Echoes - Epilogue

A gold-tipped cigarette sat in an old black Bakelite ashtray. The trail of smoke gentle rose to the ceiling. Fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered. The room had no windows, with cinder block walls painted a dull military grey. A man, dressed in black sat at the table at the centre of the room, with his seat facing the door opposite the table. Across the table were reports of various natures. Test results from the lab. Supply stock takes. Reconnaissance updates. Without looking away from the reports, he reached across to the ashtray, picking the cigarette with his gloved hand and placed it between his lips.

There was a light knock at the door. “Enter,“ the man said blandly, his concentration remaining at the current report, the health and status of a particular prisoner. He exhaled, coming out on a thin cloud. A man in military dress entered the room and stood near the table.

“You know, I thought all soldiers saluted their superiors, Colonel,” the man in black said without looking from the page.

The Colonel, squinted his eye, resisting to fully speaking his mind, “You’re not military.”

“Ah, but I have been given authority over this operation. Carte Blanche was the term that was used, I believe.” The man in black smirked, eyeing the Colonel. Then his attention returned to the report. “I take it you have come to air a grievance or some such.”

It’s him again, the soldier we found. He’s hospitalised another two. Looked as if he didn’t try. I have another sixteen going through psychiatric evaluation. The prisoners can do things to them. At this rate, I doubt there will be enough men to adequately guard this facility. Even with the measures we have taken. One of them,” the Colonel paused, not sure how much information he should relay to the man in black, “knew things about me. Things I have told no one.”

“Really?” The man in black looked up at the Colonel, “Well that is interesting. Add that man to the list.” The man in black put down his report, and then steeped his fingers, “Now any news from the city?

“We managed to round up another two dozen. Sweeps throughout the city show evidence of heavy fighting. Explosives were planted beneath the most important structures. While it appears two groups of citizenry were involved in the fighting, all of the survivors belong to neither of those groups. Once we establish a more permanent presence in the city, we will begin cataloguing the dead and disposing the bodies. However, we believe that some managed to slip through the containment line that we established around the city. It cannot be many, but we don’t have the numbers yet.”

“We’ll have to expand the net then. To a 300 km radius. I will call in for additional forces along with a rotation for the deployment here. Including your replacement.”

The Colonel nodded and left solemnly, closing the door behind him. The man in black drew on the cigarette again and returned to the reports. He opened a file that just came from telemetry and imaging. Opening the folder, he flipped over the cover sheet and looked at the first photo. The shot was made early in the morning shortly after the interference over the city began to dissipate. The first photo is an open field near a forest there is a figure in the middle. The next photo is an enhancement, showing a man running from the city.

Yes, we’ll get them, the man in black thought, we’ll get them all.

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The Slip

The hospital walls are bleached white, so much so it almost hurts the eyes. The chessboard-tiled floor is slick with dark blood. From around the corner a guard flies through the air, slowly, as if time has been turned down. Blood pours out from the guards wounds as he pinwheels through air. Crashing into the solid wall, bones snap to the sound of dry tinder, leaving a crumpled mess on the floor. The Doctor comes around the corner, and he’s fast. I raise my weapon to fire, the gun discharging round after round, with empty shells peeling from the weapon. The Doctor dodges each, always advancing until he is range. Scalpel in hand, he cuts across me and through the gas mask I can see a fountain of black spilling from me. My heart does the rest to bleed me dry. Everything swirls, darkness floods in, as the last thing I see is the razor-smile of the Doctor.

I wake with a start on a metal floor. Turning over I find myself beneath the twisted wreckage of the metal staircase. By some miracle I haven’t been crushed. Crawling free, I see the damage that I have wrought. The incinerator is in ruins, nothing more than a smoking shell of steel. The metal dome is gone, so I can see the sky. It’s pulsating and heaving as if attempting to keep together. But it’s dying, I can feel it. I’m still high enough to see parts of the city. Most of is in flames, and the distant noises of explosions and fighting can still be heard.

I climb the stairs carefully, hoping the now fragile construction does not give way beneath me. I reach the ground and immediately notice the black car parked nearby. I hear steps in the loose gravel behind me. Turning to see who it is, but I am too late as a solid punch sends me to the ground. “You had to do it,” A voice says coldly.

