Existence Oblivion

by Kai Ellory Viola

  He paused again and tilted his head. "If you weren't a cop, I'd continue, but I bet this gets back to CORE, and at some point I'll get a visit from the 'happy police'." Elliot blinked.

  "The 'happy" police?" he snorted. "Yeah, that'll happen. Justin, I hate to say it, but CORE doesn't monitor everything. The people running CORE, which isn't Darkness PD, don't care."

  Justin went back to his terminal, and sat down.

  "Yeah," he said, the sarcasm obvious. "Don't care enough that you're here monitoring a project..."

  "Hang on. I'm here because of those prisoners that you're apparently treating like meat…"

  "Now that sounds almost...almost as if you care for them."

  "In as much as ensuring they serve their time and their victims get justice, yes. I'm not entirely certain that this doesn't cheapen—"

  "That is enough Detective Peters," Claudia said, appearing in a doorway. "And Justin, stop baiting him," she added. Cerys was behind her, subservient and looking at the floor.

  Elliot frowned at her. "Seriously? Baiting me? I've heard worse,” Justin grinned. "Propaganda doesn't bother me, especially when it's not close to the mark," Elliot said.

  I need to talk to Harper, he thought, I can see where they're coming from. I don’t like it, but he’ll know.

  "So you're telling me CORE isn't just the police?" Elliot spread his hands in a gesture of acceptance, palms out. Justin looked at him, wanting to press further.

  "Back to the subject at hand then?" Claudia said. "We've got prisoners to choose for the vote. Two survivalists have requested extraction, and I'll be honest, given their lackluster performance, we could probably get away with setting them both up for the vote, and they'll both go."

  “I thought the votes were straight?”

  “Not at the beginning no,” Claudia said. She looked at the screen and said, “Take out Kuritz and…why is KREZZ in there? He’s currently our STAR! Out with both of them. Survivalists Norwan and your namesake, Peters, wants out,” she added. “I’ve got more calls to make,” she continued.

  “Communications blackout?” Elliot asked.

  “It’s not a phone,” Justin said. “It feeds direct back to the studio, for discussion with our bosses. They’re pushing for more.” Justin typed a few things, swapped some words, changed some bios, tossed the cards and suddenly the lineup contained the two survivalists.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Elliot rubbed his gritty eyes with the back of his palm, smoothing back an errant layer of his fringe as he went. That turned into a stretch, yawn and shudder of doglike proportions, as he pulled his arms back over his head.

  "Brrrrr" he said, grunting under his breath, before looking over the monitors again. It was 2am or so, and all was quiet. The fights had settled down as people ran around, encountering walls. The first weapon drop had been aborted as a fight broke out and Claudia wanted that footage instead. It was about five am, so the prisoners had been given two hours of sleep. In honor of the girls who ran it in ever shortening intervals, the group announced that the fund for the Rebba Marn survivors, and the force responsible for keeping Darkness safe from another repeat were receiving generous checks. Elliot knew that a few of the families devastated by the monsters below him were rich beyond expectation right now – the bonuses were becoming heftier and heftier as fewer and fewer people allowed the adverts to cut them off the live feed. It was just unpredictable enough that you could miss a whole fight that way, and recaps wouldn’t be aired till tomorrow.

  A couple of the prisoners were pacing in the ten squared cell areas they found themselves in, but most had accepted the inevitable and lay down. Four survival experts were inches from escape, and during their last radio contact they'd willingly volunteered to 'drag it out' and let them alter the route so that viewing figures would stay peaked. The maze was being hastily rearranged, the fleximatter glass being reconfigured carefully on the rendering on the floor. He knew that the fleximatter out on the main floor would only move once triggered, but that everyone had to be off the reorganizing places. Elliot knew that even if they dragged it out, there was a chance that they’d not see the light of day, on the feed at least, until right at the end. He wondered idly how many people would fail to attend work this morning.

