Silencing Reality - Chapter One

                                        Silencing Reality
                                          Chapter One
                                              Silence

         I’m to visit patient 367 today. Hospital 472, District 6. I visit a different number each month. The incurable ones. They don’t give them names anymore. The patients use their names to twist their reality into a tattered parody.
         But this one is different, they tell me. This one has never had a name, and yet still she weaves her fiction into her life.
         Look at me, I’m getting all poetic. Visiting schizophrenics does that to me; they see such beautiful and terrible things. It sounds cold, but it brings out the creative side in me.
         The car turns sharply and I catch my first glimpse of hospital 472. There’s a shiny plaque on the gates we just passed that reads ‘St. Eden Psychiatric Asylum (472)’, and I wince.
         “Eden” was a terrible man, and yet he is hailed as a hero. I knew him, during the Daste War, and the man was the most repugnant mass of flesh you could ever come across. He beat his wife, raped his kids, yet because of his murder of the enemy General Kirkewood he’ll always be remembered as a hero.
         There’s irony in that. A twisted grin curls my lips, and the image of the driver in the rear-view mirror narrows his eyes. He thinks I’m crazy. Well, it would make sense. A crazy person going to meet the other crazy people.
         We pull up at the front of a stunning building. I mean that in the nicest way possible. Apart from the gruesome sight of a stumbling inmate wandering the fresh lawn outside, the bleach white walls and elegant gargoyles that watch over everything paints a very idyllic picture.
         They’re angels, I muse thoughtfully, staring up at the stone figures with outstretched wings. At least I’m not the only person who gets poetic when dealing with asylums then.
         The driver opens the silver car door for me, and a parade of nurses and doctors hurry down the steps, all desperate to shake my hand.
         Ah yes, I forgot to mention, during the afore-mentioned Daste wars, I did a rather heroic thing too.
         “Welcome to St. Eden Captain Virgil!” The Director greets me, a smile on his handsomely aged face. Salt and pepper hair falls into turquoise eyes, and the delicate wrinkles are placed just right for laughter lines.
         I wonder how much that cost him.
         “It’s a pleasure to be here, Director Mason. How’s 367?”
         His smile darkens and becomes fixed, I note with sudden interest. It’s not unusual for a doctor to be aggravated by a patient, and certainly not the first time for one to dislike a patient either.
         But that was despise that shadowed his eyes.
         He realises my fascination, and forces his lips to relax. “She’s doing just fine Captain, she’s a rare misbehaver. Don’t think we’ve had to use the electrodes on her even once in fact!”
         So why does he hate her?
         “Good. If possible I’d like to see her straight away; I could do with popping home before evening.”
         “Of course Captain! Right away. I’ll have to insist you leave any sharp objects with my secretary here though,” The woman steps forwards with glee, her hands already reaching out for my possessions. The Director hesitates, then murmurs an apology. “I’m afraid that includes your E.S.P.A. sir...”
         My fingers immediately jump up to stroke the long fan that ascends from my ear. My Extra Sensory Perception Audio device... The fear races through me. I’ve never had to do this before. Why should I now? It’s my ESPA... How will I hear without it?
         “Captain...” A shy hand tugs at my arm, and my other hand darts for a pistol I destroyed a long time ago. I would have blown off the young girl’s head if I hadn’t. She glances nervously at my hand, knowing what the gesture meant, then frowns determinedly into my eyes. “Please Captain, I can wire up a LESPA to replace it in a few seconds. You’d only have a moment of Silence, I swear,” her doe brown eyes gaze sincerely into my blue, and I believe her.
         She keeps her hand on my arm as she guides me through the gaggle of obviously jealous orderlies surrounding us, her fingers tightening enough to keep me focused. Another piece of information. This hospital hires War participants. We reach the huge double doors, and she leads me into a cavernous foyer, where she walks over to the front desk, pulling me behind her, and as if by an invisible string, further pulling the crowd behind us. Yanking a box closer, she released me to dig through it with both hands, and I lovingly finger my ESPA as I scope out the area.
         As I said, the room is huge, and the same white as outside. It looks... stark. That’s the only word to describe it. There’s no friendliness, even in the basket of buns sat on the front desk, and the potted plants that stand in every corner. Only two doors open onto this room, and I have just walked through one of them. The other is bare of decoration, coldly clinical, the powerful metal locking mechanism harshening the homely wood.
         I shudder. This room is not meant to let people in.
         It’s to stop people getting out.
         There’s a polite cough beside me, and I turn to see the young girl staring up at me, the LESPA (before I forget, the only difference is that it’s Little, get it?) held carefully in her palm, and a questioning look flickers across her features before she smooths it out into a smile.
         “Are you ready, Captain?”