Hands reach down and pick me up and I look up to see who it is. Mandlebrot. “You killed Ina.” Behind dark shades burns a rage I have never seen before in anyone. Black streaks run down his face. “You destroyed everything we built.” With one arm he lifts me up and reels back his other, readying another punch. His fist catapults into me, so hard I fly through the air. I hit a tree, feeling ribs crack as I land on the ground. The black water that had settled on it now showers onto me. “You killed our God.” Mandlebrot steps over as I try to get up. His fists come at me. I try to block where I can, but he still lands blows upon me. His last one sends me closer to the river shore. Trying to remain conscious, I get to my feet again. I can taste blood. Mandlebrot grabs me drags me to the river. I struggle, weakly trying to fight him off, but he is far stronger than I ever imagined. “You may think you have killed the Echo. But it will live on in me. And in you.” His hands come around my throat and then he sends my head into the dark waters of the river. I cannot breath. All of Mandlebrot’s strength and will are focused on my death here and now. My vision goes as I begin to drown. With my last ounce of strength, hand is searching for something, anything, in the soft riverbed. Somehow I feel a hard lump of stone move into my hand, pull it free of the water and strike Mandlebrot in the head. It’s hard enough to make him release his grip and stagger backwards. I rise out of the water. Mandlebrot looks at me, with black blood pouring down his face. This time with both hands, I hit him with the river stone again. He goes down. I don’t stop. He tries to get up so I strike. He raises his arms. I strike. Each time he moves I hammer down the stone. Again and again and again. Bludgeoning his skull, crushing it more and more with each hit until I realise that I’m not hitting him any more, but the stone is landing to the soft soil of the river shore. With heaving pants, I cast the stone aside. I stand, wiping Mandlebrot’s blood from my face with my sleeves. Searching his pockets, I find the keys to his car. I weakly get to my feet and begin to stagger towards the vehicle. I cough and my whole chest hurts. I look at my hand. My blood is a dark crimson. I make it to the car, open the door and fall inside. I pull my legs in and put my head back on the headrest, closing my eyes. I need to pull it together. I cough again, tasting the iron tang of blood. I open my eyes, close the door and turn the ignition.

Mandlebrot’s vehicle is a well-tuned machine that is a blur on the empty smoking streets of the city. Good parts of the city are destroyed. Her buildings and monuments are still ablaze from the fighting. Bodies, rubble and the empty shells of vehicles are strewn through the streets. The canals are filled black water and the dead. Naked, leafless trees line the roads. Everything has been touched by fire. I constantly find bridges that have been destroyed and have to rethink my course. The heavy smoke makes it difficult to see. I pass by the empty shells of what used to be homes. Now this place is the Netherworld. I wonder how many have escaped. I drive by a cemetery, which strangely looks untouched. There near the edge of the road is a statue of an angel. The recent storm makes it appear as if she is weeping black tears. I cannot be the only one left alive.

I stop at an intersection trying to decide where to go next. I hear another vehicle approach me, its loud engine growling through the thick smoke, like some jungle predator. A red convertible pulls up beside me. It’s top is down and I see a young blonde woman, her long hair waving in the wind. Another figure leans forward to see me. Behind a mask of splattered black-blood is the razor smile of the Doctor. I stare back in horror. The girl smiles and the convertible speeds off into the gloom. I attempt to match their speed to keep up, but their lights have disappeared. Soon another light appears. As I get closer I can make out a pillar of fire beneath a mound of some description. I soon realise what it is.

A giant pile-up of cars burns before me. Just beyond the mound is a great gap in the wall to freedom. The pile-up must have been made by the last desperate attempts of survivors. For one reason or another they crashed into each other and burned, a final punishment from the thing above. The mound of burning wrecks is like a singularity. I can feel the pull towards it. I can feel the thing above. It’s does not want to let me go. It needs me to stay and die here. I speed towards the fire and the broken cars. My body has turned to stone, my vision swims, becoming hazy. Everything is a blur. Suddenly, as if I’m going to slam head on, my white-knuckled hands jolt at the wheel, my foot mixes brake and accelerator, causing me to slingshot around the burning cars. Flames lick the side of my car. I can smell the burning petrol. Free from the gravity of the wreckage, my car speeds through the hole in the wall
and plummets down an embankment. Landing hard on the rain soaked ground, the car crashes through young trees and low branches. I lose count on the times it rolls. Glass shatters, tyres burst and car is shedding parts. I see a large oak in my path, I cover my face with my arms as I slam into it. Everything becomes black.

Regaining consciousness I see the windshield shattered, branches and green foliage poke through the cracked holes. I stumble from the car. My legs, my entire body wanting to get away, I try to run yet something feels heavy in my chest. I begin to cough. Something won’t leave me. My fit causes me to fall by a creek, my knees landing in the water. Finally, my heaving dislodges something, as I vomit it into the waters. I open my eyes and find a black oily mass flowing downstream as the creek takes it away.

It takes a while for the realisation that I am finally beyond the city walls to sink in. All around me the verdant green of the forest blooms around me. I wash my face in the clear waters. It’s cold but I don’t care. I feel alive again. I hear a noise, a rustling from the nearby woods. A deer, a young buck, his antlers have just started fanning out, steps clear of the tree near the creek. It gets closer to me, so close in fact I could almost reach out and touch it. I remain still as it sniffs the air around me. Then, as if losing interest, it bounds back into the forest.