  Elliot wondered if Beth would be watching around now, a tub of ice cream in her hands, alert to the least twitch as her hand wandered across her stomach, soothing her passenger as he reacted to her excitement, or if she was actually being sensible and sleeping.

  The ache that the image summoned made him stop for a minute. He thought of her hair under his hands, the feel of her breath against the back of his neck. A welter of images washed over him, and he swallowed, hard.

  He felt a sudden aching pull to hear her voice - and excused himself.

  Again, he triggered the answer machine, and again, he left the message. He closed his eyes tight, squeezing out the image of the blood stain on the carpet, the crime scene tape at the bottom of his stairs. If he didn't see it, it never happened. It was a remnant - something that he'd seen because he was overtired and had been on a case too long.

  He checked his phone afterwards - one text from Harper, asking whether he'd like to meet for a meal when he got back, another from Morri, saying she was still following up on the Mk5 he'd encountered.

  By death twelve, Elliot could just about swear that he was feeling worse about it, not better. The chief had cleared this with him - explicitly told him that he was not to intervene - it was not a crime for these prisoners to kill one another and that contracts had been signed to ensure that no one in Darkness PD, or the prison services could be sued. All of the prisoners involved in this project, and nine others, were taken under the UCPS system - the new TV channel and system designed around the units that were now filming.

  Elliot looked around, and said to Justin, "it’s quiet now - everyone seems to be staying in their rooms."

  Justin stopped adjusting one of the information feeds. "Yep. We told the prisoners to stay in their rooms for ten minutes, and 'pretend' to mourn, to give the onscreen talent," he pointed at the external feed screen, "the chance to narrate, digest, and dissect what happened. We weren't expecting four like that, but bonus, huh?"

  "That’s human lives you're talking about," Elliot said, and Justin snorted.

  "Barely human," he said, and then looked over at Elliot. "Are you seriously telling me that you don't want to be in there and killing them too? Don't give me it Elliot," he said, before he spoke, and laughed at the anger flashing into his eyes, "You're really going for the indignant officer aren't you?"

  Elliot just shrugged, "Look, I'm not denying that I can't see the problem with some of these guys killing each other," he said finally, "But I don't think this is the way forward. If this were in the regular prisons, we'd be euthanizing them ourselves - there'd be paperwork out the wazoo, and outcry in the community."

  Justin grinned, "Isn't this just peachy then?" Elliot shook his head.

  "What do you want me to say?" Justin continued. “I know you’ve been E-O’d out of the execution business. We talked about it earlier. I get you’re playing ‘Conscientious objector,’ but it’s a broken record. I will report back that you were unhappy, as will Claudia. You’ve been killing some of them yourself.” Justin held up a hand as Elliot moved to speak, “which is what you’re here for. You’ve only actually missed two, or the kill command didn’t work, so you’re doing fine on that score. But save the outrage – you attended a record 100 executions in nine and a half months while I was covering that beat. I looked – you’ve never objected to the ones that went wrong.”

  Elliot closed his mouth, then said quieter. “Not in front of the press, no I didn’t. You didn’t get access to everything.”

  Claudia walked back into the room and said, "Detective Peters, seriously - this is saving housing fees, this is providing an income stream - this is giving the public what they want."

  There was something about her tone t
hat made Elliot uncomfortable - it was almost the religious obsession in her voice. The sort of obsession that Naire engendered.

  Except, he couldn't see the tattoo. No Naire got away without the tattoo. And she wasn't....

  Elliot shook his head.

  "Before we started this, I was hoping I could go on a break," Elliot said quietly. He was paranoid, and was no closer to working out if Naire really was here - it wasn't exactly something he could just ask. If he still had his link back to CORTEX perhaps, but not right now. He wanted to get the list to Morri, see if she could find them. "And," he continued, "you're reorganizing the floor, and the prisoners seem subdued…"

  "Yes, yes," Claudia said, her eyes already scanning the cells, marking some out for the next vote.

