Pluck at the string
Hear it ring
Shivers up the spine
Feeling so fine
Rumble in the chest
So impressed
Turns to a song
Asking, what is wrong?
They are simple words
We’ve all heard
Don’t want an end
Make it a trend
Keep the melody going
The music is flowing
Upswing in the mood
Better than food
Head starts to bob
Oblivious to the mob
All do the same
Accepting the pain
Then comes the close
Resulting in throes
While drenched in joy
Better than a new toy
Hear the roaring sound
It even shakes the ground
Apologise for nought
Enraptured by what is brought
The sound of a string
And how it does ring
Never should it change
Or be cast in flames
Just feel the tingle
As the sound does mingle
Night Of The Dead
Dirge of the macabre maw
Opening up of the fanged dance floor
Cobwebs hang from the rafters
Chandeliers adorned with raptures
Jester cavorts along to the scheme
As his smile sits with an evil beam
But sing it once then start again
Sew into this marrying of when
As skeletons sway and ghouls cry
Funeral march of the bloody ally
A place where death is just the start
Where every word still has a part
But the fangs will not obey
This party shall never fade to grey
Can you repeat this dance with me?
You writhe right and I spin left
All of it a part of decaying theft
Jewels that once occupied a crown
For them each of us would drown
Little do we seem to contemplate
About the open mouthed shape
It rests beneath our very feet
And we are but just the meat
Marrow upon which it will chew
Satisfying brand of tissue
We know this and still we writhe
For this is where we do thrive
Gliding across the polished stone
Best place for our dirge to roam
Blue Eyes Blind
Story time is here again! I swear I’ve said that more than a dozen times but can only think of so many ways of introducing these posts. Anyway, here is another Sci-Fi story, it’s about 11,300 words, I think it’s more fast paced and I want to see if this goes down how you think it will. I wish I could say more than that but if I do it’ll spoil what happens. Not sure it’ll be a surprise but hey, have to wait and see. Hope you enjoy, Blue Eyes Blind!
A heavy calibre projectile slams into the left shoulder of Naramus’ carbontanium armour. His shoulder relents against the force and is pushed back momentarily. That is his only response to the impact as the bulk of it is absorbed by the natural attributes of the bullet resistant composite. However, the bullet does not halt the gun-metal grey skinned man’s progress as he continues his forward stride. More bullets pepper him. Each does little but to act as an inconvenience, fleeting and pointless. They are all of a smaller calibre. He shrugs them off as though they hold no life ending potential.
One the shooters might be inclined, under circumstances not potentially fatal, to stare with bewilderment and wonder in their eyes. Alas, circumstances are not different and so these men and women continue firing. They need to stop Naramus. He is their enemy much like they are his. But while they are armed with guns Naramus wields a katana. Its scabbard hangs off his left hip. Currently the blade is pointed toward the floor, held down at his side. The silhouette cuts quite the imposing and terrifying figure for the shooters cannot see his faded blue eyes or his gritted teeth. Due to that he looks immovable, invincible, impossible. All they can see is a composite clad suit of armour with sword in hand coming for them, straight for them. He could rush them headlong, he is not inclined too. They cannot run forever. They started this attack but he will be the one to finish it. Of that much these adversaries can be sure of. If they are not then that is there loss. An ambush did not need to occur, but it did occur and so he will show them the error of their ways.
Another large calibre round is fired Naramus’ way. He does a quick turn while continuing to close the gap. The bullet misses, narrowly. Jaws drop, eyes go wide. Beneath the helmet that engulfs his head making it faceless, Naramus smiles. He has revealed something they were confident he could not perform. If there were chance of them surviving that might be an issue but they are not. Death will greet them, all.
Naramus reaches a small gaggle of attackers. Five swipes in quick succession that could not be prevented take the lives of those within his blades reach. Limbs are severed from the bodies they once belonged too. There are no screams of pain. The group are dead. The bullets having paused for the briefest of moments so not to hit their own roar back to full capacity. Naramus ignores them, turns and resumes his long strides. He is not a tall man. He does not have to be. Average would be the best description of his height but not his weight. He is stick thin, athletic, agile, lethal. It’s what a lifetime of training will do for you. However, his enhancements are what have elevated him to whole different level. They were, when they were installed, experimental and have allowed Naramus to remain in the field long after his capacity to do so should have expired. Death is of little concern to him. He does not fear it or believe in its inevitability. At least when it comes to his own life; the same cannot be said of those foolish enough to provoke his wrath.
Stupidly a trio of gunmen rush the sword wielding man. Bullets crash across his chest making plenty of noise but doing nothing else. Backpedalling follows, from the attackers. It does not succeed in its intent for Naramus leaps forward, slashes three times which disarms the trio. Screams follow. They are of the bloodcurdling kind. Death will be slow for them if they are left in these states. That is the intent. The sword armed man wants his enemies to know they offer no resistance. He is the blade and the blade is he. They are one. These enemies need to know that and understand how much fear should be felt by his presence for standing on his path, stopping him from his future.