Crossing the creek, I step into a clearing and look back at the city. It’s once formidable skyline is cracked and broken. Smoke fills the air, but the clouds that once enshrouded the city begin to break up showing the dawn blue sky. I look to the east and, for the first time in what feels like years, I see the sun rising. Tears run down my face.

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Moloch

The storm had finally stopped when I left the tunnels. The black clouds remained overhead and all around me. The water below, all of it was oily and slick. I sat in the small boat as the looming dark shape of the Incinerator towered over me. The entire place was once used to power the city, and help eliminate waste. Now it is a relic, still used to burn refuse. I trace its outline with my eye, following the lines of pipes and supports, up to a great tall series of smoke stacks. Each of the stacks billows great plumes of black smoke into the sky. The smoke leaves slowly, twisting, warping and coiling to form into the dark clouds that enshroud the entire city. The clouds look sicklier every time I look at them. The feeling in the back of my head tells me my time is running out and that all of my answers are here. Cover from the canals has run out. I pull the boat to the edge of the river among some long grass and move to find something to hide behind.

The rain has stained everything. I can smell it in the air. The ground is slick like ice. I take cover behind some trees and notice it looks sprayed in sludge. It’s still dark, and it’s difficult to see, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone here. Odd.

In the distance, there is the pop and bang of an explosion. I can see flames erupt on the far edge of the city. I need to move. Advancing on the building, I spot an old doorway. Metal and rusted, but I can see the padlock is brand new, almost glittering against the aged door. Pressed for time, I need to sacrifice my cover. Pulling out the gun, I take a few steps back and fire. The lock shatters from the bullet. I kick the door open. The whole place appears empty. There are no alarms, no inquisitive guard. For a moment there is silence. Suddenly, there are sounds of pressurised gases, steam and smoke.

I work my way towards the centre. Drawing closer towards the sound that goes every two minutes or so and then silence, except for the sounds made by myself, walking across pressed metal floors and opening rusted doors. Some doors are unusable, locked, jammed or welded shut. I find myself climbing stairs that creak with age. I wonder why this site is empty and my thoughts are interrupted by a popping sound of another distant explosion. Then comes the sound of the incinerator. The closers I get the more detailed the sound becomes, the clanking of ancient machinery, the hydraulics pressurising, and the gas like hissing and the roar of the fire and then the clanking of machinery again.

I finally reach a door that gives, but still makes its protests known, creaking so loudly, the noises fills the cavernous room beyond. Ahead of me I see a narrow gangway. This gangway runs above the main incinerator, on top is a large metal dome, made of blackened metal, the same colour as the sky. To my right are the twisted and burnt out pipes that lead to the smoke stack. Walking out onto the gangway I look down below. There are six or so conveyor belts all leading to a centre trap-door that look like the jaws of a great monster made of steel and fire. Smoke rises from between the teeth of the twin doors. I survey the conveyors. They are filled with what I first make out as refuse, and then realise there are patches of red amongst them. Red books. Hundreds, possibly thousands of them piled onto the conveyor belts. Everything is fed into the incinerator. I step back and look over the other side of the gangway. In amongst the red books are other items, photo albums, photos, jewellery, furniture, entire music collections, paperback novels, portraits, the flotsam and jetsam of human existence, prized possessions and heirlooms. I soon begin to see the odd hand, foot or face surface among the refuse. Everything we have held dear has been cast into the fire and this becomes the smoke that blankets our city. It is the black rain that has poisoned our water and choked the life from everything it falls upon. Has the virus done all of this? Our method of control had only caused the situation to become much worse. How did I not see this? How long has it been between the days, when I saw the suicides and the murders to when I was here? Time has lost meaning here. I hear the clanking of machinery, the conveyors begin to shunt, their cargo quivers and shudders into motion. The hissing and pumping sounds of the hydraulics begin and then the Maw parts it’s black steel teeth, revealing a great mouth of fire. Tongues of flame lick the sides of the maw and the conveyors feed it once again. The pictures, keepsakes, treasures, prizes, books and bodies cascade in, melting into the white-hot centre of the mouth. The heat is unbearable, even from my height. I cover my face with my arm, my eyes searching into the very white hot whirlpool, as if I am poised on falling into it myself. Soon the clanking of the steel jaws shields the maw once again. Silence.

