Story I'm Writing

[shadeofgray]

Mmm well, I read kikistrike20's post about the story she was writing and thought about my own story...idk do you want me to post it here? It's kind of dark and dramatic which is kind of embarrassing.

[Holly]

If you want to, were not gona force you but its always nice to see what people are working on

[shadeofgray]

lD Idk...first chapter anyone?


/Chapter 1/Incubation/

“Good morning, Sir Cuo!”
I open my eyes and Nurse Bairta is smiling only inches above my face. Out of all of my nurses, she is either the stupidest or the best at acting like it. She grins as wide as she can at my look of displeasure and giggles like a two-year-old. “Oh that’s right! You wanted me to call you Romo, didn’t you? Romo, Romo, Romo! I have your clothes ready, Romo!” She laughs even harder and holds up a hanger with my uniform on it. I snatch it out of Bairta’s hand and glare at her.
“Meet me in the bathroom with a razor in five minutes: I’m starting to get stubble.” I run a hand self-consciously over my scalp. She nods and cheerily skips out the door. As soon as Bairta is gone I groan and bury my hands in my face. Is there no shortage of imbeciles in the world?
“If you want something done,” I murmur to myself. “You have to do yourself.” That was my father’s motto, and now he has a well-paying job as the Immigration Sovereign. I cannot afford to do anything save follow in his footsteps.
I clear my head and slip on the outfit Bairta has given me: a glaring white shirt and matching pants, along with black gloves. I wore the same thing yesterday, and I will wear the same thing for the rest of my life. What a boring existence.
I fit each of the black buttons on my shirt through their proper hole. Then I step back to look at myself in the mirror.
As unremarkable as ever. I look like every other person in Scion, just the way they all like it.
Bairta’s voice squeaks over the intercom: “Romo! I’m ready with the razor!”
I sigh. “Don’t rush me, Bairta! I’ll be there as fast as I can!” I lock the door on my way out of my room, just in case. I place zero trust in Bairta or her fellow nurses. Theft is all too common in cities as large as Scion. As soon as the fingerprint recognition system dings, I slide my glove back on and take the elevator down to the bathroom, where the Nurse is waiting me with an electric razor and a pair of sanitary gloves. She smiles when she sees me and playfully revs the machine. Something about that dopey grin of hers…it’s just so annoying…I’d love to—
“Why do you have such a weird look on your face, Mr. Cuo? I hope you’re not feeling under the weather!” Bairta slaps a hand on my face and probes me, like a worried mother.
“Get off of me!” I snap, and shove her away. “Just…just do your job!” I shove the razor in her hand. She takes it from me quietly, and begins slicing my hair off without a word.
Five minutes go by of her silence, and I realize I’ve gone too far. I try to speak but she interrupts me:
“I can’t figure you out, Sir Cuo: is your world really so sad with all your intelligence and money and power?”
“N-no,” I stutter. “If you’re talking about my mood, I-I just don’t get enough sleep, is all: it’s called insomnia, it’s a very common disorder.” It’s a lie, but I honestly don’t have an answer to her question.
“Alright,” she says, with some of her usually cheerfulness. There’s a click, and the buzzing of the razor stops.
“Okay, Mr. Cuo, all done! Your assistant will meet you at the door to escort you to the ST Pavilion.”
“Good,” I sigh. I brush any stray hairs off my shirt and step out of the bathroom and into the elevator. An AI voice greets me: “A tenant’s access code is needed to reach the—“
“Access Code 21021221.” I cut the AI off before it can finish.
“Cuo, Romo D. Floor Level?”
“Ground.” The AI quiets and there is a faint whirring sound as the elevator speeds down the ground floor. My stomach rises into my throat, but I choke down the nausea. I watch all the people on the different floors as they flash by: a happy couple, a bored receptionist, an angry child, a tired mother, an agitated businessman, a gurgling baby…and then the elevator settles to a stop and the hydraulic doors slide open with a hiss.
“Good morning, Mr. Cuo.” A boy a few years older than me runs to meet me and bows. “I’m Carson, your new escort.”
I scrunch up my face in distaste. “What happened to my old escort?”
“I don’t know sir.”
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen, sir.”
“Then you’ve just finished your courses at the Transportation Pavilion?”
“Six months ago: I finished at the top of my class.”
“I finished at the top of my class sir.”
I can see his brow wrinkle, but he reads back what I say. Then he stands and looks me in the eye. Interestingly enough, he has one green eye and one eye that’s such a dark shade of brown it almost looks black.
“Where am I escorting you to, sir?”
“The Science and Technology Pavilion.”
“Yes sir.” We walk out the door and onto the streets of Scion.
Even though I’ve lived here all my life, the identical soft white of all the buildings in my city still strikes me as a masterpiece. In contrast, the uniforms of the citizens milling around are an ugly, harsh white. The lack of hair on their heads is just as unnatural.
“What’s wrong, sir? You look perplexed.”
Carson’s chatter cuts into my thoughts. “Nothing…er…Carson?”
“Yes, Mr. Cuo?”
“Have you thought about not shaving your head?”
He looks surprised. “That would be a radical and unnecessary thing to do, sir. I hope you aren’t considering doing it yourself. Besides, isn’t your hair chemically treated?”
I turn red against my will. Most citizens have their heads doused with chemicals so that their hair will never grow in. Usually only the poor shave.
“It’s a subject I rather not talk about.” I say, looking down at my shoes.
He nods. The rest of the walk is spent in silence.
Before I know it, the pavilions loom into view. Unlike the rest of the buildings in Scion, they are a deep polished black. Each represents a different major, mine happening to Science and Technology. I catch Carson looking a bit longingly at the Transportation Pavilion.
“Don’t worry,” I say, smirking. “As soon as we’re in the ST Pavilion, you’ll be free of your stiff bratty escort and you can run off to your little Transportation hub and tell all your friends about what a terrible job you have. Is that clear?”
He looks surprised. “What friends?”
“Why if it isn’t Romo Cuo, ST’s young protégé! How’ve you been?”
