The Transformation

The Transformation

By Thomas John Shoup

A man stood at a podium, giving a speech. The crowd listened, but not contently.

“Where did we come from? Where did our home, earth, come from? This we can say with relative certainty. We can also describe the history of our race, a history that no other race has seen the like of on this planet. We have claimed some of the greatest achievements that any race has seen. We were close to living in harmony with everyone in this world. And what happens when this noble goal is close enough to taste? All signs, all records, and all accounts disappear! How is this possible? It is not. That is why I am here ladies and gentlemen. I need your help. Humanity needs your help. For history cannot stay unwritten. If we do not write it, others will fill the gap we have made with atrocities. There have been those who twist it to make them powerful, if not in life then in death. Remember, history is written by the strongest men and all it takes to change it is one good lie and a river of blood.”

The man ceased speaking, and set his gaze on the crowd of listeners, who began to clap. The man was not fooled by this charade, and the crowd did not expect him to be. It was a small expression of politeness that he did not appreciate.

He stepped down from the stage and strode towards the door, the crowd parted as he moved through it.

“Thank you dearest friend, High Scholar Gianelli for supplying me with this opportunity to speak before this wonderful crowd tonight.” The speaker said to a man standing by the door.

“You need not thank me, old friend, I am sure my guests found your speech inspiring to say the least.” The man replied.

“Oh, why thank you for the flattery, but it is not necessary. My speech probably sounded like the ravings of a madman.” The speaker said with a humorless chuckle.

The other man didn’t reply.

“While I am forever grateful for this wondrous opportunity to speak here, I am content to continue my work, and will now take my leave.”

The speaker left the room, and an unspoken but visible tension was released.

The party resumed.



“So that was the infamous Nathan Drake? He’s quite charming.” A woman said.

“They tend to be.” A second woman said.

“Who?” The first woman asked.

“Mad men.” A third woman answered.

“I found his speech quite enticing. I don’t see why you all think he’s crazy.” The first woman said, raising her voice.

“Oh this was something quite different then what you think it was. You saw it as a charming speech. We know it to be a last attempt of a desperate man.” The third woman said.

“How so?” The first woman asked.

“He is researching the Transformation.” The second woman said.

“Oh. I see. So I gather his research hasn’t rendered much useful information.” The first woman said.

“You are correct. And that is precisely the problem. He found some records that supposedly hinted at someone who experienced the Transformation. There was a problem when the historians looked at it, they deemed it as an I quote “unreliable historical source”.” The third woman said.

“I bet he wasn’t happy about that.” The first woman said chuckling.

“Not at all. That’s when his madness began. He wouldn’t accept this verdict and locked himself into his study with the records.” The second woman said.

“Every few weeks he showed the others what he had written. It was supposed to prove the document was valid.” The second woman said.

“And the High Scholar always debunked them personally.” The third woman added.

“Why the High Scholar?” The first woman asked wrinkling her brow.

“He was trying to get a permit to leave.” The second woman said.

“Interesting. Why would he want to do that?” The first woman asked raising her eyebrows.

“He wants to search for the woman that wrote the diary.” The third woman said.

“What diary?” The first woman asked.

“The diary was the record that he was trying to prove the validity of.” The third woman replied.

“I’ll get some drinks.” The second woman said.

“Why was it deemed “unreliable” by the historians?” The first woman asked.

“The diary said she was born one hundred years ago, and she recorded her dying words in it.” The third woman said.

“Additionally, the records were dated, and where supposedly written more or less forty years ago.” The second woman said passing out cocktails.

“How did the records get here?” The first woman asked.

“No one really knows, they must have been part of the records brought to us from that merchant.” The third woman said.

“So, summing everything up. He’s crazy and wants to leave, even though no sane person has been allowed to for one hundred years?” The first woman said.

“Right.” The second woman said.

“Wow. Quite the character.” The first woman said.

The women waited, sipping on their drinks. No one in the group spoke.

“Why hasn’t anyone tried to explain all of this to him?” The first woman said.

“Amusing.” The third woman said.

“What’s that?” The first woman said.

“Your ignorance.” The second woman said.

The third woman drank the rest of her drink in one gulp, and set her glass down on a nearby table.

“You never tamper with the plans of a madman.” The third woman said.

“Let me get some more drinks, and we can change the subject. This topic is boring me already.” The second woman said.











“Don’t you understand what’s at stake, Gianelli? We’re living in a world that people before the Transformation would call “post apocalyptic”. And we throw the word “Transformation” around with complete authority. Yet we don’t have the slightest clue what we’re talking about. The only promising record that we have is of the diary of Mary Jane Leonards. And what have we done with it? Nothing.”