Stepping back, I felt my hand reach across my chest to my heart, but only feeling the hard lump that the madman Emmersen had given me. I reach inside my coat and pull out the parcel. Wrapped in dirty brown paper, I feel the square shape of the “weapon” Emmersen had given, apart from the pistol. I tear the paper away. It’s a black book. Roughly the same shape or size, but it appears as if it was handmade. The pages are uneven and made of different qualities. I flip through the book, reading what there is

Day 14
Containment has been breached. While we have isolated ourselves in the western quarter of the hospital, time is running out for all of us. With half of us already gone, we are not hoping for an outcome that is favourable. Emmersen seems to be coping well, despite what he has done to himself. Julian has been working around the clock towards find someway to contain the virus before it plagues the rest of the city, though I don’t trust his methods. I remember there was a time when performing experiments of his nature was illegal. Van Beck and his team have not woken since yesterday, no matter what we try. Even adrenaline doesn’t work. I sent Kramar to look for Dean, but he hasn’t returned -

I skip the rest and flick through the pages to another entry:

This city has taken everything I have loved. My daughter. My wife. I have nothing. I have heard of people that have lived beneath the city. With everyone around practically infected, I figure why not. I have nothing else to life for.

Flicking the pages by it lands on two pages. In huge black letters is scrawled:

YOU.

I turn the page

WILL

And turn the page

NOT

And turn the page

HAVE

And turn the page

US

I close the book. Emmersen was right. Everything had become clear. I knew exactly what to do.

I look over the side, judging where I could get the book to land. I know in the back of my mind, I should get it on a conveyor belt. It might give me enough time to get away. Just as I prepare to drop the book, I hear a voice from behind me.

“I thought I would find you here.” It’s Ina. She is wearing dark shades that are covering her eyes.

I draw the book close to me, and at the same time, reach slowly around for the pistol tucked into my belt.

“I need to stop this, Ina,” I say, “I can do this and we can leave together.”

“You were always a terrible liar. I never thanked you for saving my life, but I guess I always knew I wouldn’t be leaving this place”.

I slowly draw the gun, pulling it to my side, feeling for the safety catch.

“You see I didn’t have a choice. They have –“ she seems to fumble for a word, “They have a machine. It is the only way I can describe it. It takes everything from you. Makes you empty. You become with it.”

“With what?” I ask.

“With It. The Echo.” She nods her head upwards to the sky. She reaches up for her glasses and removes them and then she looks at me. I find myself staring at her. At her eyes, or where her eyes used to be, now replaced by obsidian orbs that feel they stare in all directions, unblinking and unflinching. Eyes are as dark as the depths of space, inescapable.

“Ina don’t” I try to reason with what’s left of her and my arms tenses, ready to fire.

“I don’t have a choice. You will meet the machine and join the echo. Or. You will burn with the rest of them and join the echo.” She stiffens upon saying this.

There is a moment of stillness, like the calm before the storm. And then Ina charges. I raise my pistol and fire, but in haste, only grazing her shoulder. Ignoring the wound, she crashed into me at full speed. I fall on the metal floor of the gangway. The gun and book both slide out of reach. Ina is clawing at my face. Hands manage to catch them both, using everything I have, I push her off of me, hard enough she lands heavily against metal floor. I manage to get up in time, as Ina is quickly on her feet charging back into me. I have some hesitation about hitting her, but the feeling in the back of my head, tells me she is no longer the woman I knew. I block her hands with one forearm and let fly with a fist. It hits home, forcing her back. I take one step back, closer to the gun and book. She comes in again, I anticipate her charge, and counter her, forcing her back even further. The clanking of the conveyors has begun again. She is on the floor again and as she gets up I make for my weapons. Snatching up the book and the gun, I turn as she slams into me again. I can hear the hissing pressure of the hydraulics. The gun discharges into her chest. Metal scrapes on metal as maw begin to open. Ina with the last of her strength grabs for the book, I try to pull her away, but she has it. I push and she goes over the rail, tearing the book from my hands. I look over the edge into the light of the flames below and for seconds she her descend into the white. The maw closes.

Realising what has happened, I begin to run. I barely make it to the end of the gangway when the incinerator begins to rumble like thunder. There is no explosion, but instead, it feels like an implosion. Everything feels torn towards the collapsing incinerator. The floor quakes. Metal is bent and twisted so fast and fiercely it screams. I hit a metal staircase and fall down it, as the floor gives way and the world turns sideways

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Weekend in Leviathan

After several hours of driving, Philé Stein and I had arrived in the City of Leviathan. Our purpose was to see and hear a band called Sigur Ros. The drive was largely uneventful, I blacked out on occasions, from a lack of sleep. The steady rhythm of a well-tuned car will do that. Unless I’m the one who’s driving, then I’m alert for any danger, real or invisible.

The lodgings were known as the Albert Park, in a suburb that consisted of buildings that looked like visibly ancient. Stacked together in long rows, each place was an iteration of the last. Except with minor differences that made them idiosyncratic. Some had bars on the windows, and others did not. One had a metal door. Another, security cameras. One place had the bright-red workings of a fire suppression system, the tangled pipes taking decent space of the front landing. There was the garbage that was cleaned out during a threat of eviction, but never collected by sanitation. The Cherry-Red Piaggio scooter parked just off the street. Boxes of recyclables labelled in different languages. The curtains, made from old patterned sheets. The plastic sheet hanging over the electric meter in case of rain. The abandoned bed clothes, an entire set of pillows, sheets and duvet left to rot in the mid-winter cold. The signs. “Attention Pizza Delivery Drivers and Post Contractors. Please do not leave any parcels for HOOSAUD at the front door. They will be picked up at the rear gate.” Then there was a mobile number. “This building is under extensive repairs and builders will be present during business hours.”