We both whirl around to see a pot-bellied man in his late forties. He lifts a black-gloved hand and waves at us.
“Greetings, Dr. Espinoza,” I say curtly. “I’m well.” He laughs heartily, as if I’ve just said a joke.
“Ah, serious as ever I see! You here attending classes here or what?”
I haven’t been to a class for two years. “No, just supervising the completion of one of my projects.”
An eyebrow raises. “Which one?” I shoot him a look, which only makes him laugh even harder.
“Government secret, I know, I know. Well, have fun down there kids!” Dr. Espinoza waves and disappears back into the crowd of citizens shuffling around the pavilions.
“I swear, people are getting stupider with each generation,” I grunt. Carson gives me a strange look for a second, but he then returns to normal. We walk through the entrance to the ST Pavilion and he asks:
“So…you’re a scientist, then?” I nod without looking at him.
“What kind?”
“I work with biotechnology.”
We continue on awkwardly until the receptionist recognizes me and gives me a small wave.
“G’mornin’, Mozart.” I give her what is more of a twitch of the hand than a wave.
“Mozart…” Carson ponders. “Because you’re a child genius?”
“I don’t know if you would call fifteen a child, but yes.”
Finally, after what seems like an endless walk through overly-friendly colleagues and Carson’s strange questions, we reach the elevator. I cram inside with twelve other scientists. My assistant tries to step in but I push him away. “Beyond this point you need my level of clearance, something which you don’t have.” He solemnly steps away and salutes as the doors slide shut. I watch him disappear through the pristine glass of the elevator walls as we descend into what I call “government territory.”
Most of the other people on the ride down ignore me, but one man’s eyes keep darting back and forth between me and the wall.
“What?” I snap. He jumps in surprise.
“Ah-ah n-nothing, you just look a little young to be here, that’s all. How old are you, thirteen?”
“Fifteen,” I say, rolling my eyes. “How old are you, ninety?” He glares at me and looks away. I sigh and stare through the glass. We pass the hangar that holds the stem-cell facilities, a monolith of a place with bleak concrete walls and two-hundred foot tall ceilings. Researchers pace around, some lovingly carrying petri dishes to incubators, others sitting bored at one of the hundreds of metal tables littered across the floor. I notice one smiling like a proud father as he checks what’s growing inside one of the incubators. Idiot, I think, as I reflect back on many failed human experiments. Just wait until whatever you’re growing in there comes out deformed. Or a monster. Or completely perfect, in which case you’ll never see it again.
I feel someone tap on my shoulder. “Hey kid!” I turn around and see the man from before. He looks sheepish.
“Sorry about earlier. You’re Cuo’s kid, aren’t you? Believe it or not, I used to know him back when we were orderlies in the Immigration Pavilion. Looked just like you, too. A late bloomer, you know.” He turns red when he realizes that comment was offensive. I start to turn around but he stops me. “H-hey, I was wondering, could you put in a good word for me? I’m new to the job and all and—“
I cut him off. “Sir, even if you were doing such a brilliant job here that I would consider putting in a ‘good word’ for you to my superiors, I wouldn’t be able to do it because we rarely speak to one another. If you want pity try asking someone else.” His eyes widen as if I’ve just slapped him in the face. Then the man makes a small noise as if trying to speak, but gives up and looks down at the floor, disheartened.
A few of the other scientists glare at me, but I ignore them. It is vital to keep oneself emotionally void in this job. Dead fetuses…healthy babies exterminated because they weren’t the right phenotype…things with spliced DNA that turned out so monstrous we burned them so we wouldn’t have to look at them…those things would weigh on a romanticist’s conscious until he caved and went ballistic from the pressure. A man like the one I’d seen smiling at the incubator would look like a soulless zombie quite soon enough.
We continue down, passing the volunteer facility, the volunteer rehabilitation center, animal testing clinic, the incinerator—
I close my eyes, but I can’t close my ears to the malformed wailing of doomed test subjects, can’t close my skin to the warmth of the flames, can’t close my nose to the smell of smoldering flesh. And then the heat leaves and I open them again.
The elevator doors slide open and I enter basement floor seven. Compared to the rest of the ST Pavilion’s clandestine underground, BF7 is quite unimpressive: if it were located anywhere else, it could have been called an office complex, filled with worn gray carpets, cramped cubicles, and depressing white walls. But the ceiling high observation window and massive white room it looks out on betray as something more. I walk past the window, and into a door marked STERILIZATION.
Inside is a blindingly white room, scrubbed clean of any human waste or alien dirt. Lined up in a row on the back wall are hazmat suits in various sizes, just as white as the walls. I lift the smallest sized one off its hook and pull it over my normal clothes. The inside reeks of chemicals and plastic, and I quickly uncap the air filter. Then I exit the sterilization room and stand underneath the camera in front of the heavy titanium door that leads to the observation deck. A red light washes over me as the machine’s weak laser burns off any stray chemicals or impurities. Then a loud clanging sound comes from inside the door as the thousands of steel tumblers activate and are set into motion. The door hisses open, revealing a nearly pitch-black area.
I walk inside, my footsteps sounding like gunshots in the massive canyon of a room. Among three incubators, a table covered in human “blueprints,” and twelve stasis chambers is a crib, made of metal but lined with feathery white blankets. I stride over to it and peek inside. There lies a baby, one with translucent skin, extremely pronounced veins, and eyes that are completely black, the result of overly dilated pupils: a mistake by any definition. She is so still she appears dead: only the faint rise and fall of her chest and the whispering of her breath expose her as alive. I lift her up and hold her lovingly close to my chest.
“Icarus.”