The two men were standing in High Scholar Gianelli’s office. It was small but efficiently furnished with a pinewood desk stacked with office supplies and pads of paper all neatly organized. Plants in bare white pots sat at both sides of the desk. A light brown bookshelf neatly furnished with books and folders and a ceiling light directly above Drake completed the scene. It bleached his face in some places and cast long shadows in others, making him look otherworldly.

The High Scholar was sitting stiffly in a typical high-backed black office chair. He was wearing a patched brown suit jacket and a white shirt with no tie. He had grey hair and blue eyes, and he wore reading glasses. He had his hands clasped together on the desk and was looking at Drake over his reading glasses, waiting for him to finish speaking.

“That’s the thing that bothers me. You all seem like you don’t want to do anything. All I want to do is leave and try to do something to clear up this mystery.”

“No.” High Scholar Gianelli said. “It’s not valid. There have been lively discussions about that, and we all agree. Therefore there is no reason for you to vacate this establishment.”

“Why do I even need a reason to leave? Why do we need to be boxed up in this place forever?” Drake said.

“Because I am the superior of this establishment, and I wish to keep it safe.” Gianelli replied matter-of-factly.

“Fine, keep the door looked for now! But you won’t be able to keep it that way for long! You cannot deny change, Gianelli! Those who do always pay dearly!” Drake spun on his heel and strode out of the office.

Gianelli sat in his chair for a while, his posture unchanged from when Drake was present.

Then he called out to his assistant.

“Judy. Send them in.”

Two men strode into the office and stopped at the spot where Drake had stood minutes ago.

They were clad solely in black. Their hair was jet black and their eyes were blue.

“Gentlemen. I trust you are reliable. Your reputation precedes you, even here.”

“We are.” The first man replied.

“His apartment is number 223 and the code is iszr4ozl3. He is six foot five, has brown hair, and brown eyes. He has a slim athletic build, with a small scar on his back

The first man nodded and they men turned and strode out of the office.

“And happy hunting.” The High Scholar whispered.



The men arrived at apartment 233. The first man entered the password into the keyboard lock. The metallic door made a clicking sound as it fell open. The second man opened it slowly while pointing the barrel of his gun forward. They were on high alert. Upon entering the apartment they did see anyone in the first room. It was a two-room apartment and other than some natural moonlight coming form a small window, the apartment was completely dark. The first man turned on a flashlight and found the door to the second room. He signaled his partner to follow him. The second room had a bed. They immediately started moving towards it, slowly. Suddenly they sensed movement. The first man cried out and fell to the floor. His partner turned to see a man rushing toward him. He was nocked to the ground and his assailant pinned him there with an arm at his throat.

“I knew he would send some of you eventually. And here you are.” The assailant said.

“Too bad you didn’t detect my handy dandy little motion sensor I built in. Those are pretty cheap, if you know the right person to ask. I’m sure you know what I mean.” The assailant paused from speaking and took the flashlight that the first man dropped and hit the second man over the head.

“Who sent you?” He asked.

The man was silent.

“What am I thinking? You’re not going to answer.” The man did not respond.

“Do you have any last words?”

The man stared up at him and stayed silent.

The assailant clasped one hand over the man’s mouth, and the other around the man’s neck and squeezed.

The man began to gurgle and started to spasm. He struggled trying to escape the iron grip of the assailant. Then he stopped.

“It’s time to leave this damn place.” Drake said.



Gianelli sat in his office, a glass of twenty-year-old bourbon in his hand.

“Judy you can leave now.” He said.

“Good night sir.” She said.

A minute later the sound of her high-heels tapping on the floor wasn’t audible anymore.

“Way too predictable Gianelli. You’re making my job way too easy. With a glass of fine liquor to slow down your senses, you didn’t even see me coming.”

Gianelli jumped. “What are you doing here?”

“I am the bringer of justice, and the price for justice is death.” Drake said.

Gianelli turned pale. “What does that mean?”

“It’s just something I thought up to make me sound threatening.” Drake said.

“You’re mad! No one will ever let you get a way with this!” Gianelli screamed.

“Stop that!” Drake sprung forward and clasped a hand on Gianelli’s mouth.

“I will take that as your last words.” Drake shot Gianelli twice in chest, plastering his bookshelf with blood.

By the time Gianelli sank to the ground, Drake had already left the office.



“Hey Al.” Drake said.

“What brings you here?” The gatekeeper said.

“Skipping the formalities, are we?” Drake said. He removed his gun from concealment under his coat and pointed it at the gatekeeper’s head.

“What are you doing?” The gatekeeper said, as his head was pushed against the gate’s keypad lock.

“Enter the code, Al.” Drake said. “You know it will be easier that way.”

