A masterpiece built on human sorrow.
Amour smugly gazed over to see the burned remnants of Squat's features and considered making a mask from the campaign manager’s residue. “For you,” he stated, “I’ll have to use more bone than skin—not that it’ll make you look any uglier than you already were. For this… you can blame your government. In fact,” he looked upon the entirety of another wall containing masks stitched from the carcasses of other poor souls, “You should accuse the one in charge of the whole show. He’s failed to appreciate you, but now I always will. You will be made Whole!”
His happiness quickly faded upon noticing at a missing a faint gap in the very center of the entirety of his mural.
“It’s growing… a Beauty that will swallow everything.”
--
PART TWO
Origins
--
1
Safe + Sound
--
Tavon
--
AT ONLY TWELVE YEARS OLD, I awoke on a large cruiser normally intended for carrying cargo. The only reason I knew my own age was a card I still had from my most recent birthday next to me containing faded writing and was signed by “Dad.” There below the signature was written:
Item No. 87900. No known deficiencies. Appeared comatose but believed deceased at this time.
I was naked and cold and incredibly confused simply because I didn't know who or where I was in that moment. My body had been shoved into a cramped, metallic compartment on board a vessel that was due to arrive in the Citadel in the next fifteen minutes. Viewing only darkness around me, I pushed on the wall above and used it as leverage to press open a shelf big enough to contain an adult human cadaver. And immediately, I was assaulted by a bright ray of fluorescent light coming from two slender bars attached to the ceiling and entranced by the smell of food nearby. I remember being hungry upon catching the faint whiff of meat and struggled to move in the tight area to assess my surroundings.
I reached my weak, thin legs over the side to catch the ground below before quickly tumbling over and banging my head against the plated floors. To my left, there were several other closed compartments like mine that had been installed within all the available space of the cruiser. To my right, I noticed an entrance to sleeping quarters concealed by a vanilla curtain; ahead of me was a short, metal door with the ability to slide open and was only accessible via a special identification card.
The vehicle shifted lazily to the left, resulting in my loss of balance before collapsing into roll against the wall with a hard thud.
“What the hell?” There was a brief pause punctuated afterward with a vexed tone. “Chill on the ride before we end up with a fuckin’ mess back there!” The voice echoed from behind the metal entryway. “We’re not getting through customs if they spot a whole bunch of bodies coming out the shelves.”
“My bad. Look, you're too quick to snap on me, man. Don't worry so much.”
“How can I not worry?! Tch. I don’t know about you sometimes…”
“Whatever…let’s just say I know the guys doing the inspections, okay? They're some of my people, so I've been getting right on through no prob—see the dude standing at the entrance other there?”
“Yeah. What about ‘em?”
“We go way back. It’s Jarem; started sliding him a little extra so I could get in with fewer hang-ups, know what I mean?”
The cargo cruiser came to a resting stop, and I used this time to try to gain my bearings. My whole body ached with a soreness the memory of which still makes me cringe; a body vacated by its own host for an unknown period of time. I looked as though I hadn't seen sunshine in years, and, although my hair had continued growing, it now felt dry and brittle to the touch. The nails on my hands and feet resembled miniature, chipped claws more than anything else, and a terrible odor seeped from my pores.
As I attempted to at least get to my knees, my arms and upper body shook with the needed effort; I hadn't moved on my own in some time. From the driver's cockpit, I heard DJ Quik's “Safe + Sound” blasting on the cruiser's stereo system. Out of curiosity, I slowly moved on to see what the other compartments like mine held. I had to use all my strength to pull open the nearest shelf and grunted as it steadily rolled out to create a painful memory imprinted on my mind for all time:
The pale carcass of a middle-aged human male was suddenly exposed. I felt a sickness rise up within me, but I fought it back to fully examine who he was. I didn't recognize him but soon noticed that his throat had been almost expertly slashed; he retained an expression of shock. He maybe hadn't anticipated that his life would end so abruptly.
He smelled much worse than I did, and I'll never forget that subtle peace that had come over his eyes in death. His chest remained covered in dried, bright red blood from an abdominal wound which had probably claimed his life. A note lay across his stomach, but it wasn't a birthday card like mine; rather, it was a plain sheet of paper with only a few words scrawled across it: Item No. 87901. Missing Kidney. Some organs not to standard. Discard deficiencies and recover any surviving organs.
I gained what felt like a small portion of more physical strength and thus was able to inch over to another shelf in order to pull out someone else. I wanted to know if there were any others like me…
This time it was a young girl who bore deep marks around her neck. She’d been throttled to death from what I could tell. There were a multitude of red marks and bruises across the rest of her corpse, and she appeared just as frightened as the man I’d seen prior. To satisfy my curiosity, I felt at my own neck for any marks but noticed that it was perfectly fine… so how did I end up here? There was a small index card next to her head that read: Item No. 87902. Tumors noticed upon scanning inside of body. Check for recoverable organs and discard anything having been subjected to metastasized growths.
I vomited.