[kikistrike20]

that's really quite good

[shadeofgray]

/Chapter 2/A Proposition/

Icarus waves a hand weakly around in the air, feeling for my face. She is almost completely blind, but has an innate sense of touch. I can almost see her smile in the dark as her tiny hand grips my nose. “Yes, that’s me,” I coo. “I’m Romo. Can you say Romo?” Icarus coughs and yanks on me. I gently grab her arm. “No.” She coughs again, and this time it sounds painful. A list of diseases flashes through my brain: whooping cough, influenza, pneumonia, respiratory infection, bronchitis—
It’s probably nothing, a small voice interrupts. When did you become so paranoid?
All of a sudden light streams into the chamber. Icarus shrieks in agony as her pupils contract and claws at my face. Her nails are surprisingly sharp. A new symptom? I wonder but quickly shake the thought away and turn towards the staircase. How dare someone hurt my prized creation? What imbecile would have turned the lights on in this place when everyone here knows perfectly well that—
“Hello, Romo.”
A man with Scion’s seal tattooed on his face smiles at me from the top of the stairs. The seal curves elegantly around his cold dark blue eyes and thin lips, and his uniform is black with white trim instead of the other way around. A large, ugly scar runs from his temple to his ear.
My father.
In an action that is almost as compulsory as breathing to me, I drop down on one knee and turn my eyes to the floor. I clutch the screaming Icarus to my stomach, embarrassed at her behavior.
“Hello, sir,” I grunt, and clumsily get to my feet. He nods and salutes.
“At ease.”
I hurry my experiment back to her crib. Then I rush up the stairs and turn off the lights. The banshee-like screeching quiets.
“I-I apologize for the darkness, sir,” I stutter. “23 cannot tolerate light.” My father nods thoughtfully.
“So this is your twenty-third then?”
“Y-yes sir.”
“You do realize these projects of yours cost an ungodly amount of money, don’t you?” My heart stops.
“I apologize for my mistakes, sir. However, with the right conditioning, I-I believe 23 could—” He gives me a look that could humble nations, and everything in my body seems to shut down. The silence between us seems to last an eternity. Then he puts a hand on my shoulder and looks me in the eye.
“I know you love these…things…you create, but emotion is the enemy here: don’t make a mistake you’ll regret when choosing family over government, understood?”
What did that mean?
“Yes sir,” I reply, sounding like a broken record. He hardens his grip on my shoulder, then lets go and leaves.
()()()
I step out of the elevator and Carson intercepts me.
“How did your time at the lab go, sir?”
“Fine.”
“Where shall I escort you to sir?”
“Home. Then you can leave. I won’t be going anywhere else today.” I ignore his confused look and walk as fast as I can. Right now there’s nothing I’d rather be than alone.
We reach my apartment complex and Carson bows to me. This is how my father must feel: above everything, looking down on the people below. Saluting Carson as he leaves, I step through the main door. Everyone in the lobby quiets as I enter.
All of a sudden I can’t take it anymore: I sprint the remaining feet to the elevator and pull the doors shut behind me. Relax, I think, trying to calm down. No emotion. Don’t make yourself look like an idiot. I take deep breaths until I reach my floor. The AI prompts me for my access code.
“Access Code 21021221.”
“Cuo, Romo—“ I don’t wait for it to finish: I just walk out. Nurse Bairta is talking into the loudspeaker receiver outside my apartment.
“I don’t know sir, Master Cuo left six hours ago, I’m not sure where he is—Romo!” She squeals when she sees me. “Oh my God I’ve been looking all over for you! Listen, there’s a man inside from Archetype Company’s board of directors. He says he’s interested in your work and he wants to invite you to a dinner party.”
