The Other Box: Chapter 7 (by Elliot Bowers)
...
Blood, Metal, and Power
...
_____Theora stood up from her place at the cafe counter, her face showing
fright and shock. She went over to the high stool at the left--where the
cyborg girl was sitting. WAS sitting. Gally had magically vanished...
____Magic? No, no, no! The word just randomly came to mind; Theora did NOT
believe in magic. She was a logical woman, one who believed in reality.
An expert with various computer systems and office management, she prided
herself on having a solid knowledge of people and machines: science and
technology. There was no such thing as magic. And there had to be a solid
and realistic explanation as to how the cyborg-girl disappeared.
_____So, what WAS the explanation? With no ideas coming to mind, the pretty,
professionally dressed woman was left here thoroughly discombobulated.
Standing here, she tried to come up with an explanation one more time.
_____She thought back to what just happened here. First, Gally was sitting
on that cafe stool--drinking tea and talking about some "other place." It was
a place, she said, where she was different. Then, the waitress had shouted
about something. About some odd object. Theora remembered hearing Gally
gasp, falling off of the cafe stool, and then...!
_____She vanished. Just like that. The cyborg-girl was no longer in this
cafe. And, Theora strongly suspected that Gally was no longer in the city
either. Or, maybe it was something in the tea?
_____Theora leaned over, looked into the teacup. There was the drink Gally
was sipping--pekoe-cut mint tea. Ordinary tea? She looked closer at the stuff.
_____As she watched, something began to happen...! The liquid in the cup
began to slowly swirl counter-clockwise. Slo-o-w-w-wly... Being stirred by
something Theora could not see. Then, it began to darken in color--until it
was a totally dark liquid. So dark, that it looked liked someone poured a
shadow into the cup.
_____"Oh my..." whispered Theora. Gally drank that stuff in the cup--whatever
the Hell it was. What if...?
_____No, maybe she was hallucinating? Shaking her head and bolstering up her
courage, Theora reached out with trembling hands, fingers going to the dark-
filled cup atop the cafe counter-top. She picked it up...
_____NO-O-O! "Aiigh!" Theora shrieked and flinched. As soon as her fingers
touched the teacup, there was a sharp pain in her head--accompanied by a
scream. A scream that only she heard--in her mind.
_____Recovering, she looked down at herself. In flinching, she had splashed
the darkened liquid all over her dress and blouse! "Oh, DAMN!" she said in
her lightly accented voice, putting the now-empty cup atop the counter. She
tried brushing it off. What IS this Hellish stuff?
_____Sal the Cook came by with a spare towel. "Goodness!" he said, admiring
Theora's feminine figure--while disdaining the stains on her clothes. "How'd
you do that, pretty lady? I didn't see you walk in here with any motor oil.
Now you've got it all over your clothes! No, wait, that doesn't look like
motor oil! Hmmph, anyway..." He offered the towel. Asked, "Where's that
philosophical cyborg-girl? She was here a minute ago." BA-A-NG!
_____Both the cook and Theora looked around. "What the...?" went the cook.
There had just been a loud crash of sound from outside the cafe. It sounded
big, REALLY BIG. Like, someone smashing two cars together.
_____Soon after that, the cook and Theora heard shouts and yells in the
distance--outside. Was there an accident? Or was it something worse? It
sure sounded like a serious one.
_____Everyone in this cafe got up from where they sat, suddenly curious. They
wanted to see what the commotion was about out there. And then they heard the
screams.
_____Those were screams not often heard in this region of town--where everyone
lived comfortably and well. Those screams were truly deep and awful,
unforgettable. Maybe, those were death screams.
_____In the very worst moment of a human being's life, a person can make quite
a distinct and terrible sound. It is a sound that comes from deep within, a
sound of a soul in deep fear. That was the sort of screaming that came from
out there.
_____"Oh my God!" went Theora, hearing the sounds of trouble outside. Something
huge was happening, something big and dangerous. Approaching the cafe's large
window, she gently pushed aside some gawking people to see outside. She saw
people running from the left side--going to the right.
_____Then twelve of those metal things scampered into view! Twelve prototype
cyborgs scampered over to this part of the street, right in front of THIS cafe.
They looked terrible--silvery skeletal bodies, chests covered with armor. The
faces were simple rubber masks put on their metal skulls. Yes, it was those
things.
_____Three of the prototype cyborg-things broke off from the main group. They
were coming this way! One of them leapt at this window, and there was a CRASH
of glass being broken. Theora screamed when she was hit.
...
_____Gally was...somewhere else. She knew it to be the same old dance. The
darkness in THE box had taken her again! It sent her falling through
blackness, no sky above and no ground below. As before, there was nothing but
the sound of the air whipping by as she fell fast. She waited for
unconsciousness to hit her, and it did.
_____When consciousness returned, the cyborg-girl sat up. It was that dark
place again: the dilapidated room. A room outside of reality, outside of time
and space.
_____This chair... Gally found that she was even sitting in the same wooden
chair she sat in last time she was here. The floor of the room was still the
same, too--a floor made of wooden planks. And the concrete walls still had
peeling paint. There were still two doors to get out of here: one door at
the left, one door at the right.
_____But she knew she could not get up to level; she knew that she could not
even speak here--for whatever reason. This was not her place, or any mortal's
place. This was the bizarre, confusing realm of the Kindly Old Man, a
inhuman being from dreams and darkness. The rules of this place were
different from the rules of reality. And, the Kindly Old Man should be along
any moment now.
_____Gally smiled to herself when--as predicted--she heard the sounds of his
approach. There was the sounds of HIS wheezing coming from the door on the
right side. The way the Kindly Old Man sounded, wheezing so, a person expected
him to drop dead at any moment. Also coming was the shuffle-shuffle-shuffle of
his hard-soled shoes as HE came to the other side of the door. Indeed, any
moment now, he'd walk in, and do something.
_____The right-side door opened. As Gally expected, there was a the glare.
She turned her head while the door remained ajar--florescent white brightness
filling this place. And then the Kindly Old Man closed the door behind him--
again settling the room into gloom. Now, she expected to hear him talk his
crazy, cryptic talk.
_____Gally did not necessarily hate the Kindly Old Man. In his twisted,
metaphoric way of speaking, he provided useful information. It would have
been much more convenient for the Kindly Old Man to simply say what he meant
instead of posing strange riddles. If she did not understand how to unravel
his verbal puzzles, THEN she would be angry with the Kindly Old Man...and
confused.
_____HE shuffled on over here, his wheezing filling this room. And he moved
to the center of the room--where Gally was seated. "Hah-h-h...! Things are
the same, but DIFFERENT!" he said, wheezing. "Hah-h-h... Sameness with
difference!" He winked, wheezed some more.
_____Gally did not immediately understand the riddle, but she would wait for
what else the Kindly Old Man had to say. Likely, he meant to say that there
was something different about this visit. She would find out.
_____He put his hands behind his back, then suddenly whipped them out again.
Now, he held two objects--one in each hand. In his left hand was a little
headless woodpuppet, painted white. In his right hand was a bowl of oatmeal,
almost white. But the woodpuppet had an irritating and cloying smell; it
smelled like flan.
_____"Hah-h-h! BLAME HIM!" shouted the Kindly Old Man, shaking the headless
woodpuppet--the fruity smell of flan wafting towards Gally. "He's ruining THE
OATMEAL! Just LOOK at what he's doing!" Then the Kindly Old Man dropped
the woodpuppet into the bowl of oatmeal, making for a slight "plop!"
_____The oatmeal blackened. It was as if the puppet were a catalyst for
whatever happened to that mush--a catalyst of dark trouble... That was it!
That was what the Kindly Old Man was saying. Yes, Gally understood the Kindly
Old Man--somewhat. Some aspects of his cryptic analogy were strange, but she
had the general idea of what he communicated.
_____"Hah-h-h... And wait until BOTH types of oatmeal are darkened!" said the
Kindly Old Man, his voice now quivering. Holding the bowl of darkened oatmeal
in his left hand--the headless woodpuppet still in it--the Kindly Old Man used
his right hand to reach behind his back again. Now, he had another bowl of
the beige-white foodstuff.
_____He held the new oatmeal next to the bowl of darkened oatmeal, lowered
it closer to Gally. And she saw what happened--the same thing that happened
to the previous bowl of oatmeal. Held close to the darkened oatmeal, the new
oatmeal began to change color as well. It did not change color as quickly as
when the woodpuppet was dipped in it, but it was definitely changing...
_____Soon, both bowls of oatmeal were the same dark color: a sickeningly dark
lumpy color. The color of rot and sickness. The Kindly Old Man smiled.
_____"BURN!" he suddenly shouted. Both bowls of oatmeal burst into flame,
letting off a horrible smell. A smell that was like a combination of burning
sulfur and metal.
_____"Hah-h-h..." he wheezed again. "Something is happening, and things will
BUR-R-RN!" he shouted. There was a final WHOOSH of flame, and both bowls of
burning oatmeal vanished. All that was left was a thick, disgusting smell.
_____The point? The message from the Kindly Old Man to Gally was obvious.
If Gally didn't stop what was happening, then things would "burn." Things
would worsen. That is, the town of Delsea would be destroyed. That, and the
nameless city would soon follow--overtaken by darkness. What kind of...?
_____Gally suddenly remembered: When she was in Delsea, Dr. Nova went to
great lengths to explain the disease that was overtaking that town. Now,
something could spread from that town to this one.