  The cool, crisp air was nice - while the unit was in shut down and the staging of a main fight discussed, Elliot was free to stand outside and wait. The balcony out over the courtyard wasn’t obvious in the overhanging area of the roof, but sure enough, there was somewhere to stand, look at the shimmer shine of the lights of Darkness buried under the majesty of the coming day.

  He let the air wash over his bare arms, before pulling on his jacket. It was two thirty, and he was sure that there was no way that he'd be allowed to leave with the information he had, right now. His contract wasn't just to monitor the prisoners - he was the representative of UCPS and he had to stay.

  He pulled the photo out of his pocket - rare enough in these times of digital and smart equipment, and stroked the black hair pictured in it, his fingers feeling the texture of her hair as he did.

  Again, he triggered the answer machine, and again, he left the message. He closed his eyes tight, squeezing out the image of the blood stain on the carpet, the crime scene tape at the bottom of his stairs. If I didn't see it, it never happened. It was a remnant - something that he'd seen because he was overtired and had been on a case too long.

  He checked his phone as soon as he hung up, hands shaking and eyes blurred - one text from Harper, asking whether he'd like to meet for a meal when he got back, asking what was so urgent that he’d tried him while he was across the borders, back home, another from Morri, saying she was still following up on the issue he'd encountered.

  Prisoners killed at the hands of the more vicious ones, and Elliot could just about swear that he was feeling worse about it, not better… it was another loop, one that was a worn groove.

  Elliot shook his head. He couldn't believe he was thinking like that.

  Jumping at shadows old man, he admonished himself. You really do need a break, he continued. All of his surface thoughts buried and plowed under that, and he sighed and shook his head again. Something nagged at him, but the closer he got, the further it slipped out of his fingers. He sighed and looked around. Tiredness, he thought to himself, you're overworked sunshine.

  There was a light snick, and the door behind him opened. "Detective Peters," Justin said, turning to him, and Elliot looked back, quizzically. "I need you to hook into one of the renders. Use Cerys, she seems to work well with your thought patterns. We need to take a dump of everything you've seen - as if you were logging it in CORE, and compile a list from there. As you know this is another reason you're here…"

  Elliot nodded slowly, then said, "I'm not entirely comfortable…"

  "She has no capacity to look any further back than yesterday. You have CORE blocks - that, I had to verify when you hooked into the system," he said casually. Elliot noticed a minute tremble though, as if he were hiding something.

  His nerves thrummed - thinking of his VR machine, and how he had barriers up for that, but that they shouldn't know this. Maybe they had implanted blocks at some point during the vaccinations. It had been one a day for almost a week in the middle of the briefings.

  "We need that data, Elliot," he continued. He finally nodded, and slipped past him through the door, his skinny frame feeling as if he’d dropped pounds since arriving.

  Cerys was waiting.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  After he'd settled on the couch, Cerys pushed, just slightly. It felt different - and as the tingles began down one arm - a migraine so monumental it made him blurry-eyed and unable to speak washed over him. It gripped his skull, his face going slack, his body sagging into the couch, he heard her whisper, "I have to do this; there's no public record. I'm sorry Elliot, this will hurt..."

  The crime tape locked everyone out of the building - in theory. The press straining against it, trying to get shots with holocams and other items around the corner of the foyer was stretching the tape though, and soon it would break. Two uniform clad officers stood just inside the high vaulted doorway, shuffling their feet uncomfortably on the worn tiles. Radios crackled - the ambulance at the bottom of the main steps leading into the building with two of the three techs leaning almost indolently against the edge, watching nervously in the slowly tumbling snow. Later that night, it would be so thick that all Elliot could see was ghosts and torment, but for now, it was just sticking around, like the unwanted guest at the dinner party.

