Story #216 - Fireman

Fireman

The weekly visits were getting to her, though Kara Tulman tried not to show it as she waved goodbye to her father. They still didn't know what was wrong with him, and the few times he'd been allowed to go home had resulted in an ambulance ride back to the hospital within hours or days at the most, so his room in the special care unit was where he was going to stay for the time being.

Kara was sure he looked worse than last week, but the petite nurse that was responsible for overseeing his day-to-day care told her that he looked the same as always. It was possible, she supposed, that she was just becoming hyper-concerned. The last few months had been stressful enough without her father taking ill – Jeremy leaving and the issues at work meant she barely had a moment of peace as it was, and then suddenly her dad was falling over at the dinner table on Sunday evening, gasping for breath.

Lost in thought, it took her a moment to realize that another woman was waving at her from across the ward. She waved back – Lily Thompson's father was in the same predicament as her own, and it had come on just as suddenly. They had never met before coming to the hospital, and Kara doubted that in another situation they would be friends, much less acquaintances, but parental illness made for strange bedfellows. Hopefully, both of their fathers would get well soon and they could go their separate ways.

Kara didn't feel like talking, so she slipped into the next corridor on her right to get away from Lily. She was fairly certain she could access the elevator from down the hallway she'd chosen, but didn't see any signs for it in sight. A door to her left stood out from the others around, and if she remembered the layout of the building correctly, should connect back with the main hallway. Slipping inside, she went four steps before she noticed she'd stumbled into another patient care room, albeit one very different from where her father was recovering.

There was a single bed in the middle of the room, odd since the hospital was already over-capacity, and even from a distance she could see that it was of a far heavier metal than the one that held her father. A young man was asleep on the bed, lying perfectly straight and still in its middle, and his wrists were bound by dark metal chains to both sides of the bed. His feet also looked to be locked to the bed, and she could see a silver collar at his neck. What could this man have possibly done to deserve such treatment?

Fear sparked in her mind. What disease could he have to warrant such confinement? Kara turned to leave, and could hear the man shifting on the bed. She had to get out.

“I know what he has.” The man's voice was weak, but confident, and Kara spun quickly.

“What did you say?” She expected to see him sitting up, but he was still on the bed, eyes closed, unmoving.

“I know what he has.” The voice came again. She could see his lips moving, but none of the rest of him. Kara shivered despite her best efforts to stay calm.

“What would you know about it? And what the hell is wrong with you, anyway?” It was rude, but she didn't care.

“We have the same disease, he and I, or at least that's what the doctors here are going to call it. I'm not sure something man-made and this invasive should really be called a disease, though.” There was a bitterness in the tone, an anger.

“And what exactly is that?

“It's...” the was a hesitation, “look, I'm no use chained down like this. Unhook my hands and feet, and I'll show you.”

“Hah!” She barked out a laugh. Trusting a man at his word wasn't something she was going to be doing anymore, unless that man was her hale and healthy father. Justin had proven to her the folly in that.

“Fine,” the bound man said simply. “Leave me here. Good luck as his disease spreads, as you see him waste away. I'm young, so the transformation hasn't been nearly as taxing on my system. How old is your man?”

“My father?” She asked, then realized he had no way to know – he'd been taking a shot in the dark to get her to listen, and he'd been right. “Sixty-two.”

The young man made a clucking sound. “Not good. It will be difficult for him.”

“What will?” She was getting impatient.

“Let me go and I'll show you!” There was real anger in the man's voice now, but despite the fear she knew she should feel, Kara found herself moving to unhook the chains that bound him. A chance at an answer was better than watching her father die.

Once the last chain was off, the man sat up quickly, rubbing his hands over his chest and arms, a small smile on his face.

“Much better,” he said, “thank you. Now, back up.”

Kara did as she was told, and watched as he reached up to grasp the collar at his neck. The silvery metal parted, and as it did, the man burst into flames, scorching the mattress underneath him and blackening the metal that surrounded the bed. As soon as the man let the ends of the collar go, they joined together with an audible snap and the flames died.

“That's what awaits your father unless we can find a cure – life as a human weapon. Come on, let's get me out of here before they notice I'm gone.”

Kara flinched when he reached out to take her hand, but was pleased to discover it was only slightly warm, like a stone that had been heated by the sun. It wasn't much, but at least she had hope now.

Small, but it burned.

- D

Story #106 - Jeremy

Jeremy

“Jeremy, stand up.” Owner’s voice was cold, but Jeremy knew enough of its subtle tones to be aware that the man currently bore him no malice.

He stood.

