a week of brutal Blitzkrieg and began construction of the monolithic Suez Barrier.
Nobody in, nobody out.
The world had simply abandoned Africa, and Africa wasn’t too happy about it. Attacks on coast patrols became part of the daily routine, and special forces medics starting coming in accompanied by full complements of troops. Surrounded by Egypt-sympathetic countries, Israel was forced to defend its new territory from all sides.
In short, a lot of negative energy brewed in 2012. By the start of 2014, the estimated death toll due to Red Masque alone was two billion, with more statistics leaking in each day.
Overall, three billion people have died since June 1, 2012. Not including African ones, twelve countries had been wiped out, with thousands of cities becoming ghost towns world-wide.
A sea of statistics. A sea of angry, venomous statistics, which no one was really reading because they had more concerns closer to home. And the one thing angrier than a statistic is an ignored statistic.
Goddammit, Valerie.
I woke. Extreme nausea throbbed in my stomach; movement at this moment was unwise. Deep breaths, mediated, in through the mouth, out through the nose. I wasn’t alone in the ward, though the other patient seemed to be comatose.
Valeri e reall y loved her morphine. A look at the clock on the wall told me that I’d been out for eight hours. I gave it five minutes then stood uneasily. The queasiness struck again and I spent a few minutes dry-retching over the sink. Breathe in, breathe out. I made a mental note to hurt Valerie for using such a high dose, even though I knew it wouldn’t teach her a lesson.
I extracted my cell phone from the folds of my coat and peeled dried blood off the screen. Like a destitute amputee, my battery was on its last leg, but I took the time to read the blinking message.
“Problems with the relationship? With our help, those days are over! Body and mind spirituality courses. Meet up with professionals. At affordable prices, you can’t miss this! Train to be a better you.”
An annoyed smile seized my face, briefly. While the message brought bad news, it also brought the promise of an eventful day. Vincent had a knack for making weekends entertaining.
#0903
“People are like onions. There’s always someone crying when you start peeling off the layers.”
6: The Principles of Pain
I loved the empty train station. There was something hallowed and mournful about the dust and the murk and the quiet, something that spoke in disresonant tones about the fall. Many thought it haunted, and it wasn’t hard to understand why.
“...rain from... city central...”
After 2012, an incompetently decommissioned power grid had left an intermittent trickle of electricity seeping into the station. Turnstiles would occasionally flick on and off, or snap unlocked while suddenly registering tickets from ages past. The ticket counters occasionally flickered to life, bleeding yellow light through the bars. Above all, the dark was permeated by a crackled, ancient voice, blithely announcing a schedule years out of date.
“... has been ...layed for nine-nine-ni...”
I vaulted the turnstiles and moved deeper into the must, keeping an eye on the ground for signs of thoroughfare. There were other reasons for the legend around this place, though. Typical ‘never-seen-agains’ blended with talk of ghostly footsteps and of doors locking of their own accord. It was even said that, if you put your ear to the pipes, you could sometimes hear the screams of those trapped deep underground long ago.
“...nine-nine-nine-nine hours and n...”
It was nonsense, of course. I mean, if he wasn’t at his home or his office, Vincent had to lurk somewhere. Right?
I turned down a final passage and was met with a locked door. There was a male bathroom symbol on the front, but a closer inspection showed that it had been stuck there recently. Feeling around in the gloom, I located the exposed piping and
Nobody in, nobody out.
The world had simply abandoned Africa, and Africa wasn’t too happy about it. Attacks on coast patrols became part of the daily routine, and special forces medics starting coming in accompanied by full complements of troops. Surrounded by Egypt-sympathetic countries, Israel was forced to defend its new territory from all sides.
In short, a lot of negative energy brewed in 2012. By the start of 2014, the estimated death toll due to Red Masque alone was two billion, with more statistics leaking in each day.
Overall, three billion people have died since June 1, 2012. Not including African ones, twelve countries had been wiped out, with thousands of cities becoming ghost towns world-wide.
A sea of statistics. A sea of angry, venomous statistics, which no one was really reading because they had more concerns closer to home. And the one thing angrier than a statistic is an ignored statistic.
Goddammit, Valerie.
I woke. Extreme nausea throbbed in my stomach; movement at this moment was unwise. Deep breaths, mediated, in through the mouth, out through the nose. I wasn’t alone in the ward, though the other patient seemed to be comatose.
Valeri e reall y loved her morphine. A look at the clock on the wall told me that I’d been out for eight hours. I gave it five minutes then stood uneasily. The queasiness struck again and I spent a few minutes dry-retching over the sink. Breathe in, breathe out. I made a mental note to hurt Valerie for using such a high dose, even though I knew it wouldn’t teach her a lesson.
I extracted my cell phone from the folds of my coat and peeled dried blood off the screen. Like a destitute amputee, my battery was on its last leg, but I took the time to read the blinking message.
“Problems with the relationship? With our help, those days are over! Body and mind spirituality courses. Meet up with professionals. At affordable prices, you can’t miss this! Train to be a better you.”
An annoyed smile seized my face, briefly. While the message brought bad news, it also brought the promise of an eventful day. Vincent had a knack for making weekends entertaining.
#0903
“People are like onions. There’s always someone crying when you start peeling off the layers.”
6: The Principles of Pain
I loved the empty train station. There was something hallowed and mournful about the dust and the murk and the quiet, something that spoke in disresonant tones about the fall. Many thought it haunted, and it wasn’t hard to understand why.
“...rain from... city central...”
After 2012, an incompetently decommissioned power grid had left an intermittent trickle of electricity seeping into the station. Turnstiles would occasionally flick on and off, or snap unlocked while suddenly registering tickets from ages past. The ticket counters occasionally flickered to life, bleeding yellow light through the bars. Above all, the dark was permeated by a crackled, ancient voice, blithely announcing a schedule years out of date.
“... has been ...layed for nine-nine-ni...”
I vaulted the turnstiles and moved deeper into the must, keeping an eye on the ground for signs of thoroughfare. There were other reasons for the legend around this place, though. Typical ‘never-seen-agains’ blended with talk of ghostly footsteps and of doors locking of their own accord. It was even said that, if you put your ear to the pipes, you could sometimes hear the screams of those trapped deep underground long ago.
“...nine-nine-nine-nine hours and n...”
It was nonsense, of course. I mean, if he wasn’t at his home or his office, Vincent had to lurk somewhere. Right?
I turned down a final passage and was met with a locked door. There was a male bathroom symbol on the front, but a closer inspection showed that it had been stuck there recently. Feeling around in the gloom, I located the exposed piping and
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