Try as I might, I can’t keep the shock off my face. “When?”
“He said tonight, but if you’re busy…”
I consider it. I could sulk on my bed for the rest of today or I could see what one of the most prominent names in technology wants from me.
“Tell him I’ll be there in two hours.”
()()()
Scion is even more beautiful at night than it is in the day. Each building glows from the inside, like a lantern. Chains of lights dot the streets, and spotlights in Pavilion Park throw beams across the black sky. The city is literally a beacon in the dark.
I hurry to catch up with Carson as he darts through the crowds of people. I’m not used to wearing a suit, which is the only other piece of clothing I own besides my uniform. I’m not used to having bare hands, either: it makes me feel somehow…exposed.
My escort stops to wait for me as I dodge a group of people wearing cocktail dresses and masquerade masks. As soon as I catch up with him, Carson darts away again. I run after him panting.
“Why are we moving so quickly? You act like you’re being tailed.”
He looks over his shoulder at me. “I don’t like Scion at night…it brings back bad memories.”
Of what? I wonder, but I don’t say it aloud. The two of us weave down streets until we’re at the heart of the city. The sight takes my breath away, but I move along before I lose Carson again. He leads me to a vast white mansion with a courtyard filled to the brim with Scion’s upperclassmen. A violin trio plays Flygt’s Universe Aria, barely audible over the chatter of the guests. I straighten my tie and step into the square
“Good-bye sir. I have an errand to take care of.” I whip around but Carson is already gone, lost in the stream of citizens. “He didn’t even bow,” I say in awe.
“Ah, there’s the man of the hour!”
I hear someone clap and I turn around to face a tall, well-built man grinning at me. At least six women are standing next to him, keening vulgar things at him and stroking his tuxedo. The man extends a hand. “I’m Saber Laugary, CEO of Archetype Company. You must be Romo Cuo.”
I take his hand and give him a thin-lipped smile. “How did you know?”
He holds his arms out and laughs. I notice an empty glass of wine in one hand. “Well you’re the youngest one here!”
The women behind him caw like vultures. I find it hard to keep smiling. Laugary turns around and beckons for me to follow. “C’mon: let me show you around my humble abode.”
The stream of party guests parts as Laugary makes his way to the main entrance. Some of them throw wine or beer bottles at him and others hoot and jeer. My host just laughs and shakes it off, even throwing his own wine glass into the crowd. I, on the other hand, feel nauseous.
We reach a roped off part of the building. Two men with laser rifles stand guard, looking bored. Laugary puts on an oily smile.
“Sorry girls: you’ll have to leave. Only me and my friend here get to go on.” The girls swarm up against him and whine about him ruining their fun and how they won’t be there all night. He just chuckles and motions for one of the guards to lift up the rope that blocks off the entrance. The women pout and storm off.
The guard who lifts up the rope eyes me suspiciously. He whispers something to the CEO that makes him laugh and slap the guard on the back.
“Who cares if he’s young? The kid’s a complete genius, y’know. Son of Ignatius Cuo, the Head of Immigration. You heard of him?” The guard shakes his head and smiles uncomfortably. Laugary shrugs. “No matter.” We push past him and into the mansion.
“This,” he says, smiling, “is a tour I only give to certain guests. So what you see here has to be our little secret, okay?” He jokingly puts a finger to his lips, but I can sense there’s nothing funny about what he says. I allow myself a curt nod.
“Good,” he says, turning towards the empty hallway in front of us. “Then follow me: I have a business proposition for you.”

