Plugged In

“Plugged In”

The Pact of Blood
There is no pain, no suffering or disease. Those who grow old do so gracefully. They are of use to the community, providing vital services before inevitably succumbing to the eternal slumber that is death. How is this all possible you may ask yourself. You would be wise to remember that questioning one’s self is the first step to insanity, Insanity which does not exist in our society, such thoughts should be kept to yourself. Or as the case may be away from yourself. But I shall indulge you just this once. See attached for a brief history of the neurological network:
“The Neurological Network founded by professor Edgar Bockenheimer in 2039 to commemorate the hundred year anniversary of the start of the Second World War. Professor Bockenheimer’s vision was to create a perfect world where all could work, live and prosper without fear of being killed, injured or being infected with disease. His work built on other such programs which simulated life but lacked the stability to allow for constant emersion. It was he who allowed humans to reach the peak of evolutionary perfection.” Extract from Dr Hartman’s book “The history of our world”
The fact of the matter is the whole world is a lie. Edgar Bockenheimer is the most evil man to have ever lived. And I was one of those in charge of keeping order in his perverted world, by culling those who defile his laws or even those who question reality. When I say kill it, isn’t really strictly true. We were a facade for others who happen to witness the solving of a problem. The truth is the world as it once was no longer exists, the vast majority of people are connected to a colossal system known as the Neurological Network. People eat, sleep and work inside. A vast array of tubes, wires and switches that provides the experience of life. Something those who are connected to it never truly will experience. Now this brings us to the question of death. One of the many tubes will at one point carry a poison to the “user”. The poison varies depending on how the person’s life was extinguished. Edgar Bochenheimer was a man fascinated by death. Somewhat ironic for a man who is seen as the savoir of humanity, for instance if I were to shoot a man in the head for instance then his body would be killed quickly however if I were to shoot a man in the stomach He would slowly die in agony as his body floundered about both in the facade and in reality. However as an alpha or peacekeeper in the world I do not have to worry about such things as death. I have no poison tube, if I am killed by a mark or anyone else for that matter all that happens is I am locked out of the system while an ambulance collects my body, takes it to a secret base where I will be magically resurrected then can continue doing my job. We alphas’ have many privileges the deltas do not. We can leave the wall-less prison though few choose to do so. The deltas as the proverbial sheep are plugged in forever, as their organs are harvested to keep humans alive. The betas harvest the deltas organs while they are powerless to stop them, well that is they remove as many organs as they can while allowing the dilapidated shack that they call a body to remain functional. Until of course they die. I once placed my .45 magnum (Loved the dirty harry films I watched in the cinemas as a kid) into a deltas mouth and pulled the trigger just to see what they looked like on the inside. If anyone discovers this recording I hope it will shed some light on the fucked up shit that goes on in Bochkenheimer’s world.
/end Recording DYFL


I woke up in a daze as the warm sunlight flooded through my venetian blinds exposing the magenta coloured room that was my apartment. Glancing at the clock on the bed side table showed the time twenty past eight which meant I was a full hour late for work... I fell out of bed with the grace of a walrus, well aware of the fact I was late but yet not really caring. I sat down on my chair, plugged my neurological transference device onto my forehead then shut my eyes. Suddenly I was transported into an empty room with a blinding white light. The shining white tiles flawlessly covering the floor, walls and ceiling generated the persona of uniformity. No tile was out of place. No tile was brighter than any other. No tile was darker than any other. All tiles which did not conform were weeded out and destroyed. For the greater good of the wall. Suddenly out of nowhere a booming voice began to speak, “You’re late” it said reverberating through out the room and throughout me as well. It continued “Never mind. I shall commence the target upload to your data device. Good night and good luck”.

The blinding light of the room slowly faded into nothingness. I stood in a room filled with lockers. A key in my hand. I opened the locker in front of me to find my 45. Magnum staring at me, eager to fill its purpose. After putting the bull in its pen I walk calmly past the receptionist (who was busy painting her figure nails) and out into the bustling metropolis that was New York. I was in delta territory now, I could almost smell the filth as I walked the streets. The purveyors of scum on a stick, the business men (if you can even call them men) out for lunch and every other Tom, Dick and Harry knew not of me, or my mission. I was a ghost, leaving no evidence, no trace of my presence other than bodies and bullets. I pulled out my data device (the metallic finish cost more but it was worth it) and called up the mark.



