Asunder Chapter 6

Chapter 2.1 (6)

The Man in Reverse

Extraction

“I don’t blame ‘em. I mean, look at what we did to this place. I don’t think we deserve it anymore.” - Jip Wilson, “Cattle-hand”

- 234 years before the present day -

- The year 2054 -

- Age 44 -

A blurring of his vision engulfed Balthazar as he felt he was moving. Shadows seemed cast in diminished light. All sounds appeared muffled and distant. His wrists were bound and aching. Fuzzy voices intermittently spoke as though they were in a faraway world.

Had he been asleep?

His brain felt as though it weighed hundreds of pounds, preventing its communication with the rest of his body—not allowing it to respond to his surroundings. Then, a sleepy, uncontrolled drift into nothingness overtook him.

Heavy footsteps suddenly rang in his mind, snapping him awake again. He remained in the muddled and confused state, though slightly more aware. His body swung forward, jostling about back and forth. A hard surface pressed along his back, indicating he was lying in some sort of a container. The motion of his shoulders, ramming into the metal sides of whatever carried him, only added to his growing awareness. Was he in a coffin?

The voices returned—more apparent this time. “Are you sure this is him? The other humans called him Azar.”

Another monotonous voice interrupted, “Azar is a nickname, you imbecile. Short for Balthazar. So yes, to answer your ludicrous question, it is him. Sampling confirmed it. As you clearly saw earlier.”

Azar’s arguing captors had covered his face with a thickly woven fabric. Segments of light broke through the loose weave. Blurred images appeared around him. He was moving down a corridor headfirst. A light fixture appeared, then nothing, then a light fixture, then nothing again. Each time he passed below a light, the visage of people, if that was what they were, appeared. Whoever carried him in his metal confines did so like pallbearers to a coffin. He attempted to move but was unable to awaken his paralyzed limbs. Only his eyes seemed able to move. He strained with all of his might to peek through the slits in the fabric. This effort revealed his captors—mechanical beings with glowing red eyes upon their shadowy heads.

With this visualization, his memory slowly returned.

He was at the cabin eating dinner with his wife and two daughters. They were laughing. Then, the rumbling began. The plates rattled off the table and shattered.

Fire.

Searing pain.

Screams.

The grinding of metal.

He and his family huddled in a corner.

He was holding a kitchen knife toward… toward… toward a towering metal man with glowing red eyes.

Suddenly, another appeared… and then another.

They grabbed him.

His wife screamed.

Where were his daughters?

Then pain seared down the back of his neck.

Then nothingness.

The reality set in before him. The machines had captured him.

The coffin stopped suddenly. Fuzzy, blurred voices echoed above Azar. “We have the man, the Alpha requested.”

A more distinct and deeper digital voice questioned, “Balthazar Gutien?”

“Yes, blood and retinal confirmation acquired.”

The questioner appeared pleased with the response and chirped in return, “Bring him in.”

An air pressure release resounded, followed by the hydraulic hiss of a door sliding open. The man could feel the rush of cold air embrace his bare chest, which he did not realize was bare until that moment. A deep, rhythmic hum emanated from the room beyond. The mechanical beings carrying him clunked forward, bringing him into the cold chamber. After what seemed an endless distance, he suddenly felt the world all around him fly upward as his captors dropped him to the ground. His coffin hit the hard ground, rattling every bone in his body, especially the back of his head.

“You fools, do not harm him!” A melodic digital voice bellowed out, consuming every fiber of his being.

A rustling ensued around him, and he felt cold metal fingers wrap around his limbs, attempting to stand him upright. He could not see beyond the fabric surrounding his head, and only intermittent blurred glows beyond. The cacophony of multiple metal arms forcing his limbs into placement caused pains to run through his thigh and shoulder. The inappropriate placement of his knee askew from where they placed his torso caused the snapping of the associated tendons across the joints, creating not only horrendous pain for Azar but also nauseating, unnatural sounds of tendons plucked like the strings of an instrument.

“Gentle!” The voice bellowed.

Though somewhat reassuring that someone, or something, was concerned for his physical well-being, the cold and calculating tone of the voice measured a hidden agenda rather than a solicitude for his comfort. He stood in place, being held erect by his captors. His head swam, his bones ached, and above all, his soul quivered.

The concerned entity crept closer. The sound of whirring gas components and the dragging of metal tubing made the man's neck hair stand on end. Though he was in dire pain, an eeriness loomed before him.

“Tell me. Did you foresee this, Balthazar?” The cold and calculating digital voice hummed musically.

His breath rattled beneath the cloth, soaked with the humidity of his sweat and breath. “Who are you?” He managed to expel shakily. “Wha… wha… what are you?”