[kikistrike20]

Ooohh... tell me more

[shadeofgray]

/Chapter 3/Down the Lift/

Laugary leads me across the hall and down a series of richly carpeted stairways. It worries me that I only see four people on the way down, all of which are guards. Laugary stops to chatter drunkenly with all of them. I’m starting to worry about how intoxicated he is.
Finally we reach an unremarkable metal door with the words ROOF ACCESS: MANOR HANDS ONLY stenciled on. Oddly enough, there is no one guarding it.
A voice prompts us for an Access Code, retinal scan, and fingerprint check. Saber bypasses them all, and gently pushes me forward. “Now you.”
I say my Access Code as quietly as I can, eyeing Laugary suspiciously. Access Codes are a little shaky, but retinal scans and fingerprint recognition systems have been perfected to the point that they are foolproof. What could be so important beyond this door that you would need both?
I finish the fingerprint scan and the door abruptly slams open, almost taking my nose with it. Inside is an industrial-style lift. There’s a yellow biohazard symbol spray-painted on it.
“Don’t worry,” Laugary says, stepping inside the lift. “This thing used to lead to a biohazardous waste disposal plant back before I owned the mansion. The crazy old shit that lived here was making nuclear weapons right underneath his own home.” He laughs tartly. “Who knew?”
Well it’s quite clear we aren’t going to the roof now, but I join Laugary inside the lift anyway. There is a small security camera mounted in the corner, its black eye trained on me. I try to swallow my growing discomfort and face Laugary, who is running codes through the lift’s mainframe. Finally the thing jerks to life and we descend into the CEO’s private underground.
“Did you know,” he yells over the shriek of the gears, “that my father was the CEO of Archetype before I was? He handed the company over to me in his will, and it created a lot of controversy.” He pauses, as if remembering. “No one thought I was right for the job, not even me: I didn’t know a thing about technology or how to run a business. I’d spent most of my life vacationing in Boca Ray, hadn’t even trained at one of the pavilions.”
The lift shudders to a stop and we step off and continue walking. Wherever we are, it’s almost completely black, and I can’t make out a thing. Just like Icarus’s room.
“As soon as I became head of the company, things changed: I spent all my time studying prototypes, getting patents, making sure sales were going well, pleasing clients, getting advertisements.” I can’t see Laugary’s face, but he sounds bitter, and not the least bit drunk.
“At age thirty I went to attend classes at the Science and Technology Pavilion, just like you are right now. I figured it would seem a lot better if I knew what the hell I was talking about when I introduced our new products.” He stops to fiddle with something I can’t see, most likely a keypad, judging by the beeping.
“Going to those classes I discovered I had a knack for biotechnology, once again, just like you, Mr. Cuo,” he turns to face me. I hear a creaking noise and a thin shaft of light reaches out from behind him. The light slowly expands until it is well over Laugary’s head. It’s another door, I realize.
I start to see the beginning of a silhouette emerging from the door. As the gap grows wider I can even start to see multiple IVs attached to it as well as an oxygen mask.
“A stasis chamber,” Saber says quietly. “Although you surely knew that.” He toys with the keypad again and the chamber lights up.
I hold back the urge to scream at the huge scabbed tumor-like creature I see floating in the tank.
Laugary nods sadly. “The thing in there was supposed to be the next…er…superhuman, able to produce and withstand fire. Sadly the regeneration of tissue worked a little too well and it ended up producing massive bouts of cancer all over its body. When we tried to use a growth hormone suppressor, tissue regeneration did not work at all and it nearly burned itself to death. We’re trying to keep the subject alive but…” He clears his throat and taps on the keypad. The stasis chamber moves away from the window and another one comes forth. I prepare myself for another nightmare, but this one looks fairly normal, if not a little limp. However…
“There’s no oxygen mask,” I say stupidly. Laugary sighs.
“This one was only partially able to combust, and on the inside. Her cells could not reproduce at all and she was incinerated from within.”
I stare, incredulous. “Then why keep her in a stasis chamber?”
“I preserve all my subjects for documentation.”
Laugary goes on, showing me failure after failure. The way he talks and holds himself…it’s hard to believe this the same man I saw drinking and hanging off of women just minutes ago.
All of a sudden a question dawns on me. “What do I have to do with all this?”
The CEO stops abruptly. After a second of silence, he closes down the display case and looks me square in the eye.
“I know more about you than you think I do, Romo Cuo. I have friends in many places and they’ve told me about your little experiments. That Icarus of yours particularly interests me…”
I run for the lift as fast as I can. I can’t let him take Icarus; I’ve got to protect her—
“You do realize I’m the only one who knows how to operate that, don’t you?” he calls after me.
I stop cold in my tracks. Damned emotion, always getting in the way of logic. Now I know what Father was trying to tell me. I turn around slowly.
“What do you want with 23? She not for sale, you know.”
I can hear the grin in Laugary’s voice. “I’m not looking to buy her, Cuo; I can’t afford that along with the rest of my company’s expenses. Actually, this doesn’t have anything to do with my company at all: I’m here to warn you.”
“What do you mean?” The harshness in my voice surprises me.
“I mean, boy, that our government has taken quite an interest in your projects.”
I stop cold.
“If you donate Icarus to my research, I can assure you she’ll be under the same care that she normally would. However, if you choose to keep her, she might fall into some dangerous hands.”
“I’m sure nothing could be worse for her than having to join your collection of freaks!” I spit. Laugary laughs.
“Freaks? Well she already is a bit of a freak, now isn’t she? Even more so than you think.”
I think of 23’s black eyes, clear skin, and sharp nails. “She…she’s not a freak,” I whisper. “And I can keep Icarus away from the government.” Laugary laughs even louder. He’s starting to sound like a maniac.
“How will you keep her from the government? With that weak security system of yours? With your father’s influence? Face it kid, there’s nothing you can do.”
“That may be true,” I stammer, “but there’s no way in hell I’m giving 23 to you.” He smiles coldly.
“Alright you stubborn little ass. I can see there’s no getting to you.” Laugary starts walking to the lift and I follow him.
The ride up is spent in complete silence. Once we’re in the public part of the mansion, he has a guard escort me to door. I feel like an idiot being forced out in front of all of those people. One man calls out, “Did ya sneak in for the beer or the women, kid?” I shoot him a look that rivals even my father’s and he backs away.
I walk home by myself, since Carson is nowhere to be seen. Strangely enough, the lobby is even fuller than it is during the daytime. Everyone’s gathered around the enormous wall-to-wall projection screen the left side of the lobby boasts, even the receptionist. I elbow through people until I’m only inches away from the screen, staring at a picture of the smoldering Transportation Pavilion.