“As you can see,” Owner spoke to the two men and three women he had with him, “Jeremy here is compliant – and also in spectacular physical shape. I’ve worked hard to create a balance of form and function, and an overall sensibility that will be pleasing to all Citizens.”

“Bravo,” the taller man with Owner said, “I’m impressed. Others working with these have had far less success, at least the kind I’d consider to be commercially viable. This is a triumph – though you must understand that I can’t commit to anything.”

Owner nodded, though his face darkened. He had expected better after showing Jeremy to his associates, but it appeared these buyers were more cautious than he had anticipated.

“Remain,” Owner said, and moved into the parlor with the others of his group. Jeremy could feel his muscles beginning to tense; he had spent days preparing for this meeting, and each one included a progressively longer period of standing still. He knew that had the meeting gone well, he would have been called upon to do a number of tricks, but as it was, he would be left alone for an indeterminate amount of time. Owner might realize his folly in blaming his creation, or he might spend the next twelve hours stewing, leaving Jeremy to endure the pain of cramped legs and no food.

Not for the first time, Jeremy wondered about escape.

The notion had come to him suddenly, a month ago, after he had caught a glimpse of the outside world through a window. He had been taught enough about it to interact with a Citizen, should they choose to ask him, but had never been outside the Owner’s home. All of the vitamins and minerals he needed were provided, along with a strict workout regimen and sleep schedule. The result was a sculpted body and an unformed, though agile, mind.

Six hours passed before Owner returned, his face dark and his long hair slicked back. That typically meant he wanted to work with Jeremy, but the ferocity of that work was anyone’s guess.

“Jeremy,” he said softly, “I don’t blame you for today. The fools aren’t ready yet – they don’t believe you to be perfectly safe, but I know better.” Owner reached up to touch the collar at Jeremy’s throat. “This prevents your escape, and you know it better than anyone. Why can’t they see?”

Owner wandered away from him, talking to himself. Jeremy had learned several hard lessons about answering when he wasn’t supposed to, and had learned to understand when Owner was being rhetorical instead of actually seeking an answer.

“It’s such a perfect system,” Owner said softly, “the thing is only cloth, but he can’t even come near it because of how I’ve conditioned him. The perceived pain would be unbearable.”

The words had the feel of a speech; Owner had likely wanted to say them to his guests, had they seemed more interested in the great work being done.

“Jeremy.” Owner turned and was now speaking directly to him. “You may move. Go and get your rope. I have convinced them to return; we will show them your true potential when they next see you.”

He took a slow step forward, doing his best to straighten out coiled muscles and not pull anything on his way to the back room. Moving too quickly would result in serious muscle spasms, but moving too slow would mean pain of an entirely different kind.

Once inside the room, he quickly found the black coiled rope and tucked it under his arm. He had always been talented at escapes, and could knot himself into positions that even Owner seemed impressed by.

“Be trapped,” Owner said flatly once he had returned, rope in hand, and Jeremy did his best to twist into a shape that bordered on the impossible, but Owner was not impressed. “Be untangled,” Owner grated, “and try again.”

And so it went, for hours, Owner demanding more than he ever had, and Jeremy doing his best to impress.

“Not good enough!” Owner bellowed. They had been at it for hours, and Jeremy was bleeding from a dozen sores, his toned muscles finally giving up their strength. “Be untangled! Again!”

Jeremy tried, but had nothing left to give. The rope slid over his shoulders but would go no further, and he could see the fury in Owner’s eyes. “No! No! No!” He screamed. “Be free!”

Owner heard his mistake before it left his lips, but there was no way to draw it back. Standing, Jeremy shrugged off the rope and reached for the cloth collar at his neck, easily tearing it away from his skin. For a long moment, he stared at Owner, muscles flexed and eyes dark, but a fleeting sunbeam caught his eye. He was gone.

***

Those outside were truly the Owner’s brethren. To a man they had been cold and distant, even when it should have seemed that he was one of their kind. They ignored him, despite his pleas for help, and struck him hard on the street as he stared at buildings he had never seen, and gloried in the warm sun shining down on his face.

He had found temporary shelter under a bridge with a number of once-Citizens, men who were as rough and crude as he could imagine; a section of the larger community Owner had never mentioned. Ragged clothes covered his form, and he’d eaten even less than Owner fed him on a regular basis.

“Jeremy!” Came a familiar voice from the end of the cement underpass. “Stand!”

He had no obligation to obey; Owner had freed him by accident, but the end result was what mattered. Action was not required – Jeremy could walk away.

“Jeremy,” the voice was kinder than he had ever heard it. Affectionate, almost. “Stand, please.”

Jeremy stood.

- D