Revolution

by Shawn Davis

  “Why were you wandering around in the lower levels beneath the Powerdrome?”

  “Like I said before, I wanted to find a way out. I went the other way and found myself in front of a door to a Dark World control room. I figured that wasn’t the way out, so I went the other way.”

  “Where did you think you were when you traveled down the elevator and discovered the research facilities on sub-level five?”

  “I thought I had wandered into an area I wasn’t supposed to be in. The sign said authorized personnel only. I knew I wasn’t authorized and yet somehow my wrist code worked. I just wanted to get out of there.”

  “The wrist code system was experiencing technical difficulties due to the overload to the Powerdrome’s AI computer system. It would have let anyone through,” the interrogator said. “What happened next?”

  “I was trying to find my way out of there. I knew I didn’t belong. It was some kind of secret government facility. So, I figured I might have more luck if I looked around for a way out,” Peter said.

  “And did you?”

  “At first, I ended up in some kind of operating room.”

  “What happened while you were there?”

  “I went over to a clothing rack and put on a pair of scrubs. That way, I figured I could move around the area without drawing any attention to myself. I only wanted to find a way out of there.”

  “Why did you access the cryogenic database? We have a record of you searching through it.”

  “I just wanted to find a detailed map that would show me a way out. I didn’t know I was going to find out about an elaborate cryogenics program. When I found out what was going on, I knew was in trouble. Then a guard came and pointed a gun in my face. I just wanted to get out of there, so I decked him.”

  “You decked him,” the bespectacled interrogator repeated. “A fully-trained Federal Police Officer. You decked him. Just like that. Throughout your adventures in the Powerdrome, you have showed yourself to be quite an ingenious fighter. I don’t need to tell you that is not typical behavior for a computer expert. Were you trained by the terrorists to infiltrate our facility and make it look like an accident you were here?”

  “Not at all,” Rayne answered with feigned conviction. “I just went with the flow of events. I’m a very athletic person and I work out at the gym. I also love action movies where the good guys fight the bad guys. The adrenaline took over and I knew I had to do something extraordinary to get out of there. I mean, the robots were trying to kill me. I didn’t have any choice but to fight back.”

  “No choice,” the suited man repeated, pensively. He glanced over at the short, stocky man on Rayne’s right and signaled him with his index finger.

  Peter closed his eyes as he anticipated another violent shock. He felt a searing pain and then experienced the sensation of his spirit leaving his body. He imagined his disembodied spirit staring down at his trembling body. His vision faded to black again and he opened his eyes to find himself trembling and numb.

  “Do you want to change your answer now? If you answer falsely, you will be given another shock,” the interrogator said.

  “N-no. I’m telling….telling the truth.”

  Rayne watched the interrogator glance over at his accomplice by the machine. In his peripheral vision, he saw the lackey nod at the interrogator.

  “Why did you take the guard’s pistol after you “decked him,” as you described it?”

  “To defend myself. I figured I should backtrack to the ‘drome. I thought I could shoot my way out past the robots with the gun.”

  The interrogator paused as his eyebrows creased with consternation above his long, thin nose. He appeared to be in deep thought.

  “Why did you attack the guard in the prehistoric world control room?” the interrogator demanded.

  “The room I entered looked like NASA’s control room. I thought I had entered the Space World attraction. I figured all the people in that room were robots, including the guard. I blasted him so I could get to the emergency exit and get out of there.”

  “What happened when you left through the emergency door?”

  “I stepped outside, but I wasn’t sure if I was really outside or in an elaborate holographic set of another attraction. Then, I saw all these guys coming up the stairs after me. I didn’t know if they were robots or not, so I shot first and asked questions later. Then, they started shooting back. I retreated to the control room and found another air duct. That brought me to Prehistoric World.”

  “Why did you fire at the guards in Prehistoric World? You must have known they were not part of the attraction,” the interrogator said.

