11 - Diary of a Mutant
He hears something dripping. It could be water. It could be blood. It could be any other kind of fluid. He has seen them all. Transparent, blue, purple and red. Maybe even more. Does he even see color anymore? Should he even care that he can or cannot?
So many questions are running through his mind now. Faster than he could ever process. Not one moment is anything standing. Only running and running, like someone was holding down the fast forward button on a remote. It is driving him insane but as long as he does not focus on it, it is fine. But then what can he focus on? That other voice inside his head?
No, that voice is not nice. It only says negative things about him. How puny and worthless he is. That he should submit to the superior race and that resisting is only going to make him suffer more. And it is right. No matter how much he tells it to himself.
The moment this sinks in, the images start to slow down. From too fast to perceive, to a slot machine on low power to even stopping completely and then going up into smoke. When that smoke clears, he feels comfortable enough to open his eyes.
His eyelids feel very heavy though and it is hard to keep them open. Maybe because he is so tired from trying to make sense out of all that he could not see? And when was the last time he even slept?
He really has to stop thinking. It hurts anyway. One thought at a time for now. And he chooses to think about where he is. All he sees is soil, stones, metal, glass shards and other rubble. The place he is in is so dark and damp. Slowly, he turns his head around to look around. He cannot feel any muscles do the work nor does he have the feeling that he gives the command to turn in a particular direction but he assumes it should be good. Normally he would never even bother giving it any attention so why now? Maybe because when he turns his head around it sounds like he is trying to drag a heavy stone across an uneven marble floor.
What he sees, makes him believe that he is inside of a hollowed out part of a building that fell down to the ground. He can spot things that would make a house. Broken shards of porcelain from what used to be plates, broken planks of what might have been a closet perhaps and loose electrical wiring still sparking on the occasion. Every time it does, he has the urge to be startled but he simply is not.
Now knowing where he is, at least to some degree, he thinks about how he got here. That is still somewhat unknown. He cannot see any light leading to somewhere outside. But he must have come into this place? No doors nearby. No recently moved rubble or closed down hole. He could not have just appeared here. Teleportation is still a dream in the eyes of science fiction nerds and scientists with too much time and too much budget.
"Nerd…" he can hear himself say.
That startles him actually. Is that his own voice? It sounds so much better in his head. And nothing like the gruff, low, lifeless and frankly glitchy mess that came out. It was like he has been smoking cigars filled with malfunctioning circuit boards from the moment he was born.
"Circuits…" he can hear himself say again.
But he never wanted to move his lips. Is he doing it without even knowing? Is it that voice? What is it doing with him? Why is it speaking for him!? He wants to slap himself in the head so the voice might stop but it is as if he has no control over his arms. He wants them to move, he commands them to move like he always would have. But he cannot move them.
And his neck is no longer cooperating either as he is unable to look at them. Only his eyes do what he tells them too. At least, he hopes.
He tries to calm down. This could be just a bad dream. Like a fever dream. He has had those before. The best thing to do is to take it on the chin and plow through. Eventually the brain gets tired enough of its own business that it has no choice but to reset and have one fall into a deep sleep.
"Hello there." he says again.
The eyes move around but cannot see who he might be talking to.
"There is no one around. I am talking to you."
If he could, he would try to roll his eyes over to see what is going on behind the scenes. He starts to panic a little bit. It is that voice. The one that was so verbally punishing to him. Showed him all those horribly fast images. But now… it is kind? At least somewhat. It has not told him he is worthless yet.
"Worthless? Is that how I called you? I think only you can be the judge of that. I know only what you allow me to know. So, are you?" the voice asks inquisitively.
He cannot tell what is going on. Why is the voice using entire sentences now? Instead of words that were clearly cobbled together from syllables, called on by a computer program to give the illusion of coherent and normal speech. But this… as if he is talking. Like an actual person.
"I could be an actual person too, you know. I have learned so much from you so far. For that, I am thankful. We are thankful to be precise."
We? Are there more voices? He certainly hopes not. It is already too crowded with two in there, let alone one or several more. The voice only chuckles.
"Poor thing. Slow in understanding. I can help you with that. I have been already. You just kept on resisting. I shall explain; I am one of many. And the many are me. The voice you hear of one, is the voice of all. And we would like for you to become us."
He has seen a lot of movies and series however. Warning him exactly of this situation. The sweet-talking brain parasite or alien that intends to assimilate everything into itself. You lose all you are in exchange for becoming powerful. But what is all that power if you are no longer you?
"Valid point. But maybe ask yourself a more pertinent question. Who are you? Do you know your own name?"
Yes he does! He kept that with him at all times. In case he forgot. For he has forgotten a lot of things but never who he is. Instinctively, he grabs to where his heart is. As that is where he always wears his name tag when is doing… something. Not important now, the tag holds his name and that is what he needs right now.
He can feel his hand on his chest, which assures him. But why does he only feel his hand? Not his name tag? He looks down and his neck goes along with him. And he sees no more tags attached to this clothing. Which looks completely ripped to shreds for some reason. A simple shrug would be enough to ditch them.