Philé and I still had some time to kill between now and the restaurant, so we decided to go to the Quay. I have only visited Leviathan a handful of times in my life. I like to think of this as a good thing, because while right now I can stare at the tall dominating skyscrapers and towers like a slack-jawed tourist, I know that I would become to hate this place if I lived here. I knew this from my last holiday back in the Old Town and I spent a couple of nights at a friend’s in nearby Boom City. The traffic was a nightmare, and the humidity, even in the middle of autumn, was choking.

We had lunch in the Quay, at a bar called the Orient, which served pretty descent grub. We spent the afternoon wandering to other nearby joints, the Argyle with a massive bathroom that looked taken out of the Matrix and a DJ Booth, set in glass that was suspended by cables above us. (Not in the bathroom though, in the main bar area.) The entire Argyle was built inside what appeared to be a colonial era brick building that I’m sure was either used to house convicts or sheep. Not sure.

We then went to the Lowenbrau (or did the Argyle come last?), a photo of the Pope holding the house beer still adorned the windows of the entrance. It had only been a week since World Youth Day, and Papal-fever remained in a few Caths. Inside it looked subterranean, like it was straight out of a Tolkien novel. Long wooden tables, warm amber lighting, and the strains of appropriate ethnic music played in the background. Large porcelain steins filled an ornate cabinet, though I’m sure they were not for sale.

Then came the Lord Nelson, a stately English bar eponymously named after a famous Admiral. Philé knew they brewed their own beer, but I didn’t have any. Behind us a Hen’s Night, or at least one third of a Hen’s Night was under way. Soon two members of the party walked over to us and asked a few questions. The challenge of each team for the Bridal shower was a scavenger hunt of sorts and they asked us two questions. One had to do with a pickup line. Philé, ever the gentleman, suggested his: “When you approach the young lady, ask her if she would enjoy returning to your domicile and partake in a pizza and a fuck. When the young lass would react shocked and mortified, simply and naïvely ask, ‘What? You don’t like pizza?’” The second question related to the sexiest Antipodean women we could think of, and why. Philé named a famous pole vaulter (get name later), notably because “she was hot and could handle poles” I named Sara Murdoch. Only because she seemed the most level-headed blonde around. (Though on reflection I should have mentioned the girl from Killing Heidi. She was cute)

With that the Hen’s Night partiers were gone and soon so were we. I felt a headache coming on. We eventually returned to the Hotel and I passed out on my bed. A short while later, I woke, realising I was about twenty minutes late for the restaurant. Philé had already called twice on my phone. Then there was a knock on my door. It was Philé and we sped out of the hotel. I was still weirded by the passing out. Everything was hazy, with the sense of dread more intense. We walked to the restaurant. All I could do was to try to keep up with my partner in crime. But, boy, did he move fast. Homes and closed stores whirred by. We passed one called Mao and More, having giant red lanterns. Further we walked. By scornful warped faces of the lost sitting outside the bar, watching the world leave them. By young couples headed out for a night on the town. Another shop, its only name I can guess as the “Smiling Sparrow” judging by the picture on the sign. It was some kind of boutique, featuring red lamps and dresses. The restaurant was still further. Philé drove on, he liked this restaurant and soon I knew why.

The Red Lantern is Vietnamese restaurant, built in and through an old home. It’s not very big and it’s almost surreal they way that they have managed to fit so much into something so small. All of the staff were aware of the schedule we were keeping and the fact that we were twenty minutes late, only caused tensions. However, the staff of the Red Lantern were very accommodating. In a record time they brought out our orders, roughly fifteen minutes. It was like they stepped into the kitchen, the chef’s already preordaining what we had ordered, had it cooked and prepared. All the waiter had to do was to bring it to our table. I chose a Roast Duck dish with Asian greens and plum sauce, while Philé ordered Angus Black Sirloin Beef with red rice. Each was perfect. The Duck was tender and moist, while the skin was crisp. I’ve known duck to be fatty. Cooked incorrectly, it is partly untenable and chewy. But this duck you could eat every tiny morsel. The fat was rendered away into the meat the dish so that you’d barely notice it. The Beef was delicious, cooked roughly medium, so it kept most of it natural flavour. The red rice was seasoned with something I could not place. By the end of the meal my haze had cleared, I could perceive fully once again.