_____"Looksy-daisy!" shouted the Kindly Old Man, interrupting Gally's thoughts.
He pointed to the cyborg-girl in the chair, and the chair turned itself around--
turned around by an unknown force. The chair legs scraping the wooden floor,
and Gally found herself facing the back of the decrepit room: a third-door.
_____Odd, she never saw that door before. "LOOK and LEARN!" shouted the
Kindly Old Man. Suddenly, yellow flames flicked from underneath that door,
accompanied by the smell of cooking meat. No, it was not the smell of ordinary
meat: it was the smell of burning human flesh. And, listening carefully,
Gally thought she heard the sounds of distant screams--sounds crazed with
prolonged pain. Maybe, eternal pain.
_____"Hah-h-h... Hah-h-h... Watch them burn!" he said into Gally's right ear.
His voice was filled with obscene glee, pleased with even the thought of the
people burning beyond the door.
_____Suddenly, moving much faster than any elderly person would, the Kindly
Old Man dashed to the door at the left side of the room. He turned the
doorknob and pulled--opening the door. Beyond it was darkness.
_____It was that kind of darkness--the darkness seen in the box. Still facing
the door at the back of the room, Gally just heard the door open. Closing her
eyes, she let herself be taken by the darkness. Taking her somewhere else.
...
_____Back in the city, in the downtown area, some executives of Network 40 were
having an informal after-work meeting at "Matthia's"--a pretty well-known
restaurant. These executives were at outdoor tables, the sorts of tables with
large parasols overhead and the big buildings nearby. The well-dressed men and
women were eating their meals, talking loosely about their co-workers and
possible marketing strategies to pursue.
_____One of the Network 40 businessmen looked up from his bowl of cream of
wheat. He thought he heard...screams. Slightly annoyed, he turned his bald
head to see people running this way along the street! "What's this crap?" he
said aloud to who he was sitting with. Then, he saw what the sound was all
about.
_____The large-breasted blonde executive he was sitting with also stared. And
she quickly forgot about her bowl of salad. "Oh...my...GOD!" she managed to
say, when the running mob hit the table--a mob of downtown people running for
their lives!
_____The running mob also knocked over other tables, knocking over other
Network 40 executives who were sitting at their meals. Feet stomped and legs
pumped. It was not unlike the running of the bulls, but with real danger.
_____Now, this informal get-together was becoming a time of chaos. Food and
tables went everywhere. Running feet trampled over the resulting debris and
fallen people. There were soon some broken ribs and stomped faces, as well as
plenty of shock.
_____But the worst was yet to come, because there was a group of THINGS
chasing the running people. THINGS, with skeletally thin metal bodies. Now
these things swooped down on anyone out-of-doors on this downtown street--
including the Network 40 executives who had been trampled by the mob.
...
_____In the northern part of the downtown core-area, there were six vans parked
at various points along the neat street. The vans were there since this
morning, really. The shoppers who came to this part of downtown only glanced
at the vans, thinking that they were just delivery vans or something. Nobody
really knew or cared where they came from.
_____A thin man in blue coveralls and blue stepped out of one van. He just
had a lunch-break. Now, it was time to get back to work. Actually, he wasn't
a delivery-man; he was a handyman. A shopkeeper on this street told him that
her pipes had to be cleaned. Pipes were always getting clogged around here.
Hmm, maybe it was because this street was so close to the Fringes.
_____The dandy handyman brushed off his coveralls, then went over to the back
of his blue van. For cleaning pipes, he had to get out his equipment. Good
pipe-cleaning wasn't just something that any man could do; it took a serious
and well-equipped effort to do this sort of plumbing to satisfaction!
_____He opened the double-doors of his van. And then, he heard about five
other van doors being opened at the exact same time. The sound of five vehicle
doors being opened all at once, in chorus, can be quite attention-grabbing--
especially on a quiet city street in late afternoon.
_____"Isn't that odd...?" he said to himself, hands on his blue van's rear
doors. He thought, What were the odds of five other vans opening their doors
simultaneously? Hmmph...
_____Shrugging, this handyman reached into the compartment of the blue van--
just as metal claws reached into his back. He was so surprised that he didn't
even scream as the metal things began to kill him in a bloody, horrible, and
slow way. These p-type cyborgs took their sweet sadistic time in killing him--
ripping his tortured flesh, bit by red bloody bit. They were peeling the meat
from his bones as if he were fresh meat.
...
_____There was trouble in just three parts of the downtown area, but it was
enough trouble to make things feel as if the entire city was in jeopardy.
Somewhere in the western ppart of the downtown area, near the four-story
Network 40 building, a gaggle of prototype cyborgs continued to make for a
wave of bloody carnage. Somewhere in the northern part of the downtown area,
on the stylish Brahmin Street, more p-type cyborgs romped and stomped trouble.
...
_____And on Mural Avenue, in a southern part of downtown, six MORE cyborgs had
emerged from the sewers. They killing any citizens that happened to be nearby.
Then they stood around, as if waiting for anyone or anything to challenge them.
Who, indeed, would stop them?
...
_____Overall, it was not good. In the Metro Cop stations close to those areas,
telephone calls came flooding in. Worried and harried people screamed and
cried at what was happening. They saw people being injured, maimed...and
killed! Right before their eyes! And to think, only three places in town
had this trouble. Only three places, so far...
_____Metro Cops from various precincts moved into action! They already had
on their armor, especially their kevlar helmets and armor padding. And they
had their guns--loaded with ferro-ceramic rounds. In fact, they bought extra
boxes of the special ammo, because they knew they would need it.
_____While two teams of Metro Cops dealt with the two other trouble spots in
the city, this team of six sped over to Mural Avenue. Yes, that was SIX Metro
Cops, in black patrol cruisers, rushing to the scene! Wheels and engines burning,
they arrived!
_____Two of the black cars blocked one end of the street. One of the cars
drove up close--blocking the other way. This trapped the cyborgs in the
middle of the street. Five prototype cyborgs, standing amidst a small pile of
mutilated corpses.
_____The cyborgs' claw-hands were red-drenched... And their rubber faces
smiled with glee. They actually craved company; they could not wait to tear
apart the bodies of these fresh new victims in black cars--the Metro Cops.
_____Over by the left end of the street blocked by two cars, there were three
Metro Cops--submachine guns ready. Opposite them, blocking the other side of
the street, three more Metro Cops stepped out of their car--more guns ready.
That made for a total of six black-clad and bulky Metro Cops ready to fight.
Caught in the middle of the two teams was the group of prototype cyborgs. And
they GRINNED.
_____"Open fire!" shouted someone, voice muffled by his helmet. The other
Metro Cops were too anxious to oblige the order. CR-CR-CR-CR...! And so, the
sound of gunfire filled the afternoon air, echoing among the buildings.
...
_____Somewhere else, in a dimly lit place, the Kindly Old Man danced his dance
of dark madness. His shoes scuffled and shuffled as he moves, and his arms swung
this way and that way. As his clothes were white and the place was so dark,
he seemed like a prancing phantom.
_____"Hah-h-h...! Hah-h-h...!" he wheezed, excitement on his face. "Gonna
have fun, oh YES-SIR-EE! Gonna have fun, oh YES-SIR-EE!" he sung in rhythm
to his insane dance. "Gonna have fun, we're gonna have fun. We're GONNA
HAVE FUN, oh YES-SIR-EE!"
_____The Kindly Old Man knew perfectly well what was happening in the city.
He always knew what troubles happened there. Wherever there was pain and
misery in the city, whenever people suffered and died, the Kindly Old Man
aware of it. Even if he wasn't there, he...just...knew....
...
_____Back in the city, over on Mural Avenue, that particular battle was almost
over. Two Metro Cops were still in fighting condition, still uninjured. The
four other cops were killed by those prototype cyborgs. Meanwhile, two of
those things were still standing in the middle of the street--functional
enough to fight and kill.
_____One of the suriving officers was Officer Trace, kneeling behind the
damaged police car. The other was Officer Kim, a blonde female who looked
more girl than woman--but was tougher than she looked. She survived so far.
_____Trace kept his handgun aimed at those two prototype cyborgs over there.
He should have felt sweaty beneath the armor and helmet he wore, but didn't.
"Yo, Kim," he said, "Are those freakin' guns ready yet?"
_____Officer Trace was referring to the two remaining submachine guns he and
Kim had left. Officer Kim dared to take off her helmet as so she could more
easily work on these two guns--guns which had jammed during the battle. She
knelt closer behind Trace, her fine fingers working with the parts of the guns
she had to take apart for quick-cleaning.
_____Ferro-ceramic rounds were still experimental. There was no telling what
happened when you used them. Using the bullets made the guns overheat and
jam a bit more easily...
_____Officer Kim just finished now, putting one of the guns back together.
"This one is done! The firing mechanism is cleared," she said. Crouching low,
quickly put the freshly repaired gun atop the black car hood, in front of Trace.
_____"Thanks, doll!" said this officer, picking up the submachine gun with his
right hand: dual arms. Handgun in his left hand and submachine gun in his
right, he grinned behind the visor of his helmet: He was going to kick
cyborg ASS! Then he squeezed a trigger...
_____The submachine gun worked--hurling out fast bullets at a rapid rate!
One of the prototype cyborgs began staggering when the bullets struck it in
the metal ribs, sparks and dark fluid splurting. And Trace kept his finger on
the trigger, letting the bullets do their work!