The chapter after this one is...chaotic, to say the least.

[kikistrike20]

cant wait to read it

[shadeofgray]

/Chapter 4/Nero/

My God. An ugly tower of black smoke rages from the Pavilion. The building’s Automatic Fire Extinguishers have started and the Transportation Pavilion is oozing white foam, but there’s no stopping the flames now.
“What are we going to do?” someone whispers behind me.
“What if it spreads?”
“My dad was working there!”
“Why don’t we have a fire department?”
“I have to find out if my sister got out okay!”
A thought strikes me: what if Carson was there? Did he get out in time, or is he in there somewhere, slowly burning to death?
Who cares? A voice in the back of my head nags. You’ve only known him for a day; what does it matter if he’s dead?
I shake the thoughts from my head, trying to decide what to do. Going to the Pavilion to actually do something instead of gawking at the wall like an idiot seems like a good idea. However, risking my life getting close to the flames does not.
Suddenly, a woman breaks away from the crowd and screams.
“It’s spreading to the ST Pavilion!”
I sprint out the door.
()()()
Icarus, Icarus, ICARUS! A thousand terrible images flash through my head: Icarus burning alive, Icarus being crushed by rubble, Icarus inhaling too much smoke, Icarus—
I stop and try to focus on getting to the ST Pavilion. I don’t think I’ve ever run this fast in my life: the screaming people crowding in the streets look like they’re moving in slow motion.
The closer I get to Pavilion Park the harder it is to breathe. I tear off my suit jacket and tie it across my face like a bandana. Thankfully there aren’t as many people this close to the blaze.
“Hey kid!” A hand snatches me from behind and I jerk back in surprise. I squirm around and come face-to-face with a sweaty red-faced man, who starts towing me away from the Park.
“You can’t go near there,” he scolds. “You’ll die of smoke inahal—”
I punch him straight in the face and keep running. The man screams “DIPSHIT!” after me, and shakes his fist.
Finally, the Transportation building looms in front of me, spewing some ungodly black cloud that blocks out the sun. I turn and sprint for the Science and Technology Pavilion, which is burning, but not quite on the same scale as the other Pavilion. The top half of the building seems to be the source of the fire, so the underground should still be safe.
I’m coming, Icarus.
()()()
I throw a chunk of the crumbling building through the glass door of the Pavilion and stand back as it shatters. A three foot hole is left in its wake, and I quickly slide through. Jagged glass rakes at my suit, but the tough Kevlar-hybrid material keeps it from slicing me open.
As soon as I’m inside, I run for the elevator and jam the opening button. The minute the doors slide open, I throw myself in and scream my Access Code at the AI. The thing shudders to life and painstakingly makes its way down.
“HURRY UP!” I scream, venting my frustration. “HURRY UP, HURRY UP, HURRY UP!” Needless to say, it goes as slow as ever.
I flash back to the angry scar on Father’s face. Hold your temper you imbecile; what you did to him was unspeakable: it should never happen to anyone else. I force myself against one of the walls of the elevator and hold my head in my hands, listening to my own ragged breathing. Ugly images of blood on my hands and my father in the hospital flash through my mind, making me want to throw up. I shove back the memories and try to focus on what’s happening beyond the elevator.
Outside the glass walls the stem cell facilities drag by, their usually bustling room eerily empty. Everyone’s either evacuated or died, I realize. Everything they worked so hard on is in those incubators, and now it will all be reduced to ashes.
All of a sudden, darkness invades the elevator and every inch of light is sucked away. I slam my head against the wall in surprise and back away from the door. “This must be the volunteer facility,” I breathe. “There might still be people in—“
CRASH.
A spider web crack forms on one wall of the elevator. Then another, then another, and then a hammer crashes through the wall, sending broken glass everywhere. Pieces of it sink into me all over my body. Something latches onto my leg and yanks me towards the hole, and when I uncover my eyes I see that it’s a human hand, reddish-brown with blood.
“LET ME IN!” It howls. “GET ME OUT OF THIS fucking PLACE! PLEASE!”