Soon enough, we had to go. The concert was awaiting us. Philé was almost at his flying pace again, but with a full stomach he decided to walk a little more casually. Once again he knew where he was going and I was lost. Along the way, we joined others headed to the concert. The Pavilion loomed in the night horizon. It was a mass of building, silver and steel in colour. Security let us through without incident and we joined the throng. I think we all wanted the same thing at the same point: to see a particular Icelandic group play. Philé moved among the main floor and joined an already assembling crowd in front of the stage. After a short while, three men descending into the stage, taking up a laptop, guitar and keyboard and a set of drums. They began to hammer at the drums, press and pound keys, and spasm and contort at the instruments. This trio were Pivot. And they were an excellent opening act of fast complex rhythms, tonal ambience, crying howls, cuts, clips and bips, and rolling guitar. Personally, they were awesome, and provided enough energy to the crowd to prepare themselves for the spectacle that was and still is Sigur Ros. Imagine a full drum kit, a xylophone, three keyboards, at least eight guitars of various tunings and curves, a marching band drum, confetti poppers (extra-extra large size), several cello bows (all of which would be destroyed by the end of the evening), a marching band quartet complete with their own brass, a piccolo and one small wooden organ. All of this combined, with six giant lighted balls and the co-ordinated stage lights, provided a live show, the kind I have not seen in some time. It’s a little hard to classify Sigur Ros’ music. They are ethereal and emotionally powerful, stark and beautiful like their Iceland, of verdant green valleys and dark, imposing volcanic structures. I cannot say I am as big a fan as my friend Philé, but I do enjoy the tracks that have feature more beating of the drums. Needlessly to say their powerful concert blew me away. Philé, you can stop preaching to the converted.

After the concert, I purchased a Pivot album, and then Philé and I returned to the night. Soon afterwards we found ourselves in the Cleveland Bar taking in long island ice teas discussing our plans for the next day.

Morning came, and my belly made disturbing, restless noises. I called Philé who was on the other end of the hotel to check if he was still awake. He was and we packed the car and headed to our next destination the East Ocean Restaurant for a Yum Cha brunch. Deep in the heart of Leviathan’s China Town district, this grand restaurant is at the end of a tall staircase of red carpet. You arrive to a sign that states that none of the staff will seat you, despite your booking, until the whole of your party has arrived. We just enter the dining area and see tanks filled with massive sea creatures. Crabs as big as my torso and Abalone as big as my head. We pick a table behind four older men. Right now the whole restaurant is practically empty. The trick with Yum Cha involves several things. Traditionally, according to Philé, yum cha is to “drink tea” particularly on a Sunday. Today it’s associated with eating small servings of rich dim sums, along with drinking tea and in our case Tsingtaos, a Chinese beer. Throughout the restaurant, girls with carts manoeuvre their way around the main dining area. Some of the carts are fitted with gas bottles and elements so food prep can be performed practically in front of you. Each cart has different food. Steamed dim sums filled with prawn, crab, chives, garlic, and sharks fin. Pork buns, fried rice noodles with a peanut and hoi sin sauce, chickens feet, spring rolls, scallops, oysters, deep fried calamari, custard tarts, chicken pies, thousand year eggs crisps and the list goes on. We wait for a cart trundle by and then if we see something we like, we bogart it, the girl stamps our menu, over what we have taken and then she on her way, while we scarf down the food and then like predator fish, wait and hide in the reef for another girl with a cart to cross our open maws. In the meantime you can watch the chaos of the entire establishment unfold. We arrived at 10, as I said earlier, and the restaurant was practically empty, however, every 15 minutes, you would look around and find more tables that were occupied. The more patrons the more carts travel their various circuits and the more chaos there is. As there is no set plan, there are numerous traffic jams and cart-related clusterfucks added only to the entire nature and air of the restaurant.

Leaving the restaurant satisfied, past the tanks of gargantuan sea creatures and the line of potential patrons that extends all the way down the massive stair case. We walk by the stern and hungry faces with cheesy grins.

After wandering around some more in the markets and streets of the China Town, we return to the hotel, and then hit the road, back to the Glowing Octopus and out of here and into the sunset.

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The River Lethe

The tunnels are still filled with black and ichorous water that churns constantly. Using the torch strapped to the shotgun for light, I move through the maze of tunnels trying to find the marks I painted on the wall to help me find my way out of this place. Was it left or right? The last time I was down here, I was being chased by – something – and I only by chance managed to find an escape route. I can’t afford to stop either. Considering the amount of force used to take down the Doctor, I can only imagine what is happening on the surface.

I feel a progrom is underway. I choose left. That feeling in the back of my head tells me something isn’t right. I slow my movements, trying to match the sound of the sloshing waters. I can hear a hissing sound. I turn the corner and find a teenager. He wearing a hooded jumper, spraying paint on the wall, over the orientation mark I made earlier. I immediately recognise that the bag he is carrying belongs to me. He stops spraying, and is still for a second, almost contemplative and then he turns.

