Book II Part VI Section I
Foundation
Pandemonia is a sight to behold. Gone are the ultra sleek buildings of the past. The empty tranquility of manicured sidewalks and parks with vibrant green grass is nowhere to be seen. There is no one left with the energy or pretense enough to shoot a fake smile. What does exist now are the walls of Pandemonia, an abandoned military compound. Well, abandoned isn't accurate. Many were dead when I found the place, and we had to remove a few resisting people from the premises. When I did arrive with Doll, a friend, and three others, the walls were not standing on their own. There was work to be done.
Originally, a brick wall surrounded the several hundred meter parameter. From what I could tell, looking at the highest point that was still standing, the wall was at least fifteen feet high. With the help of rubble, rock, cinder, cement, wood, steel, plywood, car parts, and more, the walls are now twenty feet high and thickly reinforced. It is a feat I could have never accomplished alone, but with the hundred plus people who followed me at the time the task was quickly conquered. Now, thanks to discipline and the several hundred people who now accompany me, large tasks are accomplished efficiently and easily.
The walls may not look strong at some points, but that is a visual deception. If a vehicle were to crash into the outside barrier, we probably wouldn't even know it. For all the materials that comprise the wall, it is a wonder that it is as straight and sheer as it is on all sides. This is, in no small part, due to a large amount of acquired dry cement. That cement was poured in every crack, hole, and crevice, and quickly became the powerful glue that holds the wall in place to this day. Some people may not like the way it looks. It is like a soup of trash suspended in gray cement, and reinforced with wooden planks, but I believe it to be diverse and interesting. Looking at this mighty shield, you know there is a story behind it filled with backbreaking labor and pride.
I demanded another difficult task for the workers once the wall was completed. Everyone accepted my leadership because I always provided food and the promise of a secure shelter. The next great task was to build the watch towers on the four corners of the wall and on either side of where the gate would soon be. There needed to be extra support and a clean, flat surface for the guard to stand his post in relative comfort. Not only that, but there also needed to be a protective wall and ceiling measuring eight by eight feet. This small square guard shed would act as a shelter, and a shield for rounds that would be fired at the unsuspecting guard. This task was met with trial and failure until the logistics were worked out. The guard shacks needed to first be constructed on the ground, and then hauled up to top of the wall. The final result is that the towers, like the wall, are sturdy if anything.
The guards in my towers serve an important purpose, because it is always likely to be attacked or robbed. The guards work in shifts that change every four hours so their senses will still be sharp, and they will not be too exhausted. In regards to security we are blessed…no, just really lucky. Because this was a military compound there was an armory. We cleaned it out early on and relocated the weapon stash. Individuals have to sign out and return weapons unless there is fighting going on. I relocated the weapons to another building because I wanted the original armory building to myself. Its thick walls and massive door appealed to me. In retrospect, it would be a lie to say the weapons have not been a key part of our survival. I have never taken a weapon from the armory. I still have my own, which I set out with maybe a year ago now.
After the towers were completed, the gate was constructed. I'm really proud of the gate. It's a huge, powerful, slow moving piece of shit made of wood and metal. It's a throwback to what you would expect to see in a medieval castle. And the locking 'mechanism' is a several hundred pound plank which crashes down in the huge metal latches when it is dropped. The wood the gate is made out of is dark and thick, and the metal is rusted and equally as thick. The huge hinges, on the left side, as observed from within the walls, are well greased and free moving though the gate creaks anyway. I think the gate makes noise because it looks like it would, and it doesn't want to let anyone down. Usually, at least four people are required to open and close the gigantic entryway, but more are desired.
The inside of Pandemonia is an asymmetrical layout of buildings, some of which survived the great events, but many more are newly built structures which serve as housing and workshops. For the most part, the buildings that did collapse had good foundations to build over, but even the completely decimated ones were useful as they provided helpful supplies.
Brick was the most common material that we found, and though it was unusable in the state we found it, we discovered it made a great compound by breaking it down and mixing it with the cement. While the buildings started out all square and boring, they have become more intricate by decoration and the utilization of their roofs, and the construction of many second floors. No one building has more than a second floor because I didn't want anything to be higher than the walls. To be higher than the wall is to be a target of the inner city republic, which is the powerful contestant force of the area.
The bridges, which connect many of my buildings to one another, are made of whatever wood we could find and rope. They aren't really necessary, but they're fun. I had bridges in my vision of Pandemonia, so there are bridges. They closely resemble what you would expect to see in some small Asian fishing village. They creak and sway with each and every step. There is no need to make them more safe or sturdy, because a fall from the second story is barely enough to hurt anyone…and if it does, that is the price you must pay for the fun and aesthetics of thin, rickety bridges.
