Stasis (Part 2): Iterate

by E. W. Osborne

  Jocelyn screamed as she clawed at his legs. Hands were pulling her off him, dragging her back to the center of the room. He tried to defend himself without kicking her.

  “He did it to himself! He did it…”

  It took several men to pull her off Lee and out of the room. They pinned her down in the hallway as the first responders jogged in to help her dying love. She only calmed when she realized the brutal truth of what’d happened.

  He’d rather die than be married to me.

  CHAPTER TWO

  London, UK

  JULIAN VARDY SPENT five minutes reorganizing his desk. A normally tidy person, it drove him crazy how quickly his space became cluttered in the span of a few hours. But working in a fast-paced, high pressure job had a way of pushing things like cleanliness and order out the window. Messages replied to, deleted, or saved for the morning. He centered the monitor in the middle of the desk, eyeballing the correct positioning.

  “You heading off?” a voice said behind him.

  “Unless you need anything else, sir,” Julian replied, turning quickly.

  His boss, Kieran Hart, looked disheveled and exhausted. His pressed shirt now wrinkled, tie loosened and hanging around his neck like a poorly planned noose. He crossed his arms and fell a few inches against the wall behind.

  “I need more hours in the day.”

  Julian laughed politely, itching to get home but unwilling to show it. “Don’t we all, sir.”

  A tired silence stretched between them, one Julian was also unwilling to break. He watched as his boss drifted back into his own mind, running through a myriad of schedules, tasks, speeches, petitions. Julian loved the way his eyes glazed over and unfocused. He always tried to catch moments like this, when the person was completely unaware and vulnerable. At the end of the day, Hart glazed over a lot.

  Julian finally coughed lightly but loud enough to stir him from his daydream. “Sorry ‘bout that. Don’t know where my mind’s been,” Hart chuckled with a shake of his head. He stretched his arms up, striped dress shirt taut against his growing middle-aged ponch.

  “It’s no bother, sir. If you’d like, I can make you a cup of tea before I go? If you’re planning on working late tonight, that is.”

  Hart frowned as he tried to remember what his plans for the evening were. His eyebrows shot up when he struck pay dirt. “No, that’s quite alright. My wife is actually hosting a party this evening and I’m…” he glanced at his cuff and sighed. “I’m already late.”

  “I’m sure she’ll understand,” Julian replied kindly, slipping on his jacket.

  “Say. Why don’t you come along? It’ll be dull but a good opportunity for networking. And you could bring that lovely Harriet with you,” he suggested. A slight twitch to his upper lip betrayed him. The rumors about his boss weren’t unfounded but he wasn’t about to put Harriet in an awkward position quite yet. That was a card he wanted to hang onto for a rainy day.

  Affixing the most contrite of expressions, Julian practically bowed. “I’m afraid Harriet is out of town at the moment. And I’m meant to volunteer at an old folk’s—I mean, a retirement home.” He deliberately made a show of catching himself. He hoped more late afternoon meetings like this might turn theirs into a casual relationship. In order to do that, he’d have to tone down the straight-laced facade he normally carried in the office.

  Hart gave him a knowing grin. “Gotta get those good deeds in now. I understand,” he replied with a wave.

  “Another time, sir.”

  “Another time. See you tomorrow, Julian. Thank you.” He half turned back to his office, the bright lamp on the far table casting him in a dark, sorry silhouette.

  Julian nodded and smiled inwardly. It’d only taken a couple weeks of concerted effort and now Hart knew his name. Not only that, he was inviting him to private functions. He was going about it the hard way, but it was working. The payoff was going to be so satisfying.

  He could’ve taken any number of ways home. Underground, car, bus… but he preferred to walk. It was only a little over a mile back to his flat and the night was warm. Many people were out enjoying the spring evening, the hint of a long English summer on the horizon. But it wasn’t the weather he wanted to enjoy. The walk gave him the opportunity to slough off the day, to peel away the layers he carefully kept in place while at work. With every step, he felt more like himself. By the time he took that final climb up the stairs to his flat, he was back to the true Julian, not the Julian the rest of the world saw.