His eyes have been removed. There are scars as if his hands have clawed them out. He glares at me with empty sockets. Then suddenly he throws the spray can and snarls. His hands direct towards the water and a wave of darkness rises up in front of me. The wave hits me hard causing me to stagger and fall back. The teen readies another wave. I ready myself for the blow, but instead it suddenly dissipates. The empty-eyed teenager is just as surprised as me. “Shit,” he says before running down the tunnel. I scramble back to my feet and chase him down the tunnel. Despite the fact that I am bigger than him, I find it hard to match his speed in this water. I notice that he doesn’t seem to be running. His movements are fluid, like he’s skating.

Completely focused on my quarry, I fail to pay attention to my surroundings. Something hits my legs while I’m running at full speed. I fly through the air and land in ankle deep sludge. The teen disappears into the darkness. I turn to see what had tripped me. A large man steps into the available light. He isn’t tall, but heavy with muscle. He looks kind of square. As he approaches me, I notice the empty sockets and familiar scars of the teenager I was chasing. I scramble to my feet and level the shotgun at him. He moves in fast, very fast. I barely dodge a right-hook that he throws. I feel it graze my chin. It would have shattered my jaw. I try to counter, using the butt of the shotgun, but his left hand comes up catching it inches away from his face. He’s strong, his arm pushes me back, causing me to stumble. He throws a gesture with his hands and some unseen force throws me against the tunnel wall like a toy. I’m out of my league. I grab at my shotgun, get to my feet and run down the tunnel. As I make a corner, the light of my torch picks up the shapes of more people down here, a dozen maybe more.

“Shit,” I utter as I turn to run. But I don’t get very far, before they are on top of me. Grabbing at my arms and legs, they pull me down into the water, pinning me there. I look at all of their faces. None of them have eyes, only empty, unblinking sockets stare back at me. The large square man has caught up. He approaches slowly towards me, something glints in his hand.

“Let’s make this quick,” he says in a flat voice. The glint of the blade inches slowly towards my neck. Regardless how much I protest, or struggle, the blade is inexorable. As the point of the knife touches my skin, I hear another voice

“Wait!”

All of the eyeless people look down the tunnel where the protest came from. A middle-aged man approaches the group holding me. His voice calmer, “Come on. Let him go. Are you blind? Can’t you see he’s not one of them.”

The people release me. The large man picks me up to my feet. “What the hell is going on here?”

The old man smirks, “My name is Emmersen, I lead the people down here.”
The group of eyeless people part as he leads me down the tunnel. Despite being completely blinded each of these people seemed to know their way around in the tunnels. The group followed us quietly while Emmersen continued to talk. “This city has undergone a radical change. I never thought a city could be a creature. Not until the Echo. That was a terrible day, you see. We thought we could bring order, bring control, bring peace.”

He paused and looked at me for a moment with empty sockets, “Imagine a city where there was no crime. No murder, no theft, no torment. That everyone had empathy for his or her fellow citizen. That was the dream.”

“Now you’ve seen that nightmare unfold up there. But now things are much more complex. Than any of us originally expected. Aurelius didn’t seem affected all. Infact, he thrived. Niebling died beating his head against a wall. And Dean. She was an engineer, she was working on something else… I don’t know what happened to her…

“What are you talking about?” I had to ask, before I lost him

Emmersen’s tone dropped. “They were my friends. We were trying to build a better future. The Echo broke containment. It made us all mad. Insane. And some. Better. Faster. And Stronger.”

He then pointed to where his eyes had once been. “I did this to myself in the first fifteen minutes of the containment breach. Niebling was already dead. And despite what I had done, I could still see Aurelius and his smile, but he could see into me…”

That brought back the last of what I saw of the Doctor taken down by at least a dozen armed men. I wondered if he survived and shuddered for thinking if he did.

“You should fear him,” Emmersen said at me as if looking directly into my eyes, and then suddenly he turned away, “Look. We are here. Welcome to Hades.”
But there was nothing in front of me, just a vast dark void. As the other men fearlessly step into it, I stare at disbelief at Emmersen. “You don’t expect me to walk in there. I can barely see in here.”

Emmersen smiled, “Yes! I forgot. Here.” He reaches up with both hands and lightly touches my temples. Then suddenly everything changes, the darkness is burnt away as everything around me glows with a strange, electric phosphorous. I can see every ripple in the thick oil-water that flows beneath me. I see every inch of the tunnel covered in paint, strange sigils and markings that look organic and old. I looked at a smiling Emmersen, who now possess spectral eyes that burnt with a glowing blue flame. I turn and gaze upon their Hades. The massive underground structure was remodelled as a base of operations and home to possibly hundreds. The painted sigils touched everything. The entire place glowed with an ethereal beauty.

“Colour in Darkness,” Emmersen whispered behind me, as if living in my experience.