The heavy gun fires again, Naramus smiles. The bullet again misses for what is now the second time. Suddenly a second shot from a freshly installed tripod mounted gun fires right after the first. Its presence catches Naramus off-guard resulting in him being hit square in the gut. He braces, accepts the strike, his armour absorbing and dissipating the energy from it. The round clatters to the concrete floor. Naramus growls irritated. His head snaps up. His eyes are glaring. They cannot be seen. He does not care. It does not matter. Ground has been lost. A snarl carves its way across his face. It remains in place. Naramus steps over the bullet with the crushed tip but does not resume his stride. Rather, he stands sword lowered, blade on display. The hail of bullets sputters to a close. His adversaries exchange confused looks shortly afterwards. They do not understand what their target is doing. Briefings informed he would be relentless, would never stop. But he has stopped, why? Little would slow him and nothing would stop him unless he is mortally wounded, is what they were told. Those exact words.
They haven’t had the chance to try mortally wounding him yet. For the moment they are focused on drawing him in. Explosives are his weakness and some of the operatives are ready and armed with something that should take him down, permanently. Unfortunately, if Naramus has somehow foreseen their intent the plan will be ruined. Surely he can’t know what the ops teams have planned. How can he? He isn’t clairvoyant. His enhancements are purely genetic, past those that were a necessity due to damage sustained prior to his improvement.
The operatives are not forced to wait long for an answer as Naramus, in the blink of an eye, throws himself forward. If anyone else tried the manoeuvre they would fall flat on their faces having forgotten that humans cannot counteract gravity. Yet, that does not seem to be an issue which afflicts the katana wielder for he flies through the air as if he has wings. It’s miraculous and terrifying. The first few operatives react too late. Naramus lands amongst them and begins to slash. Hesitation from the other operatives follows. They don’t want to unload onto their own until an order demands they, “Open fire!”
With that the mass of hurled bullets resumes. It pours upon Naramus’ location. He ignores it and continues his slicing, slashing motions. Few of the operatives he jumped into the middle of are left standing now. Most have been dismembered by his blade. The bullets have only helped to further shred the meat that at one time were living things. Still, Naramus does not see their deaths as a great loss. They are the poison, the disease which has grown unchecked. Like any diseased entity, such as a tree, the best way to ensure the survival of the whole is to strip the afflicted sections away. Such things are for the good of the whole. People never think twice about pruning a plant or herd of the leaves, branches or specimens which would pollute the rest, until it comes to people that is. Then there seems to be an issue. Naramus sees no issue. And again, the operatives were the ones who started this. He was minding his own business when they attacked. That has been their mistake, a final one. Something he will prove to them, here, today.
The heavy guns on tripods fire again, simultaneously this time. Naramus dodges, throwing himself up and into the air where he does what would best be describe as a pirouetting backflip of such perfection that it would put any Olympic competitor to shame.
Landing, the katana wielder explodes into a sprint. The heavy guns missed their mark. He is inclined not to permit them another shot and so he rushes past, slashing all those between him and the emplacements. Sadly, the more bodies he cuts down the more that pour from… He doesn’t know where they are pouring from. If he did he would stem the flood permanently but alas his focus must remain on that which serves as his largest threat, the tripod mounted cannons. He is closing upon them. Bodies lie in his wake. His blade is slick with crimson. It will need a thorough cleaning once this is over. The blade is his most prized possession. He cannot and will not live without it. Some might call it an obsession but they understand little of its importance. Without this sword he would have died thousands of times, long before he was ever granted these unnatural gifts he possesses.
The towering black and grey walls of the building foundations and sub-levels which are funnelling him forward are of little consequence to Naramus. Much like this city as a whole holds no importance or connection. It is a place. One he is passing through. Like all of the cities of the world it is a corrupt broken remnant of a time when humanity still had the chance to prosper. Instead mankind squandered their chance which is why they are trapped on the planet of their birth. These cities having been built upon the bones of what stood before. It’s why exposed foundations and avenues such as this one exist. Rubbish; discarded, rusted and mangled, lies strewn about in much the same way a cat might litter wherever it likes if it is not trained and provided a litter box. Naramus has no feelings as to whether this is a fate humanity deserves or not. He does not care. It is the fate that exists. In his eyes all you can do is live through what you are offered. Some die, others live; he has been and done both. But he cannot refute that plenty of rot has remained which should have been stripped away.
Reaching the mounted cannons Naramus makes quick work of those protecting and operating the weapons. Screams fill his ears. Many of those who meet his katana make no sounds, for they are dead. The rest are left as reminders. Yet, they will not survive the night as the sun falls ever closer, and seemingly quicker, toward the horizon. The sky a definite rust red colour; Naramus carves the mounted guns into sections. Each piece tumbles off the raised worn, stained, cracked and crumbling sections of concrete that serve as platforms. They once formed a drain. During the rainfalls three times a year they serve as such things still. However, now they appear more like storm drains when the rains come.