  Elliot skidded in, and didn't stop, scraping around the corner and smacking off the banister, before regaining his feet, shaking off the hands reaching out for him to hold him back. Another set of crime tape stopped him at the top of the stairs and he blazed through it as well - his hands grasping, breaths gasping into the too warm, cloyingly sweet air at the top of the stairs. He bashed through the swing door on his landing, feet clattering from wood onto carpet with a swish thud that he'd grown to associate with excited mornings when neither had a case load - with the chance to tear her clothes off, or kiss her pregnant stomach until she begged him to stop and take her, in their hall. His fists clenched again, his stomach squeezing in a sickening, free falling tumble that made him stagger to his knees, falling against the door like he'd been shot. He straightened again after a few seconds, pulling his suit down and fixing his tie.

  They had to be wrong. It couldn't be his house.

  He jogged up the hall, around the dog leg, and was confronted again, with officers. Pushing past them, he moved through, shrugging hands off with anxious, desperate gestures - being slowed to a crawl as he pushed and slapped hands and arms - shoving faces out of his path. Pushing chests that got in his way, shouldering through gaps.

  They finally stopped him at the door to his apartment, at the apex of the hall leading to the stairs to the roof, Harper grabbing him and spinning him 180 degrees so he couldn't really see into the hall.

  Blood pools had already caught his eye...

  Later, much later, he was allowed in. There was a lump shaped hole in the carpet where the techs had cut out the living room carpet, and the rust stain underneath made Elliot's skin crawl. Harper was pale, wide eyed, covered in blood - first response on scene only because he was delivering files to Beth. His lips were a tight, half-drawn scrawl, as if he'd ran out of time when sketching himself in - as if he were a character on the sidelines. He was shaking, his eyes vacant, wide. Morrigan was in the doorway, James holding her up, as if displaying her, one hand at the back of her neck. Morri was slack jawed and stock still, her face luminous in the floods of lights that had been positioned in the apartment doorways. Outside, dimly, he could hear the thud-chop of rotors and a searchlight washed over the building in a long, calligraphic sweep.

  Someone pressed coffee, hot, thick and black into Elliot's hand, then someone else dumped a generous measure of whiskey into it.

  "We'll find the bastard," the voice above him said. Elliot numbly nodded.

  A voice called through. "Nursery is clear, Sarge," and an irritable voice snapped, "shut the fucking door and clear with someone else." And then Morri ran in, colliding with Harper into an embrace, trailed by James, and the end, the greyness took him for a bit.

  Elliot shook his head, clearing the reverie. He looked over to where Justin and Claudia were helping themselves to coffee, trying to do it so they didn't notice he was paying attention. Neither seemed to care that they coul
d be heard from where he was sat.

  "The sooner this is over with, the better," Justin said, his low grumble carrying over the whole of the room to the couch where Elliot was sitting.

  "Shut up, he's awake again," Claudia hissed and Justin snorted.

  "The render is pulling off all of the information about his wife's murder. He's not awake. He's not conscious. In fact, if he stopped breathing, he'd never know, just passed away in his sleep."

  "He's lying...or at least, I'm not doing that," Cerys said, so soft it was almost unheard.

  Elliot's hand tightened on her leg. She squeezed back.

  "I had to start pulling those memories though - he sent me through to jack in, and was monitoring the stream. I'm so sorry."

  He nodded carefully once, and she leaned over, shielding him from view.

  "I need to induce a fit, so I can take you down, and flush the blocks they put into you a few weeks ago. I can tell you've been fighting them, but it'll mean everything becomes clearer. There's no way to stop this clusterfuck now," she added quietly. Justin padded over, and she was silent. “Remember those three words? Saxophrase, musipop, DJ? That’ll take out the last of the blocks,”

  Elliot muttered and murmured, pretending to be reliving stuff, moving his eyes as if in REM. He was thinking of the interrogations they'd used, the ones that had been used as a training exercise as to why you couldn't hide anything from CORETEX.

  "He's not surfacing, is he?" Justin said, one hand dropping onto her shoulder.

  "No," she said, her neutral voice, sounding more robotic. He could even hear the slightly synthesized wavers. "Subject is responding to memory purge. Time to download, 6 hours," she continued.