_____The damaged metal monster began walking toward this car...before it
collapsed to its silvery knees, then falling on its freaky rubber face. One
down!
_____"Yeah!" cheered Trace, voice sounding muffled behind his helmet. Now
for the other freak. Cr-cr-cr-cr-CLICK! Click! Damn, the submachine gun
was out of ammo; he had just used most all of it on the other freak.
_____No problem! He simply took aim with his handgun, aiming at the second
prototype cyborg--which leapt up! "What the...?" said this Metro Cop. And
those were his last words.
_____THUNK-SWIPE! The prototype cyborg landed atop the car hood, then instantly
swiped off the Metro Cop's head--the helmeted head flying off to somewhere.
Trace's decapitated, armor-clad body was upright for about three seconds,
blood spraying freely from the neck-stump...before falling backward onto
Officer Kim.
_____Kim acted instantly. From Trace's dead left hand, she took up his handgun.
A quick aim at the metal thing atop the car, she fired... Aiming for the
chest. CRACK, one shot! CRACK-CRACK, two more!
_____Trace's handgun was loaded with ferro-ceramic rounds. Being hit with such
ammo, the cyborg-thing atop the car tumbled backward, chest spraying sparks
and dark fluid. And it fell onto its back, on the other side of the car.
_____Being small and quick, even in kevlar padding and helmet, Kim easily leapt
atop the hood where the prototype cyborg had stood when it killed Trace. But
now, SHE was on top! Looking down at the thing sprawled on its back, she fired
the handgun. CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! She kept firing.
_____The skeletal metal-thing lay broken and dying, but Kim kept firing anyway--
her small hands gripping the handgun as she fired. All that was in her mind
were two things: the cyborg-things had just killed five of her fellow officers,
and now she was killing one of them. She was blasting the thing back to Hell.
_____It took some moments for Kim to realize that the handgun was out of
bullets. She had been pulling the trigger of an empty weapon--just making
for clicking sounds. And, on the street, the cyborg-thing had stopped
twitching. Its dark inhuman blood pooling onto the hard asphalt. It was dead,
defeated.
_____Her hands hot and cramped from firing the gun, Kim lowered the weapon.
Slowly, she moved to sit down atop the hood--her legs dangling over the edge.
The gun still hot and smoking. The young police officer used her right hand
to wipe sweat from her forehead.
_____Her mind and body numb, she began thinking about the cyborg-girl that
was supposed to help them against these things. These monsterous prototype
cyborgs... Kim remembered that the cyborg-girl was named Gally. Gally--an
odd name. Well, where the HELL was GALLY while this was happening, when she
was needed the most?
_____Now, her fellow officers here were dead. And there were several other
teams of officers fighting prototype cyborgs elsewhere in the city. Those
officers were probably winning--but also dying. Kim began to cry...
...
_____On the west side of the downtown area, something entirely different was
going to happen--up in the higher floors of the Network 66 skyscraper. At
the moment, there was a meeting being held by the Board of Directors. The
usual place: a deep and dimly lit room with a long brown table. It was
nearing sunset, but no one in this important room cared; the windows were
sealed.
_____But, the important people here were still getting views from the city
streets below--views being displayed on the wall-mounted flat-screen. These
camera shots were actually nearer to ground-level: views from net-cams once
used by the Metro Cops for crime prevention.
_____Now, the view on the big screen showed crime in progress. It was big-time
crime, the sort of video footage that could easily draw television ratings:
It was bloody and obscene ULTRA-VIOLENCE! Normally that sort of stuff was
shown on horror flicks. But that bloody shit on the screen was fucking REAL.
Oh-h-h, yeah!
_____The real-life horror-show began with the latest prototype cyborgs leaping
into the scene, grabbing downtown people and tearing them to shreds. Before
long, the Metro Cops came along in their sleek black cars. Guns blazing, the
black-clad officers attacked the skeletal metal freaks that had rubber faces.
_____Sure, the Metro Cops managed to suppress the prototype cyborgs... With
that fancy new ammunition of theirs, they won the day--but not before they
themselves lost many of their own people to the metal freaks. The prototype
cyborgs had sometimes been able to leap towards the Metro Cops and do some
in-close damage despite the gunfire. And that was the primary cause of death
among Metro Cops during the battles; their kevlar armor and helmets could not
stop the fierce metal claw-swipes of the prototype cyborgs.
_____While that video footage played on the screen, Dr. Nova went over to a
boxy and waist-high machine in a corner of this room--a converted refreshments
dispenser. Now, the machine dispensed six different types of scrumptious,
mouth-filling flan: Delicious!
_____A bowl of flan in hand, the labcoat-wearing madman walked over where
Mr. Grossberg sat--at the head of the long table. That man in business suit
sat calmly, watching the dark and bloody madness up on the screen. Dr. Nova's
head and shoulders must have blocked the view from other seats at the long
table, but no one complained. Their eyes were even more calm and relaxed than
Mr. Grossberg's.
_____"As one can see," began Dr. Nova, "it takes 1.75 Metro Cops to defeat
1 basic cyborg. Mmm..." He took a spoonful of flan... Then another spoonful.
"Delicious! However, to note, the cyborgs I am able to construct with
available technology are simple and unsophisticated. Furthermore..." Gulp!
_____"Mmmm... Ahem! Furthermore, Mr. Grossberg, also notice that the cyborgs
are without guns! Not that their modified brains posess the intelligence to
partake in gunnery, but their unarmed efficacy against Metro Cops deserves
notice! Therefore, the Metro Cops are weaker than even our simple metal-type
cyborgs. Mmm... And this TRULY IS DELICIOUS FLAN! Oh, how it caresses the
tongue, the way its flavor intensifies at the back of the mouth as saliva
strikes, all of it is simply SCRUMPTIOUS! Mmmh-MMMH! So RICH and...DELICIOUS!"
_____Mr. Grossberg swiveled around in his chair, facing away from the screen
on the wall. He set two objects onto the long table in this dimly lit long-
room. The objects he put there were of slightly hefty metal, and made slight
thunking noises as put them on the polished wood. He then raised his left
hand and gave a crisp snap of fingers. "Windows!" he said.
_____The two tuxedo-clad servants by the doors moved to fulfill their master's
command. They went over to the left side of the room and found the switches
that raised the automated shutters over the window. There was a slight humming
sound of electic motors working in the walls as the shutters went up... Slowly
revealing a view of the vast and sprawling city-scape. Buildings further than
the eye could see, basking in the warm orange light of late afternoon.
_____That, and there was more light in this room to see by. With the afternoon
light coming in from the window, a person could see that the two objects Mr.
Grossberg put on the table were weapons: a silvery dagger and a revolver-type
handgun...
_____Fondling the weapons, Mr. Grossberg thought about what Dr. Nova just
said to those in this room. "Now, ladies and gentlemen," said this CEO, "you
all have heard what was said by the good doctor here. We now have the means
to seizing REAL power in the city!" His fingers continued to stroke the hard
silvery metal of his weapons.
_____"The Metro Cops are limp-wristed weaklings against the might of the
prototype cyborgs that we manufacture. We now have the means... No, wait!"
He stood up, dagger and gun held high. "I and only I ALONE have the means of
taking power in this city! I alone will dominate the city, using the cyborg-
creatures of blood and steel."
_____Despite this outrageous statement, there were no voices of dissent from
others at the table. No voice would say anything against the man who now
stood with weapons: a dagger in his right hand and a gun in his left. Indeed,
Mr. Grossberg was the one with the real power here!
_____He continued, still holding dagger and gun, speaking to those seated at this
table: "YES, it is through sheer power that I, the CEO of Network 66, shall
become CEO of this ENTIRE CITY." He extended his right arm, used the dagger
to point to the cityscape that stretched into the horizon.
_____"There shall be NO competition. There shall be NO interference with my
desires! First, I shall simply eliminate the Metro Cops' resistance. Then,
with the Metro Cops' will broken, I shall move to assassinate all other
corporate leaders...quickly following up that act by destroying the PETTY and
TOKEN city government!
_____"The final step in my plan will be the best step! I shall move in and
take my seat as ruler of the city... I will be an EMPORER! Are there ANY
questions? Speak now, or...ha ha...forever hold your peace."
_____Still, no one at the table said anything. Some just stared at the ceiling.
Some were relaxingly slumped sideways. A few of them were actually on the
floor. Their poses were perfectly acceptable--because they were all dead.
...
_____Mr. Grossberg had brutally killed all the Members of The Board an hour
ago, right here in this room. After the Members all took their seats, he
simply told them that he was going to be the sole owner of Network 66. They,
laughed at the idea: Ha-ha-ha, they were co-owners! How Mr. Grossberg going
to take their ownership of Network 66 without them selling it?
_____The CEO's answer came in the form of bullets and blade. The two servants
sealed the doors, and Mr. Grossberg took out his gun and his dagger--killed
each and every Board Member, the co-owners of this corporation. Grossberg was
a muscular and tall man; the Board Members were skinny addicts of all sorts of
drugs: cocaine, alcohol, and who-knew-what-else. So, the strong man was
easily able to overpower and kill them.
_____That, while Dr. Nova RAN to stand by the flan dispenser in the corner of
the room. Eating flan, the labcoat-wearing madman watched Mr. Grossberg do
his thing--the big CEO making short work of the high-ranking co-owners. Oh,
Dr. Nova was not at all afraid; he saw this sort of blood-and-gore violence
quite often back in Scrap Iron City.