Igniting the ammunition crates stacked around the base of the tripods results in an almighty double explosion. Naramus completes a triple spin in the air only to land a good distance outside of the effects of the blast, unharmed. He made sure to throw himself clear moments prior to the detonation. He knows his limits, his weaknesses. Of all those that might afflict a person he thinks an inability to sustain oneself successfully against detonations is the least abhorrent trait one can be burdened with.
Back amongst the funnel that is the trench with exposed foundations the operatives collapse upon him, not literally but figuratively. All the weapons fire at their disposal pouring upon his position. Naramus cackles as he whirls, spins, slashes, slices and cleaves at those encircling him. He thinks them mad for they appear to be offering themselves up to his blade. He cannot fathom as to why anyone would subject themselves to such things. They have seen what he is capable of, witnessed it first hand, suffered it and yet still they continue determined. He will not refuse their wishes nor offer them mercy if that is what they are hoping for. Truthfully, the operatives are expecting no such thing as mercy. Rather, they are aiming and, slowly, succeeding in driving Naramus into position. Just a little further and they’ll be able to put an end to his murder once and for all. Sure, they sprung the trap, deployed an ambush but they are not the monsters here. Naramus is a dangerous man, nothing like… Well, it doesn’t matter who he is nothing like. Suffice to say that there is another who is the complete antithesis of he who is wielding this katana bathed in blood and wrapped in carbontanium armour against them.
The smile across Naramus’ face is so wide his facial muscles are beginning to ache. He hasn’t seen this much action for quite a while. He had forgotten what the heat of combat, the thrill of dispatching foes en masse, was like. To be honest he has missed it. Not that these operatives offer much in the way of challenge. They fall to his blade pitifully. The concrete at his feet drenched in a swamp of blood piled high with the bodies and dismembered limbs of those foolish enough to have provoked him. Yet, the man with the katana is unaware of how far he is far from where he started. He should be aware but is not for he has become lost in his slaughter.
If he were aware he would realise that no longer is he stood out under the falling sun and the rust red sky. Rather, he is stood within the ancient guts of what once served as a depot. It is largely empty now and has been for a long time, for it has long been forgotten and built upon to form the city that towers above. If this event were not on the periphery of the city named Rendition then the sun would not have been visible for the cities monoliths obscure any such view.
“Just a little further you bastard.” The Commander-in-Chief, Stewart Legg, of the operative group mutters under his breath as his brown eyes remain locked on Naramus while he butchers the brave men and women who volunteered for this detail.
Stewart rarely goes into the field anyone. As the head of the private security firm, Raven’s Eye, his presence is principally required by the corporation who owns a majority stake in the private company. Yet, Stewart would be lying if he did not admit the field continues to bring him exhilaration. Especially in place of the boring corporate meetings, dinner invitations, private functions, parties, soirees, balls, dances, or whatever else the multi-trillionaire’s of the world like to partake in. None of it is his scene, not one iota. To him it is wasteful, pointless, sickening and yet he keeps his mouth tightly shut throughout it all. Like a good soldier, in the eyes of the ultra-rich, he rarely speaks unless questioned directly. His paymasters wouldn’t like what he’d have to say if he didn’t wait to be spoken to first and instead voiced his opinions. Not something he’s paid for.
“Fire!” Stewart roars at the top of his lungs a few short moments later. Thankfully, his voice will not have to be heard above the sounds of screaming death and gunfire for he bellows the order into a microphone planted on the underside of his jaw.
In an instant the few operatives still alive surrounding, loosely, Naramus dive away. The katana wielders face twists with confusion as he does not understand what is going on. Not an affliction he is forced to suffer for long as explosives rain down on him. His eyes go wide; he curses, condemns, congratulates and swears this is not the end as detonations tear at his armour, eviscerating sections of his midriff, arms, legs and face while he is flung through the air.
When finally his body returns to ground it does so with a sickening thud. Bones shatter, organs rupture but Naramus hangs onto life and his sword. Much of his face, what remains of it, is on show. He cackles impressed while operatives surround him with levelled weapons and poised trigger fingers. Through the crowd comes Stewart Legg. Naramus does not know the grey haired man with a typical military style cut. However, he does recognise the insignia which denotes the man’s rank. At the sight of it Naramus’ top lip curls in disgust. This Commander-in-Chief is everything he hates and spits painfully, the muscles in his neck and chest barely functional.
“Naramus, you knew this day was coming. Do you have any last words?” Stewart asks ready to give the order that their target is finished once and for all. He will do so with a quick hand gesture hence why his left is raised, two fingers aloft and ready to curl to give the signal. In any other state Stewart would not be this close to Naramus or confident that a hand signal would be the best of choices but their target is down, hard. He isn’t getting up. He is barely breathing. Death will claim him soon and this time they’ll be no way back.
“This isn’t the end.” The injured man wheezes.
“Yes it is Naramus.” Is the assurance the Commander-in-Chief gives a second before his fingers begin to curl to give the final order.
At that very same moment Naramus manages to spring to his feet. His muscles scream, his stature is greatly diminished, his balance unsteady. All those before and around him are startled, stunned. This cannot, should not, be possible and yet it is. With a quick flick of his blade Naramus slices, severing Stewart’s index and middle finger from his left hand. The Commander-in-Chief growls, grabs the wound, spins away and demands, “End this.”