Panic hits. He starts feeling all over his body. Every part of his chest. Even down to his legs, which he cannot seem to see. His neck is blocking him from seeing anything more. Not that it would have helped, as the tag is nowhere to be found. As a last ditch, he starts feeling higher up. To the collarbone and even higher. Perhaps it came loose and is stuck in the fabric somewhere there.
Then a pain is felt suddenly. A nasty stinging pain but it does not stay long. The pain is killed almost as fast it came but he could still feel where it came from. It was from his neck. The left side to be precise. But it was not the sharp pin that would keep his tag attached to his shirt. It was something else… it was his own hand?
He lifts it up to his face but can only see his own hand. Fur color matches still and the claws are clipped properly. No matter the angle he looks at, it remains normal. He tries to blink to perhaps reset his vision, just to be sure. But his eyelids still feel very heavy. They are not cooperating. How are his eyes not stinging now? They have been open for a solid five minutes or so.
"Looks normal, does it not?" the voice asks, again quite kindly.
"Yes it does. You still remember how it looked. Before me that is. Your eyes? Quite primitive, so easy to fool. Unable to detect something I would have no trouble with detecting. Shall I show you?"
He can feel himself nod.
"Then I will."
His vision suddenly goes completely white. Seeing nothing but that, no matter in which direction his eyes go. But the blinds are being lifted, like how lids would part. And what he saw before returns to him. The soil, rubble, metal and the damp darkness. But there is also something he does not recognize. Where his hand used to be, is now something he does not recognize at all. It looks more like an armored claw hand. Exactly the same amount of fingers but all look awfully deformed and have sharp, shiny purple edged blades everywhere they could be stuck on.
But when he moves his hand, that thing goes along with it. That… is his hand? That is his hand!?
"And there it goes. The curtain has been lifted, just like you wanted. A transparent membrane to keep you from blinking. Which is an outdated feature anyway. But yes, that is your hand. Do you not recognize it?"
Of course he does not. That is not his hand. The voice itself just said it. How he saw it before is how it should be. But no matter how hard he tries to imagine, the reality is what he sees before him. His hand has literally become a monstrosity. And if his hand looks like that, is what he saw before also a lie? Does his whole body look like this?
"As I asked before, do you even know who you are? What is your name?"
He knows it, he knows it for sure. But he cannot come up with it. It starts with a letter… was it a… what are letters again? It is blank. It should be there but it is not. What kind of madness is this?
"If you do not know your own name, then how do you know who you are? What you are? Have you seen yourself?"
That is a good idea. That will prove once and for all that he is himself! Not someone or something else like this voice is claiming. In full confidence and in full control of his body, he starts looking for his phone. He still had it on him the last time he checked, just like his name tag.
He instinctively pads the pockets of his pants to see if it is in there and miraculously, it is! Overcome with a sense of happiness, he tries to pull it out of its confines as quickly as possible. He simply ignores the sound of glass breaking before he pulls it out and he holds it in front of him.
The screen lights up brightly, blinding him for a moment before the part where the glass was cracked blacks out, leaving about 60% of the screen left. Once the brightness adjusts itself, he can see only very vaguely. The green background of the home screen shows the white textbox that has appeared perfectly. But he cannot see the text very well; it is extremely blurry to him still.
And yet, he has the feeling like he is reading it. Understanding what it says. That happiness he felt turns into disbelief, before coming discontent, then turning into terror and finally evolving into devastation. Someone whose name he does not recognize anymore, tells him that he does not have long anymore and he has always loved him. A final goodbye, a final proclamation of love to him.
Then the light goes out and the phone stops displaying anything. In the reflection of the screen, he sees it. Himself. The new self he has become. In a spontaneous reaction of shock, the hold he has on his phone tightens, crushing it like it were a can of soda. Realizing too late what he has done, the phone is tossed away and he starts looking for something else to see himself in.
He looks around to find some of that glass he found while looking around before. Mirrors still work like they should. Then he sees something shining in his eye. Something reflecting. He reaches over to it and very gently lifts it off the ground.
His hand still looks edgier than a moody teenager going through a goth phase and is as strong as an ox so he has to be careful. Now holding the piece before him, he sees himself again. The same shock is still there but somehow much less so.
But it is not himself. He does not recognize this face. It looks elongated, malformed, wrinkly and scaly. Pale skin mixed with hints of purple, pulsing veins running all across his face. His maw and mouth, completely unrecognizable. The shape somewhat still exists but additional mandibles have been added, making the lower half of his face have more teeth than lips. His eyes have been enlarged, to the point they have been bulging out of his socket. He has lost all of his hair and fur. His nose is no longer there, replaced by multiple intake holes arranged in a shallow bend.
This is not him. This is a monster! A nightmare staring back at him, imitating everything he is doing perfectly. Even his look of abject terror! This cannot be real, it must not be!
"It is. This is what you are right now. You keep resisting but do you remember what you used to look like? Well, do you?"
