His fevered demand for information dredged up the
worst blackness from within my being. I locked it away as
much as possible. It was a part of me I never tried to recognize
or define, merely living with it like a tumor or flaming
appendix. I didn’t want to face it now, but I had to. Something
about my sickness was his prized jewel. Inside myself I dug
for that ugly gem.
“I--I...,” my voice faltered as I became shamed, “I must
kill.”
“Must.”
“Must kill. I must kill.”
“Explain.”
“I must! It commands me! Stronger and stronger, all
urges have overwhelmed me since... since I was younger.”
“Tell me when!”
“When...,” I thought intensely, “I remember. Slowly
I felt this creeping distraction crawling over my brain when...
twenty years ago. Possibly eighteen years ago. I am certain it
was not more than twenty. Twenty years at most.”
“Half your age.”
“Slowly. I recognized it lurking within me. It
pleaded to be more than it was. It came in from outside me,
somewhere.”
“Describe it.”
“It is blackness. It is... wrong. I do not like it, but it is
now me. We are one. We must kill. It tells me when. It tells
me who. It tells me where.”
“Tell me if it knows things you do not know.”
“It has power to see beyond what I know. It commands
me. I see things I must do; they repeat in me as the blackness
demands my obedience.”
“Amazing.”
“I must kill. I do not want to kill. I never wanted to
kill, but I have to kill. Only when I kill do I feel at one with
life. Only then. When I do as it says, I have peace for a small
span.”
“Then it commands again.”
“It always commands again. I wish it away, but I have
no power. It is me, now. It makes me be who I am.”
The old man was visibly pleased. He was leaning
forward, gripping the table tight, eyes penetrating my flesh with
a thirst for knowledge and understanding.
“You are perfect,” he hissed, “You were made to do
what is necessary!!”
“This is not perfect.”
“Wrong. It is. You are what I needed. This city needs
you.”
“Needs. You tell me this world needs me to kill.
Define how my wrong works within your commandment. This
is wrong.”
“The commandment is for them. You are something
other than them. You are above them and below me. You are
my tool of correction.”
“Logic as you define it: life is corrected by killing.”
“Yes. In this case, yes.”
“Explain.”
“Accept your destiny. Accept that you were made
to kill others. That is your purpose within all the scope of
creation. You alone are special, and I grace you with free reign
over the lives within my world as long as you follow my plans
and the way of the world we manage.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will, my son, you will,” he happily assured me,
“this city has been slowly corrupted. Births. Too many
births. There are only so many places for people to live. If we
overcrowd, all harmony will be destroyed.
You were sent to solve the problem of unauthorized
birth by killing the established people.”
“I don’t believe it is perfect.”
“It was an unexpected error. I am not sure why, but I
can’t control births well any more. There are too many births.”
“So you are Mr. God.”
“Even I have lapses. But, you were sent to solve this
problem. You were a natural reaction of the program to solve
problems within the system.”
“Define my necessity.”
“Someone has to do the work,” he said. It was the
mantra of the entire Earth.
“Perhaps I don’t want to.”
“You have to. You admitted that you were made to
murder. You told me you see things impossible for you to
know, and that it guides you to kill intended targets. You can’t
step away from that!”
I had no reply.
“These murders,” the old man eagerly continued,
“weren’t motivated by disharmony. They aren’t your wrong.
All these things you did were right, because they were
commanded by an undercurrent within the complex, intricate
programming of my creation.
It is intrinsic to you!
Everything is provided here. Everything. Without
enough space for people, without enough food, without enough
clothes or provisions or water, this balanced utopia will
crumble to pieces and everyone will die in fire!
You are here to save it for me.
I provided a world that has saved us all. I saved
humanity by encapsulating us in my universe. It serves us and
maintains us. We never need challenge, we never need at all.
Before this there was dirt and death and everyone was ill and
wrong. Everything was wrong. All people lived in misery. We
were all subject to challenge every day: weather, air, disease,
crime, sin, unhappiness. No more. Never again. Never again.
Now perfectly attuned to my ways, all the world is at
ease and wonderful. Everyone and everything is what they
should be. There is only happiness.”