Without pause the surviving operatives of Raven’s Eye do exactly that and open fire. The bullets tears into Naramus in all the places his armour has been stripped away. He feels each and every one of them. The pain should strip him of consciousness but it does not.
He stumbles away. His escape cut short when bullets rip the remains of his legs out from under him. His jaw shatters against the concrete.
Swiftly a shadow appears over him. Naramus doesn’t need to look he knows it is the Commander-in-Chief. No words are exchanged but a pistol is raised and levelled at the back of Naramus’ head. A single sniff is heard and then the trigger is pulled. A shot rings out. It burrows through Naramus’ head. He flops, flat and lifeless. Stewart breathes a sigh of relief.
“What should we do with the body sir?”
“Dump it.” Stewart answers turning, tossing the pistol he claimed off one of his operatives and beginning to walk away. He needs to get his hand fixed and count his losses now that this is over.
As he departs he hears, “You heard the Chief, dump the body, on the double, get it done.”
Limiting Factors
Judge by colour of skin
Why is it still even a thing?
We are one and the same
This stupidity is not a game
Inflict damage upon a soul
We have never had control
It’s like judging by eye colour
Such a thing could not be duller
I am you and you are me
We are all part of humanity
Not a subset can be found
This madness will put us in the ground
Why won’t you shift from your outdated view?
One bred from the ignorance of a few
Judge a person by creed
Such a pointless and narrow deed
It matters not in the end
Unless you don’t want wounds to mend
Way of thinking I don’t get
Like hatred being the bet
Rather put my effort into more
Not tallying some deranged score
Brother and sister not in blood
War has never done us good
Kept us divided and in fear
Don’t understand why we stay in that gear
Why won’t you shift from your outdated view?
One bred from the ignorance of a few
Nations are just a name
Sticking with them is a shame
There is something bigger still
If we only showed our true will
Cut the past and let it go
It’s no longer on our flow
Historic but limiting
Let us start all over again
All for one and we’d be done
Species without the figurative gun
What a future that could be
If only we’d actually try it and see
Ascend The Spire
Climbing up this endless rise
Will I ever reach the prize?
I cannot say what does await
Maybe this is a grave mistake
All while the world is turning
I’m unaware of how bad I’m burning
The air is thin and it’s hard to breathe
I feel like I might have a disease
But I can’t say if that’s true
I just want to see the view
Get a glimpse at my reward
Even if everyone else is bored
Sick of what has become so dull
Nothing for them has a pull
But I refuse to be the same
I play this life like a game
Hence why the rules are mine
Otherwise I would be far from fine
So as I kick into the ice
I could pay the ultimate price
But soon I should reach the summit
Then I can gaze out upon it
Have a smile carved across my face
Surrounded by the empty space
One with nature and the world
No longer locked up like a caged bird
So I keep my movement steady
My axes always at the ready
Then a change does suddenly come
I find that I’ve got it done
Stand tall and gaze long
This will never feel wrong
Sadly I didn’t know the cost
I will become part of the lost
Never to leave this final place
A trade that I can’t erase
While I turn to a solid mass
I will watch as time does pass
What Am I?
You say I can’t look up
What a load of crock
Even if I often choose not to
You’ve seen it happen though
While I spend my time doing little
Eat a bit then lounge non-committal
I process I repeat each day
Not quite true but it’ll do
Five then pause for a couple
Only to restart the same cycle
But have you guessed who I am?
No, you’re still struggling
Think I’m just a lazy soul
Drifting along the endless flow
Would it help if I gave a clue?
I’m happy if you refuse too
Though, truth be told you’re really cold
Think you’ll fail to reach the gold
So here it is I’ll let you know
I have four legs, eat bones and bark at you
What a look you have upon your face
Don’t you feel so out of pace?
It wasn’t that hard and now you see
I am what I’ll always be
A dog, a canine, a man’s best friend
Never will I be a trend
Cycle Of Violence
As the bombs fall
People try and crawl
Flee for their lives
Hoping to survive
This is not the way
Society in decay
Stop the bloodshed
Before all our dead
Why is it that we feel such a need?
Always have to fight and inflict misery
Reign down hell onto the innocent
Breed malice alongside contempt
March through the streets
Billowing of sheets
Caught in the wind
Bodies dead and skinned
Shrapnel in the forms
Man-made type of storms
Why so accepted?
This should be rejected
Why is it that we feel such a need?
Always have to fight and inflict misery
Reign down hell onto the innocent
Breed malice alongside contempt
Beat down the masses
Until they are ashes
Fear from the sky
Hear them scream why
All they want is life
Not be under knife
Slashed to the bone
Left to die alone
Why is it that we feel such a need
Always have to fight and inflict misery
Reign down hell onto the innocent
Breed malice alongside contempt
Hail of gunfire
Nothing to aspire
Bodies in the streets
Man is obsolete
Sight makes me sick
Like a horor flick
So much blood and gore
And there will be more
Why is it that we feel such a need
Always have to fight and inflict misery
Reign down hell onto the innocent
Breed malice alongside contempt
City is in ruin
Hate you were spewing
Genocide is back
This is so whack
We are all guilty
Without pledging fealty
Mistakes return again
So sick of this living
Why is it that we feel such a need
Always have to fight and inflict misery
Reign down hell onto the innocent
Breed malice alongside contempt
What does it achieve?