_____In killing the Members of the Board, Mr. Grossberg had emptied the gun of
bullets. And his dagger was coated with dried blood. The cuffs of his dark
business suit had become stiffened with the red stuff--the liquid that gushed
from the chests and abdomens of the screaming, dying executives.
_____All the while, doing his thing, the business-suited killer enjoyed every
moment of it. He liked the feeling of his long dagger sinking into soft flesh.
And he liked firing his gun, filling his victims with bullets. He liked seeing
the high-ranking executives fall in their death throes, gasping and sighing as
they sank from excited fright into relaxing death. Killing people felt very,
very GO-O-O-D...
_____After that, he had the two servants quickly prop the bodies up in the seats.
If he was going to hold a proper meeting--GOD DAMNIT--there was GOING TO BE AN
AUDIENCE! Even if the audience was dead! Well, at least most of the bodies
stayed put--their dead eyes open. And by God, THAT was how that CEO held this
Board meeting: smoking gun and bloody dagger. The room smelled richly of such
blood despite the air circulation. There was also plenty of blood on the table
table and carpet, but the CEO now felt too relaxed to care about that.
...
_____Now, here stood Mr. Grossberg in front of the big video screen on the wall:
the room steeped in the sunset light from the window. Blood on the carpet.
Blood on the table. Blood on Mr. Grossberg's hands and clothes.
_____"...And so, Network 66 shall now move to TOTAL market domination, MY
domination," he concluded. "The once-unbelievable corporate dream has now
become believable. This, asit approaches reality. The future of my corporation
is the future of the city--as it should be. Thank you all!" He bowed with arms
out, bloodied weapons in his extended hands.
_____With the corpses silent, the two servants at the door clapped their white-
gloved hands together...cheering their master. With a conscious effort, Dr. Nova
set down his bowl of flan--but not before taking one more spoonful. He then
begann clapping as well.
_____So long as he had a place to continue his experiments without interference,
Dr. Nova was happy. No bounty hunter was going to get HIS head! And the flan
made in this city was SO DELICIOUS! His mind awash in a vast imaginary ocean
of flan, Dr. Nova clapped loud enough for even the dead to hear.
...
_____Mr. Grossberg was confident in his plan because of what was beneath this
skyscraper--beneath Network 66 headquarters. Something extremely productive
and extremely useful. Indeed, several stories under the concrete and asphalt
of this area, there was a factory--a decent-sized underground one. And it was
run by Network 66, of course: a factory used to make anything the executives
wanted put onto the market.
_____Up until now, this subterranian factory was used to manufacture mid-market
things: small televisions (legal), marijuana (semi-legal), neurostim bracelets
(illegal), goods of that sort. But now, it was being used to mass-produce
something grotesque. Production moved more slowly, but the things being made
here were especially valuable to the CEO.
_____As sunset came to the city streets above, the underground converted
factory rumbled and worked on. This was an underground cavernous space the
size of a football field--filled with heavy machinery, conveyor belts, and
the cables and pipes that connected them together. The only lighting here
was provided by hundreds of florescent light-tubes attached to the concrete-and
metal ceiling above.
_____Every so often, technicians in white clothes, yellow boots, and white
helmets would traipse through the maze of underground metal machinery--like
gnomes in legendary mines of long ago. Or, the technicians could walk along
some of the steel walkways suspended above the machines--catwalks.
_____But, this denatured place was a realm of hot, thrumming automation. It
was a place made by humanity, but dominated by machines. Machines that
clunked, chunked and churned away--run by computers in a glassed-off office
at the far end of this concrete cavern.
_____And if a person listened carefully, the person could hear screams. These
were screams that were drowned out by the thumping and thrumming sounds of the
machines--just barely. Anyway, the screams didn't last long; the manufacturing
process saw to that. What was made here now? Why, we're making simple-minded
cyborgs! Obedient, vicious, and violent monsters of metal.
...
_____Later, having bathed and changed into a fresh suit, Mr. Grossberg took a
sturdy elevator down to the computer-equipped factory office that ran the place.
This smallish office was about the size of a classroom, concrete floor, with
cyber-equipment along the left and right sides. At the front end of the
office, there were three low computer terminals set in front of windows--giving
a view over the concrete cavern of manufacturing machinery. The door to go out
there was at the left of the controlling computer terminals.
_____Stepping away from the two elevators, this CEO crossed the concrete floor
and walked over to the three seated technicians in white clothing. "Hello,
boys. How goes the revolution? Heh, heh, heh..."
_____The white-clad technician at the center terminal swiveled around in his
seat--a pale man with a greasy smile on his smarmy face. Pale, as he was
underground so often for prolonged periods of time.
_____"Good afternoon, Mr. Grossberg!" said that technician. He leaned forward
in his swivel seat and began rubbing his hands together. Said, "Well, as you
can see, we've put Dr. Nova's expertise into a standardized process. With his
knowledge and my engineering, things are now up and running at full speed."
He flashed his surprisingly white teeth and gestured to the computers. "As
long as we can get the...ah, 'materials' we need, we can make as many s-type
and p-type cyborgs as you feel necessary."
_____Hearing this, Mr. Grossberg smiled as well. By "materials," in quotes,
the technician meant fresh meat... Fresh HUMAN meat. It took quality meat to
make quality cyborgs.
...
_____Somewhere down there on the factory floor, the "materials" were being
lined up for the process. Live human beings were lined up--naked, scrubbed,
and sprayed with sanitizing solutions that burned their eyes. Lined up like
so much meat. Using electric cattleprods, the white-clad technicians made the
naked and half-blinded people lie down on a big conveyor belt. Once they lied
down on the conveyor belt, big clamps GRIPPED bare wrists and ankles.
_____They didn't want to be here! While most of these people were from the
Fringes, some of them were also from the downtown area. They had been knocked
out and kidnapped in the latest cyborg raids on their streets. Now, they weregoing
to be mutilated and CHANGED... Presumed dead and missing, now they were
going to be made worse than dead.
_____These people screamed and cried, their limbs struggling against the metal
clamps. But the screams they gave were nothing compared to the awful sounds
they would make when the process began! And, oh yes, there was going to be
plenty of pain.
_____Once the full batch of people had been strapped to the conveyor belt, it
moved. It was moving the naked people into the noisy darkness of the machines.
Like being swallowed by an open metal maw.
_____X-ray scanners made 3-D images of their nervous systems: scanning how
the brain and nerves were set in the body. Then, screams! A caustic and
powerful chemical spray blasted off their skin and subcutaneous fatty tissue--
making for naked muscle. Pain on top of pain, but no fainting! Because the
process required that the people's brains remain awake, the chemical spray
contained a stimulant that kept the victims from falling into the comfortable
darkness of unconsciousness. Flayed alive by the chemical, the skinned people
writhed.
_____Moving on... Using the 3-d imaging of every person, the cutters further
along the belt went to work on the human meat. With cutting and grinding
sounds, the cutters concentrated on the skinless heads and necks--leaving
bare brains attached to spinal cords and bodies. The robotic cutters were so
precise that all the major blood vessels were missed when this process was
done.
_____Soon, the spines were chopped--the brains lifted away from the bodies.
Pieces of the brain were cut away, especially along the front, and some
microchips were put into place. Wires were attached to the spinal cords.
This operations made for modified brains.
_____These modified brains are then set into the open metal skulls of waiting
robot-skeletons. The wires attached to the spinal cords were attached to
circuitry inside the metal skulls, and small plastic tubes are attached to
the brain's blood vessels. This step connected the modified brains to the
metal skeletal bodies.
_____Then came the finishing process, the closing up. After the diagnostics
checks, insuring that the neurological and physiological connections are all
OK, the simple cyborgs' skulls are welded shut. Rubber faces are then attached,
faces with embedded synthetic muscle tissue for simple facial expressions.
Simple facial expressions for simple cyborgs.
_____Out of the darkness of the factory machines, the completed products came
out: simple cyborgs. They looked all new and shiny, with their metal skeletons
gleaming and their rubber faces so factory-fresh! And their beady camera-lens
eyes glinted. These products were ready to be put work.
...
_____Six white-clad technicians organized them. These technicans used remotes
controls to "tell" the simple cyborgs to walk into metal-fenced pens--packing
them in tightly. With the previous type of cyborg, the prototype ones, they
had to be directed with portable computers; these just had to be directed with
simpler hand-held devices.
_____Ah, nothing like finished products... These technicians used their
remotes to "tell" the cyborgs where to walk and stop. One of the technicians
even danced a bit in doing this work--listening to a song stuck in his head.
This job really wasn't for sane people.
_____On the metal walkway above the fenced-in cyborg pens, Mr. Grossberg and
Dr. Nova looked down on a shiny new batch of simple cyborgs. Dr. Nova chewed
away at endless spoonfuls of flan, and Mr. Grossberg gripped the handrail. The
CEO's beady blue eyes were locked on the latest bunch of his new toys.
_____Oh, Mr. Grossberg could not WAIT to put his toys to work! The simple
cyborgs being made now would be used for the next phase of his plan--the
domination of the city. Those terrorist attacks on parts of the city were
used to seize more human meat. With more human meat, he made more simple
cyborgs made. Particularly, he had THESE simple cyborgs made. And, within
days, he could easily have sixty of the things. To use Dr. Nova's favorite
adjective, this was...delicious!