  “I fired at them because they were firing at me. It was self-defense. I was so high on adrenaline at that point, I was wired to fight. I wasn’t going to just sit there and let them shoot me,” Peter said.

  The interrogator was silent again, lost in thought. After almost a full minute, he spoke again.

  “Were you sent here by the terrorists to infiltrate our facility and spy on us?”

  “No, I already told you what happened. I don’t know anything about any terrorists.”

  The interrogator nodded at the brute operating the machine. Rayne closed his eyes as he anticipated the electric jolt. As the pain surged through him, he sent his spirit out again and looked down at his convulsing body. He lost consciousness for an indeterminate amount of time and then felt his body trembling again. Opening his eyes, he saw the suited interrogator.

  “I will ask you once more. Are you a member of the terrorist organization?” the interrogator asked.

  “N-no. I’m a computer expert working for….. the Breechlere Corporation. I was sent here to check out the AI systems. I don’t know how I got….. into all this trouble,” Peter said.

  The interrogator glanced over at his lackey again.

  “What do you think?”

  “I’ve given him the maximum voltage. There’s no way he could hold out with that many volts surging through him. He must be telling the truth,” the stocky man in the white lab coat explained, pedantically, as if he was the only person in the room who could interpret the results of the torture machine. “He must have been just an ordinary citizen in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “I agree with you that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But, I don’t agree with you that he is just an ordinary citizen,” the interrogator said to his colleague in a new, unfamiliar tone. It conveyed respect, even a trace of awe. “This citizen showed great courage by fighting his way out of the Powerdrome. The President’s spin-team will be working overtime to assuage the damage caused by having a hundred-plus casualties in Virtual-world’s Powerdrome today. This gentleman had the courage and strength to fight back and survive. Courage and strength are traits highly valued by this administration in these difficult times.”

  “Then you’re going to let me go?” Rayne asked, feeling a surge of relief.

  “I’d like to,” the interrogator said. “But unfortunately, you’ve seen too much. However, I won’t send you to the Body Bank. I’ll let you die like you lived: fighting. I’ll let you go out like a warrior.”

  Peter’s heart sank. They fell for his story, but they were still going to kill him.

  “I’m sorry, but that’s the best I can do,” the interrogator said as he adjusted his gold, wire-rimmed glasses and turned to his accomplice. “Do they have any open slots left on the show?”

  “Yes, sir, they do,” Smith said.

  “Arrange for some guards to escort him to the stadium. I think the courage and resourcefulness he has demonstrated today will make him an ideal contestant.”

  “I agree, sir.”

  “Good. Then, this interview is over,” the interrogator said, as if concluding a business meeting. He stood from his seat. Rayne watched him walk to the right, move past his colleague, and leave the room. The interrogator’s burly colleague flipped some switches on his “lie detector” machine and wheeled it out of the roo
m.

  Rayne was alone again. He felt utterly exhausted and had no energy left to fight.

  What were they talking about? They said they would give me a chance to die fighting. In what way? What did they mean?

  Rayne closed his eyes and tried to rest for a moment. He opened them again when he heard footsteps enter the room.

  Chapter 25

  The Arena

  Rayne turned to see who the intruder was. He was surprised to see a pretty, young, brunette wearing a gray business suit.

  “Mr. Rayne, right?” she asked, glancing down at her clipboard.

  “That’s me.”

  “Why is your skin all black?” she asked, frowning as she observed several thin vertical lines of flesh-colored sweat streaks on his black-stained face.

  “I had a close encounter with some mud in Prehistoric World.”

  Appearing perplexed, she held the clipboard out to him. “We need you to sign this waiver.”

  “That’s going to be tough with my hands tied,” Peter replied, grinning.

  He thought the affect was probably rather hideous on his black-stained face.

  “With your hands tied?” she asked, as she looked down at the ropes binding his wrists and realized his predicament.

  “Oh, that’s not good. You have to sign the waiver.”