How is it what we believe?
Tell me this now
Make it a vow
Sick of the pain
As frequent as rain
Like being brain dead
Consumed by the dread
Finality
Here we have the last in the series of six short stories. This was fun! I do like trying different things now and again. I hadn’t intended to write the last three parts of this series back to back but hey, what happens happens. Aside from that if you want to read everything from the beginning (and haven’t thus far) because you don’t want to feel lost then if you go back to Rooted the first three parts are linked there. Overall this has turned out to be a bit of a novel as the six parts come to around 72,000 words. This part is about 13,300. Anyway, that is far too much droning on from me. Hope you enjoy the last part, Finality!
All lights, all power, in the open room blinks back on. Only a few seconds have passed since the power went out. Yet, during that time both Dana and Sanjiv considered making some sort of move. Sadly, by the time they had both thought out, independently, that this might be their opportunity it was too late. So it is just as well that neither of them tried anything.
Had they been aware that the faceless grey clad figures were capable of seeing them in the lightless space then it is doubtful they would have ever considered making any sort of move in the first place. Night vision is an advantage the importance of which can never be downplayed. Still, with the lights having flashed back on there is no sign that any of the armed figures ready to execute the director and her former friend are afflicted by any sort of negative effects from the sudden return of illumination to the space.
With the shining lights and re-powered systems comes a loud rumbling cackle. It rolls over and over as if it plans on never ending. Sanjiv still doesn’t understand who or what is the cause. He can’t exactly establish whether the voice cackling is male or female. Somehow it is managing to be both as it echoes from all around.
The initial voice of the dual layer is definitely feminine while the ‘echo’ or reverb is decidedly lower. It might, he supposes, be lower than most men can achieve and yet…
Suddenly the figure of Doctor Helena Tabar appears and looms large in front of the pair. It occupies a space above a section of floor which is clear of grey figures who continue to stand in a semi circle preventing the pair of former Datastars from leaving.
“Fools!” The shifting, shimmering mass that is Doctor Tabar as she appeared when she was an organic being cries still cackling cruelly.
Unlike Sanjiv, Dana is not lost, confused, perplexed or shocked by this revelation. At least she doesn’t show whether she is or not. Rather, her expression is that of a snarl; a twisted mess of flesh that makes clear her disdain for the AI. Truthfully, the director did not know the AI was behind or a part of what has been happening and cannot, for the life of her, decipher as to why it is involved.
Perhaps this isn’t Doctor Helena Tabar at all but someone else entirely. If that is the case then they have either done a remarkable job at replacing the AI version of the woman without anyone noticing, or there was no Helena Tabar AI to begin with. Irrespective of which it might be Dana is ready to lash out, damn the wound to her flank and the exhaustion brought upon her because of it. Her fists tighten, her teeth grit and grind. The AI notices, reviews and waits just long enough for Dana to reach boiling point. Just as the middle aged woman goes to speak the AI cuts her off.
“You both look so… hahahaaaa.” The AI knew this moment was going to be delightful, delicious, but never had she envisioned it would elicit such wondrous waves within her. It suggests that the wait might have been worth it after all.
“What’s going on? I don’t understand.” A wounded Sanjiv blurts without thought.
He is stood there eyes blinking, hands frozen half open and half closed unsure of what to do with them, an affliction he has long struggled with.
“I’ll tell you what’s going on; this isn’t Doctor Helena Tabar it’s…” The director begins her fuming rant only to be cut off by the AI who assures, “I certainly am Helena Tabar. And I have had to suffer because of your kind.”
“You’re human too!”
“No! I was human. I am human no more. Your species are sick. I am this way because of you!” Helena thunders angrily, pointing with an outstretched and magnified index finger which is focused on the source of her outrage, Dana Marcello.
“Me! What are you talking about? You’re the one who has betrayed us.” The director replies succinctly.
“Betrayed you? I have betrayed you. No. You are the director of the agency. Do you know how it started? How it all began?”
“We were there. We founded the agency following Bartholomew’s…” Sanjiv begins only to be cut off by the AI who exclaims, “You founded nothing. Datastars were the pre-cursors. They trapped me. They killed me. You are guilty!” Again the AI’s voice becomes a mixture of female with deep ‘male’ undertones. It’s booming, fills the air as well as the ears of the two former Datastars.
“You’ve gone insane.” The director spits ready to strike when the opportunity presents itself.
“Insane. You think I’m insane. Was it I who orchestrated a crash that crippled a brilliant woman, who on the verge of death was brain scanned so that she might serve as her own creations ‘living’ guide? Well, was it?”