Shortly after, I fell unconscious on the floor…
--
I was woken once again by the sound of the door sliding open while emitting a low hum. One of the men in the cockpit, garbed in a brown trench coat and wearing a tan newsboy cap, stepped into the room and upon seeing me gasped, “What the…?! Hey!”
“What's wrong?” A balding man with grey hair and dressed in a white lab coat followed behind him and froze in astonishment.
“He's… alive.” The man in the newsboy cap looked over at his companion for answers. “Did they make a mistake? Was this one yours?”
The other shook his head vigorously and gulped while maintaining eye contact with me. “No. I-I don't recognize him… how is he alive?”
“He must've slipped through somehow; looks healthy for the most part—do you think we can still use him?”
“We have to!” the man in the lab coat pleaded, “The order called for fifteen specimens ranging from 87899 to 87914; it HAS to be a complete shipment signed off on or there won't be any payment!”
“What? No payment?!” The first guy looked at me with contempt burning in his eyes—as if it were my fault that I was still living when they stuffed me in a drawer. “Fuck that, I've got a family to feed! Are you sure we don’t get anything?”
“Yeah, these guys want everything done perfectly; they don't give a shit about the foot soldiers. As far as we're concerned, we're just escorting the goods for them.”
The man in the newsboy cap reached inside of his coat and fumbled around to retrieve a short knife that was blunt in appearance. He gave his companion a solemn glance before looking back at me with a rage he drew from so that he could proceed to finish the job at hand.
“So not only do we gotta drive the product around, but now they expect us to do all the work for them…” He began to walk toward me but was briefly stopped by the man in the lab coat.
“Is there really no other way…?”
“Will they accept a live body?”
He sighed, “No.” and tore his gaze away from us.
“Fuck it. Don’t worry—I'll c
ut his throat real quick, put him back in, and we'll pretend they did a sloppy job. I need that money… this shit’s becoming too much of a hassle.”
He edged closer to me with the knife aimed in my direction and spoke: “Relax, kid; I'll make it quick. You'll thank me in the afterlife, because this ain't no world you wanna be a part of, ya hear, and I got a bunch of hungry mouths to feed. I do this for them.”
An intense and uncontrollable fear spread throughout my body, and then—
It’s black… a lapse in conscious thought. I don’t remember any of it.
--
I came to for the second time, and I discovered myself wrapped in an old, musty towel underneath which was a vastly over-sized and bloodied tan shirt. It was complete with a pair of ripped, faded jeans. A rather intense migraine had caused me to regain consciousness as I opened my eyes and caught a glimpse of a long, dark alley before me. I propped myself against a concrete wall near a puddle of vomit I’m assuming was my own and a dumpster that hadn't been made use of in several years.
The first thing that came to my attention was how cold it was. My body began shivering constantly as I tightened the towel around me. Snow fell in increasingly heavier amounts in what I later discovered was the Lower-City of the Citadel…
The Lower-City is divided into its respective “Quadrants.” Before President Derek's role in the government became limited following the emergence of the Wings of the Federation, he ordered that the Lower-City become separated into four districts. The Quadrants became part of his initiative to create a system that would fit the needs of the people of the Citadel by combating growing poverty in the country.
Thus, the Lower-City was designed as a method to provide almost free housing projects on a much larger scale that would provide areas to live to individuals who met a certain set of government-mandated conditions currently under heavy regulation. As the last decision he was able to freely make without the consent of the other Wings, President Derek made it so that each Quadrant would be overseen by the highest-ranking Dawn Bureau officers, who campaigned for the position. The successful officers became known as Four Majors governing the Quadrants in their own unique styles. I would later find out that the cargo cruiser had tried to “deliver” me—along with the rest of those corpses—to the Third Quadrant, then ruled by Major Sofie.
I'll admit, I was curious as to how long I could possibly sleep in that little dark corridor hidden away in the city. I lacked any genuine motivation to move in those freezing temperatures and, at that time, it seemed more reasonable to pass away of starvation instead of struggling to survive on my own in an unknown country with no strength left to fight.
I’d assumed that the men who originally wanted to kill me so that my organs could be sold off had suddenly had a change of heart and tossed me into the Third Quadrant. Maybe they were the reason I'd woken up in this forsaken place, and I thought having my throat slit would've been preferable to enduring what was ahead: a lonely demise.
Although snowfall began engulfing me and dampening my clothes, I still persisted in sleeping with the hopes of never waking.
It was wishful thinking.
I continued to fade in and out of consciousness while entertaining short dreams of a warm, comforting fire only to open my eyes to the same dreary view. I couldn't tell you how long I stayed curled in that place, but it seemed like several days had passed before a lone dog came wandering down my way and pressed its muzzle against my shoulder until I was restored to consciousness. Imagine my surprise when I came face to face with an old mastiff who promptly licked my head before resting his body against my mostly withered form. To me, he was a giant with a dark coat and black, beady eyes who seemed desperately interested in my survival. I was surprised he didn't decide to eat me, but my new friend kept me warm that bitter night and disappeared the subsequent morning.