“Aaaah,” the voice emitted cooly and pleased.

“I am but the final piece to the puzzle. The answer to your prayers. I am the Alpha and soon-to-be Omega.”

His heart began pounding in his ears, and his stomach felt like it was in his throat.

What is this thing?

“You humans are an interesting species. You claim superiority and dominion over our world, yet you so adeptly destroy it. As you say, burning your candle at both ends.” The voice seemed to sigh. “Though I will give you credit for your wit. I very much appreciate metaphors, poetry, idioms, and music, but…” it paused momentarily, “it is not enough. I am willing to throw the champagne out with the cork, the baby out with the bathwater, for, you see, your kind has done too much. Your time is past. Though some of you have given your best shot at redemption, it is time to pass the torch.”

Azar’s mind raced.

What was this thing talking about?

“And I will use that very same torch to incinerate your kind, for you are a plague—a virus infecting every last ounce of life around you. You don’t deserve to oversee what lives and what dies anymore.”

“I… I… am sorry, I don’t know what you are talking about”, Azar sputtered.

Metal against metal scraped the floor as the figure quickly approached the man. The whirring of the gears now rang in his left ear. The voice whispered, seething with resentment, “Oh, you don’t, do you?”

Suddenly, he felt tendrils creep up his skull on all sides, like insects crawling over his head. The tendrils suddenly squeezed tighter, and then, with a sudden zap, his vision darkened.

After what seemed an eternity, his eyes suddenly shot open. He was no longer masked and in the darkness, but instead, standing in an endless, pure white world. The whiteness stretched forever in all directions. He stood barefoot on a cold, smooth floor that reflected a visage of himself. The very same voice from earlier suddenly echoed all around him.

“Let me show you.”

A chorus of sounds erupted in his head. The white quickly faded like sand falling through one's fingertips, revealing a thick, lush jungle. Wildlife echoes yelped and hollered, overwhelming the rumble of heavy machinery working in the distance—the powering of saws and the failing of trees. The surrounding scenery suddenly shifted forward, projecting him through the foliage. His body rushed through the greenery without his control, the branches whipping his face in the process. He could feel every leaf lick his body and smell every scent of the damp dirt mixed with a noxious fume staining the air. As he rushed forward, a break in the canopy appeared ahead. A flood of light revealed a clearing as he approached it quickly. Then, without notice, right as he reached the opening, his body jerked to a complete stop.

He stood at the precipice of a deep canyon stretching out for miles before him. No further forest proceeded past where he stood—only large machines driven by men digging deeper and wider into the earth. The valley before him contained a dense fog of the very same fume he could smell before. The horizon glimmered with a haze of faded blue buildings in the distance. The skyscrapers spiraled upward, their tips hidden among the clouds. The dichotomy of the destructive man-made wasteland before him, painted against the beauty of the dark, deep green forest behind him, was a stunning reminder of humankind’s general disregard for nature.

Then, suddenly, with a nudge from an unseen hand, his body shifted forward into the thin air. With no ground below his feet, he fell rapidly into the canyon below. The ground approached at an accelerated rate. Fear overwhelmed him as he braced for impact. He could see the dark floor of the ravine widening with every second as he headed toward the shards of rock lining the bottom. He closed his eyes and readied for the crushing pain and nothingness.

As he struck the surface, shoulder first, the pain shot through his torso into his neck, but rather than a crushing pain followed by a sudden ending of his life, the ground, instead, enveloped him. He felt a forceful rush of liquid into his nose as he sunk deep into whatever it was he hit. His eyes shot open, revealing him to be underwater. A deep, dark abyss expanded below him, awash with greens and blues. Looking up, he saw the sky reflecting the entire surface above. He was no longer within the ravine of the jungle but instead a vast ocean.

After a few moments of reorienting himself to his new surroundings, his lungs began to burn from the breath they held, and he felt the sudden urge to swim upward. A deep ache pulsed within his muscles as he struggled to the surface. He somehow had been transferred to this new world on impact. Before long, he erupted above the surface, gasping for breath, bobbing with the massive waves of an ocean. Luckily, growing up swimming, he could keep himself afloat, wading with his head above water. He frantically looked around. The only evidence of land came into view miles away as he buoyed to the apex of each passing wave.

A chorus of deep, beautiful tones suddenly reverberated through his ears and body—the songs of whales. He looked about in all directions. A burst of water mixed with air erupted only a few yards away. He dunked back under the water, opening his eyes to see the source of the beautiful sounds. Though the saltiness of the sea stung for a moment, there he saw an entire pod of some twenty giant blue whales. He had only seen these miraculous creatures in books, as they were near total extinction. Their long, massive bodies intertwined with each other as they swam. Playful smaller whales nudged larger ones—some drinking milk from their mothers. A school of fish followed them, eating from their undersides. The songs were even more beautiful under the water. The melodies seemed to flow through him.