  “Then you’re going to have to untie me,” Rayne said, thinking this could be his chance. He could easily overpower this woman and make a run for it if his hands were free.

  “Okay, hold on a second,” she said, turning and leaving the room.

  This young woman must work for that “show” they were talking about.

  Rayne sat staring at the blank wall for several minutes and then heard the woman’s light footsteps return with another pair of heavier footsteps. He turned to see her standing next to a balding, middle-aged man. The man wore a white lab coat and carried a briefcase at his side.

  “Mr. Rayne?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What happened to you?” the man asked, grimacing with obvious distaste as he observed Rayne’s black-stained face.

  Rayne rolled his eyes. “I got some mud on me.”

  The man appeared as perplexed as the young woman when he offered her an explanation for his strange appearance.

  Scowling and shaking his head, the white-coated man asked, “Do you have any injuries that might affect your performance on the show?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes,” Rayne said as he noticed his throbbing ankle for the first time since his electric shock treatment. “I injured my ankle and it will certainly affect my performance.”

  Rayne didn’t know what “show” they were talking about, but he figured this was a good opportunity to get his injured ankle treated. The white-coated man bent down in front of him to examine the injury.

  “How did you do this?” the technician asked.

  “It’s kind of a long story,” Peter said.

  “It looks pretty bad.”

  “It feels pretty bad.”

  “I can take care of that,” the white-coated man said as he opened his briefcase on the floor in front of Rayne’s chair.

  The med tech rummaged through his briefcase and pulled out a large syringe. He injected the syringe into a narrow tube filled with viscous green liquid.

  “This will take care of the swelling,” the medical technician explained, jabbing the needle into Rayne’s ankle. After all the pain he had been through, Peter hardly noticed the sting of the needle going into his skin. The technician depressed the plunger, injecting the medication into the wound.

  “Now for the pain,” the technician continued, reaching into his briefcase for another glass tube – this one filled with a thin, transparent liquid. He plunged the syringe into the second glass tube, filled it up, and injected it into Rayne’s swollen ankle. Rayne was surprised when he felt immediate relief.

  “What’s in that thing? It feels great,” Peter said.

  “The latest pain suppressant,” the technician replied, placing the large syringe back into his med kit. He closed the medical briefcase and stood up.

  “Mr. Rayne, do you have any more injuries that might affect your performance?” the technician asked.

  “No, but I wouldn’t mind some information. What’s this show all about?” Peter asked.

  “Then you’re all set,” the technician said, ignoring his question.

  “What about the waiver?” the young woman asked.

  “I can take care of that too,” the med tech said, taking the clipboard and signing the waiver. “All set,” he said, grinning as he handed it back to her. “It’s no big deal,” he added as he noticed her pretty green eyes widen with surprise. “This guy isn’t going to be around long enough to contest it.”

  The medical technician smiled charmingly at the pretty young woman.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  “Okay,” she agreed, hesitantly.

  They turned and left the room.

  At least I don’t have to worry about my ankle anymore.

  Rayne listened to their footsteps disappear down the hall. Suddenly, he felt tired. Closing his eyes, he leaned back in the chair. He felt himself drifting off to sleep and then heard heavy footsteps enter the room. They were the unmistakable sounds of Shock Trooper boots striking the floor. Peter braced himself in the chair for a possible fight. Instead, he felt a sudden sharp, stinging pain in the back of his neck. A tingling sensation crawled outward from the sting, spreading across his entire body. He felt himself going numb.

  More nerve gel, he thought as he became completely paralyzed.

  Rayne was aware of the Troopers untying him from the chair, lifting him onto a mobile stretcher, and wheeling him out of the room. He saw brief glimpses of their helmets as he stared upward at the ceiling passing by above him. They traveled down several corridors and entered an elevator. He was still staring at the ceiling, so he didn’t see which button they pushed. He couldn’t tell if they were traveling up or down. The elevator halted and they pushed him into another corridor.