         “Virgil,” she starts at my quick tone. “Just Virgil. Captain makes me feel old.”
         She blinks up at me, then grins and nods. “Yes Virgil! Thank you!” It’s as if I’ve done her a favour just by letting her say my name. Annoying to be honest.
         I sigh and fold carefully into a kneel, my ESPA covered ear turned towards her, and she immediately reaches out and fiddles with it gently.
         There’s a sharp click, and the constant chatter of information leaves me.
         The starkness is more intense. Every whisper of cloth on flesh startles me. A nurse shifts slightly behind me, and I flinch with the abruptness.
         Silence isn’t....silence. The ESPA relays information from satellites and Feeders, giving me detailed scans of everything around me. We call it “Chatter”, and it’s always a low hum in the back of the mind of an ESPA user. The mind gets used to it, and after time, dependant upon it.
         I’ve worn mine for six years. I’m addicted. There’s no other way to describe it. The fear of losing it hovers over me constantly. I will suffer withdrawal if I’m taken off of it for too long.
         Fortunately, she’s quite quick about fitting the LESPA. It’s a compact version, with less power, so it will only hold me for a few hours. My body is just beginning to shiver when with a ‘click’ she connects the last wire and port.
         There’s a busy moment. Everything those few seconds of Silence denied me comes rushing in as an insistent mass of sound, before smoothing out into a slightly hushed and incomplete stream. Like a junkie shooting heroin, I let the pleasure slip out in a gasp from my lips, and my eyes flutter shut in ecstasy. I’ve heard people liken it to an orgasm before.
         It’s not an inaccurate description. But the Silence just isn’t worth it, and I shudder in fear at the idea that I’ll have to do it again when I leave.
         The Director clears his throat loudly behind me, and I turn quickly enough to just catch the tail end of his glare at the girl beside me, who flushes and bows her head. I scowl. Jealousy really annoys me. She has her talents and he has his. Hers just happen to be far more useful for me.
         Quickly I stand, distracting him from the girl. My eyes are fixed on him, even as I quietly murmur my thanks. She nods slowly, never really raising her eyes to look at me again.
         My anger is obviously easily readable on my face, as Director Mason pales distinctly, and hurriedly looks away.
         “Well,” he coughs nervously and stumbles as he walks over to the inner door, inserting a key into the lock and touching his fingertips to the small datapad. “Well, shall we be off then?”
         I know what has frightened him so much. I’m not an ugly man. My hair is dirty blonde and cut in a messy style that leaves it falling delicately into sky blue eyes. The constant travelling has left me slightly tanned, and the healthy brown glow of my skin is enough to attract most women, without the help of my quick to smile lips cut into a finely boned face.
         But when I get angry, there’s something that changes my entire appearance. My eyes turn into chips of ice; my lips thin and part in a frightening snarl. The sharp angles of my face turn dangerous, and peril is spoken from my every pore.
         I worked hard to make sure that I could terrify people. It was a necessity in the War. I still find it useful, particularly to scare debt collectors into coming back another time.
         ... Don’t tell anyone I told you that...
         There’s a few nervous shifts behind me; I’ve just been staring at him for several moments now. With a quick shake of my head I start forwards, and Mason pulls the unlocked door open for me.
         As I step through, I glance back briefly, and catch the secretary wrenching my ESPA away from the girls hands.
         I realise, I’ve forgotten to ask her name, even as Mason brings the lock sliding back into place behind me.
         The hallway we’ve stepped into is brightly lit, and just as stark as it’s predecessor. Mason steps in front of me, and the sharp clack of his iron-lined boots hits my ears with irritating clarity.
         “I thought you said she wasn’t dangerous?” The thought’s been bothering me, but with the imminent threat of the loss of my ESPA I hadn’t truly considered it before. He stops abruptly at the sound of my voice and wheels to face me.
         “I didn’t say she wasn’t dangerous,” he tells me, a slight frown bringing his grey eyebrows down. “But it’s more a precaution than anything else.”
         Bullshit. He’s lying to me. Even the Little ESPA can pick up that much, and I can almost imagine it snorting in disbelief. I can’t stand it when people lie to me. You’d think they’d be smart enough to realise they can’t get away with it. Frustration and annoyance fills me, and I angrily stride over to him. I have a few inches on him, and it must fill him with terror to see me glaring down.
         He stutters nervously, “It... It’s a little further... Virgil... shouldn’t we...”
         “CAPTAIN Virgil, if you don’t mind,” I practically spit the words in his face.
         The shivers are about ready to tear him apart, I note with a cruel satisfaction. “Bu... But you said....”
         “Did I ever give you permission to call me Virgil?”