...
Blood, Metal, and Power
...
_____Theora stood up from her place at the cafe counter, her face showing
fright and shock. She went over to the high stool at the left--where the
cyborg girl was sitting. WAS sitting. Gally had magically vanished...
____Magic? No, no, no! The word just randomly came to mind; Theora did NOT
believe in magic. She was a logical woman, one who believed in reality.
An expert with various computer systems and office management, she prided
herself on having a solid knowledge of people and machines: science and
technology. There was no such thing as magic. And there had to be a solid
and realistic explanation as to how the cyborg-girl disappeared.
_____So, what WAS the explanation? With no ideas coming to mind, the pretty,
professionally dressed woman was left here thoroughly discombobulated.
Standing here, she tried to come up with an explanation one more time.
_____She thought back to what just happened here. First, Gally was sitting
on that cafe stool--drinking tea and talking about some "other place." It was
a place, she said, where she was different. Then, the waitress had shouted
about something. About some odd object. Theora remembered hearing Gally
gasp, falling off of the cafe stool, and then...!
_____She vanished. Just like that. The cyborg-girl was no longer in this
cafe. And, Theora strongly suspected that Gally was no longer in the city
either. Or, maybe it was something in the tea?
_____Theora leaned over, looked into the teacup. There was the drink Gally
was sipping--pekoe-cut mint tea. Ordinary tea? She looked closer at the stuff.
_____As she watched, something began to happen...! The liquid in the cup
began to slowly swirl counter-clockwise. Slo-o-w-w-wly... Being stirred by
something Theora could not see. Then, it began to darken in color--until it
was a totally dark liquid. So dark, that it looked liked someone poured a
shadow into the cup.
_____"Oh my..." whispered Theora. Gally drank that stuff in the cup--whatever
the Hell it was. What if...?
_____No, maybe she was hallucinating? Shaking her head and bolstering up her
courage, Theora reached out with trembling hands, fingers going to the dark-
filled cup atop the cafe counter-top. She picked it up...
_____NO-O-O! "Aiigh!" Theora shrieked and flinched. As soon as her fingers
touched the teacup, there was a sharp pain in her head--accompanied by a
scream. A scream that only she heard--in her mind.
_____Recovering, she looked down at herself. In flinching, she had splashed
the darkened liquid all over her dress and blouse! "Oh, DAMN!" she said in
her lightly accented voice, putting the now-empty cup atop the counter. She
tried brushing it off. What IS this Hellish stuff?
_____Sal the Cook came by with a spare towel. "Goodness!" he said, admiring
Theora's feminine figure--while disdaining the stains on her clothes. "How'd
you do that, pretty lady? I didn't see you walk in here with any motor oil.
Now you've got it all over your clothes! No, wait, that doesn't look like
motor oil! Hmmph, anyway..." He offered the towel. Asked, "Where's that
philosophical cyborg-girl? She was here a minute ago." BA-A-NG!
_____Both the cook and Theora looked around. "What the...?" went the cook.
There had just been a loud crash of sound from outside the cafe. It sounded
big, REALLY BIG. Like, someone smashing two cars together.
_____Soon after that, the cook and Theora heard shouts and yells in the
distance--outside. Was there an accident? Or was it something worse? It
sure sounded like a serious one.
_____Everyone in this cafe got up from where they sat, suddenly curious. They
wanted to see what the commotion was about out there. And then they heard the
screams.
_____Those were screams not often heard in this region of town--where everyone
lived comfortably and well. Those screams were truly deep and awful,
unforgettable. Maybe, those were death screams.
_____In the very worst moment of a human being's life, a person can make quite
a distinct and terrible sound. It is a sound that comes from deep within, a
sound of a soul in deep fear. That was the sort of screaming that came from
out there.
_____"Oh my God!" went Theora, hearing the sounds of trouble outside. Something
huge was happening, something big and dangerous. Approaching the cafe's large
window, she gently pushed aside some gawking people to see outside. She saw
people running from the left side--going to the right.
_____Then twelve of those metal things scampered into view! Twelve prototype
cyborgs scampered over to this part of the street, right in front of THIS cafe.
They looked terrible--silvery skeletal bodies, chests covered with armor. The
faces were simple rubber masks put on their metal skulls. Yes, it was those
things.
_____Three of the prototype cyborg-things broke off from the main group. They
were coming this way! One of them leapt at this window, and there was a CRASH
of glass being broken. Theora screamed when she was hit.
...
_____Gally was...somewhere else. She knew it to be the same old dance. The
darkness in THE box had taken her again! It sent her falling through
blackness, no sky above and no ground below. As before, there was nothing but
the sound of the air whipping by as she fell fast. She waited for
unconsciousness to hit her, and it did.
_____When consciousness returned, the cyborg-girl sat up. It was that dark
place again: the dilapidated room. A room outside of reality, outside of time
and space.
_____This chair... Gally found that she was even sitting in the same wooden
chair she sat in last time she was here. The floor of the room was still the
same, too--a floor made of wooden planks. And the concrete walls still had
peeling paint. There were still two doors to get out of here: one door at
the left, one door at the right.
_____But she knew she could not get up to level; she knew that she could not
even speak here--for whatever reason. This was not her place, or any mortal's
place. This was the bizarre, confusing realm of the Kindly Old Man, a
inhuman being from dreams and darkness. The rules of this place were
different from the rules of reality. And, the Kindly Old Man should be along
any moment now.
_____Gally smiled to herself when--as predicted--she heard the sounds of his
approach. There was the sounds of HIS wheezing coming from the door on the
right side. The way the Kindly Old Man sounded, wheezing so, a person expected
him to drop dead at any moment. Also coming was the shuffle-shuffle-shuffle of
his hard-soled shoes as HE came to the other side of the door. Indeed, any
moment now, he'd walk in, and do something.
_____The right-side door opened. As Gally expected, there was a the glare.
She turned her head while the door remained ajar--florescent white brightness
filling this place. And then the Kindly Old Man closed the door behind him--
again settling the room into gloom. Now, she expected to hear him talk his
crazy, cryptic talk.
_____Gally did not necessarily hate the Kindly Old Man. In his twisted,
metaphoric way of speaking, he provided useful information. It would have
been much more convenient for the Kindly Old Man to simply say what he meant
instead of posing strange riddles. If she did not understand how to unravel
his verbal puzzles, THEN she would be angry with the Kindly Old Man...and
confused.
_____HE shuffled on over here, his wheezing filling this room. And he moved
to the center of the room--where Gally was seated. "Hah-h-h...! Things are
the same, but DIFFERENT!" he said, wheezing. "Hah-h-h... Sameness with
difference!" He winked, wheezed some more.
_____Gally did not immediately understand the riddle, but she would wait for
what else the Kindly Old Man had to say. Likely, he meant to say that there
was something different about this visit. She would find out.
_____He put his hands behind his back, then suddenly whipped them out again.
Now, he held two objects--one in each hand. In his left hand was a little
headless woodpuppet, painted white. In his right hand was a bowl of oatmeal,
almost white. But the woodpuppet had an irritating and cloying smell; it
smelled like flan.
_____"Hah-h-h! BLAME HIM!" shouted the Kindly Old Man, shaking the headless
woodpuppet--the fruity smell of flan wafting towards Gally. "He's ruining THE
OATMEAL! Just LOOK at what he's doing!" Then the Kindly Old Man dropped
the woodpuppet into the bowl of oatmeal, making for a slight "plop!"
_____The oatmeal blackened. It was as if the puppet were a catalyst for
whatever happened to that mush--a catalyst of dark trouble... That was it!
That was what the Kindly Old Man was saying. Yes, Gally understood the Kindly
Old Man--somewhat. Some aspects of his cryptic analogy were strange, but she
had the general idea of what he communicated.
_____"Hah-h-h... And wait until BOTH types of oatmeal are darkened!" said the
Kindly Old Man, his voice now quivering. Holding the bowl of darkened oatmeal
in his left hand--the headless woodpuppet still in it--the Kindly Old Man used
his right hand to reach behind his back again. Now, he had another bowl of
the beige-white foodstuff.
_____He held the new oatmeal next to the bowl of darkened oatmeal, lowered
it closer to Gally. And she saw what happened--the same thing that happened
to the previous bowl of oatmeal. Held close to the darkened oatmeal, the new
oatmeal began to change color as well. It did not change color as quickly as
when the woodpuppet was dipped in it, but it was definitely changing...
_____Soon, both bowls of oatmeal were the same dark color: a sickeningly dark
lumpy color. The color of rot and sickness. The Kindly Old Man smiled.
_____"BURN!" he suddenly shouted. Both bowls of oatmeal burst into flame,
letting off a horrible smell. A smell that was like a combination of burning
sulfur and metal.
_____"Hah-h-h..." he wheezed again. "Something is happening, and things will
BUR-R-RN!" he shouted. There was a final WHOOSH of flame, and both bowls of
burning oatmeal vanished. All that was left was a thick, disgusting smell.
_____The point? The message from the Kindly Old Man to Gally was obvious.
If Gally didn't stop what was happening, then things would "burn." Things
would worsen. That is, the town of Delsea would be destroyed. That, and the
nameless city would soon follow--overtaken by darkness. What kind of...?
_____Gally suddenly remembered: When she was in Delsea, Dr. Nova went to
great lengths to explain the disease that was overtaking that town. Now,
something could spread from that town to this one.