“I CAN’T!” I scream back. “I CAN’T STOP THE ELEVATOR!” The hand keeps yanking me towards the jagged hole, raking my leg through piles of shattered glass, and I desperately grope for the hammer. Already my knee has disappeared out the gap, and the rest of my body is quickly inching towards whatever sort of deformed, maimed volunteer is waiting for me in the darkness.
Finally my hand closes around the handle, and I whirl around and smash at whoever has a grip on me. I hear the crunching of bones and the person screeches and withdraws their hand, snarling at me to watch my back. I ignore the volunteer and snap my leg back into elevator, clutching the hammer like a life preserver. My body spasms with adrenaline. I’ve never felt so alive yet so afraid at the same time.
I make it down to Icarus’s chamber without any more attacks, but that one was enough to keep me on high alert. Every tiny creak sets me on edge, and I’m beginning to see how someone could go insane down in this labyrinth.
The power’s out in BF7 too, not that it matters to its single resident. I, however, feel as blind as a bat in day. Flailing around in the darkness, I grab posters and office chairs, but it is not before I have torn the office apart that I find the scanner for the door to Icarus’s room. Without the hazmat suit, the purification laser burns my skin. I grit my teeth and wait for it to be done.
Finally the laser disappears, signaling the door to wrench open its cold maw and expose the absolute blackness that is Icarus’s chamber. I waste no time trying to find a light, instead stumbling down the staircase as best I can.
“Icarus,” I say as loudly as I dare. “Where are you hiding? I know you’re in here.” I grope for the wall but come up with nothing but empty space. Papers rustle underneath my feet as I tread through the darkness. How did they get there? I wonder. Everything was in place this morn—
All of a sudden my foot hits something wet and fleshy. I wrench it back as quickly as I can.
“I-I-Icarus?” I whisper. I can hear my heart throbbing in my ears. “Is that you?”
Cautiously, I squat down and run my trembling fingers over the floor and find a body. The tangy smell of blood hits me as soon as I get close. They murdered her. Slit her throat in her sleep, just like Laugary predicted. Icarus is gone.
Then my hand slides over something sleek and black and I know there’s no way this person could be Icarus. Infants don’t carry guns. A wave of relief washes over me.
Further inspection shows the person was up to the teeth with ammo and sporting a bulletproof vest. Whoever they were, they looked like they were prepared for a full-scale assassination. Which brings a question to mind: who was this person and how did they die in an empty chamber if they were so heavily armed?
A loud wail shatters my thoughts and makes me trip over the body. I spit out blood and wipe off my eyes. Shoving the corpse aside, I feel around in the darkness. The shrieking grows louder and louder until I have to cover my ears to preserve my sanity.
My knee smashes into something metal and I breathe a sigh of relief: Icarus’s crib. I paw through the blankets until I find her, still screeching in discomfort. I scoop her up and hold her in one arm and feel for the stairs in the other.
I hear a faint roar coming from above me, and the fact that I’m in a slowly burning building crashes down on me. In a panic I grope around blindly for the wall, the railing, anything. Icarus screams even louder, probably demanding food or to be put back down or something. I wish I could knock her out without hurting her.
Finally, my hand brushes against something sleek and faintly warm: the railing! I pull myself towards it, trying not to trip over the corpse lying at the bottom of the stairs. One leap clears the gap, and suddenly I’m barreling up the metal staircase, shaking from both panic and-strangely-excitement.
As soon as I manage to wrench the door open, I smell it. The smothering odor of smoke is everywhere, pouring from the elevator, leaking from the walls, sinking down from the ceiling. I warily tighten the knot that keeps my suit jacket on my face. Normally in the event of a fire, you’re supposed to stay away from elevators and head away from the source of the fire. But breaking both rules to me is the only other option besides staying down here and waiting for the fire to reach me…
I pry the elevator door open with some difficulty and start brushing broken glass and debris off the floor to clear a spot for Icarus and me. As soon as I’m done I step inside and slam the shattered doors shut behind us. I can only pray we won’t run into the same problems going up as I did going down.