  With thumping music in his ears, he paced his stride with the heavy, driving beat. Walking among so many people yet alone gave him the feeling of a ghost… or a god. He could slip in and around them, his long legs giving him an advantage of speed and height. When it all clicked together, the pace, his footfalls, the world began to show its true self. There was an order among the chaos, a plan you could tap into if you only tried. He was one of the few that could peek behind the illusion and see the world for what it really was.

  Julian waited at a corner for the light to change. He always tried to be at the very front, the first to launch off so he could break away from the pack. He stared through the blur the automated vehicles created as they zipped past in a highly ordered fashion. The evenly spaced gaps, the tempo of their turns and merging. It was all part of the higher order only he and a select few knew about. Sometimes, when he let his focus glaze over, he could almost see the pattern emerge.

  Sensing the timing of the light rather than seeing, Julian prepared himself to cross the street. The cars hadn’t yet begun to slow but he knew it was only a matter of seconds. He tightened his grip on the bag strap at his shoulder when there was a loud shout. Before he could turn to look, a shoulder slammed into his back. Thrown off balance, his foot slipped from the safety of the path onto the road.

  He was lucky.

  A momentary gap in the flow of traffic saved his life. Someone changing their destination mid-course was all the difference between his life and his death. Of course, the cars would do their best to correct and get out of the way, but it wasn’t always a guarantee. Accidents still happened.

  Without thinking, he sprang from his exposed leg and threw himself into the crowd after whomever had nearly killed him. With his long arms, he was able to shove through the cluster of commuters and grab the hood of a gray jacket as it fled.

  “Hey!” the person inside shouted as they were yanked back.

  Julian twisted the hood once around his fist, tightening his grip. He gave it a hard tug back and snarled into the face of a young teenage girl. Her crooked teeth, pimply face, and utter derision for everything in this world made him sick. His fingers curled into a tight fist, unseen at his side.

  “What the fuck you doin’?” she sneered, having the audacity to look at him as if he were the one at fault.

  He gave the hood another half roll in his hand. The collar of her pull-over jacket tightened against her neck. Those closest watched from the corners of their eyes yet said nothing, did nothing. But they might remember him. What he chose to do next would be recounted by these bystanders down at the pub later that night.

  Julian wanted nothing more than to turn this girl’s face into a blank slate. But a quiet voice in the back of his head warned against it. He swallowed the anger and recovered, loosening his grip slightly.

  “You should be more careful,” he said softly.

  There was a flicker of fear in her dumb eyes, a deeper understanding than what his words communicated. But the arrogance of youth swiftly washed in like a deadly tide.

  “Yeah, whateva,” she said, pulling at the neck of her coat.

  The crowd thinned as they began to cross the road. He released her and joined the flow. Blood raced through his veins, throbbing at his temples, filling his cock. With a few deep inhalations, he took back control.

  I can’t wait until everything is as automated as the roads, he thought.

  Only a few minutes later, he had disappeared back into anonymi
ty, the incident forgotten and left in the past. Julian was another suit on his way home from a day at work. No more, no less. He was desperate to access that flow again, even for the briefest of moments. He switched songs looking for the right beat, he moved this way and that, hoping to find a clear path.

  When he was five minutes from his flat, he saw a cluster of people in the middle of the walkway ahead. Annoyed at whatever new holdup was going to prevent him from reaching his flow, Julian decided he wasn’t going to stop. He tucked his hands in his pockets, lowered his head, and pushed through as those in front of him slowed and stopped.

  A few people grumbled as he shouldered past, but no one got in his way for long. The crowed curled in a tight horseshoe around something on the ground, but he couldn’t see what. Those closest to the opening stood the firmest, reluctant to either give up their view or be moved any closer. A hard elbow broke through the final barrier and Julian saw what the fuss was about.