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Name: Yuri Orlov
Known aliases: Peacekeeping agent 523
Crime: Failure to terminate his target and did not show up for debriefing. Is currently AWOL.
Action to be taken: Immediate Termination.

These assignments always were the worst. To kill one of your own is the saddest duty I have ever had to undertake. But he was a failure and a traitor, Death was the only option. I knew this man well, almost from birth he was my friend. Finding him wouldn’t be a problem he ate lunch at a small cafe called the Pink Pony down on Ludlow Street. Same time, same table, same everything. Luckily for me it was only a quick taxi ride away. Luckily a taxi was sitting by the curb while the driver was eating his one hundred foot sandwich. I opened the door and climbed, the evil concoction of smoke, dampness and delta; hit me like a hunter clubs a seal. After the momentary pause that the stench caused me climbed into the taxi. I told the driver my destination and we set off as fast as the half rusted bucket of crap would take us. I looked out the window admiring the Hudson River, the clean perfect river, no scum ruining it. My quiet contemplation was dashed by the driver asking “mind if I smoke?” lighting his cigar before he had even finished asking, “did you see the nicks game last night, those Yankees are a pack of cheats”. I had the feeling he didn’t really need an answer nor did he want one, taxi drivers are just hairdressers who can’t cut hair. They never shut up and do a worse job because of it, we almost hit a melon stand for fucks sake. Finally after a whacky races ride that Dick Dastardly would have been proud of, I had arrived at my destination. I told the driver to keep the meter running, this shouldn’t take long. I climbed out of the car and into the cafe with little fuss. There I saw him, sitting at a table with his stupid bowler hat on drinking his tea. Then I saw it, the Belgian bun sitting on the plate in front of him. It was beautiful, the icing was perfectly holding onto the base and in turn holding the most perfect ruby red cherry on top of it. I promptly pulled out my gun and shot him in the face claiming his bun as my own. I walked out as calmly as I walked in. Climbed into the waiting taxi and told him to drive to Grand Central Station.

After a rather uneventful drive spent mostly tucking into my recently acquired bun, we arrived. I walked into the bustling station, the smell of coffee beans wafting through the terminal and the sound of trains screeching as they slide away from the platform. I grabbed a coffee from a strategically placed Costa Coffee and watched the deltas walking about doing what deltas do. It was like watching rats in a maze; you got the feeling they were almost intelligent but yet still disgusting. Contemplating what a shit name Costa was, I mean what the fuck is that... Costa Rica? Costa del sol? Costa cup of coffee? It was then that I seen her. She was beautiful, flowing golden locks down to her shoulders, she was an angel. She was a delta but I didn’t care, I knew from that moment on that I was in love. Suddenly without warning she collapsed. In that instance as she hit the floor, with her my hopes and dreams for everything that I wanted so much to be, all that could have been. The shattering pane surged through my heart as if it was Frankenstein itself. For all the pain I suffered that day, for all the haunting it caused it did exercise the spectres of apathy from within the depths of my soul. I had a realisation on that day as I lay in the gutter. The only way for me to gain my redemption is by bringing terrible retribution upon the one who descended my oh too fragile world into disarray...Bockenheimer.

Just Another day at the office
I who had been charged with overseeing the imprisonment of people in this virtual Bastille was imprisoned inside his own mind. Unable to escape and no possibility of parole, there are those who say hell does not exist yet I gazed upon it with my own two eyes. A world where you are unable to relate or understand people around you, a world where waiting for death is a popular pastime. I had a purpose now but it would have to wait. I still had my job and I would have to continue with it, there would be a time for action but that time was not now. The haunting beep informed me of a new target.

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Name: Anthony Black
Known aliases: N/A
Crime: N/A
Action to be taken: Target is to be interrogated then terminated. This is a top secret mission, any information obtained cannot be divulged and you will be subject to a short term memory rinse once the mark has been eliminated.
Additional Information: The target is likely to appear at The Bear Bar, It is recommended that you eliminate him there.