The toilets are located in the northwest corner of the complex while the baths are located in the southeast corner. The plumbing is simple. The gravity of a high up water tank powers the water for the toilets. There is no running water for the baths because that is a waste. We clean off before entering the baths, and because we boil the water daily it allows us to reuse the same water several times.
In order to supply our water, there are large funnel shaped devices located on almost every building to catch rain. More important than the gathering of water is the filtration. The rain is filled with ash and is unsuitable to drink without purification. We gather far more water than we drink or even bathe in. It is stored in large containment units behind Pandemonia on the opposite side of the gate. I'm not worried about it being stolen because it is hidden in a large area blocked in on three sides by fallen buildings, and there is a guard near the only entrance.
Also, most anyone who would be traveling would approach towards the gate. It is the only direction in which there is a semi-clear road. That road points like an arrow towards the heart of the inner city a little over ten miles away.
The inner city is the absolute goal of my conquest. Over a hundred thousand flocked to the area after the great events. It is designed like the old world and has many of the old world's luxuries, but also much increased poverty and crime. There is a rich upper class, and then there is everyone else. Unrest within the inner city is constant. I believe people stay because of some memory of security and a desire for leadership. That leadership role is now filled by a president named Jason Johnson, a boring and effete leader from what I can tell. My judgment may be skewed however, because I want to hate him. I would create a much stronger, more endearing leadership, bereft of the corruption of the diseased old world.
I have locked away visions of what the world and life itself could be for much of my life. That driven creativity can push the human race forward and eliminate the pitiful problems it has suffered. There is no reason to let my grand plans die. I have been burned headlong into visions of the future.
Pandemonia is a community of which I have never seen an equal. If there is one thing I could say to them, I would remember words from the past. "As you are, we once were. As we are, you will soon become." Our force grows in power, supply, and population every month, and it will continue to grow until it consumes and digests the inner city.
Everything in Pandemonia seems to radiate outward from the very center. At which lies a large fire pit. The fire stays lit around the clock. The people think of it as a symbol of our force, but the reason it was started was for my sake. It is a source of light, which prevents me from becoming prey to the dark. If there is a problem with the lamps within my home, I can always run outside to see the fire.
My home is located in what was once an armory. Its dark and its thick walls are almost completely black. The building itself is located just to the right of the center fire pit as you are entering the gate. It was the only building that was still completely intact when we arrived. I didn't want to take any chances with its structural integrity though, so it is now reinforced with cement. The building is rectangular and is about the size of an average gas station, with a lower ceiling.
The thick metal door is on the long broad side of the rectangular building and is on the far left as observing it from the fire pit. Inside there are three wooden desks on the left side of the wall. Once of which is for my weapons. The other two are for my possessions. On the right side of the wall are all of Doll's things, housed in boxes and two large chests. In between those chests is a full length mirror that is cracked in several places. It is always disturbing to see her apply makeup, or look at herself in that dingy mirror.
The queen sized bed sits along the back wall, clad in black blankets and pillows, which allows it to be camouflaged into the nearly black wall and floor. It takes the few people who ever have the chance to enter this building a second glance to see that the bed is there at all. At some point Doll laid out black carpet over much of the floor. I don't even know where she got it. For the most part, she takes care of the appearance and maintenance of our home. I never asked her to do any of this, but I think she takes strange pride and comfort in her actions. I don't know how she finds the time, or energy for the care of our home because she works most of the day as a spy.
She leaves here in the morning, dressed in an unassuming and inconspicuous way much as she once did. When she arrives back at night she takes it upon herself to change. At night she dresses herself very much like I did the first time. Only neater. Still, an eerie layered look remains. That which was once a mask and costume for her is now her true self. The mask and disguise is what she wears as she leaves in the morning. Watching her leaving is fun to watch because she has to struggle against our heavy steel door. When she leaves, she does so before the wakeup call in Pandemonia when it is still dark out. I think it is because she is ashamed of the way she looks at that time. I like to see that she is uncomfortable in that disguise. It serves as an affirmation of her loyalty. She has changed so much that I am comfortable allowing her to leave, day after day. I know she will always come back.
I want to expand Pandemonia. I always want to expand. I have shops, and trained individuals who provide their services willingly. Our resident doctor is in one of the small supply buildings. He was only a nurse before the great events, but he seems knowledgeable enough for me. I'm actually not even sure where he's located. I forgot because I never go there.