_____"Looksy-daisy!" shouted the Kindly Old Man, interrupting Gally's thoughts.
He pointed to the cyborg-girl in the chair, and the chair turned itself around--
turned around by an unknown force. The chair legs scraping the wooden floor,
and Gally found herself facing the back of the decrepit room: a third-door.
_____Odd, she never saw that door before. "LOOK and LEARN!" shouted the
Kindly Old Man. Suddenly, yellow flames flicked from underneath that door,
accompanied by the smell of cooking meat. No, it was not the smell of ordinary
meat: it was the smell of burning human flesh. And, listening carefully,
Gally thought she heard the sounds of distant screams--sounds crazed with
prolonged pain. Maybe, eternal pain.
_____"Hah-h-h... Hah-h-h... Watch them burn!" he said into Gally's right ear.
His voice was filled with obscene glee, pleased with even the thought of the
people burning beyond the door.
_____Suddenly, moving much faster than any elderly person would, the Kindly
Old Man dashed to the door at the left side of the room. He turned the
doorknob and pulled--opening the door. Beyond it was darkness.
_____It was that kind of darkness--the darkness seen in the box. Still facing
the door at the back of the room, Gally just heard the door open. Closing her
eyes, she let herself be taken by the darkness. Taking her somewhere else.
...
_____Back in the city, in the downtown area, some executives of Network 40 were
having an informal after-work meeting at "Matthia's"--a pretty well-known
restaurant. These executives were at outdoor tables, the sorts of tables with
large parasols overhead and the big buildings nearby. The well-dressed men and
women were eating their meals, talking loosely about their co-workers and
possible marketing strategies to pursue.
_____One of the Network 40 businessmen looked up from his bowl of cream of
wheat. He thought he heard...screams. Slightly annoyed, he turned his bald
head to see people running this way along the street! "What's this crap?" he
said aloud to who he was sitting with. Then, he saw what the sound was all
about.
_____The large-breasted blonde executive he was sitting with also stared. And
she quickly forgot about her bowl of salad. "Oh...my...GOD!" she managed to
say, when the running mob hit the table--a mob of downtown people running for
their lives!
_____The running mob also knocked over other tables, knocking over other
Network 40 executives who were sitting at their meals. Feet stomped and legs
pumped. It was not unlike the running of the bulls, but with real danger.
_____Now, this informal get-together was becoming a time of chaos. Food and
tables went everywhere. Running feet trampled over the resulting debris and
fallen people. There were soon some broken ribs and stomped faces, as well as
plenty of shock.
_____But the worst was yet to come, because there was a group of THINGS
chasing the running people. THINGS, with skeletally thin metal bodies. Now
these things swooped down on anyone out-of-doors on this downtown street--
including the Network 40 executives who had been trampled by the mob.
...
_____In the northern part of the downtown core-area, there were six vans parked
at various points along the neat street. The vans were there since this
morning, really. The shoppers who came to this part of downtown only glanced
at the vans, thinking that they were just delivery vans or something. Nobody
really knew or cared where they came from.
_____A thin man in blue coveralls and blue stepped out of one van. He just
had a lunch-break. Now, it was time to get back to work. Actually, he wasn't
a delivery-man; he was a handyman. A shopkeeper on this street told him that
her pipes had to be cleaned. Pipes were always getting clogged around here.
Hmm, maybe it was because this street was so close to the Fringes.
_____The dandy handyman brushed off his coveralls, then went over to the back
of his blue van. For cleaning pipes, he had to get out his equipment. Good
pipe-cleaning wasn't just something that any man could do; it took a serious
and well-equipped effort to do this sort of plumbing to satisfaction!
_____He opened the double-doors of his van. And then, he heard about five
other van doors being opened at the exact same time. The sound of five vehicle
doors being opened all at once, in chorus, can be quite attention-grabbing--
especially on a quiet city street in late afternoon.
_____"Isn't that odd...?" he said to himself, hands on his blue van's rear
doors. He thought, What were the odds of five other vans opening their doors
simultaneously? Hmmph...
_____Shrugging, this handyman reached into the compartment of the blue van--
just as metal claws reached into his back. He was so surprised that he didn't
even scream as the metal things began to kill him in a bloody, horrible, and
slow way. These p-type cyborgs took their sweet sadistic time in killing him--
ripping his tortured flesh, bit by red bloody bit. They were peeling the meat
from his bones as if he were fresh meat.
...
_____There was trouble in just three parts of the downtown area, but it was
enough trouble to make things feel as if the entire city was in jeopardy.
Somewhere in the western ppart of the downtown area, near the four-story
Network 40 building, a gaggle of prototype cyborgs continued to make for a
wave of bloody carnage. Somewhere in the northern part of the downtown area,
on the stylish Brahmin Street, more p-type cyborgs romped and stomped trouble.
...
_____And on Mural Avenue, in a southern part of downtown, six MORE cyborgs had
emerged from the sewers. They killing any citizens that happened to be nearby.
Then they stood around, as if waiting for anyone or anything to challenge them.
Who, indeed, would stop them?
...
_____Overall, it was not good. In the Metro Cop stations close to those areas,
telephone calls came flooding in. Worried and harried people screamed and
cried at what was happening. They saw people being injured, maimed...and
killed! Right before their eyes! And to think, only three places in town
had this trouble. Only three places, so far...
_____Metro Cops from various precincts moved into action! They already had
on their armor, especially their kevlar helmets and armor padding. And they
had their guns--loaded with ferro-ceramic rounds. In fact, they bought extra
boxes of the special ammo, because they knew they would need it.
_____While two teams of Metro Cops dealt with the two other trouble spots in
the city, this team of six sped over to Mural Avenue. Yes, that was SIX Metro
Cops, in black patrol cruisers, rushing to the scene! Wheels and engines burning,
they arrived!
_____Two of the black cars blocked one end of the street. One of the cars
drove up close--blocking the other way. This trapped the cyborgs in the
middle of the street. Five prototype cyborgs, standing amidst a small pile of
mutilated corpses.
_____The cyborgs' claw-hands were red-drenched... And their rubber faces
smiled with glee. They actually craved company; they could not wait to tear
apart the bodies of these fresh new victims in black cars--the Metro Cops.
_____Over by the left end of the street blocked by two cars, there were three
Metro Cops--submachine guns ready. Opposite them, blocking the other side of
the street, three more Metro Cops stepped out of their car--more guns ready.
That made for a total of six black-clad and bulky Metro Cops ready to fight.
Caught in the middle of the two teams was the group of prototype cyborgs. And
they GRINNED.
_____"Open fire!" shouted someone, voice muffled by his helmet. The other
Metro Cops were too anxious to oblige the order. CR-CR-CR-CR...! And so, the
sound of gunfire filled the afternoon air, echoing among the buildings.
...
_____Somewhere else, in a dimly lit place, the Kindly Old Man danced his dance
of dark madness. His shoes scuffled and shuffled as he moves, and his arms swung
this way and that way. As his clothes were white and the place was so dark,
he seemed like a prancing phantom.
_____"Hah-h-h...! Hah-h-h...!" he wheezed, excitement on his face. "Gonna
have fun, oh YES-SIR-EE! Gonna have fun, oh YES-SIR-EE!" he sung in rhythm
to his insane dance. "Gonna have fun, we're gonna have fun. We're GONNA
HAVE FUN, oh YES-SIR-EE!"
_____The Kindly Old Man knew perfectly well what was happening in the city.
He always knew what troubles happened there. Wherever there was pain and
misery in the city, whenever people suffered and died, the Kindly Old Man
aware of it. Even if he wasn't there, he...just...knew....
...
_____Back in the city, over on Mural Avenue, that particular battle was almost
over. Two Metro Cops were still in fighting condition, still uninjured. The
four other cops were killed by those prototype cyborgs. Meanwhile, two of
those things were still standing in the middle of the street--functional
enough to fight and kill.
_____One of the suriving officers was Officer Trace, kneeling behind the
damaged police car. The other was Officer Kim, a blonde female who looked
more girl than woman--but was tougher than she looked. She survived so far.
_____Trace kept his handgun aimed at those two prototype cyborgs over there.
He should have felt sweaty beneath the armor and helmet he wore, but didn't.
"Yo, Kim," he said, "Are those freakin' guns ready yet?"
_____Officer Trace was referring to the two remaining submachine guns he and
Kim had left. Officer Kim dared to take off her helmet as so she could more
easily work on these two guns--guns which had jammed during the battle. She
knelt closer behind Trace, her fine fingers working with the parts of the guns
she had to take apart for quick-cleaning.
_____Ferro-ceramic rounds were still experimental. There was no telling what
happened when you used them. Using the bullets made the guns overheat and
jam a bit more easily...
_____Officer Kim just finished now, putting one of the guns back together.
"This one is done! The firing mechanism is cleared," she said. Crouching low,
quickly put the freshly repaired gun atop the black car hood, in front of Trace.
_____"Thanks, doll!" said this officer, picking up the submachine gun with his
right hand: dual arms. Handgun in his left hand and submachine gun in his
right, he grinned behind the visor of his helmet: He was going to kick
cyborg ASS! Then he squeezed a trigger...
_____The submachine gun worked--hurling out fast bullets at a rapid rate!
One of the prototype cyborgs began staggering when the bullets struck it in
the metal ribs, sparks and dark fluid splurting. And Trace kept his finger on
the trigger, letting the bullets do their work!