I had killed more people than buffalo bill had bison. But something was different now or rather everything was different now. I hopped on a tram heading downtown. The tram swayed from side to side, up and down like a surfboard on ice. I was heading to the Bear Bar... A cute name for a den of evil. Thieves, murderers and people traffickers all congregated there picking at the carcass of humanity. The stench of cheap fags and even cheaper harlots hit me as I walked in the door. The dank surroundings matched perfectly the patrons, the gamblers whose luck finally left them for the bodybuilder across the road who drives a Mercedes and goes to yoga every Thursday night. She left taking all his possessions and his money with her, leaving him to suckle on cheap vodka paid for by doing unspeakable things. The business man who has lost his job as the firm he worked for has gone into liquidation or the teenage runaway who stole her daddy’s car just to get away from the constant fighting she is forced to endure on a daily basis. Regardless of why they were here, I was here only to kill. I sat down upon a stool in front of the bar facing the door as to scope out who left and entered. I ordered a small whisky with a comical umbrella placed into it. A red one, the colour of blood, many a bartender has given me a strange glance when I state my request but it is the little things that truly help us to survive the day, not the thought of our loved ones or the Kevlar lining inside our jackets. But the small relatively insignificant things like a smile from a stranger on the subway or a man helping an old women cross the street. The umbrella with the ability to open becoming conspicuous, a force for rain to reckon with and the ability close and become hidden from the world in an instant. As I sipped my drink a balding man as ugly as a train crash involving a herd of lepromatous cows sat down on the stool next to me obstructing my view of the door. The sad excuse for a man turned to me and said that he knew I was here to kill him but before I did, I should hear what he has to say. I was taken aback by what he said, never had anyone known I was going to kill them before it was too late before. It didn’t matter what had happened before. He began told me that he knew who I was and what happened in the past no longer mattered. He told me to meet someone under the bridge outside my apartment, a person who could help me with my mission. I hung on his every word staring into his lifeless eyes and seeing only myself. Amongst all the truths he said there was one thing he said that puzzled me, after he had finished speaking he said one, nine, eight, four then pulled a gun from under his jacket. The sight of the cold, black steel sent a rush of adrenaline to my heart, slowing seconds to what seemed like hours. Each beat like a punch in the stomach, resonating throughout my body and even throughout my soul or what was left of it. A click of a trigger and the man left a liberal coat of pink goo over the walls of the bar. It was time to leave after all I don’t think many regulars would be enjoying happy hour today.

The Party’s Over

I crashed down upon my bed and lay there numbly, yet comfortable as a child feels in the arms of its mother. The darkness engulfed me. I stood in a white room with bright lights baking my skin. I stood all alone in a tomb of light with nothing but a clock and its insistent ticking to keep me company. The ticking signalling a wave of pain and suffering that washed over my very soul. The great hammer crashing upon me causing me to resonate in time with it, the ticking gave no quarter as it insistently struck with no discrepancy. No mercy... the clock began to slow as my heart beat quickened. Just as the pain was pushing the bounty’s of my sanity the clock began to melt and with it me also. Lying on a puddle on the floor until I descended into darkness. The darkness brought relief from the pain that I was subjected to, it seemed to be nothing was preferable to living in pain. Suddenly I saw her... It was the women from the train station, the day everything changed. She was an angel dressed in white with flowing golden locks, I was not afraid however even though she was light as the pain. She walked over to me with the grace of a ballerina and took my hand. I woke up in a cold sweat as the sunlight began streaming through my blinds. Another day to do my job, another day for someone to die and another piece of me dies a little. Still it brought me another day closer to the time when the sword of Damocles shall come crashing upon the head of Bockenheimer and it is I who shall cut the thread. Today I was to kill a man, just an ordinary family man who dared to question the factualness of his imperceptible prison. The world materialised around me in a colourful haze. The information came through on my target.

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Name: Steven Smith
Known aliases: N/A
Crime: Target is questioning the legitimacy of the world around him.
Action to be taken: Target is to be exterminated with any witness to the extermination.
Additional Information: It is suggested that you eliminated the target at his home 325 Oakton Avenue, Aspen. Be advised that the target lives with his spouse and two offspring.