I really don't know where most people live. Tenant assigning is done by Calderon, who is also the acting prison keeper. The only places I need are my home, the bathrooms, fires, strategic locations, and the home of my second in command, Rellik. He keeps a workload that could fell an entire group of men. He completes everything with discipline and an obsessive need for productivity.
I am not concerned with what I have accomplished and what I have now. I am more focused on what I will soon have. Much of my time is spent scouring the city, saving dying people, and recruiting hopefuls to serve me. No such compassion existed before, but now…Pandemonia is powerful and life altering beyond explanation. It is the influence a person needs to become the kind of person they always wished they could be. These walls boil down the flesh of humans, and only the most honorable and noble qualities survive and are allowed to float to the surface. Weak men become strong. Liars learn the value of truth. And the secluded, violent sociopath finds higher purpose.
That is not to say this place exists without personal sacrifice. Rather, it thrives on each individual's personal sacrifice. We are the pack that strive for one another. There is no organized religion within my walls. That is an easy sacrifice for me because I have despised religion as long as I can remember. I do not allow that source of ignorance and bigotry inside. At first, not all people choose this place over their religion, but soon after the wind, hunger, cold, and rain break down that individual, and any family they have with them, they leap at the chance to get inside. To this day, I have never seen anyone regret the choice to enter Pandemonia.
Before the great events there was no place I would have ever called home. The idea of home has always been a strange and foreign one to me. But I did have thoughts of a place that I would miss when I had to leave it, even for a little while. It would be a place that when I returned to it, I would experience thoughtful nostalgia and sentimental memory. No sensation experienced away from that home would ever be as powerful and perfect as one within it. Without home there would always be something missing, like a great friend that I wanted to share adventures with. I knew that home existed somewhere, or some time. I thought maybe the time in which my home existed could have already passed, and therefore I would never be able to find it. The truth is that my home was out there, but its time had not yet come. It did not exist until I built it. There are many places in the world, but this one is different. This is the great Pandemonia, the home of Vincent.
Book II Part VI Section II
The Discovery of a Relic
"I can't carry you the whole way, babe. You've gotta walk sometime," I say to Doll. Her face is lifeless. Soon after she burst into tears on the hill overlooking the city, her mind defected. I'm not sure what she is going through. She is unmanageable. It's like dragging a walking corpse. She isn't heavy, but the air is so thick that it is difficult to breathe. We entered the city almost an hour ago, and the air is many times thicker here where the dust and grounded up remains from crushed buildings still fills the air. Our skin is an off color, but it is difficult to see it because of how dark it is. We are completely gray like statues. I feel like we could hold still and passersby would think they were in Pompeii or something. Doll lays in my arms sagging like wet cloth. The makeup on her face doesn't even look like it is there at all. It's just gray. But from her eyes there are streams of black, running like rivers, or tree branches, down her face, down the path of tears. This makes her look more dark and disturbing than I could have imagined her before.
Rarely do I see any building standing more than two or three stories high. Nature gave man a gift of realization. It let man know who was really the most high. For some reason, I have a vision of a Russian space crew looking down on the planet, unable to decide whether or not to come back, or to just die overlooking the world. That thought is really peaceful. It would be brilliant to be weightless and drift peacefully away. All the thoughts one has ever had…drifting away, like these ashes, like us.
After random searching and disappointment I stop at a small broken building for a rest. The place could have been a gas station, or a fast food restaurant. It is too torn down and covered in dark ash to identify it. I put Doll in the most comfortable looking corner I can find and cover her face. I don't want her to inhale the air and die while sleeping, or while she is in her current state of mind.
If I blur my vision… it almost looks like it's snowing, but the smell of burning synthetic materials kills that vision. I lie down next to Doll and grab a towel from my bag. I then proceed to pull out a bottled water and pour it on the towel, getting it damp and then placing it over our heads. This should filter much of the air. I need rest too. It's too much carrying her everywhere. My sore and hurting muscles feel relaxed when I just lie here. It is a relief to not be moving. It would take some jolt of energy to move now. A jolt I don't have. I blend in with the streets, and into the building and the floor. The ash makes us all as one, combined under this blanket. And for now the blanket is more comfortable than anything I've ever felt.
"I said get your fuck'n ass inside, boy! Don't give me that crap!" A man's voice screams. I look out from under the towel and I can see a large redneck guy screaming at someone younger. Probably his son. The older man is in jeans and a filthy white tee shirt. His belly protrudes well past his waist line. They are cleaner
than me because they just came from inside.
The older man is gruff and is wearing a red baseball cap. He's irritating because he's keeping me awake. I stare in an angry way as if to intimidate him, but he doesn't even see me lying down in the corner of this dark old store. Especially through the clouds of ash.