This again was a lie. He didn’t care about my
happiness. He didn’t care about the happiness of the girl we
killed last night. There was only his own vanity being fed:
this world and everything in it was to bring him happiness.
He even lied to himself without knowing he was deceiving
himself.
“Oh, your unhappiness,” he continued, “it is only
caused by your belief that you are doing wrong. You aren’t
doing wrong. That is what you understand from today onward:
you are right. Be happy that you can do what you must.”
“What I must.”
“You must. That is your right. Your function. I
forgive you for doing what seems wrong, but it is right. I
command you to know that. You are perfect within the system
I have tenderly created.”
“Then I will go today.”
“Yes.”
“I will go and kill anyone I want.”
“...perhaps.”
“I am free to do anything I want from here onward.”
“No, not really.”
“You told me I am right to do what is wrong.”
“No. You can’t do wrong, but you can murder as
commanded by the system.”
“I am not free to choose.”
“You have never chosen, so you said.”
“When I murder my first citizen today, murder out
in the street outside this building, you will protect me. I am
happy.”
He knew I was playing with the idea to push a point
about his commandment.
“No,” the creator lashed out, “it is still wrong.”
“You told me it was right,” I logically explained.
“Your right is not their right. This is still a matter
of stealth and secrecy. If others discover murder, everything
could collapse.”
“You tell me I must continue sneaking around and
being wrong. Explain.”
“It only seems wrong. To you, to them, to us, it seems
wrong, but you are necessary. To preserve right and wrong,
you must furtively kill.”
“I will kill anyone I feel I must kill,” I told him.
“Actually, I would like you to be fair about it.”
“Fair. Define: fair.”
“Random.”
“Random. Random is chosen by chance.”
“Chosen by a dispassionate third party.”
“Another will be included in our plan. This will get
messy.”
“Not true,” he countered, “I will provide you with the
perfect companion.”
Slowly straightening his aged body, he wandered to
a corner of the room and snapped his fingers. From the floor,
through a swiftly opening hole, came a pillar with a device on
top. The old man took the device and brought it to me. He
placed it in my hands.
“This slate will choose for you. For us,” he said.
“My inner urges will want others,” I countered.
“No. Your urges are keyed into the city, not into
something mysterious, not into another mind outside of yours.
You did what was necessary. By following a random path of
maintenance, you will solve a problem the city commanded you
to remedy by providing you with solutions for its survival.
You were only programmed and made to murder
because a problem existed. By limiting the population before a
serious error arises, those urges will dissipate and cease.”
“I understand.”
“You do. You do understand. You were made to
understand this. Here is how it will work: this slate will
receive data telling you when you must eliminate overpopulation.
The red light on the sides will glow to tell you when you must
consult the pad for numbers and required time
to kill. Go to the notifications and tallies.
Next, the other major function of this device is to
provide you all data on everyone alive. You will know who
they are, where they live, what they do, where they go, and so
forth. Adjacent to the data base is a random calculator to pull
a completely selflessly chosen individual from the millions that
exist. That will be your immediate target.”
“I understand.”
“You will also have maps and data of everything within
my realm. Check the files. You now have reign over my
creation to do what you were made to do, my son.”
“I obey,” I said. It wasn’t me saying it. Someone
else said it. Something else said it. Whatever was inside me,
making me take life from people, spoke for me.
“Good.”
“Wait,” I controlled myself again, “explain how will I
access everything. Tell me if I require access. I must be able
to access everything. Otherwise I will have to skulk and stalk
and plan and be very lucky.”
“You will always have to be very lucky. You must
never be seen. You must never allow the people and stewards
to believe the deaths are murders. Like last night, you must be
clever.”
“Difficult.”
“But possible. Don’t fear. I will give you access to
everywhere. That too must be carefully used. When you leave
here, my building will reprogram all doors and other access
points to be freely open to you. Privacy is needed by people,
but you will be the only other entity within this city to have the
right to trespass without hindrance. My city is now yours.”
“I might be caught.”
“You must never be caught,” he told me sternly,
“Never. There is only so much I can do for you. If you cause
trouble, I can negate and sweep some embarrassments away by
my mere word.