We make it about ten feet up before Icarus starts coughing. The smoke’s getting thicker, I think grimly. Yanking off my tie, I pull around Icarus’s face and secure it with a knot. She still coughs, but more faintly this time. I notice that, for whatever reason, her incessant howling has stopped too.
We rise up past the four floors above BF7 and find them as painfully empty as Icarus’s chamber will be now. On one floor I think I can hear someone wailing and I think I can see the silhouette of a woman, but we pass the floor up before I can be sure.
The ground floor is so close I can almost taste it when the smoke really starts pouring in. It’s like someone opened the floodgates and unleashed the toxin everywhere. I press myself against the floor where the last of the oxygen is and pull Icarus underneath me, but I know it’ll only be a matter of time before the stuff finds a way into my lungs and kills me.
I hear the elevator’s hydraulic brakes go off and we come to a stop. At this point, I can’t even open my eyes. The smoke makes them feel like they’ve been splashed with saltwater. I scoop up the eerily quiet Icarus and start crawling blindly out of the elevator and into the lobby. Chipped stone and broken glass claw and my hands and feet and leave deep, weeping wounds behind, but I keep going.
All of a sudden I can’t take it anymore and I collapse on spot, banging Icarus’s head and opening up a fresh steam of tears. I try to take deep breaths and ignore the searing pain, but I just end up gulping down bitter smoke and coughing up a lung. I flip over my stomach and resume dragging myself through lobby. Every time I hit another piece of glass I whimper like a scolded puppy, and every time I whimper smoke floods my mouth. It’s like an endless purgatory.
My head bashes against something and I hear a ringing sound. It must be the glass doors to the Pavilion. Oh my God, I am finally free, free, free! I’m finished crawling through hell! Feeling for the hole I made earlier, I hike 23 up and prepare to throw myself through.
After five agonizing minutes of feeling around with my eyes closed, I find one of the jagged edges of the gap. I force myself to stand up and open my eyes, and nearly pass out at the pain. Trying my best to squint through the smoke and shuffle forward with my mutilated feet, I grab the edge of the hole and haul myself through.
Once I’m on the other side with Icarus, I lay there let a limp doll, gasping for fresh air like a fish washed up on the beach. Complete relief surges through me, a better feeling than any drug could provide. I laugh in a sort of breathless, nervous way and pull Icarus close.
“That,” I wheeze to her, “was the worst thing I have ever done in my life. Now I better get to a doctor or I’m going to pass out and die from these goddamned feet.” I roll into a sitting position and gingerly get to my feet. Pain blasts through me and I try to keep down the screams, but they bubble over and I bawl at the sky. 23 joins in right along with me.
I force myself to stop and wipe the tears out of my eyes. I start limping away from the burning building with the screaming 23 in my arms, like the so many lower-class people I’ve sneered at before. I get about twenty feet away before I hear a sort of tittering, a sound like someone laughing in another room. I wrench around, looking for the source of the sound. A white speck in the distance catches my attention and I cautiously pull myself towards it.
The closer I get the louder the laughter gets, and I notice there’s a sort of frightening quality to it, a sort of unbridled cruelty that hints at insanity. Reacting on some primeval fear, I hide in an alley and peek out. The person is standing on a ten-foot pile of rubble with his back to me. If I squint I can see they’re wearing a dress shirt and pants. Wait, I think, I recognize that outfit—
The laughing comes to an abrupt halt and for a second I think the person’s heard me. I place a trembling hand over Icarus’s mouth to quiet her down. Complete silence follows. Then debris rains down from the pile as the person turns towards me. I dart back into the alley and curl into a ball, waiting for them to come and do whatever they want with me.
Seconds pass and I realize that I’m safe. Breathing a sigh of relief, I peek out of the alley again. The stranger is facing the burning Pavilions now, staring into their blaze. My eyes travel from the person’s shoes to their press-ironed pants to their lily-white shirt and then come crashing down at their face.
His face, with its mismatched eyes reflecting the flames I had just escaped.
Carson’s smiling face.