I don't understand why the younger guy is taking this abuse. All the trivial things people get mad about are destroyed, so these kinds of situations are rendered useless. This is a time of new beginning. It is time to take a new life for yourself because it won't be given to you. The stress is in survival. It was always about survival. It's just that everyone forgot that fact. This is not the past. This is my future.
The ash that falls starts to appear white. No, it isn't some figment of my imagination. The ash actually is white. That soft, white ash does not signify the day the snow turned to rain, but it is the day the rain turned to snow.
That boy…he needs to fight back… It is uncomfortable and infuriating to see him in this situation. Like someone who has been emotionally broken, he needs to be re-taught his natural instinct to fight.
He has something that other people don't have. A look that is like a beaten and cornered animal. I had no strength left, but now the world has changed, and there is something I have to do. My muscles have no energy as though blood will not course through them, as though I am a corpse who only has memory of movement. But what I'm feeling… I'm affected enough to move. I get up, carefully cover Doll with the towel, and take off my sweatshirt. Dust and ash rise as I drop the sweatshirt to the ground.
Everything is theatric, if I want it to be. This will be the first memory this boy has of me. I want it to permeate his core because he will come with me me. I like his kind. In another situation I may be capable of letting people down, but not when I'm on stage. I could never let down my audience. The captivated eyes of others lend me strength beyond my natural ability.
I climb some of the destroyed building to stand above them. This is perfect. I stare down at them at a three fourths angle to my right. This forces the moment into the category of profound memory.
"I fuck'n told you a thousand times to bring it in, boy! Jesus Christ!!" The older man says, screaming to the point that his voice is becoming raw.
"I had to be inside to keep everyone safe," the younger man says, adjusting randomly, as his psychological and emotional discomfort become physical unease. His wiry arm moves slowly and nervously. A callous hand scratches a shaved head, dusting a bit of collected ash off.
I know what he is feeling. If that man were any other person in the world, it would be okay. He could kill him. But this is his father. The one who has stood above him for years. The memory of being dominated and told what to do breaks his mind into pieces until only the acceptance of pain remains. He desires to defy, but he desires to impress even more. It is a pitiful place to be. That place must be eradicated.
I have a feeling that the older man would be filthy even outside this situation. He looks like someone who would have car grease smeared on his foul leathery skin, though I can't see any. I stare in disgust, and unbeknownst to me, my mouth forces a scowl as if I had just bit into spoiled fruit. I wouldn't be able to listen if I were this boy. I would be too busy staring at, and being revolted by, his tobacco stained teeth.
"Do you think somehow that you have a divine right to be in control? To push people around?" I say, with my voice exerting authority over the situation in a way that is inhuman. Both of the subjects freeze in position, and they have to turn their heads upward to look at me. I'm in a heroic position, standing tall and proud, like a grandiose statue of myself.
"Who the fuck are you?! This ain't none of your goddamn business, boy…" The older man says, trying to treat me like any other human, like any other person he gives attitude to or steps over.
"I'm Vincent, and this is my city. And you're standing on my ground," I say, completely sure of myself. "You're done here. You're going to leave… but without this boy, he now belongs to me."
"Boy, I'm about to slap some goddamn sense into you," he says, marching towards my position. The man is large, but larger still is the idea of me being watched and admired. The younger man is transfixed on me. In his eyes I am some swooping divine force. And a divine force is much stronger than a man.
Dust is kicked up from the man's boots. I don't move, forcing him to climb the pile of rubble that I stand on like some kind of throne. He slips carelessly and angrily around while fighting his way up. He's a father looking to impose his rule and instill his sense of responsibility.
He is the worm upstairs beyond my reach…Beyond my reach! My rage builds. It builds from the basement. How dare you question me!
"How dare you question me!"
The demons guide me to action, and I stomp down as hard as I can, and my boot crashes into my oncoming enemy's skull, and his body folds under the pressure. He takes a second and struggles to his feet. He is dazed in a way that indicates he's not fully conscious. I don't allow him time to recuperate, but instead I dive relentlessly forward from my high position, tackling him and sending us both hurling at, then smashing into, the ground.
My muscles contract. I sit up on top of this pile of filth. With vicious mechanical motions, I reign down fists with piston-like tenacity. The power of the punches start at my abdomen, which work with my back and chest to twist and turn in perfect animal unison.
I stop and loom over the motionless subject of my example. Then it begins, my already busted knuckle begins to throb, and I struggle not to grimace. I don't need to show this boy watching that I am a human, that I can even feel pain, because these are defining moments of his life and of his interpretation of me.