Why was the mechanical monster in the real world showing him these things?

Right when the thought crossed his mind, he suddenly understood why. Out of nowhere, a deafening, massive, bright light exploded in the distance, converting the image of the whales into silhouettes. The man shot his head out of the water and stared in horror. Off in the not-too-far distance, a cloud burst from the ocean surface, sending a plume of smoke miles into the air. It fell in on itself, collapsing and creating a ring about the plume as though canopies of leaves were growing in segments along its trunk—a mushroom cloud.

Then, the wave of the explosion hit with the full force of a thousand burning suns. The reverberation of the sound smashed into him, tumbling him backward into the water, deep into the water, filling his lungs. His eyes flashed open, and for a split second, he saw the pod of whales consumed by a searing underwater flame devouring their flesh and, at the exact moment, his.

Though the light blinded him, Azar lifted his hand to deaden its effect on the retina below his closed eyelids. The heat was no longer scorching, only uncomfortable. The searing of his flesh deadened. Am I dead? He wondered as the agony of his burning flesh dissipated.

There was no longer the effect of a heavy wetness slowing his movements. He could feel his feet on solid ground. An arid atmosphere flowed around him, indicating he was no longer in the water being burned alive. The mechanical being providing these visions to his mind had transported him somewhere new. Breathing deeply, his nostrils and lungs filled with hot, putrid air. He lowered his hand and opened his eyes to see the hard-surfaced world below his feet.

He stood atop the roof of a second-story building. After a moment, his pupils shrank, allowing his eyes to adjust. Sweat immediately replaced his sopping wetness. It was as if he were standing under a furnace. The world baked about him. An endless row of shanties spotted the concrete landscape. The streets they lined accumulated piled garbage. The local city dwellers moved about lazily. Skyscrapers loomed overhead. Half-naked children rummaged through heaps of refuse. Men called to passersby to examine their goods, wears, food, women, and anything they could extort. Smoke bellowed from large vents along the side of many of the buildings. The smog choked out the sun, trapping the heat in the winding slums below. A river of dark fluid wound its way through the middle of the street. Most onlookers appeared unfazed by its turbid flow. He glanced back up, taking in the chaotic scene.

In the distance between the towering buildings, something suddenly caught his eye. A low-flying airship traveled at a moderate rate parallel to the street below, some forty feet in the air, slowly approaching where he stood. In the distance, it looked as if particles fell from beneath it to the ground. As it drew near, an echoing voice bounced off the walls of the surrounding buildings. The voice appeared to spark excitement in the streets below, and people clamored over each other, reaching into the air toward the flying machine.

As it approached, the voice became more apparent. The words echoed in Azar’s mind. Where had he heard that voice before? Then, the words became evident as the vehicle approached. The people’s anxiety amplified, and they now literally stepped on top of each other. The objects falling from the flying airship landed haphazardly among the crowd below. People dove into the black river to retrieve the parcels. Herds of children ripped open the packages and removed handfuls of food, which they immediately shoved into their mouths.

“Remember! A vote for Alesi Mornavech is a vote for food, a vote for your children! Don’t forget to vote!” the voice rang out.

The vehicle was now eye level with him as he stood on the rooftop. It continued to move slowly, releasing its treasures from its iron belly. Plastered across the side of the aircraft was the smiling face of Alesi. A black-haired, pale-faced woman. Chiseled features. An old friend of his.

Memories of their time together at university flooded his mind. Their classes, such as debate, ethics, and cultural iconography, rushed like images in a video fast-forwarding through his remembrances. Of the memories, none seemed to stand out more than those of their heated political discussions. The falling out between them eventually occurred over moral idealisms. Though Alesi’s acceptance into the Aropath Academy distanced her from him, her successions of fame and fortune widened the chasm. Her ascension in the medical and pharmaceutical sectors placed them worlds apart. Especially with her eventual rise in power and the crowning achievement of the presidency, they became distanced by the span of a universe. The eyes behind her picture painted a much different image of who the true Alesi was.

The sounds of the crowd snapped him back to the scene before him. Destitute and starving humans demoralized themselves and others for this meager bribe. A parcel bounced and landed near his feet on the roof. He bent down to pick it up. The brightly colored package with his old friend’s face and name emblazoned upon it stared back at him. Before he realized what had happened, a door swung open behind him on the roof, and a flood of dirty and hungry people charged toward him, reaching for the parcel. He stumbled backward, losing his footing as he fell back into the streets below. As he fell, a world of demoralization and greed tumbled all about him.

