see only my reflection. I take the last drag of my final cigarette, and flick it into his torso.

I exit the room; a sun I cannot see is rising outside, and I am left without answer. I leave him for the diener.

A single candle to light my way, I continued down the ancient corridor. The stone walls were visibly damp, their raised details telling tales in a dead language. The secret passage that opened up when I examined my library lead me down this path. A single curving hallway that I know nothing about. Further up ahead I can hear some indistinguishable sound. I’ve been hearing it for the past ten minutes, however, walking down this hall. The continual enclosed space looks as if I’ve made no progress atall. Though I know better, there’s a small slant to this tunnel, it’s a giant spiral. To where, I dare not know. There’s no wind, but the air remains fresh.

As I descend deeper, my hard soled leather shoes begin to splash through water, soaking my suit’s pant leg. I continue on, intrigued by the mystery of my own underhouse. My house coat keeps my warmth as the heat dissipates into the depths of the constructed cave.

Once I am waist deep into the liquid, a strange hand reaches out from the dark and touches me, dragging me under. My candle’s flame extinguishes upon the surface, and I lose it. Below the surface, being dragged along the bottom, I start to see luminescent stones lining the underground path. Soon, I pass out.

When I come to, I’m in a cavern. The symbols from the hall are now set in glowing stones on the cave. By their light, I can tell the room is actually entirely spherical, carved to a perfect gloss. The sounds from before now emanate from under the surface of the large pool of water, and I long for the former comfort of my library.

The still waters become waves as I attempt to stare into the reflective surface. Slowly, my candle arises from below, still lit. Attached to the handle is the hand from before. The glow of the stones oscillates. I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as the figure continues to rise, revealing a grotesque arm covered in a sort of black sludge. The rest of the thin figure arises, entirely humanoid. The featureless shadow steps upon the water, and walks towards me, holding my candle out, offering it to me. I take hold of the handle, noticing the glistening white top of the creature’s head, dark ooze sliding off.

“There are depths present in this world and beyond.”

I hold my candle up to the speaker, and see that the substance has removed itself, revealing a human skull stripped of its flesh. I stand there for a moment, startled. She embraces me, and the black gunk pours forth from the eyes of the skull, enveloping me. Oil slick kisses choke the air from my lungs. I begin to flow into the water, my essence being absorbed into secrets untold. Filled up with ghosts, burning into the ritual stones. The end of this life: personal; dark; vast; unending.

“Did you see that?” I’m talking to myself.

Life can be unhealthy. I look out the window, and within the landscape of buildings, trees, and bodies of water, I see nothingness. Objects, human history that has passed, that I am trapped within.

A buzz opens up in my ear, and distracts me from the view, from what I saw.

“Did you see it?” Distractions swarm around me.

I can feel the marrow now. It moves, oozes and flows within my bones. It’ll be over soon, if what has been said remains true through until the after. Torn, undecided on a decision that has already been made. I remain reclusive to avoid the horror, running from the unknown over a gut feeling. I know I won’t make it, nobody has. I’ve seen them, they looked happy. Have I cherished my thoughts? Should I ever have? I hope I won’t miss them, I hope the memory of them fades.

None protected the self. There were groups, and they were the first to unite. Essences drained on the whole. They say they feel full, something I’ve tried to make of the self. Those who stayed alone remained alone, further and further getting shut off. Any cooperation would see conglomeration. Even so, even though I am alone, this movement within my bones, it is a writhing of the hollowing fulfillment. Living nutrient senders and receivers of more, a conductor to the whole.

It didn’t become apparent until it was too late. There was no uncovering or secret. The bold bastards outright introduced themselves as our new motivation. The ability to follow your dreams with everyone in the world. All of mankind working together, connected via the inner workings now within the marrow.

Direction, follow your inner calling, all the help, all the teamwork. We remain human, merely augmented. Like them. All of them.

Outside my window the craft is enormous. It hovers over the city, blocking no sun. Everything seems harmonious. People walking down the sidewalk orderly, organized. Things are flowing smoothly, connected. The true originals, who never desired help or support are cast by the wayside of progress. Trapped by their own hubris. Not like you could connect with anyone normal anyway. It may be for the better.

No. My marrow pulsates. I’ve locked myself away, to keep myself, but there’s no hope. I’ve seen what happens to those who resist. They tear themselves open, scratching to get the marrow from their bones. An ogre’s field day. If the marrow didn’t move, that is. It’s so distracting. Asking questions barely makes sense. They infected us all. Proximity makes us stronger.

There is other life; it enters a central structure. Countless species all working towards their goals. What are they? I’d know. It would be fact, defined from the self as a part of a whole.

I haven’t seen anything. Inside my bones, I slither.