  An old man was slumped against the side of a building, another hovering close. A pool of blood flowed down the path from injuries unseen, but obviously fatal judging from the amount. Without pausing or giving it a second glance, Julian strode through the puddle of blood, diving into the crowd on the other side. His bloody footprints showed his exit was largely unobstructed as onlookers jumped out of his way.

  Once home in his flat, Julian peeled his jacket off like it was a heavy layer of protection. His commute home hadn’t been the cleansing experience he’d needed. His stomach was a roiling, boiling pot of anger.

  Julian stood in the center of his tiny kitchen, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. The constant noise of the street below seemed to double in volume. He caught a glimpse of himself in the window, the fading evening providing just enough of a dark backdrop to create a reflection. To anyone looking in on him at that exact moment, he would’ve been the picture of calm. His blank face common. His body, average. It was almost as though he’d been designed for the very purpose of blending in. He stared at his reflection long enough it began to feel as though it was another person staring in.

  There were a few things that could calm his temper, but when Harriet was gone, he could only rely on one. He turned and slowly walked down the hall and through a closed door. Behind it was a special room he rarely used, but it was easily his favorite in the whole flat.

  Several layers of extra thick soundproof foam lined every surface of the room. The final layer visible on the interior consisted of a dizzying geometric pattern of palm-sized pyramids. The floor, the ceiling, everything was designed to keep outside sounds out and inside sounds in. He deliberately kept his eyes averted from the figures slouched in the corners.

  Julian stripped off his shirt, trousers hanging low on his narrow hips. He arranged his silver knives on a small table by the door, removed his expensive cuff, and put on a pair of protective glasses.

  With every ounce of power and frustration he could muster, he screamed as loud as physically possible. Veins and tendons stood out under his skin with the strain. Sinewy, lean muscles tensed, his chin tilted up to the roof. He screamed and cursed and shouted until his voice went hoarse. This first outburst was enough to relieve a bit of pressure, but it was going to take a lot more to bring him back to level.

  Julian gripped a silver handled-knife in his fist, the cool metal warming in his hot palm. Like an animal, he dove for the dummies arranged in the room, slashing and hacking at their flesh. The realistic skin split with each thrust, revealing a red center. A couple wild strikes ricocheted off the internal structure, the vibrations traveling up his arm.

  The gelatin-like figures were one of the few splurges he allowed himself. In every other way, he lived a modest life he financed on his own. The wealth that was at his disposal remained nearly untapped… except when he needed to replace one of these figures. Featureless but lifelike, the creation and discretion cost a pretty penny. He spared no expense when ordering the realistic skin, replaceable skeletal structures, and the manufacturer’s closed lips.

  He straddled a female model and pushed its forehead back with the heel of his left hand. He held the blade to the figure’s throat. With a little push from his imagination, he pictured the young teenager who’d nearly ended his life only an hour before. He desperately wanted to smell her fear-slicked sweat as he slid the knife into her neck. He would’ve loved to pull an apology out of her, a genuine sorrowful plea, but this would have to do.

  Julian tilted the head to the side and with an almost erotic slowness, sank the blade to the hilt. Any longer and the tip would have popped out the other side. With a curl on his lip, he yanked it out and drove it into her chest. Once. Twice.

  He discarded the knife to the side and jammed his fingers into the slits he’d created on the top of its breasts. Using his nails, he dug at the jelly-like interior and tore through the mock flesh. He sucked air into his lungs as the fire inside finally dimmed. With a disgusted snarl, he poked at what remained of the dummy. Her breasts were indistinguishable and parts of the tan skeleton frame poked through. He lifted a chunk to his mouth and let it roll around his tongue, groaning with satisfaction. It tasted of nothing but chemicals, but to Julian, it was delicious.

  A half hour later, showered and calm, Julian sat at his modest desk. Two wide monitors switched on as he spoke to the room.

  “I’m here.”