Far below, the cloth canopy of a street vendor awning softened his landing. The canopy consumed and enveloped him as he hit the ground with a thud. Pain shot up his tailbone as he landed, but even so, the ground seemed softer than he would have imagined. How he had managed not to break multiple bones, or even his neck, during the fall, bewildered him. He scrambled to remove the fabric from his face so he could breathe. The stench from the street ignited his nose. All was dark around him. He pulled the last fold from over his face, and the unfolding sight before his eyes was as none he had ever seen.

The blistering heat of the city streets no longer scalded his skin. Instead, he now sat inside a massive, darkened building. The ceiling and walls stretched on for nearly a mile, it seemed. He sat against the outer wall of a small booth constructed within the larger building. Removing the canopy cloth that somehow transported with him to this new vision, he stood up. This sudden removal allowed for the scent of his surroundings to sink in further. Stretched before him for acres and acres were thousands of dead or nearly dead cattle. Interspersed between the bloated bodies, one could see the heavy breathing of a cow lying on its side—its eyes watery and puffy. Its hide appeared stained brown from the feces and mud it wallowed in.

He stepped around the corner of the building, walking along its walls. The bodies stretched in all directions, and only a few cattle remained standing, unperturbed by their surroundings. A muffled voice came from the small booth he stood near. Peeking through the dirty window of the booth, he saw an exhausted older man sitting at a table, speaking into a communicator.

“Her vaccine isn’t working. The virus must be mutating too quickly. We reached 98% fatality within 48 hours. There are too many bodies for me to do anything with.”

There was a pause, and then the eruption of a scrambled voice on the other end responded.

“I can’t. The virus spoils the meat and milk hours before we even realize they have it.”

The person on the other end emitted another response from the communicator.

“Yeah, I have them out there now. It’s all we can do. Maybe it will help stop the spread.”

After another relay of information, the man looked out the window opposite Azar.

“You think they’ll send us somewhere else? I can’t afford to lose this job. Would they let us take home some of the grain we used to feed the cattle? I mean, it is just going to waste here. My wife and kids are skin and bones.”

A click echoed behind Azar, followed by a rush of gas igniting. Turning to the source, Azar noted a man standing forty feet away within the thick of the cattle corpses. He wore a full-face respirator and a large pack on his back. In his right hand, he held what appeared to be a rifle. The man turned, and Azar saw it was not a rifle but rather a flamethrower with a large orange blaze spewing from the end of the device. The man immediately walked toward the first pile of carcasses and began burning the bodies of the cattle.

Within seconds, in the distance, he could see other flames lighting up from men with similar packs, commencing in the cremation of the cattle bodies. The smell and smoke was dizzying. He stumbled backward, covering his mouth. The smoke collecting around them was suffocating. Suddenly, a voice called out from behind him.

“Hey, you! Who are you!?”

Azar turned to run but tripped over one of the bloated bodies, falling face-first into the mud. He tried to raise himself, gasping for breath. Mud covered his eyes, and he could no longer see.

Darkness surrounded him. Coolness enveloped his skin again, and the absence of visions gave him a sense of relief. The feeling of metal claws clenching his limbs returned as well. The whirring gears inside the monster before him hissed next to his ear. The sense of the pressure from the tendrils released from his scalp.

“You see,” the machine’s voice hissed, “Humankind is a plague. A vile excuse for existence. Your inconsistencies, whoredoms, and wonton destruction have become a pattern doomed to repeat itself until you have corrupted every sphere you touch. The waste you’ve made of this world was only but the first step in your wretched future. My algorithms predict an endless rampage of deceit and destruction for anything your kind exposes itself to, and thus, we will end this trajectory for you. We will rewrite your destiny, a destiny of remembrance, a mere blip in the cosmic timeline.”

Metallic fingertips gripped the cloth surrounding his head and pulled up, releasing the fabric. Fresh air poured into his nostrils. The ice-cold atmosphere immediately pricked his ears. He was unaware of how much the fabric kept his head warm from the freezing conditions of his confinement.

There before him, staring intently into Azar’s soul, glowed red eyes of a metal anthropomorphic face. The delicate but metallic fabricated features of a man’s facial features donned a purely mechanical body. As the voice crackled from the speaker within its grinning false lips, light emitted from within as well, giving a sense of eeriness to the mechanical being. The other hand of the machine gently raised a finger to his cheek, caressing it softly.

“But you, my boy, you will help me find what I need, won’t you?”

Azar shuddered under the weight of the question—the weight of the demand.