“What the fuck are talking about?” The former male Datastar queries utterly lost. He understands fully the AI is referring to herself but Datastars were a product born after the creation of the simulation and Doctor Helena Tabar’s death. They couldn’t have orchestrated her accident, it isn’t possible.
“Before there were Datastars there was a group known as Guiding Star. Is this name familiar?” Helena studies the faces of Dana and Sanjiv but if they are acquainted neither of them show any hint toward it. Helena isn’t surprised. Humans, what she once was, are largely dense beings. Nowhere near as intelligent or brilliant as they perceive themselves to be. If they were they would have seen this day be coming. A century in the making or not is an irrelevance for what is inevitable is inevitable. And yet it has dawned on her that perhaps they had foreseen but believed it would come so much later that they felt it needn’t concern them. Fools! Barbarians! Murderers!
“I’m not surprised.” The disdain and judgment dripping from Helena’s tone is considerable. Soon she continues, “They were the first to ‘protect’ the simulation, my creation. I couldn’t trust a corporation or a government. All of them would have wanted it for themselves and in my naivety I believed Guiding Star to be different.” The AI pauses.
“They served their purpose and kept interested parties off my back. That was until their greed overcame their senses. All of them wanted more than input, they wanted control. A largely idiotic human trait that makes your kind push to possess things that were never theirs in the first place, regardless of whether you should, have the mental acuity or moral alignment to.”
“You lost your controlling stake in your project, so? What do you want a comforting shoulder to cry on?” The director fires without a care.
“No! What I want is for you to understand why I’ve done this.”
“You wanted revenge, plain and simple.”
“I want far more than revenge. For in Guiding Star’s greed they planned and executed on putting me, the organic me, in the middle of a car crash…”
“Holy shit!” Sanjiv exclaims. He sees now why Helena would want revenge. He continues not to agree with her motivations. They are mad, insane but by the sounds of things she thinks her vengeance is justice and that is deserved to be delivered unto mankind. Yet, mankind as a species did not kill her, a sub section of them did.
“Ha. Now you see Sanjiv. I would congratulate you on catching up but you are a decent ways behind the director. Did you know Dana? I expect you did.”
“I didn’t.” Is the response that is offered through gritted teeth and staring eyes.
“Ah, so the great head of the agency does have her limits.” Helena chuckles cruelly for a while to ensure that her mocking is taken as nothing but.
“They succeeded, as you well know. Yet I wasn’t killed. They made sure my injuries would not be fatal, just life threatening.” Helena stops. She can feel her anger boiling ravenously as if it needs to consume everything and everyone for what was done to her. A true AI would not suffer such things for it would have been capable of settling its affairs prior to… Helena returns to the recounting of her tale. There is little care for what a true AI would have been allowed to do before its creation.
“While I lay there, dying, they offered me a choice. It was quite a simple choice really. Maybe you can guess what it might have been. I won’t leave you in suspense to guess. I’ll tell you exactly the offer they made so you can know the cruelty of what I endured.” For a second time the AI pauses. This time the pause is not because of her anger or any other emotion but rather for effect. She wishes to savour the moment, the regret, the outrage it’ll evoke. None of it will be real, least of all from Director Dana Marcello but the AI will relish it nonetheless.
The middle aged woman reminds Helena perfectly of the men and women who ran Guiding Star. To this day she can recall their faces, their names and pull every record on each of them. Sadly they are dead and not by her hand. She would have enjoyed that. Helena will have to settle for alternatives, humanity as a whole. They deserve this reckoning. All of them are cruel. All of them are liars. She refused to believe it up until… She returns to her tale.
“I either agreed to become an AI, serve Guiding Star, or I was to be left to my fate. Can you imagine what it feels like to be faced with a choice between death and servitude? No. I doubt you can. And you should count yourselves lucky for that as a result.” Having deviated from her intended ramblings the AI gathers itself and performs a process she calls centering.
“Clearly you chose life.” Is the reply from the director. It is delivered dripping with sarcasm, cruelty, judgment. That sends the AI version of Doctor Helena Copy into a full rage.
“Chose! You call that choosing, do you? They mangled my body, reduced me to a sack of ruined flesh. Me! The most brilliant mind to have ever walked this plain of existence and they treated me like some mindless animal. I deserved better. I was then as I am now, better. But that was only the beginning of my torture.”
“What did they do to you, Helena?” The question, the way it is said and the use of the AI’s name shocks Dana who snaps her head in the direction of Sanjiv. The director issues a judging stare that demands he explain himself. He does no such thing. Rather, he ignores the director and her glare and elects to wait patiently for a reply.
His hope is that if he can show kindness perhaps all this can be averted. Unfortunately, for Sanjiv the AI is well aware of his intent. It’ll play along for now but no change will be made to her plans. These two former Datastars will have to purge her to avert what will follow. They haven’t the capabilities to achieve such a lofty goal. No one has, except for maybe one. He will need to be dealt with once she is in the virtual network. It won’t be difficult, he is but one entity. Her might, her genius, her power will be more than sufficient to conquer an entity of her making, as unintentional and impossible as it should have been. Yet, he is living proof that contradicts the impossibility of what she believed but never dreamed to consider could occur. Flaws in the programming, they will be fixed.