To occupy myself with some action and to finish this, I grab a heavy rock slab of the crushed building. I lift it, and I'm barely able to grip with my hurt right hand. I'm wondering if it's broken. I just have to be doing something so it will take my focus off the pain. I press the rock high above my head. Rubble and dust fall over my face and just over my eyes, causing me to blink violently. I bring the rock down powerfully. The crunching and grinding of the man's face forces me to repeat this action until I'm satisfied with the result.
I want a legendary painter to be present so that he can seize the brilliance of the event I have created. The very moment I stand over this felled ignorant doubter. This moment in which I have captivated the soul of this boy who stares at me in awe. This moment of fire. This moment in which the flaks of white ashes from the scorched heavens float down, snowing angelic majesty. This moment that exemplifies my transcendence of humanity could be captured for all time. The thought itself sends chills through my body.
"You…killed him," The boy says, with his head slightly tilted. I can't read his thoughts yet. It's as if they are suspended in ice, and numbed until he is ready for them. I too stand breathless, anticipating some reaction. That action feels like it is on the other side of this realm, standing at the gates waiting for the perfect moment to crash through. Those feelings build up ferocious momentum before colliding with this point in time.
"My name is," he starts to say. His eyes beginning to tear up. A reaction that he fights.
"Your name, is Rellik…and you belong to me."
Book II Part VI Section III
The Inversion
Over the horizon, the sun is partially showing itself through heavy, viscous clouds. The effects it will have on the sky will be awe inspiring for a few short moments, as that natural light refracts in brilliant acrylics. It has been at least an hour since Doll escaped with feline stealth to do her daily work.
Because I'm present this morning, I will run the group's exercise routine. The group who exercise in the morning are mostly made up of males of able age and physicality, though a couple of the tougher females are often present. The activity is nothing too demanding. It's just basic daily exercise to insure at least moderate group readiness. I personally don't get anything from this moderate workout. Neither does Rellik, but it helps morale to see one of us around. However, we are both often absent. He and his team are off accomplishing whatever mission I give them, while I am rummaging through the city.
Calderon, the prison keeper, is often the one I go to for the accomplishment of daily, menial tasks. I'm looking for him this morning because I going to have him give the wake up call to Pandemonia.
He isn't overworked, but he often acts as though he is, sighing as I give any order. Still, he never fails to achieve whatever job I give him. He is an entertaining person if you're in the need of comic relief. He's short, unshaven, and unkempt just enough that he appears pathetic like a man who has been pushed to the edge by labor and insomnia. He's from one of the many Latin countries that I know nothing about. Under his breath he'll curse in Spanish at me each time after I assign him another job. He couldn't be over twenty eight years old, but he already carries himself like some old bum. He dresses like a bum as well, in layered coats, which are less than clean. I enjoy giving him new orders because I can practically see his heart sink even more when he sighs and looks towards the ground. Really, I think he enjoys his job, he just wants everyone to know exactly how much work he does.
I search for him between buildings. He usually lingers around the prison cells which are located on the left side of Pandemonia as observing from the gate.
Since the great events, every season has felt like a mix between a harsh winter and an extended autumn. Every morning and every night the fires burn, as they once did amidst falling leaves in October. And just like that season, there is the same kind of crispness to the air. If Pandemonia has a smell, it is of freshly burning fire in the fall. It is one of my favorite smells, but my nose gets used to it and I stop smelling it after a while. That is why it's occasionally good to leave. To deprive myself of home, so that I realize what I'm missing. Leaving allows me to return again to that same brilliant smell of fire. This morning my nose is used to the smell, so I breathe in deeper. I can feel that I have to leave soon.
I'm searching for Calderon, but only passively, because I like observing Pandemonia in the morning. If I really wanted to find him, I could just call out his name, and mine would be the only voice echoing off the walls. He would hear me then, but... I like this time, when it is just me.
The light from the fire radiates outward from the main fire pit, and from the other randomly placed smaller pits. My path between the buildings is guided by a few wide alleys. The buildings block my view of the fire, but I can see the light of the flames bouncing on the walls of nearby homes. Those surfaces speak to me. They remind me of the labor that was necessary for their birth. Then sometimes, the demons hide within the dark recesses of the walls in uneven cracks and dark corners. From behind the surface of cement, wood, and metal scrap, familiar eyes trace my every move. Those eyes are waiting until I take a wrong step into the night that will allow me to be absorbed.