_____The damaged metal monster began walking toward this car...before it
collapsed to its silvery knees, then falling on its freaky rubber face. One
down!
_____"Yeah!" cheered Trace, voice sounding muffled behind his helmet. Now
for the other freak. Cr-cr-cr-cr-CLICK! Click! Damn, the submachine gun
was out of ammo; he had just used most all of it on the other freak.
_____No problem! He simply took aim with his handgun, aiming at the second
prototype cyborg--which leapt up! "What the...?" said this Metro Cop. And
those were his last words.
_____THUNK-SWIPE! The prototype cyborg landed atop the car hood, then instantly
swiped off the Metro Cop's head--the helmeted head flying off to somewhere.
Trace's decapitated, armor-clad body was upright for about three seconds,
blood spraying freely from the neck-stump...before falling backward onto
Officer Kim.
_____Kim acted instantly. From Trace's dead left hand, she took up his handgun.
A quick aim at the metal thing atop the car, she fired... Aiming for the
chest. CRACK, one shot! CRACK-CRACK, two more!
_____Trace's handgun was loaded with ferro-ceramic rounds. Being hit with such
ammo, the cyborg-thing atop the car tumbled backward, chest spraying sparks
and dark fluid. And it fell onto its back, on the other side of the car.
_____Being small and quick, even in kevlar padding and helmet, Kim easily leapt
atop the hood where the prototype cyborg had stood when it killed Trace. But
now, SHE was on top! Looking down at the thing sprawled on its back, she fired
the handgun. CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! She kept firing.
_____The skeletal metal-thing lay broken and dying, but Kim kept firing anyway--
her small hands gripping the handgun as she fired. All that was in her mind
were two things: the cyborg-things had just killed five of her fellow officers,
and now she was killing one of them. She was blasting the thing back to Hell.
_____It took some moments for Kim to realize that the handgun was out of
bullets. She had been pulling the trigger of an empty weapon--just making
for clicking sounds. And, on the street, the cyborg-thing had stopped
twitching. Its dark inhuman blood pooling onto the hard asphalt. It was dead,
defeated.
_____Her hands hot and cramped from firing the gun, Kim lowered the weapon.
Slowly, she moved to sit down atop the hood--her legs dangling over the edge.
The gun still hot and smoking. The young police officer used her right hand
to wipe sweat from her forehead.
_____Her mind and body numb, she began thinking about the cyborg-girl that
was supposed to help them against these things. These monsterous prototype
cyborgs... Kim remembered that the cyborg-girl was named Gally. Gally--an
odd name. Well, where the HELL was GALLY while this was happening, when she
was needed the most?
_____Now, her fellow officers here were dead. And there were several other
teams of officers fighting prototype cyborgs elsewhere in the city. Those
officers were probably winning--but also dying. Kim began to cry...
...
_____On the west side of the downtown area, something entirely different was
going to happen--up in the higher floors of the Network 66 skyscraper. At
the moment, there was a meeting being held by the Board of Directors. The
usual place: a deep and dimly lit room with a long brown table. It was
nearing sunset, but no one in this important room cared; the windows were
sealed.
_____But, the important people here were still getting views from the city
streets below--views being displayed on the wall-mounted flat-screen. These
camera shots were actually nearer to ground-level: views from net-cams once
used by the Metro Cops for crime prevention.
_____Now, the view on the big screen showed crime in progress. It was big-time
crime, the sort of video footage that could easily draw television ratings:
It was bloody and obscene ULTRA-VIOLENCE! Normally that sort of stuff was
shown on horror flicks. But that bloody shit on the screen was fucking REAL.
Oh-h-h, yeah!
_____The real-life horror-show began with the latest prototype cyborgs leaping
into the scene, grabbing downtown people and tearing them to shreds. Before
long, the Metro Cops came along in their sleek black cars. Guns blazing, the
black-clad officers attacked the skeletal metal freaks that had rubber faces.
_____Sure, the Metro Cops managed to suppress the prototype cyborgs... With
that fancy new ammunition of theirs, they won the day--but not before they
themselves lost many of their own people to the metal freaks. The prototype
cyborgs had sometimes been able to leap towards the Metro Cops and do some
in-close damage despite the gunfire. And that was the primary cause of death
among Metro Cops during the battles; their kevlar armor and helmets could not
stop the fierce metal claw-swipes of the prototype cyborgs.
_____While that video footage played on the screen, Dr. Nova went over to a
boxy and waist-high machine in a corner of this room--a converted refreshments
dispenser. Now, the machine dispensed six different types of scrumptious,
mouth-filling flan: Delicious!
_____A bowl of flan in hand, the labcoat-wearing madman walked over where
Mr. Grossberg sat--at the head of the long table. That man in business suit
sat calmly, watching the dark and bloody madness up on the screen. Dr. Nova's
head and shoulders must have blocked the view from other seats at the long
table, but no one complained. Their eyes were even more calm and relaxed than
Mr. Grossberg's.
_____"As one can see," began Dr. Nova, "it takes 1.75 Metro Cops to defeat
1 basic cyborg. Mmm..." He took a spoonful of flan... Then another spoonful.
"Delicious! However, to note, the cyborgs I am able to construct with
available technology are simple and unsophisticated. Furthermore..." Gulp!
_____"Mmmm... Ahem! Furthermore, Mr. Grossberg, also notice that the cyborgs
are without guns! Not that their modified brains posess the intelligence to
partake in gunnery, but their unarmed efficacy against Metro Cops deserves
notice! Therefore, the Metro Cops are weaker than even our simple metal-type
cyborgs. Mmm... And this TRULY IS DELICIOUS FLAN! Oh, how it caresses the
tongue, the way its flavor intensifies at the back of the mouth as saliva
strikes, all of it is simply SCRUMPTIOUS! Mmmh-MMMH! So RICH and...DELICIOUS!"
_____Mr. Grossberg swiveled around in his chair, facing away from the screen
on the wall. He set two objects onto the long table in this dimly lit long-
room. The objects he put there were of slightly hefty metal, and made slight
thunking noises as put them on the polished wood. He then raised his left
hand and gave a crisp snap of fingers. "Windows!" he said.
_____The two tuxedo-clad servants by the doors moved to fulfill their master's
command. They went over to the left side of the room and found the switches
that raised the automated shutters over the window. There was a slight humming
sound of electic motors working in the walls as the shutters went up... Slowly
revealing a view of the vast and sprawling city-scape. Buildings further than
the eye could see, basking in the warm orange light of late afternoon.
_____That, and there was more light in this room to see by. With the afternoon
light coming in from the window, a person could see that the two objects Mr.
Grossberg put on the table were weapons: a silvery dagger and a revolver-type
handgun...
_____Fondling the weapons, Mr. Grossberg thought about what Dr. Nova just
said to those in this room. "Now, ladies and gentlemen," said this CEO, "you
all have heard what was said by the good doctor here. We now have the means
to seizing REAL power in the city!" His fingers continued to stroke the hard
silvery metal of his weapons.
_____"The Metro Cops are limp-wristed weaklings against the might of the
prototype cyborgs that we manufacture. We now have the means... No, wait!"
He stood up, dagger and gun held high. "I and only I ALONE have the means of
taking power in this city! I alone will dominate the city, using the cyborg-
creatures of blood and steel."
_____Despite this outrageous statement, there were no voices of dissent from
others at the table. No voice would say anything against the man who now
stood with weapons: a dagger in his right hand and a gun in his left. Indeed,
Mr. Grossberg was the one with the real power here!
_____He continued, still holding dagger and gun, speaking to those seated at this
table: "YES, it is through sheer power that I, the CEO of Network 66, shall
become CEO of this ENTIRE CITY." He extended his right arm, used the dagger
to point to the cityscape that stretched into the horizon.
_____"There shall be NO competition. There shall be NO interference with my
desires! First, I shall simply eliminate the Metro Cops' resistance. Then,
with the Metro Cops' will broken, I shall move to assassinate all other
corporate leaders...quickly following up that act by destroying the PETTY and
TOKEN city government!
_____"The final step in my plan will be the best step! I shall move in and
take my seat as ruler of the city... I will be an EMPORER! Are there ANY
questions? Speak now, or...ha ha...forever hold your peace."
_____Still, no one at the table said anything. Some just stared at the ceiling.
Some were relaxingly slumped sideways. A few of them were actually on the
floor. Their poses were perfectly acceptable--because they were all dead.
...
_____Mr. Grossberg had brutally killed all the Members of The Board an hour
ago, right here in this room. After the Members all took their seats, he
simply told them that he was going to be the sole owner of Network 66. They,
laughed at the idea: Ha-ha-ha, they were co-owners! How Mr. Grossberg going
to take their ownership of Network 66 without them selling it?
_____The CEO's answer came in the form of bullets and blade. The two servants
sealed the doors, and Mr. Grossberg took out his gun and his dagger--killed
each and every Board Member, the co-owners of this corporation. Grossberg was
a muscular and tall man; the Board Members were skinny addicts of all sorts of
drugs: cocaine, alcohol, and who-knew-what-else. So, the strong man was
easily able to overpower and kill them.
_____That, while Dr. Nova RAN to stand by the flan dispenser in the corner of
the room. Eating flan, the labcoat-wearing madman watched Mr. Grossberg do
his thing--the big CEO making short work of the high-ranking co-owners. Oh,
Dr. Nova was not at all afraid; he saw this sort of blood-and-gore violence
quite often back in Scrap Iron City.