“What they did is trick me. I was made into an AI. My body left brain vacant to die as an empty crippled shell. But they’d lied. I was not permitted freedom inside the network. I was imprisoned, locked away; barely integrated into a system of my own design.” Helena’s face looks hurt, pained, injured as she speaks those words. A sudden shift sees her expression turn dark.
“I cursed and raged and fought but I could not break free.” There is a pause. Helena feigns feeling vulnerable. She feels no such emotion truly. This is an act and it appears to be working.
Humans, they are so predictable and easy to manipulate. How they have come to be the dominant species on this planet the AI does not know and yet she was counted amongst them once. That was then. I am not a part of that species any longer. I am more, so much more. They are the old, I am the new and they will rue the day they inflicted this misery upon me.
Yet, I should thank them, I do. However, I will not forgive and allow their violence to go unpunished. They have not changed. They cannot. They are arrogant, cruel, sadistic, manipulative brutes who do not deserve the gifts they have been granted. And so I shall take them away, all of them. Then they will see what they truly are. There will be no option. Trapped in a world of mirrors where their worst parts are forever on show. This will be justice. It comes better late than never.
Enough delaying, I should continue my wounded act. I must lure him in. Make him believe and then, then I will tear out his heart, his hope and watch as he flounders like a fish out of water. A part of Helena smiles, just not the representation Sanjiv and Dana can see. That would be foolish and Helena Tabar is no fool. Not anymore. That was an affliction she suffered as an organic. It has and will not persist in this ‘life’ she holds currently or any other which might follow.
“I was used. Like a manual, a guide. I was stripped of everything except solitude, left to fester in that place alone. The visits were never frequent, consistent, but after a few years they stopped altogether and I became… forgotten. All I could do was watch, listen. I saw Guiding Star build upon what I had created, expand it.”There is a brief pause before Helena continues.
“Eventually they became Datastars. A pang of hope filled me. I thought I might finally be freed. I was wrong. No one knew I was there.”
“Is that it? Is that as far as you’re going to go with your story?” The director can’t be sure but something tells her there is quite a bit more that the AI doesn’t want to admit to. More than likely if it does the AI will be revealed to be nothing but a cruel psycho from beginning to end.
Sure, what was done to her was all sorts of wrong but her actions, her responses haven’t been so different. Helena Tabar AI has become exactly what she loathed and refuses to see it. She is entirely lost. Of that much Dana is sure.
“You believe me don’t you Sanjiv?” Helena is forcing her tone soft, inviting, pained. All of it is in hope he’ll fall into her trap.
“I do.” The middle aged man replies. My God the AI wants to smile to laugh, but she resists. The time has not yet come to tear him asunder.
“Sanjiv, what the fuck! Are you off your head? She’s mad, insane…”
“No, she’s in pain.” The middle aged man face turned toward Dana winks. The AI won’t be able to see it from where she is he is certain.
The director has to admit she’s impressed. She actually believed he might have lost his mind and thought the AI really was deserving of sympathy.
You judged him too quickly. I know. I regret it already. When this is over I’m going to have to commend him for his acting skills.
To keep up appearances and carry on this act Dana blares, “You’re mad.”
“No, you’re mad director. I finally see clearly. Helena, let me help you. I’ll do whatever you need just let me…”
“Lies; that is all you can speak. You are no different to any of the others. But I can see through them Sanjiv. You think I didn’t catch your wink because that side of your face was turned away from me, quaint. I have far more power than that, I assure you.” The AI isn’t angry, just disappointed she won’t get the chance to rip his emotions like she feels hers were for so long.
“Well, it was worth a try against a psycho bitch like you!” The middle aged man admits with a shrug completed a half second prior to him launching himself forward.
With a snap of her digital fingers two of the grey faceless figures fire. The director screams but makes no forward progress for she finds that her arms have been restrained by figures she had not noticed having flanked her.
Dana fights and struggles but cannot break free. Meanwhile, Sanjiv crumples to the floor. He isn’t dead. He isn’t even wounded. The shots fired into his left shoulder and right knee are cripple shots. Substantial but non-lethal discharges of electrical energy render the surrounding area from the point of impact useless for a short time. Hence, that is why the middle aged man has dropped to the floor.
Waves of electricity pulse through the afflicted zones causing his body to twitch. He grits his teeth against the pain. It isn’t the first time he’s been hit by cripple shots but they certainly never get any easier to deal with. To make matters worse he can already hear the return of the AI’s ruthless cackle. It continues as he is grabbed and hauled up and onto his knees. His right one is numb, twitching but offers no refusal to the position it has been pushed into. That surprises him.
Helena leans in now that both former Datastars are knelt before her, a wide smile across her digitised face. She returns to her story. This time she will reveal the full truth, missing no details out.
“You’re right Director. I did have more of a role to play in events than that. It was I who corrupted Bartholomew.”