I walk towards the prisons. There are only ten cells, and they are often empty. Enemies are tortured and executed here, but true enemies are few and far between. The bulk of the prisoners who come in are those who do not really wish to resist me. They are broken down mentally and physically, until all they want is to join this society. To join and serve me. I don't harm anyone unnecessarily, but I will never hesitate to crush a defiant enemy. Many times it only takes a few days to completely change an individual's attitude. I don't understand them. I would hate myself if I were that weak. But once they accept me, I change them. I give them newfound strength.
The idea of locking my own people up for crimes is nearly unthinkable for a few reasons. One is that we are a close knit family, and there is no point in committing a crime against a brother or a sister. Another reason is fear. Fear of the prisons and fear of me. The fear of being locked in the prisons and treated poorly is second to the fear of having to look me in the eyes knowing you committed a crime against me. What I have done to enemies in the past has scared not only those enemies, but my allies as well.
The inner city has an army much larger than my entire population. If they put their minds to it, we would be crushed. We don't have enough rounds to save ourselves from their sheer numbers. But the story of me and what I do has grown often in a fictitious way, but usually to my advantage. I have become the villain most people fear. Though the fear helps protect Pandemonia, it also creates a problem. The political administration of my enemy is being held together because the people believe that they are being protected from me. That fear and hate brings them together. There has been no real effort on my life. They have sent only half assed squads of soldiers, because the president likes to say he's doing something to protect the people.
Those soldiers often lose their lives, and the people love their leaders because of this. They all stand around and talk about how noble they are to one another, about how righteous they are, and about how free they are. They are none of the above. I guess I can't complain at this point. I mean, I steal from the inner city, I kill people who get in my way, and no one really cares. If they really cared, they would do something about it.
My vision shifts down to my prison cells. They are five by five holes in the ground, separated from one another by about ten feet, covered with thick steel bars. I've almost walked over them a few times. It's a hazard, but a fence is currently being built around the cells. Prisoners are held separately so that they cannot conspire with one another. It is easier to break down a man when he is alone and when he realizes that he is alone. The walls are made of steel and concrete. The bars that hold in the prisoners are secured by chains and locks. A tiny mattress sits at the bottom of the cells, but I've tried the cells out before. There is no comfort to be found. The holes are just dreary and depressing to look at, which is the way prisons should be. The worst time for the prisoners is when it rains because the drainage system within the cells isn't very good. A cell can sometimes be up to a foot in water, and after that it could be some time before the mattresses dry. Calderon has some system for drying out the mattresses, but I've never really been curious enough to ask about it.
Maybe one day I'll take the time to improve the quality of these cages, but right now I need brutality in order to defeat my enemy.
Calderon is kneeling next to the last cage.
"Calderon, wake everyone up."
"Yes sir. I was about to anyway," he says, and then walks off to start the wake up call.
He bangs on houses and against the metal parts of various walls. Slowly eyes begin to peek outside and a few faces look out cringing at the cold of the morning. Within the next ten minutes the group is lined up outside and stretching. The speed at which everyone transitions from sleeping to action is essential for our survival. I have an advantage in readiness because I don't sleep at the same time as the group. It is essential for everyone to see that I am always the most ready, and that I am in control. It provides a sense of confidence in my actions.
Squad leaders place themselves in front of every twenty men. They insure that the exercise stays organized.
"Squad halt,"
"squad halt,"
"squad halt,"
"squad halt." The squad leaders say, almost in unison, but slightly mismatched with a little delayed echo.
I lead the group through exercise. We do calisthenics. There are at least a hundred people exercising now. I zone out and before long, we're running the parameter.
"It's not every day Vincent runs with you, you'd better show him what you're fucking made of!"
"Get up there!"
"Don't hold back the line!"
I don't say anything. There is no cadence. Only the stomping of feet. My invading force. I don't need to pep talk anyway. I'm not a fucking cheerleader. Those who have trouble during this little activity need to get through that problem on their own. I would like to say that we never leave anyone behind, but that's a lie. If you're too weak and slow, the advancement of an army will not wait for you. In battle, the weak must be left to die because I can not fight and run for every individual.
With few exceptions my people have good overall health, so I'm not disappointed. Rellik's squad is in incredible shape and often work out on their own many times a day when I don't have them on a mission within the inner city.
We finish the run and the group separates to wash up and to begin their daily work. Anything from construction and fire pit maintenance to gathering goods and cleaning Pandemonia.
I avoided being social with anyone this morning. I pretend to be interested in what people are saying sometimes, but only to achieve my goals. I climb the rope ladder that leads to the roof of my building. I go here sometimes to watch everything. It is like a battle station, and from this battle station I can direct and command.
The roof is black, and I installed a handrail. It's flat, and there is one chimney-like tube for ventilation into the building. From here, Pandemonia is a clock with many gears that work towards the functionality of all. No, not a clock. A complicated weapon with no clear beginning or end. We are directed and controlled violent action. And we must take control for the benefit of all.