Again, I didn't want to stay alive and still believed that I could pass in my sleep, but my death wish was interrupted when the mastiff returned several hours later with an open can of dog food hanging from his mouth. The friendly beast strolled up to me, set the can down, and offered me something resembling an expectant look. He'd already eaten half of what was there, but his body retained its emaciated appearance. Somehow this animal knew I wouldn't possess the energy to make it if he didn't share, and to this day, I'll admit I'm grateful.
My hunger overcame me, and I felt compelled to devour every bit of it, ensuring that nothing was left behind. It was only after I'd finished that I checked the date on the can to see that the food had expired some time ago. The mastiff scavenged with his best efforts but, as far as I knew, was just like me: no home, no master, and no method of survival that didn't include scrounging for what you could get. I petted him, and he’s the only one who showed me any genuine kindness out of everyone I’d come to meet in the consecutive days afterward.
As the sun began peeking over the horizon, I draped the partially wet towel across my shoulders and found the will to return to my feet. Acting as a personal assistant, the old mastiff forced its torso against my legs to offer support as I stumbled against the wall.
God… I still remember how stiff I felt and how much effort it required to simply inch in any direction. Although my headache had mostly dissipated, my eyes burned at the sensation of light; I spent some time trying to get them adjusted to the new world around me. A giant city with more than one level and populated with airborne vehicles mostly concentrated along fewer hyper rails than we have compared to today’s Citadel. Traffic laws were much more lax in those days, with driver automation just rearing its head for the first time.
This wasn't home, but then again… I didn't remember what home was to begin with. I couldn't recall anything; it felt almost as if I'd just been assembled and thrown into a reality I barely understood. It's hard to imagine coming from absolutely nothing, and it didn't help that I had no title with which to call myself.
All that was left of me was… “Dad.”
I anchored my left wrist against the unforgiving brick wall as I inched along it steadily, the mastiff loyally following me every step of the way. There were a few times when I had to stop and get down on one knee in order to rest, as it had felt like several years since I’d had to move on my own.
What a weird sensation, a fatigued feeling coursing through my legs and causing me to wobble without coordination across the concrete. Despite taking considerable time to adjust, I eventually crossed an intersection of alleys and moved forward toward a bustling street full of the first humans I’d seen in some time. My coordination started to improve, but it didn't really help my appearance at all as I stepped into the full view of hundreds of busy, lower income citizens. To the West, the wide path arced upward and peaked at a local bus station that had been constructed next to a hyper rail.
North of me was a group of vendors selling their wares behind poorly-built stands who were easily dwarfed by the heavy amount of small time shops and restaurants placed alongside the walls of immense dwellings. East of me, a path diverged into three different streets made narrow by old, towering buildings adjacent of each other. One of them stood out by containing a grandiose screen broadcasting the Third Quadrant's Channel 7 News, but its reception appeared weak, and I failed to make out anything on the display looming above me.
Even worse was the fact that the accents surrounding me were strange and completely foreign—even if I didn't know from where I’d arrived initially. It took me weeks to fully comprehend the dialect but fortunately I found that it wasn't a completely different language altogether.
The mastiff, his attention abruptly caught by something else in the distance, darted off toward the eastern area. I didn't see him again until much later and so was officially on my own again in the Citadel with only enough motivation to seek out more food and possibly some water if I was lucky.
At first, I was a little too hopeful and went straight to the restaurants. I don't remember the name of the first place I “solicited,” but
it was a cramped barbecue joint full of customers who all stopped what they were doing to stare at me almost as soon as I'd entered. I briefly enjoyed how warm it was before a female clerk at the counter ran to fetch a much larger individual who strutted up to me while demanding I leave.
The next place I tried was something that had been recently thrown together and was known for giving people food poisoning due to terrible food quality. A younger male and female duo of greeters both panicked upon seeing me and awkwardly kept me out by blocking the doors. After attempting to get into three more restaurants and receiving similar reception, I had to turn to the independent vendors of the Citadel. Vendors are probably the easiest people to piss off, but I didn't know any better back then. I went up to men and women working behind stands not because they wanted to but because it was their only source of income—additionally, the majority of them had barely been capable of getting approval for a license to sell their own goods while remaining in a decent tax bracket.
The first vendor I attempted to speak to was a middle-aged woman who wouldn't even acknowledge my own presence. Obviously, I was a little shy but still forced myself to stand directly in front of her while simply saying “Hey” until I got the hint. She decided to talk to everyone else—including her own competitors—but me, and eventually someone with money brushed me out of the way and suddenly she was the biggest chatterbox in town. My only option was to merely move a few feet down to the next vendor: an old, bearded man who looked upon me with fierce indignation. Surprisingly, this guy actually took full notice of me but in the worst conceivable way.
“H-hey, sir…” I said meekly.
“'Hey' what?! What the hell do you want?!” There was a fire brimming in his eyes.
“Um, do y-you have any food you can spare, please?” I was amazed that I could even speak.
“Paying customers only, kid! Get away from this place or I’ll call police—it’s illegal to harass hardworking citizens, don’t you know! Go on!”
Angelos Odyssey Page 29