I exited through a revolving door after dancing with it for five full rotations. The mountain air blew through me as if it was exercising the many demons which dwelled within me. The pure snow covered the trees like icing sugar on a cake. Aspen was an area of which I was not familiar with. I decided to pose as a tourist and ask for directions. I met a man strolling down the street in a fully buttoned duffel coat he told me the way to the target’s house and suggested I get hop a bus from the stop just round the corner. I waited in what can only be described as a plastic coffin across from a picturesque snow capped houses. Watching the cars of those completely detached from me drive past and waiting for the bus that would deliver death to a man who did not deserve it. I stepped on the bus and took a seat down the front. I have been to many places and killed many people. Every person and every mission was different but the only thing that linked them together was that all buses that I have ever ridden on reeked of a mixture of sweat and urine. I stood up and pressed the button after two stops just as the man had said. I jumped off the bus and landed with a thump making sure not to fall on my ass. It was a nice house he had, sort of a cosy feel about it. The kind of house that you would expect to see on boxes of short bread, I knocked on the door as I pulled my pistol from my jacket pocket. Pointing it at the door as the handle began to twist, it was a small girl who answered the door. I asked her where her daddy was whist I slid my gun inside my jacket. I followed her through the house to the lounge where a roaring fire crackled like a thousand ants exploding the target was sitting down in a chair smoking a pipe and through the open door I saw his wife cooking in the kitchen. As he stood up and extended his hand to me I drove the barrel of my gun into his mouth hearing nothing from him but a quiet sigh and several cracking noises. I cocked the gun all the time blocking out the shrieking cries of his wife. I felt the eyes of his daughter burning into the back of my skull. I felt the cold steel of the trigger upon my figure but I couldn’t do it. I jumped through the window of the house and began to run away from the screaming, the screaming that was loud enough to break a thousand mirrors. It was the first time I had ever ran from anything before but I knew that It wouldn’t be the last.

The Longest Night
The darkness soon creped over the world as I lay down, the room stared back at me as I searched for answers to the unanswerable question. Why was I condemned to bear the burden of a world that is unrelenting in its pursuit to destroy that what we need to survive... Hope. The hope that the next rising of the sun will bring deliverance from the perpetual torment that preceded it. Hope was diagnosed with terminal cancer on the day the angel died and since then has spread throughout, today hope passed on. The sudden realisation I had lost nothing, for I had nothing to lose. She was for me a trophy to be admired and cherished. It was now evident to me that she was but a cabinet showing me nothing but emptiness. I had seen many things throughout my career. It is an interesting thing to be human, to have a great potential for good but to never use it. Everything is done for personal gain even that which is hidden under a facade of compassion. Acts of good are done only to gain respect and fame. There is no good, there is no evil. They are one and the same observed only from different perspective. If only the sun would bring deliverance.