“Okay. I’ll do it.” The gatekeeper said.

He punched a twenty-digit number into the keypad lock.

“See you all. Don’t try anything funny.” 

Drake turned his back on him and took a few steps toward the gate. He spun around to see the gatekeeper reaching for a concealed gun.

Drake shot him five times in the chest. By the time the fifth shot sounded the gatekeeper was on the ground, in a river of blood.

“To bad you had to do that, Al.”



Buildings appeared on the horizon. Drake took a sip of his water bottle. As he neared the settlement he saw there were no signs of human inhabitants. He wasn’t surprised about this. But he wasn’t looking to socialize. He had gotten his fill of that from the Winterhold Society.

The origin of Mary Jane’s diary had been traced to this small town. Assuming it was accurate, he would have to find some trace of Mary Jane that would lead him to her. He sensed movement behind him. He turned around just in time to see an object coming towards him with blinding speed. Then the world around him disappeared.



Something hit him, hard. “Wake up!” Someone shouted at him.

He tore his eyes open. There was a bright light shining into his eyes.

“Lose the light.” Drake ordered.

The light retracted and snapped back with surprising force.

Then it disappeared. “Don’t tell me what to do. After all you’re the one who’s tied up.” His captor said.

He was hit again, this time harder.

He examined his captor. She was about four inches smaller than him. She had jet-black hair that was tied back except for two strands that hung on either side of her face. She was dressed in a simple white blouse and jeans bloated with mud. Here eyes where dark brown, and they were staring right into his. She was shapely and slender. She didn’t look large enough to deal the blows she had dealt him. Overall she was stiflingly beautiful.

He was hit with two more blows, in rapid succession.

“Are you done?” She said.

“You have a nice body.” He replied.

He was hit again, this time she used her hand not her flashlight.

“Shut up scum. I know your game. First you tried captor intimidation and then when you saw me, you tried charm.”

“You got me.” He said smiling.

He was hit again.

“I can do this all day.” She said.

“I don’t think so. Otherwise you would have let me rot for a while.” He said.

He was hit again.

“You’re not getting anywhere with that, and you know it. So why don’t you stop, and tell me what you’re after. Who knows, maybe we can work something out?” Drake said as he wiped blood off his face.

The woman stopped, her brow furrowed and her gaze became distant.

Then her eyes snapped back to Drake.

“We want entry into the Winterhold Society.” She said.

“Why do you think I can help you with that?” Drake said

“Don’t be so obtuse. There is only one place you could’ve been coming from. What else is there in that direction?” She replied.

“You got me. I’ll help you, if you help me find out where to author of the diary I had with me is.” He said.

“The book? I have read it, it is from a woman we have encountered recently.” She said.

Drake looked up.

“Really? Where?” He asked.

“She was with a group of slavers a few miles north. Probably more now.” She answered.

“Does that mean she was a slave or a slaver?” He asked her.

“Presumably a slave.” She said her gaze cold.

“What? And you didn’t do anything about it?” His voice rose as he realized who his captors were. He felt fear. But the fear was only a fraction as large as the anger he felt.

“We had dealings with them. Let’s leave it at that.” She said.

They sold her to them. That’s the only way they would know the name of a slave. He thought.

“Yes.” He said. “I don’t care anyway. She has a large debt with me. It’s Unlikely I will get my money now. How about you pay me with some of the loot from the society.” He said.

“We aren’t out to loot it. We hear it is the intellectual capital of the world.” She said. “We want to learn.”

“No way. You want to loot all those elitist types and then settle in.” He said.

“It’s not that simple.” She said. “We aren’t after their material wealth. We’re after their knowledge. As you know, knowledge is power. There are few who can afford an education these days, and those that can will pay use a large sum of money for one.”

“You’re going to sell the knowledge. How interesting. I want a cut of the loot.” He said.

“What kind of cut?” She asked him raising an eyebrow.

“We will negotiate that when we have amassed everything.” He said.

She can’t possible resist that. No negotiation. Just an easy way to either get rid of me, or deny me a cut later.

She pretended to think.

“Okay, we have a deal.” She said.

She unsheathed a knife from her back pocket and cut his bonds.

He rose and gazed around the room they were in for the first time.

Judging by the bare concrete walls, they were in a bunker. There was a single light hanging from the ceiling.

“How many people are in your band?” He asked.

“Three more men.” She answered.

“Will they have a problem with our deal?” He asked.

“No. I lead this group.” She said with iron confidence.

“You better tell them then.” He said.

“You first.” She beckoned with the knife.

“Of course, smart woman.” He said and began climbing the stairs. He opened the steel door of the bunker to enter another room similar to the last one. The only difference was that this one had a metal table with three men sitting around it on similar chairs.

