-'The transmission started at 07:30 hours.'-
Today.
Today is an ordinary day. I fevered and grew wearisome of my task-list: nothing. I shall record indefinitely unless otherwise disposed. Now then.. a count of twenty-two.
1. I was born.
2..
3..
4..
5..
6..
7..
8..
9.
10..
11..
12..
13..
14..
15..
16..
17..
18..
19..
20..
21..
22.. Today.
22 years, today.
Today.
What is so bothersome about today!
-'The transmission ended at 07:30 hours.'-
-'The transmission resumed at 08:00 hours.' -
Doctor Rumiér ran the chapel ceremony on world live.
He was standing there, adorned with perfectly symmetrical furnishings.
He wore a bandanna of peachy-pink lace upon his pale white head, perfectly crafted by machines.
He wore an arched chrome neck ring, common among The Doctors. These denoted wealth and the superiority of his vascular systems.
He had no hair, and no eyebrows.
His face had no wrinkles, no spots, and no color.
He wore bangs made of small crystal white chains. Perfectly separated.. millimeter by millimeter.
They were attached upon a v-lined restful crown, and there; in the direct middle of both my screen and his cranium; sat an exact circular red ruby. Even behind that perfect ruby there was another shining saucer, which exemplified the total symmetry of the accent.
The snowy bangs hung just above his hooded, humanoid eyes. He had no eyelashes.
What lied in the whites of his eyes were bored black holes of perfect circumference.
He had stuck small golden triangles at his tear ducts.
When his mouth opened to speak, his teeth were shown to be flat, square, and narrow, yet each one was identical in size and shape.
The inside of his mouth was gray, like storm clouds. Like his tear ducts, he kept this grayness hidden.
This was what made him a mutant.
This hardness. This lack of color. This exactness. This countenance so akin to machines.
I shall repeat what he says here for musings.
"The United States does not condone wanton violence. All actions by the United States Government is to protect our leaders, soldiers, and citizens."
I spotted that grayness again.
"In the past years, The Human Marxists of America terrorized our cities. They had gone too far in primitive viciousness, and the furtherance of their toxic regime."
Human Marxists were the names assigned to rogue humans. Exiled two years ago.
It's strange to hear that name coming from a Doctor and not a lobotomite.
"Their only wish, their only goal was to tear our lives apart, to dismantle peace, and shatter faith in real liberty."
He moved his shoulders to super-position himself above the speaker.
I saw his hands wrap around those perfect weldings.
Straight edges of muted silver and white caulk.
Brilliantly applied at a right angle.
I thought of each mechanical arm applying it with molecular exactness.
A sophistication beyond my ability.
No flaws.
Although his broad shoulders had lifted his arms, their final resting place was at each opposite end of the speaker's table.
Placed as if you could draw lines from that ruby, to his left hand, then to his right to create a perfect triangle.
His joints were even.
Flat like a horizon.
I noticed all his fingers were the same length. They had no wrinkles, and his nails were to his teeth as they were to his nails.
They had no color.
I became dull as they peeked over and hung down the sides of the table.
I heard him speak again.
It reversed me. Seeing that gray everytime he pronounced a word.
He didn't speak robotically, which made me afraid. He spoke with the simpleness of a child, yet did not sound too old or too young. He had no accent.
He reminded me of my brother, Hamm, who was in the navy.
I continued to listen.
"Yesterday, at 1500 hours, I cleared 2 nuclear warheads for each American sector in Cambodia, where the HMA had been exiled."
Strange. The HMA was no threat to us. They threatened only mutants.
"All natives and troops were evacuated weeks prior." A lie, of course. But empathy for natives in Cambodia is unthinkable. They don't even know english.
The troops were most likely never stationed.
The helicopters were simulated for the illusion of safety, all while keeping real soldiers safe from human error.
Any real helicopters that entered Cambodia were automatic and carried drones.
I know this because there are no seats, and no exits.
Hamm told me that.
"The decision was made after months of negotiations. Voter opinion was also considered, but overruled because the number of participants were too low."
He turned his palm over to signify death.
I thought in the moment that perhaps those who had voted were terminated.
But what conscious is beheld through gestures? Especially that of a mutant?
No.. he's trying to feign something.
He wants trust.
He wants to seem as if he was open to a democratic decision.
"I cant hurt them." he says. If I trust him to be good, that is what he is saying.
He is also saying "I wouldn't hurt you."
Yes, that's exactly right.
I'm right arent I, Doctor?
"A holographic display was launched over the sky to shield the public from radiation." The distrust was meant to lie here, but he hypnotized me. They hypnotized me into thinking I was safe.
Yes.. they are dead. The HMA. I see the conditioning, now.
"No one has died. No one we love has died." He says.
We killed them for believing in an idea that could merely challenge. Challenge our leisure. Our islands of narcissism and dependency.
I can't care. I can't care that they're dead!
What did they believe in? I have no way.. no way to know, to hear them!
To listen!
Did they scream? Did they cry? No.. they were hooded, covered, then ashes.
They were never considered by mankind! They were fragments and shadows of misguided, multiformed prejudice!
They were already dead to us.
-'Transmission ended at 08:04 hours'-
-'Transmission began at 09:00 hours'-
The screen went black. Suddenly I lost all interest in the program, and decided to go for a walk. It was most likely due to my tower emitting a neuron deafener, which freezes the brain, and makes you become dull.
I forgot what I was going to write..
My internal pacer read the temperature at 21 degrees.
I walked outside, my padded door swinging open to the sounds of harsh winds. Stepping outside from my home made me realize that to my left, right, and all I could see was yet more layers of cells, more doors, more lies, and more curtains.
Each one set free more noise, from the silence of my desk, to the birds in the sky, to the barking dogs, the spoken words of creatures, to the hissing crowds, to the shouts of riots, to the screams of the nearly executed, to the end.
That tone played again. I can't think. No!
The sky was a bright blue.
The screen across it became fuzzy. The air shifted. I glanced down that gold pavement, across those silver lamps, beneath that blinding sun.
I heard screams. That screen unveiled like curtains. It rolled away into black dirt. Over that hill, above that dirt, was death personified.
A distant maltrepidous mist blanketed over me. It whipped me with terror, with a force like the heat of lightning.
I first saw the creatures stalking the earth, their arms were swung above their heads, back and forth, signalling death like funeral bells.
They had following eyes like a thirsting wolf, although I was assured I meant nothing to them. Perhaps I could be a token, but nothing more.
They shot into the sky.
They shot cannons that shattered the hologram, bullets that were crafted by their misery, and destruction that blossomed into death.
They held swords of shrapnel and carried pistols of pipes.
The sky was dark and the rain was oil.
They opened their mouths, and I saw red.