         His eyes widen, and he gulps. “Nu... No... S-Sorry... Captain... Sir...”
         “I’m glad we got that cleared up,” I smirk at him. “Shouldn’t we be heading off?”
         I take immense pleasure in watching him almost fall over as he trips on his own bleach white lab coat, and tremblingly rushes onwards.
         It’s rather disgusting, my delight in terrifying him. But I honestly don’t care. There’s a smug whisper in my mind.
         He deserved it.
         We carry on; I unfalteringly and proudly striding along after his hunched and quivering form that hurriedly darts forwards. Like a rat. Snivelling and conniving. I can’t imagine how this piece of flesh gained the title of Director.
         Well, yes I can, I muse. I imagine there were vast amounts of money involved.
         There’s another door right at the end of this corridor, and thinking back, it’s the only door on this corridor again. A touch of confusion reaches me. They already had one protection from escapees, and to be honest I couldn’t really imagine anyone getting out that way at all. It’s interesting that they consider a few mental patients so dangerous that they would effectively trap them here. The patient that had been outside comes back to mind, and the confusion grows. Obviously the fear doesn’t extend to all of the inmates. There’s an inkling of suspicion in my mind, and I wander.
         Is all of this just for her?
         I don’t get much information on the patients I go to visit beforehand. just their illness and very basic statistics (age, gender, etc.). I’m supposed to walk in with a completely open mind, and not to make judgements on their former actions before I meet them. It’s not so rare that these patients have committed some vile act in the throes of their affliction, and although it’s not really their fault it colours everyone’s opinion of them. I am told nothing of their discovery, or their acts since being diagnosed. The only warning I get is a quiet murmur from my ESPA, informing me of several security codes surrounding a patient.
         But the LESPA hasn’t pointed anything out yet. Whether this is due to it’s inefficiency compared to the far more powerful ESPA (especially mine, which has been skilfully modified) or because there simply are none I do not know.
         We are in another corridor now, one that finally has evidence of the cell like rooms that high priority patients are stuck in. The LESPA is whispering warnings to me now, though all of them are centred on patients numbers that I do not know, and are obviously not the one I have come to visit today.
         “Patient 226 - Warning 7.3. Warning 6.9. Warning 0.24.”
         Murderer. I glance towards the door emblazoned with the number 226 on a large plaque in the middle. The LESPA is correct, I note thankfully, reading the large script of numbers underneath.
         Mason, who has been watching me shiftily over his shoulder, notices my brief perusal of the steel door. “We, of course, accept all kinds here, in an effort to rehabilitate them. Actually, we’re known for our ability to reintroduce convicts into society without any problems!” His head lifts and self-pride brings a smug smirk to his face. “I myself have reintroduced three serial killers, and not one of them has even had to have a follow-up!”
         The stream stalls for a moment, then races back with the one thing he hasn’t mentioned. The fourth convict he tried to reintroduce.
         “And what of the other?” I ask him nonchalantly, and hide my grin when his step falters.
         “O-Other? There... There was no other. We’re nearly there now, is there anything you wish to ask about her?”
         Maybe I should stop torturing the man now...
         The cruel grin bursts free of my restraints. Neither heaven nor hell could stop m...
         There! A sudden flicker to the right. I stop dead. My hand reaches for the long gone weapon again.
         Nothing. I glare at the corner. No exits or obvious ways that someone could have hidden from me.
         But I am sure there was someone there. For however brief a second.
         Someone...
         “Captain?”
         My whole body jerks with the sound, and I whirl to face Mason with wide eyes. He is stood only a few metres ahead, waiting with a frown on his face. I shiver, then recollect myself, forcing the ingrained reflexes to the back of my mind, where they scream desolately for attention. There’s a question in his eyes, and I close my own in denial of it, ignoring him as I take a suddenly confident step onwards.
         “Lead on, Director.”
         He hesitates, but moves just as I am about to overtake him.
         We are silent the rest of the short journey, passing doors and curling round corners. There’s no sign of anyone else, and I begin to question myself. It had been a long day, and post-Daste Soldiers are known for momentary hallucinations.
         I scowl. Or the LESPA could be connected wrong. The girl could have nicked an eye-port instead. If she had then she can fucking pay for the treatment. It doesn’t come frigging cheap!
         And there’s the thought of my ESPA being disconnected for that long. The chill knives through me, and I shudder with the force of it.
         My mind wouldn’t survive that. Not anymore.
         We enter yet another corridor through yet another door. There’s something different about this one though. It takes me a few seconds to figure out the growth of anticipation spreading within me, but finally it’s tendrils reveal themselves in my mind.
         There are no doors on the walls beside me. Only one door. Straight in front.
         The numbers read 367.

Critique would be greatly appreciated!