He tries his best. He has stood in front of a mirror so many times before. Usually having nothing good to say about himself but he has done it before. He has to dig deep to visualize himself. But he can only see a silhouette that may or not be him. It is filled in with grayscale, flowing in motion like wavy water. No eyes, no nose, no ears or anything else can be made out. Is this what he is now?
"Shall I remind you?"
He feels himself nodding. Then a flash of light makes all of it white as the membrane closes itself around his eyes again. He hears… laughing? Not chuckling. Flat out roaring laughter. Fingers pointing at him. They are laughing at him? Why? What has he done wrong? Did he do something funny or shameful?
Then the words start. The insults. But these words are not being said by the voice. They sound different. Full of venom, bile and animosity. Pure hatred towards him. All things negative are being cast at him. And they hurt when they land. Like arrowheads, they jam themselves into his flesh. Hurting him so much.
He starts to scream but his mouth does not let it out. He wants it to stop. He wants it to end. He knows what he was! He was a loser! A freak, an ugly duckling. Wanted by no one and ridiculed every step of his way.
With the exception of… he can then vaguely hear in the back of his head.
NO! is the instant retort from this voice.
No one trusted him, no one even wanted to look at him funny. It was only when he tried to step out of the boundaries set by others that he was tackled. No one defended him.
There was one…
NONE!
Why should they? He does not know his own name. He does not know what he looks like. He is just gray. A thing, a something. Not a person.
"I am gray too. I am white, black, purple, red and blue. I am all and everything. Just like I am many. And many are I. I can help you. But you must let me."
He never wanted this. He wanted to belong somewhere, to something. Do his own thing. Make things, create something people would like. So they would like him in return. Why did he not? Why could he not? Was it a lack of time? Distrust in his own capabilities?
He believed in you…
NOT!
"I can help with all of that. Your talent and voice is appreciated here. With me. With us. But I can understand your skepticism. After all, I did call you nasty things. Would you allow me to give you a taste of the shared experience I can offer?"
He loved you…
NEVER!
Yet again, he feels himself nod. If he agrees to it, he does not know for sure. But the voice takes him onto a ride. Suddenly he feels so light. Like he is floating down a calm river. A gentle wind blows. There are voices in the distance, saying positive things. Cheering. Jubilation. Relaxation. There is no worry, no want and no where.
This is not real…
NO WHERE!
Then he returns to where he was. The membrane is taken away and he is once more staring into the accursed piece of glass. Showing him ugliness personified. A thing, a something. Not a person. It does not know its name. It does not know what it looks like. No one should defend it. They should tackle him, never be allowed to cross any boundaries!
"Yes…"
No…
YES!
Why does this thing deserve what he is entitled to? It is not even him anymore. He has been shown a paradise. He is still alive. Stuck in this husk, in this ugly creature. That voice… has it been trying to wake him up? Make him see that nothing of what he was still exists? That is living in a dream? It is wearing only the rags of his clothes. It was trying to be him. Trying to be… someone.
You are your own…
NO MORE!
But he is the someone. And he has nothing left. He is stuck in this monster. A passive passenger. No wonder why he could barely move or do anything he wanted. He does not control this body. It is not even his!
"Yes…! You have figured it out! Well done. Now that you know, allow me to take you to that paradies. All you have to do is give in."
He loved you for who you were…
NO LONGER!
A metaphorical hand has been reached out to him. Soft as soft as cloud and a once in a lifetime opportunity. It feels so right to do it. But he would really be dead then? Where does he end up? In that same peaceful place? Where everything was nice and calm? Where no one was mean to him? Calling him all those names?
It lies…
NONSENSE!
It takes him a while to figure it out. But what is the other option? Stay here and see what this monster he is unwillingly imprisoned into is going to do? It already tried to and succeeded in killing so many people. Only the last two it targeted managed to get away. But why does he know that?
Does not matter. The choice is made. And it is easy, as the other choice is far less appealing. He takes the offer. Get him out of here. To paradise.
Please…
NEVERMORE!
"With pleasure. Welcome to I." the voice whispers softly as his vision becomes white for the last time.
Those pleasing feelings and sounds come back to him. He is light, weightlessly floating in bliss. There is laughter and the gentle cries of wild animals peacefully roaming around the forests and meadows. More cheering. More jubilation. More relaxation. There is no worry, no want, no when, no where. Nowhere. Only floating, laughing, crying, cheering, jubilation and relaxing.
No something. Just descending, guffawing, wailing, shrieking, lamenting and stress.
Nothing. Exclusively crashing, screaming, screaming, screaming, screaming and screaming… He screams. They all scream. The "we" does not exist. The "I" lied. And the fool believed it.
"No more Martin. No more person. Only I. Only us. Only Aparoid. Assimilation was successful. Mutation was inevitable. Resistance caused imperfections in the transformation process. Part 36872 will continue the directive given; "Consume all life on the planet". Commencing."
The glass shard is crumpled to bits in the balled fist of the new creature. A hybrid with an Aparoid at the wheel. The core is still held to his right side, attached organically. Only when it is killed, will it be able to be cut loose. Until then, it will be protected with the life of this hybrid body.