“I can hear something, like – my mother – singing to me”

“Yes,” Emmersen replies sounding less and less mad, “That is the sound of the city. The Sound of Minerva.”

I listen for a moment attempting to take in the impossible tune.

“Come on,” he said as he moved by me, “We don’t have much time. And you have a mission.”

“Mission?”

He moves down towards the shantytown as the others begin to gather around him. Emmersen climbs on top of one of the makeshift structures. With this luminescent sight, each of their eyes are aflame, staring up at their leader. Each of them are dressed in clothes that they seemed to have found. They have lived in desperation fighting an invisible battle that I had not seen before. As Emmersen prepared to speak, weapons are passed around. Handguns, rifles, shotguns, some weapons I recognise as of the former police.

“Our time has come,” Emmersen suddenly bellows, his voice echoing in the cavernous chamber. All of the burning eyes were upon him. “Our judgement has come. The Enemy has begun to move, against the people of this city. Against this city itself. They will not stop until there are no survivors. Only our enemy will remain. We must prevent this at all costs. Take your positions now. Fight well!”

As the people began to disband, Emmersen climbed down from the shanty and he approaches me. “Now it is time for your task, come with me.” Emmersen, a few others and myself walk down a tunnel away from the shanty town, which now lays deserted.

I need – we need you do something very important for us. There is a place we cannot go. It is the Incinerator. It is this place you must destroy and we will give you the means. If you do this you will save more than the city”

There was an undeniable truth in his voice. “Why can’t you do it?” I ask, “You seem to have the men.”

His words became bitter. “It is because we have been – touched – after a fashion. We cannot go to that place with out turning, without falling to the machine.”

I felt a shared memory among Emmersen’s men. Something they attempted some time ago…I felt sick from it.

He reached into his coat and produced an item in wrappings and a handgun. “This will be your weapons. You will know what to do when you reach the Incinerator. It will all become clear. Now take off your jacket.

“I’m sorry?”

“The enemy has seen you and will recognise you from the way you dressed.” Emmersen pointed to one of his aides, “You give him your coat.”

We swapped coats. The teen I saw earlier gave the aide my backpack and shotgun and he took them up with both hands.

“Go,” Emmersen said to his aide, “Delay them as much as you can.” The aide ran off down the tunnel to his destiny.

We continued down the tunnel until we entered a convergence of storm water system with canals. In front of us was a small landing and a tiny boat tied next to it.

“This is where we must leave you. This canal was once the great Minerva, all you need to do is follow it and it will take you directly to the Incinerator.” Emmersen said as the darkness grew in the tunnel. My luminescent vision began to leave me. The fire in their eyes dimmed, returning to empty sockets. The vibrant wall returned to a dull grey. Emmersen and his people moved back into the tunnel that we came, disappearing.

I hopped in the boat, started the engine and journeyed down the Canal.

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My Dreams

I feel that this is a good time to tell you about my dreams. I don’t know why this is a good time so I’m just going to put that out there and let you ponder it.

I have very simple dreams. Now these aren’t dreams about world peace, or reducing global warming. I’ll leave that to politicians in desperate need for a vote and pop stars who could literally buy slaves. My dreams are selfish. They only serve me.

I want to one day live in a huge apartment tower, right at the top. At nights, I would lean at the balcony rail and watch the world below go about its business. Occasionally, you might stare up at me, puzzled while I scream out, “Behold My Glorious Naked Form!”

I want to one day produce porn. This would be extremely cool, because I could gain the oxymoronic label of “virgin pornographer”. Yeah. This brings me to my next dream…

…to do it. With a woman. A pretty one with a good head and was born a girl. None of this, “but I’m a woman now.” Crap. No. I don’t care how much it cost you and how good it looks. I won’t hit that. You’ll have to pay me. If I happen to fulfil this dream before the above one, it would be no problem for me not being able to take that label, because it would be Mission Accomplished.

One day to meet my secret heroes as an equal (of sorts).

To build an extensive library of books, but I’ll be honest here, I probably will never read most of them. I only ever bought books for their pictures so it may be largely erotic photography. Still an extensive library of erotic photography is impressive.

I would like a job where I would give an idea to a room full of anxious people. After delivering my proposal, there would be a stunned silence and one would finally pipe up, saying, “That is…fucked up.” Then they would go do it, after writing my pay cheque.

I would like a crazy Vegas-style wedding. If I could afford it, I would rent a giant pink neon crucifix and hire an Elvis impersonator as the minister, either Black or Asian. And flowers - lots and lots of flowers. A classic Casio electric piano stuck on Organ setting. It would be pretty non-formal affair as you can imagine.

My funeral would be an awesome affair. It would involve a float shaped like a Viking long boat, a rock concert and my remains being destroyed by a mixture of half-explosives and half-fireworks. And the wake would have to be a barbeque of some description. Maybe open-fire spit roast.

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