  A message appeared, a simple sentence that brought him more pleasure than anything he could do with one of those fake bodies. It was from The Gardener.

  Good, let’s get to work.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Alfreton, UK

  June 6th

  ALEXANDER KING ROLLED his head around on his shoulders, this way and that, popping and cracking. His chair creaked almost as much as his body did with every movement. It’d been five minutes since Mouse’s friend had disconnected. His patience was running thin. The kid was fucked. She didn’t realize how much he was sticking his neck out for her, a complete stranger, really.

  The array of monitors on his desk blinked and refreshed around him, programs running their natural courses without any intervention from him. Occasionally, he’d stop to consider how objectively lucky he was. Sitting in his house, day after day, earning more money in a week than many hoped to earn in a year. Yet he was never happy, never satisfied. What many considered luck, he called necessity.

  While people came and went in his life, Mouse was one of the few who’d stuck around for more than a couple years. And that was the only reason he hadn’t completely dismissed her when she told him her friend had been taken in the middle of the night. And the site she’d sent him was the most intriguing thing to come across his screen in months. He couldn’t deny that.

  A message popped up on the screen closest to him. She was calling again. He hesitated, the anxiety of even this much human contact enough to spike his adrenaline. She was in trouble, even if she didn’t yet realize it. Alex couldn’t of cared less about her friend, but if he was on some spook’s radar, it meant she probably was too.

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief and he fell a little more in love. “Thank fuck. I’m sorry about that. It won’t happen again.”

  “No worries,” he said casually. With one hand he typed a few commands, triple checking their call was secure… well, as secure as an international call could be.

  “Ow!” her friend cried. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry, too… Hypnos.”

  He ignored the sarcasm in the kid’s tone. “It’s no skin off my teeth if they pick you up again.”

  “But if they’re watching me, if they can see what I see, then they’ll know your name.”

  Alex closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have a lot of names.”

  “Will you stop it?” Mouse said, presumably to Neil. They continued their own conversation, their American accents thick and comical. It surprised him how much jealousy and bitterness hearing her with another man had brought out in him. It wasn�
�t a common emotion for him, but somehow made him feel more… alive.

  “I’m sorry, but this whole thing has got me pretty freaked the fuck out!” Neil declared. “I’m supposed to get rid of my Seed because, what? Because the fucking government is watching me?”

  Alex’s chair groaned as he shifted. “They aren’t government.”

  “And how would you know that?”

  “If they were government, you wouldn’t be out already.”

  “Then what the hell were they?”

  “A distant memory if you calm down and listen to me, mate,” he urged. The longer they stayed on, the more at risk they all were. He desperately wished the first time he and Mouse spoke was under different circumstances, but he still wanted to make a good impression.

  “I’m not going to some backroom surgeon and get my skull…”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Alex moaned, rolling his eyes. “You lot are always so dramatic, aren’t ya? I’ll send over detailed instructions, but I’ll tell you what you need to do. The Seed is an organic device, right?”

  “Yeah,” Neil replied dubiously.

  “It is. It had to be, otherwise our brains would’ve immediately rejected it as a foreign object. The organic nature of the Seed means it’s relatively easy to disarm. All organic creatures have an innate drive to protect themselves, right? The smell of cut grass is actually the plant alerting other grass of danger. With the Seed, you can’t just go in and dig it out or it’ll try to protect itself.”

  “Jesus,” the guy breathed. Alex swallowed a bit of smug satisfaction. At least I’m getting through to him now.

  “All you have to do is find a string of blue lights and code them to blink in a simple sequence. You study comp sci, right?”

  “Uh, yeah, I guess.”

  “Should be a piece of piss then,” Alex snorted. The amount of money that kid and people like him spent on getting useless degrees could’ve been used to change the world. All the things Alex had learned for free just digging around by himself should’ve earned him a doctorate. University was never in the cards for him, for a variety of reasons. The world was painfully unbalanced.