Another Time Another Place
I awoke to the radiance of the sun shining through my window. A sign that I would have to endure another day of the hell known only as life, today was my day off and as always I would spend it inside the wall-less prison. I knew it was only a matter of time before my superiors found out about my failure yet I didn’t care. Perhaps they would give me sweet release. The world flooded away as I stood in a burnout shell of a factory that once made guns used to slaughter thousands in the world war. Now the factory itself was dead, I saw a hobo huddling around a fire trying to keep warm. I shot him in the back of the head in an attempt to cheer myself up but in the end all it done was to make my shoes dirty. We who kept the world intact had many games to amuse ourselves whilst on leave. I being one of the more conservative only shot people where as some of the more rambunctious agents preferred chainsaws or machineguns. When two Peacekeepers met which was rarely they usually exchanged tales of what they done on their day off, a particularly satisfying story I heard was one of two peacekeepers who dressed up as police officers then gun down seven people in a garage. Although it did lose points on the number of kills it did however gain points on style for the imaginative use of police uniforms and a personal favourite of mine the Thompson M1A1. Still feeling rather glum I went to Central Park and got myself an ice cream cone, vanilla was my favourite but I did however enjoy some of the more exotic flavours such as mint chocolate chip. I remember the first time I had mint chocolate chip. I had just finished my first job well I say my first but really it was my second because the first job I was sent to do ran into the path of a bus while I was chasing him. But regardless after shooting the owner of the van I helped myself to an ice cream cone. It was great, tiny little bits of chocolate on a cool minty ball. It would have been perfect if there were not little pieces of brain on it. I sat on a bench, watching the world pass by. A businessman talking on mobile phones telling the person on the other side that he can’t do anything else until Jeremy sends him the paperwork, the mother taking baby for its first stroll. I felt as I was a researcher watching lab mice try and find their way through a maze to find the cheese at the end. They, all in their own special way are trying to find their cheese but each taking a different path. Some such as the businessman seek to find their cheese through fiscal means where as the mother seeks her cheese through her child. The pursuit of each individual’s cheese was that which ultimately separated us from them. Even though few could say they truly got their cheese the hope and determination they all possessed was something which I envied. I saw a woman sitting on the bench across from me cradling a baby in her arms. She was ragged and filthy. The baby was purple and bloated. I didn’t know what had killed the baby, but the death of the baby in the end killed her. I had killed many people but I had never seen one such as her before. She was the walking dead; reduced to a husk weeping over the injustice of a world she had no control ever. No one deserved what she had gone through, something had to be done to stop is from happening again. Everything had to be done to stop it from happening again. What I had saw disturbed me deeply. They walk around unaware of the prison that engulfs them. Their fate determined by another whom at any point or for any reason could cut the thread. To harvest their organs, to remove a troublesome being, to feel the power that only controlling the power of life and death can bring or the thrill of ending another person’s life.


Return
I left the lies behind even if it was for but one day. I left my home and ventured outside. I viewed the sun with my own eyes something which I had not done for many years. The sun burned my eyes just as we had burned the earth. The sun baked soil cracked underfoot as I looked upon the destruction. The relics of the past littered my view: jagged slabs of concrete protruded from the ground like gravestones, the burned out husks cars and trucks and the solitary rusted swing that swayed in the wind. The only sign of life in view was the smoke coming from the chimneys where they disposed of the hollowed out carcases. The acidic air tarred at my lungs as I walked over to a piece of wall that was still standing. I lay against wall and done something I had never done before. I watched as the sun set on the world. I watched the shadow creep slowly towards me engulfing all that it touched. The darkness engulfs us all in time. It is impossible to escape it, but in time the light returns and slowly but surely the darkness subsides. I awoke an undeterminable time later in a daze as lights were pointed accusingly at me. I looked up to see five war torn men staring intently back at me. I saw the hatred in their eyes, I saw the horrors of life in a world that is incomprehensively indifferent to the suffering of man. Looking down five guns staring accusingly at me, accusing me of all I have done. A crack then darkness...
The light burned my eyes as I awoke. Unable to move my arms as I lay on the floor I heard the unmistakable hustle and bustle of man. Men and women dressed in rags traded under the blinding brilliance of the sun. My brain violently shaking within my skull I struggled to my feet as my vision became fuzzy. I blinked only for a second but when I opened my eyes there stood next to me two big men. They carried me out of the cage holding my arms. The sun baked my flesh I sniffed the air of freedom. Then I am not sure what happened exactly. Everything went black but I could hear clashes of metal and bone. The screams of men. The screams of women. The screams of children.
I awoke in total darkness. Impossible to tell whether it was the darkness or my eyes that stopped me from seeing. Trapped in a room with myself was the greatest hell that I could imagine. My mind is a dark and freighting place which is why I avoid it. Though my eyes could not see I saw the faces, the tears, the screams of those I had done wrong to. The eyes of the dead can pierce a man better than a thousand knives ever could. No matter how fast you run, you can never escape the dark dog that is your own mind. Everything that you have ever said or done is stored in a dark pocket within your mind. It can hold you to account of whatever you have done. There are no wrongful convictions, no chance for appeal or re-trial. So much of who I am is made of lies. Lies to protect me from the truth and to allow me to do terrible things to others but if I lie to myself about myself then how do I know who I really am and what if I am lying to myself about lying to myself and I am really who I think I am but deep down I wish I wasn’t who I really was. To leave someone thinking to them self is the most effective way to drive someone mad.