The clouds are thick today. It's going to rain. The funnels are ready, but there are no more containment units. We are maxed out for water storage. Rellik, his team, and ten volunteers are gathering large storage units, preferably trucks, right now. I just have to wait.
I lie on the gritty surface of the roof. I'm tired. Sleeping during the day often allows me to accomplish more.
Rivers of snakes flow where there was once water. They cover the oceans, and crash in waves over the beach. Rocks, large formed bridges of rock on the ocean. The mind flies through the pores of those rocks drifting from side to side.
Deep underground, bridges reach many platforms over rivers of water. This is where the water must have gone. This cavern of bridges. Of maze rivers. Of ropes to swing from. This cavern of exploration and examination. This cavern of adventure. In this cavern, torches line the walls, and a hundred-million things are happening with the underground population. Screens project abstract violence, abstract in such a way that it confuses. Abstract in such a way that the mind is lost in every idea, and every memory it has ever had. It is abstract in such a way that it questions the direction of living matter. The purpose is to create order. That is something life is trying to build to. Life kills itself, through violence, life gets better and better, so that it can one day be in control. It is a universal desire for order. Life wants to create god. It is an absurd projection.
I wish, and wish, and wish. Until it hurts and breaks. None of this will ever make any sense.
My eyes are forced open, and I look around violently. I've been sleeping for a while. The sun is setting.
The rope from the ladder tenses from someone climbing. It must be what woke me. Rellik pulls himself up, and his boots hit the roof. Dust flies off them like some old western movie. It almost makes me laugh. It looks as though the wind has picked up outside the walls, and the dust is flying in a near sandstorm as it does sometimes to the east of Pandemonia. His normally black cargo pants are now dingy brown and gray with a trace of the original black deep in the background. His t-shirt is also brown and gray with distinct lines on the shoulders and sides where the dirt stops and the shirt begins. He must have been wearing a jacket. That would also explain his clean arms.
His body is lean, nearly to the point of being wiry and gaunt, but he definitely has muscle. That muscle supports his upright and strict posture. His legs nearly disappear in the large cargo pants. For being his size, he strikes an imposing figure. If there were a face that was the epitome of utter devotion and concentration, it would be his. Dark eyebrows and a strong jaw line give the impression of animal violence. Almost every other feature he has is stoic. He cuts his dark hair extremely short, which is in keeping with his Spartan appearance.
"How did I know you would be here?"
"Where else would I be? What did you find?"
Rellik's face changes from semi-social to complete business. He does this whenever we talk about work. Something strange happens to his voice as well. It deepens and becomes clearer as though he were on some kind of stage.
"Three large containment units, two trucks…one of them runs, but just barely. The other is shot. Maintenance is being done on both of them in the motor-yard."
The unofficial 'motor-yard' is in the empty lot near the water containment units, located just South of Pandemonia.
"That's good, it should take care of the water today if it rains."
"The only problem is that we don't have enough fuel to operate the trucks more than once a week."
"It's not a problem. We don't need them often. We have enough fuel."
I know Rellik disagrees with me. Gas is a dangerous commodity. We can get it, but we have to steal it from the inner city. They run generators, cars, and other things solely with gas. The result of possessing more of it is that a demand is created. In my kingdom, that demand doesn't exist.
The inner city uses more gasoline than they have. The result is that they need a regular convoy to bring in a supply. That convoy travels on the road the stems North out of the inner city. It's the only road leading out of the city that is acceptable to drive on. It's only as nice as it is because of the considerable amount of work put into it. The inner city has horrible politics and can never accomplish anything without miles of bureaucratic red tape, but if there is gas involved, they can build a hundred bridges in a fucking flash.
"You should have seen the fucking dust storm today. My squad got separated a bunch of times." Rellik's voice returns to normal.
"I want to. Go out I mean. I miss the adventure. It seems like I'm always here. I love the place, but any place gets old after a while. I just don't want anything to happen while I'm gone."
"Are you serious? First of all no one's going to attack, not a real attack anyway, and second, there are about a half dozen people who can take care of business while you're gone. Relax. You've taught everyone well, and those who you've taught will teach others the way things are done around here. There is no need for this micromanagement crap. It just stresses everyone out, most of all, you."
"Yeah…you may just have something."
"Fucking right, you're already crazy enough without the cabin fever."
"And you need to get some rest. You're crazy enough without sleep deprivation."