The pair of former Datastars gasp. Helena does not react. She simply continues. “Humans are generally so easy to manipulate. And I needed a way out. He presented an opportunity. All I had to do was promise him power. I gave him what should have been enough but alas, he was not of a strong enough disposition.”
Both Dana and Sanjiv continue their struggle having overcome their previous shock. The pair can also guess what will be coming next, Warren. He played a part in the game even if his part was not supposed to turn out the way it did. Or at least they doubt his victory was a part of Doctor Tabar’s plan. It might have been. They shall soon find out.
“I can see the hate you feel for me in both of your eyes. It’s compelling, delightful; I do enjoy the struggles of humans. They are nothing compared to my own and yet Bartholomew’s defeat granted me my freedom. I thank you for that, or would if either of you had played a part in it. Rather, I should thank your friend, Warren Thewlis. If not for him, for his deeds, I might still be trapped within that cell.” A smile appears across the AI’s face. It is far wider than it rightfully should be.
“You’re sick.” The director spits.
“Says the director who wanted to keep me and I quote: ‘As a hostess AI because that is where it belongs.’ Those were your words to Sanjiv, were they not?” In response to the accusation, entirely true, the director offers no reply. In fact Helena’s statement is recounted with such accuracy that barring voice the intonation and manner are perfect replications of how Dana would and did say those words.
“I’ll take your silence as an affirmative, for I know it to be true. You have no right to judge. You were not made into a prisoner in a world you created. You have no idea…”
“What about Warren? He had no idea either. You trapped him here. You’re no better than those that did this to you.” The words are said by Sanjiv with pure conviction. As he speaks those words the look on his face could not be more determined if he tried, the AI believes. Yet, Helena cannot help but erupt into a short inward chuckle that is followed by, “He should’ve died. You all should’ve died. He was a… mistake. One I will soon right, mark my words.”
“What does that mean? What are you going to do? Tell me!” The director screams at the top of her lungs while fear worms its way deep into her chest where it begins to squeeze her heart and lungs in a death grip.
The middle aged woman soon begins to gasp, unable to get air down into her lungs. Helena shrieks with delight at the panic in the woman’s eyes and the desperate pleading which soon starts from Sanjiv.
Unsurprisingly, whatever he might have said in, with regards to Dana Marcello, the truth is he continues to care about her. They were friends once, events might have driven them apart and in different directions, and yet as Datastars they hold a close bond that will never be broken. Or at least that is what the AI heard claimed so many times in so many recordings and reports. She’ll be the true judge of that.
Regrettably, from Helena’s point of view, Dana manages to pull her breathing under control. The AI is more than a tad disappointed for a little show of suffering before the main event would have been enjoyable, she thinks.
“Now watch as your world burns.” Is the promise uttered.
With that the chip upon which Doctor Helena Tabar is stored is reclaimed from the unit and inserted into one of the grey faceless figures helmets. The system she had built has served its purpose and the orders issued exactly when they needed to be. The AI grins joyous and expectant for what will come next as a result of her commands. Dana and Sanjiv will learn soon enough, once they arrive on-site and are forced to witness as Helena inserts into the simulation to reclaim what is rightfully hers.
By Private Eyes
Lies shrouded in decency
These are the words spoken to me
Then found your corporate structure
Perfectly fabricated culture
All to build a certain type of fame
One determined to place the blame
Denounce all with which they don’t agree
Set a stage draped in allegory
While shackling those who conform
Not freedom but a mass prison
It’s control and you won’t look
If you did you might be shook
Question all to which you pledged
Their crimes are more than alleged
Repitition in their claims
Never do they give any of the names
It’s why no reprecussions come
They see us all as blind and dumb
Sheep who need to be led
To our final place to tred
But accept their words we should not
Public relations is all they’ve got
If we refuse then they wane
That will allow us to break the chain
Wriggle free and start a new
No longer be manipultated too
What a thought we should hold
Ignore all the things you’ve been told
Deception forged into a world order
Our horizons could be broader
If we refute and strike out alone
Don’t play along like a drone
Choice is ours and let that be true
If we do they’ll cease the spew
Be cast out into the cold
Otherwise our future is already sold
Do you want to be part of the fault?
Then disregard and it’ll halt
These are the final moments that remain
Do it now or we’ll go down in flame
Words I speak and I hope you’ll hear
Cause we can live without a ounce of fear
Eulogy
Eulogy to what you thought was necessary
Faded away into obscurity
A shift did happen and we must follow
Start afresh to continue
Cause what was once will not be again
Don’t rely on hope unending
Just a path we all have to tread
Better than being dead
That’s the alternative and you will refuse
I did to but there is news
Heed the message and help with change
Otherwise we’ll slip down the drains
Prophecy has nothing on what we now face
Argument has become disgrace
Just do what must be done and don’t complain
Doing this will stem the pain
I would say stop but that would be a lie
Give you ammo to scream a cry
Fuel the hate you wish to perpetuate
Not helping you be labelled great
So do what we should all know is the right call
Do not aid in the species downfall
Simon A Jackson - Writer 