Wrong, however, is wrong. If you are wrong in the
eyes of the citizens, you will have to be terminated according to
our laws.”
Those words, that disregard for me, made me cold. It
would still be a burdensome challenge.
“When someone catches you,” the creator told me,
“as you access something they know you must not access,
you must default to error as an excuse. Be calm and tell them
that for some reason you were suddenly able to do what you
never could, and that you accidentally went where you weren’t
supposed to be.
That will calm them. It does happen sometimes.
Stewards will reset your access level. My system, controlled
from this room, will almost instantly find the command and
countermand. Seconds later you will have free access again.
Be careful, regardless.
Report your understanding.”
“I understand, I obey,” came from me.
“Excellent. You must obey.”
“This power you gave me: it is beyond the stewards.”
“It is.”
“I am more powerful than any steward.”
“Yes. You have more freedom than any single steward.
More than multiple stewards combined through imperative.”
There was a pause as I waited to say what I knew was
obvious to me. He was an unchallenged fool, but perhaps he
was baiting me. Perhaps Mr. God was testing me as he tests
some people at his whim.
“I can kill you. I can enter your area and become Mr.
God.”
“No,” he jovially told me.
“Tell me why you gave me this power. It can endanger
you as well.”
“It cannot.”
“Explain.”
“I should have explained earlier. First, if you kill me,
you and everyone will die.”
“Explain.”
“I am God. You know I am God. This world only
exists because I allow it to exist. Without me, the world will
instantly disappear.”
His words were simple. Regardless, they made no
sense. I knew the old man wasn’t God, but I allowed him to
keep the delusions he created to make him feel safe. Nothing
made me want to murder him; I was just curious why he would
give me the freedom to do so.
“Second,” he told calmly, “you and I are not in the data
base.”
“That wouldn’t stop me from killing you.”
“Third,” he cooly explained, “think back to the pills
you just ate.”
Yes, those pills in the bowl nearby. I ate a lot of them.
“I commanded you to eat,” he continued.
On my face, echoed in his features reacting to mine,
was understanding of the possibilities.
“Correct,” he concluded, “they were all rigged. I filled
them with secret things that will now live within you. Your
body is now filled with devices I can use to track you. They
also are dangerous for you: they are explosives now nestling
within your digestion, your blood, and soon within your
muscles and fat and bones.
If I wish, I can kill you at any moment. Your death
will be inexplicable to the world. Your body will be a
miraculous curiosity. If you attack me, my all-powerful self
will mysteriously strike you down, rip you open before me, and
I will have a reason to have done so.
I will become even more revered within my world.
You will be dead.”
“L-lies,” I stuttered.
Fear was conquering my entire body and mind. I was
sweating like I’d never done before or seen anyone sweat in my
entire life.
“Lies,” he calmly said with a sigh, “oh, so you want
proof.”
The old man slowly wandered away from me.
“I could trigger them in you right now. Then you
would know.”
“No!” blurted out of me as I was frozen in my seat.
“Then you would be dead. Then I would never have to
worry about your malicious, perfidious ways.”
“No,” I told him with adrenaline spiking in my veins, “I
wasn’t thinking of ever doing so.”
“I have doubts,” he calmly said.
“No,” I merely repeated desperately.
He looked around the sparse room, watching over all
his domain. Eyes peered far out to where the buildings met the
sky. Then he strode slowly to me.
“I hope not,” the elder calmly told, “because if I ever
doubt you, this is what will happen...”
Ginger actions of one hand motioned to one of the
four minders outside the room. In a instant there was a loud,
gurgling scream from the boxy body guard; a split second later
his body was semi-disintegrated from within as if something
ripped his flesh apart to emerge from his guts. Blood splattered
the walls in his side of the glass corridor.
Before the body hit the floor outside our glass room,
the other minders turned in horror to see their comrade collapse
in a pile of warm flesh. They ran to him and questioned their
dead friend and the curiously horrific situation.
Mr. God watched dispassionately. When he had seen
enough and was pleased with the results, he turned to me and
leaned down into my sweating face.
CONTINUED...
Comments (0)
See all