They glanced at the woman and him as they entered.

“We would like to go over the particulars.” The woman said.

“I’ll wait.” He said.

As he walked by the first of the three men, he removed his gun from his holster and shot him in the back.

The other two man and the woman began to draw.

He turned the table over and ducked behind it.

Peeking over, he shot the woman twice in the stomach. She was propelled backwards and hit the concrete with a thud.

He ducked behind the table as the other two men opened fire. Their shots made pee sized craters in the table.

He threw the table forward and sent one of the remaining men staggering. The second one tried to flank him but he received a bullet square to the chest.

The last man had stood up by now and was reaching for his fallen gun.

Drake shot him twice in the back.

The man fell to the ground and didn’t move.

Drake sensed movement. He looked behind him and saw another man entering the bunker complex. The man had already drawn his gun and was lining up to shoot.

Drake made a desperate sideward motion in an attempt to dodge the bullet. It hit him in the arm and passed straight through, clinking to the ground.

Drake fell to the ground violently, clutching his right arm.

Luckily for him, he had fallen behind the metal table.

“Come out. I don’t want you dead. I still need to get into the Winterhold Society.”

Drake didn’t answer.

This will give me some time. But if he’s lying, I’ll be dead.

Drake concluded that without the element of surprise he wouldn’t be able to defeat his opponent. He took the chance, standing up and raising his left hand.

“Okay. You win.” He said.

The man put away his gun.

“A man crippled by my bullet. You are no match for me anymore.”

“Fool.” Drake said. He pulled the gun out of the back of his pants with his left hand and shot the rest of the magazine in the man’s direction, scoring one hit out of three.

The man dropped his gun and flew backwards hitting the concrete wall with a dull thud.

There was a moment of silence.

“You bitch. There were four not three.”



He peered through his new binoculars with his right arm. It had taken weeks to heal. They had been slow, long weeks in the underground bunker, with nothing to do but speculate about Mary Jane’s fate.

He had been going north in a zigzag pattern, searching for signs of the slavers. The slavers had been meticulous in covering their tracks. They didn’t want anyone to come searching for them out of revenge. He was lucky, however. Just before he was willing to give up, he found some ash from a campfire hidden in underbrush. This confirmed that the slavers had been heading north.

A few days ago he had arrived at a gorge.

Suddenly he spotted something. He zoomed in with his binoculars and saw that there was a corpse on the other side of the gorge. It was partly hidden by nearby foliage.

He made his way across a nearby bridge and was by the body a few minutes later.

The man was a white male. He had a hole in his chest the size of a dinner plate.

“Snipers.” Drake said.

He peered carefully over the foliage that covered the far side of the gorge. What he saw made him gasp. About twenty bodies littered the scene before him. Most were men but some were women.

The slaver’s camp had been tucked into an alcove in the gorge. A clever hiding spot, if Drake hadn’t seen the body of the sentry, he wouldn’t have found the camp.

Drake scanned the rest of the area; there weren’t any visible threats.

He scanned the gorge for a way down and found one close to him.

“That’s probably where the sentry got up here.” He said aloud.

He made his way down to the bottom of the gorge and started to check the pulses of the bodies. He had miscounted; there were thirty bodies.

Two thirds of them were slavers, nine were slaves and one was a man of neither faction.

Drake searched the man and found a piece of paper with the letter I and three rings around it.

“The Winterhold Society.” He gasped. “I should have known they were lying to me.”

“Is anyone there?” A female voice said. Her voice was slurred so it sounded as if it was costing her a lot of energy to speak.

Drake sprang up and tried to find the source of the voice. After a few minutes of searching he found an old woman, hidden under some blankets.

He didn’t know how, but somehow he knew he had found what he had been looking for. He had found Mary Jane.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“Yes. It’s my time. I have lived a long happy life. I have been allowed to see things that most don’t. God has been good to me.”

“You are Mary Jane?” He asked.

“Yes. I am. I knew someone would come. I always hoped it would be someone like you. I can tell that you have good intentions. The men that were here earlier, they killed everyone in search for me.

“Tell me! What happened? What happened at the time of the Transformation?” He asked frantically.

“They left.” She answered softly.

“They left? What? Why would so many people just leave without a trace and leave us here?” He asked her. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. You must believe me.” She answered letting out a sigh.

“I do. But why would they leave?”

“That’s something you are going to have to ask God, if you believe he exists.”

Her breathing became slow and forced, and eventually it stopped. Leaving her eyes staring into space.

“Goodbye, Mary Jane. You have done humanity a great service today.” Drake said laying his hand on her face.

“Rest in peace.” He said as he closed her eyes.