  They traveled down more intersecting corridors and halted again. Rayne’s fingers and toes regained feeling, but the rest of his body was still numb. The guards lifted Rayne from the stretcher and dragged him down a dark hallway to a steel door. One of them pushed a button and it rushed open. They tossed him into a dark room. Rayne stumbled and fell onto cold concrete.

  Rayne barely felt it as a jet of water from a powerful hose struck his face and body. He grimaced as she watched black-stained water swirl down a drain in the concrete floor.

  He lay there in a black-stained puddle for a while, waiting for feeling to seep back into his limbs. While he lay flat, utter exhaustion overtook him and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  ********

  Rayne awoke to the sound of the ocean. He heard the rush of immense waves breaking against the shore. Opening his eyes, he found himself looking at a blank, gray, concrete wall. Looking to his right, he saw an unknown person leaning against the wall next to him. Glancing left, he saw light streaming through gray metal bars. Again, he heard waves crashing against the shore. The sound of the ocean surged and calmed, surged and calmed. Peter turned toward the person sitting next to him.

  The unknown individual was a thin, bearded man. He had streaks of gray in his black hair, so Peter figured he was at least forty. The man was wearing a tattered white dress shirt and wrinkled gray dress pants. He stared blankly at the wall as if he was in a catatonic trance.

  Rayne was unnerved by the man’s lack of movement. Rayne stood and walked across the cell. He was surprised when he put his full weight on his injured ankle and felt no pain. The swelling had disappeared. The only indication of injury was a curved line of red teeth imprints.

  You’ve got to love the wonders of modern medicine.

  Glancing down at his arms and hands, Rayne was glad to see that most of the black stuff had washed off. Aside from a few smudges here and there, his skin had r
eturned to its normal flesh color.

  Rayne approached the iron bars. The crash of the ocean waves increased in intensity. Clutching the bars like a stereotypical prisoner, he stared through them and felt a sense of awe. A wide dirt field was spread out before him like a vast wasteland - surrounded by high white walls resembling towering cliffs. At the summit of the man-made cliffs he saw a multitude of cheering people sitting in endless rows of bleachers.

  Rayne had mistaken the awesome sound of hundreds, possibly thousands, of people thunderously cheering for the sound of waves crashing against the shore. It was a massive stadium of some sort, an arena. Peter shivered as a chill crept slowly up his spine and prickled the short hairs on the back of his neck. He turned toward his cellmate.

  “Where the fuck are we?” he asked.

  His cellmate continued to stare straight ahead like a lobotomized mental patient.

  “Hey, buddy, I’m talking to you!” Rayne shouted. He walked over to the bearded man and stood over him. “I said I’m talking to you!”

  The man looked up at him with bloodshot eyes.

  “I know you can hear me,” Rayne insisted. “Where are we? What are we doing here?”

  “Dead,” the bearded man mumbled.

  “What?”

  “We’re dead.”

  Rayne was taken aback by the man’s pessimistic answer. It made him angry. Reaching down, he grabbed the man by the shoulders and shook him violently.

  “Hey! What’s your problem?” the bearded man asked, showing the first sign of life Peter had seen so far.

  “So, you are awake,” Rayne said, pulling him to his feet so they were facing each other eye-to eye.

  “What do you want?”

  “What’s with the attitude?” Rayne asked.

  “Attitude? You would have an attitude too if you had just been tortured,” the bearded man said, sneering derisively at Rayne.

  “Let me guess. They used electric shocks on you, right?” Rayne asked.

  “How did you know that?”

  “It was the same thing they used on me. Isn’t it obvious? We’re both political prisoners.”

  “You don’t look like you’ve been tortured,” the man grumbled, looking him up and down. Rayne appeared to be as fit as any healthy person. “There’s no use talking. They’re going to kill us now,” the bearded man added, gloomily.