_____In killing the Members of the Board, Mr. Grossberg had emptied the gun of
bullets. And his dagger was coated with dried blood. The cuffs of his dark
business suit had become stiffened with the red stuff--the liquid that gushed
from the chests and abdomens of the screaming, dying executives.
_____All the while, doing his thing, the business-suited killer enjoyed every
moment of it. He liked the feeling of his long dagger sinking into soft flesh.
And he liked firing his gun, filling his victims with bullets. He liked seeing
the high-ranking executives fall in their death throes, gasping and sighing as
they sank from excited fright into relaxing death. Killing people felt very,
very GO-O-O-D...
_____After that, he had the two servants quickly prop the bodies up in the seats.
If he was going to hold a proper meeting--GOD DAMNIT--there was GOING TO BE AN
AUDIENCE! Even if the audience was dead! Well, at least most of the bodies
stayed put--their dead eyes open. And by God, THAT was how that CEO held this
Board meeting: smoking gun and bloody dagger. The room smelled richly of such
blood despite the air circulation. There was also plenty of blood on the table
table and carpet, but the CEO now felt too relaxed to care about that.
...
_____Now, here stood Mr. Grossberg in front of the big video screen on the wall:
the room steeped in the sunset light from the window. Blood on the carpet.
Blood on the table. Blood on Mr. Grossberg's hands and clothes.
_____"...And so, Network 66 shall now move to TOTAL market domination, MY
domination," he concluded. "The once-unbelievable corporate dream has now
become believable. This, asit approaches reality. The future of my corporation
is the future of the city--as it should be. Thank you all!" He bowed with arms
out, bloodied weapons in his extended hands.
_____With the corpses silent, the two servants at the door clapped their white-
gloved hands together...cheering their master. With a conscious effort, Dr. Nova
set down his bowl of flan--but not before taking one more spoonful. He then
begann clapping as well.
_____So long as he had a place to continue his experiments without interference,
Dr. Nova was happy. No bounty hunter was going to get HIS head! And the flan
made in this city was SO DELICIOUS! His mind awash in a vast imaginary ocean
of flan, Dr. Nova clapped loud enough for even the dead to hear.
...
_____Mr. Grossberg was confident in his plan because of what was beneath this
skyscraper--beneath Network 66 headquarters. Something extremely productive
and extremely useful. Indeed, several stories under the concrete and asphalt
of this area, there was a factory--a decent-sized underground one. And it was
run by Network 66, of course: a factory used to make anything the executives
wanted put onto the market.
_____Up until now, this subterranian factory was used to manufacture mid-market
things: small televisions (legal), marijuana (semi-legal), neurostim bracelets
(illegal), goods of that sort. But now, it was being used to mass-produce
something grotesque. Production moved more slowly, but the things being made
here were especially valuable to the CEO.
_____As sunset came to the city streets above, the underground converted
factory rumbled and worked on. This was an underground cavernous space the
size of a football field--filled with heavy machinery, conveyor belts, and
the cables and pipes that connected them together. The only lighting here
was provided by hundreds of florescent light-tubes attached to the concrete-and
metal ceiling above.
_____Every so often, technicians in white clothes, yellow boots, and white
helmets would traipse through the maze of underground metal machinery--like
gnomes in legendary mines of long ago. Or, the technicians could walk along
some of the steel walkways suspended above the machines--catwalks.
_____But, this denatured place was a realm of hot, thrumming automation. It
was a place made by humanity, but dominated by machines. Machines that
clunked, chunked and churned away--run by computers in a glassed-off office
at the far end of this concrete cavern.
_____And if a person listened carefully, the person could hear screams. These
were screams that were drowned out by the thumping and thrumming sounds of the
machines--just barely. Anyway, the screams didn't last long; the manufacturing
process saw to that. What was made here now? Why, we're making simple-minded
cyborgs! Obedient, vicious, and violent monsters of metal.
...
_____Later, having bathed and changed into a fresh suit, Mr. Grossberg took a
sturdy elevator down to the computer-equipped factory office that ran the place.
This smallish office was about the size of a classroom, concrete floor, with
cyber-equipment along the left and right sides. At the front end of the
office, there were three low computer terminals set in front of windows--giving
a view over the concrete cavern of manufacturing machinery. The door to go out
there was at the left of the controlling computer terminals.
_____Stepping away from the two elevators, this CEO crossed the concrete floor
and walked over to the three seated technicians in white clothing. "Hello,
boys. How goes the revolution? Heh, heh, heh..."
_____The white-clad technician at the center terminal swiveled around in his
seat--a pale man with a greasy smile on his smarmy face. Pale, as he was
underground so often for prolonged periods of time.
_____"Good afternoon, Mr. Grossberg!" said that technician. He leaned forward
in his swivel seat and began rubbing his hands together. Said, "Well, as you
can see, we've put Dr. Nova's expertise into a standardized process. With his
knowledge and my engineering, things are now up and running at full speed."
He flashed his surprisingly white teeth and gestured to the computers. "As
long as we can get the...ah, 'materials' we need, we can make as many s-type
and p-type cyborgs as you feel necessary."
_____Hearing this, Mr. Grossberg smiled as well. By "materials," in quotes,
the technician meant fresh meat... Fresh HUMAN meat. It took quality meat to
make quality cyborgs.
...
_____Somewhere down there on the factory floor, the "materials" were being
lined up for the process. Live human beings were lined up--naked, scrubbed,
and sprayed with sanitizing solutions that burned their eyes. Lined up like
so much meat. Using electric cattleprods, the white-clad technicians made the
naked and half-blinded people lie down on a big conveyor belt. Once they lied
down on the conveyor belt, big clamps GRIPPED bare wrists and ankles.
_____They didn't want to be here! While most of these people were from the
Fringes, some of them were also from the downtown area. They had been knocked
out and kidnapped in the latest cyborg raids on their streets. Now, they weregoing
to be mutilated and CHANGED... Presumed dead and missing, now they were
going to be made worse than dead.
_____These people screamed and cried, their limbs struggling against the metal
clamps. But the screams they gave were nothing compared to the awful sounds
they would make when the process began! And, oh yes, there was going to be
plenty of pain.
_____Once the full batch of people had been strapped to the conveyor belt, it
moved. It was moving the naked people into the noisy darkness of the machines.
Like being swallowed by an open metal maw.
_____X-ray scanners made 3-D images of their nervous systems: scanning how
the brain and nerves were set in the body. Then, screams! A caustic and
powerful chemical spray blasted off their skin and subcutaneous fatty tissue--
making for naked muscle. Pain on top of pain, but no fainting! Because the
process required that the people's brains remain awake, the chemical spray
contained a stimulant that kept the victims from falling into the comfortable
darkness of unconsciousness. Flayed alive by the chemical, the skinned people
writhed.
_____Moving on... Using the 3-d imaging of every person, the cutters further
along the belt went to work on the human meat. With cutting and grinding
sounds, the cutters concentrated on the skinless heads and necks--leaving
bare brains attached to spinal cords and bodies. The robotic cutters were so
precise that all the major blood vessels were missed when this process was
done.
_____Soon, the spines were chopped--the brains lifted away from the bodies.
Pieces of the brain were cut away, especially along the front, and some
microchips were put into place. Wires were attached to the spinal cords.
This operations made for modified brains.
_____These modified brains are then set into the open metal skulls of waiting
robot-skeletons. The wires attached to the spinal cords were attached to
circuitry inside the metal skulls, and small plastic tubes are attached to
the brain's blood vessels. This step connected the modified brains to the
metal skeletal bodies.
_____Then came the finishing process, the closing up. After the diagnostics
checks, insuring that the neurological and physiological connections are all
OK, the simple cyborgs' skulls are welded shut. Rubber faces are then attached,
faces with embedded synthetic muscle tissue for simple facial expressions.
Simple facial expressions for simple cyborgs.
_____Out of the darkness of the factory machines, the completed products came
out: simple cyborgs. They looked all new and shiny, with their metal skeletons
gleaming and their rubber faces so factory-fresh! And their beady camera-lens
eyes glinted. These products were ready to be put work.
...
_____Six white-clad technicians organized them. These technicans used remotes
controls to "tell" the simple cyborgs to walk into metal-fenced pens--packing
them in tightly. With the previous type of cyborg, the prototype ones, they
had to be directed with portable computers; these just had to be directed with
simpler hand-held devices.
_____Ah, nothing like finished products... These technicians used their
remotes to "tell" the cyborgs where to walk and stop. One of the technicians
even danced a bit in doing this work--listening to a song stuck in his head.
This job really wasn't for sane people.
_____On the metal walkway above the fenced-in cyborg pens, Mr. Grossberg and
Dr. Nova looked down on a shiny new batch of simple cyborgs. Dr. Nova chewed
away at endless spoonfuls of flan, and Mr. Grossberg gripped the handrail. The
CEO's beady blue eyes were locked on the latest bunch of his new toys.
_____Oh, Mr. Grossberg could not WAIT to put his toys to work! The simple
cyborgs being made now would be used for the next phase of his plan--the
domination of the city. Those terrorist attacks on parts of the city were
used to seize more human meat. With more human meat, he made more simple
cyborgs made. Particularly, he had THESE simple cyborgs made. And, within
days, he could easily have sixty of the things. To use Dr. Nova's favorite
adjective, this was...delicious!