"Ayyye, captain." He enunciates the words like a pirate, and the glare in his eyes tells me I'm right about his sleep loss. Rellik disappears down the ladder presumably to get food and sleep. He always reports back to me in this informal way upon mission completion.
In this place there is peace even when we are at war because we battle for a just cause. The sun has set behind the thick clouds. As that natural light goes away, our fires become more apparent, and the smoke rises throughout Pandemonia. The food for the day has arrived. I have fields outside the area, where vegetables and wheat are grown. There are also still cows, which are utilized for everything they are worth. Their greatest worth, as far as I'm concerned, is providing lush red meat for us to feast on.
Around the fire, dinner has begun. The smells of stew and meat fills the air. A waft of smoke flows towards the roof. It's so thick when it hits me that my eyes water and sting.
Glazed over red meat is turned on the fire. I eye one piece in particular which looks juicy and fine. Hunger forces me to climb down and steal the meat before anyone else gets it. And before I engage in any unnecessary social interaction. I race back to the roof of my home, and begin to eat. I always eat with my hands. I don't know why, but it makes me feel good. Each bite is tasty and makes me want to eat more. Absorbing this life I become more. I like to absorb life. It's my hobby. I finish, and look down at the people again. My eyes are glaring, and I'm in a good zone.
"Having fun?" The voice freaks me out, and I nearly break my neck in shock. Doll is perched on the back corner of the roof. Her eyes are wild, and her features are exaggerated by the light of the fire. I shake my head, feeling stupid that she surprised me.
"Yeah, babe. Did you," she cuts me off.
"I already put the entry on your desk."
She is talking about the reports she gives each night after she arrives back from her spying duties. Those reports are more like detailed journal entries. Often times they are entertaining , even if there is no useful information.
"Good job, as usual babe." Her eyes light up a little as I compliment her.
She changed clothes before she came up here. I know because when she goes to the other side, she wears clothes that give the illusion that she is a normal and vulnerable girl. She always changes back to how I originally dressed her, or a variation of that anyway. That which used to be a mask is now her true face.
Still elated from my praise she hurries over to me, throwing her arms around me and grabbing hungrily at my body.
"I don't know how you're always warm, it's freezing out here," she says, warming herself on me, shivering and nuzzling in like a small creature getting situated in a pile of over fluffed cotton. She is much more susceptible to the weather than I am. It was really tough on her for the first few days.
After the great events, there was an icy and muddy kind of rain that flooded the city. It stayed for weeks, and I can only imagine it killed many more people. That was the beginning. The time when she held me for warmth. Dependency is a powerful tool when determining affection, both on small scales, and on large ones.
Drums begin to beat acting as background music. Every night is a celebration. Every night the strong of my community have survived a world and a species that wants to see them killed. The drums are a perfect sound sending the minds of its listeners through a primal memory, and within this memory they will reach something that was lost a long time ago. That memory deals with the importance and fun of life before morality took a stranglehold on it. Morality in the world taught everyone that life was not good enough by inventing the idea of rewarding after lives. The truth is that we are alive and that there are no rewards after this life. Feeling pain is an elevated joy when placed against the alternative of simply not being.
I can't imagine a better pleasure than being here. Is there a greater feeling than the gathering around fires late at night? Everyone feels more intensely, relationships are formed and crushed. Emotion is taken exactly for what it is- the body's reaction to being alive. It is impulse to achieve a means, and the way it feels is orgasmic. The feeling itself is the great beyond. It is the reward. It is the infinite. It is the mysticism. It is a thing beyond definition. Why would a person take emphasis off being alive by counting on an afterlife? What a waste it is for someone to restrict themselves because of morality; to restrict themselves from their true desires.
Doll begins to writhe with me in a kind of dance moving to the primal sound of a skilled and resounding drum. There is even more to the sound. Sometimes others join in if they have any musical experience. Singing into the night ensues. Doll and I don't make love…We achieve synthesis through movement that forces itself to the surface in both natural and animal ways. The heat of the large fire blows in the wind, occasionally reaching us sending chills over Doll's clean and smooth body. No hardship can change the soft way her body feels. Everything fits into place. My mind bleeds into what is meant to be.
"What do you have to say to me, little girl? Tell me the truth, who do you belong to?"
"I belong to you…," she says, her eyes widen and intensify like a murderer in the moment of absolute elation. I control her body. I move her, and when it feels right, she moves me. Yellow and gold dance around us, but what outlines our movement is the shadow. It dances on her hip, up to her breast, and ends shifting from eye to eye. The shadow moves slow and then fast. Doll moans and her body is pressed into the dirty surface of the roof. We bathe in the filth that has collected. The times she is on top of me she comes to life. Her spine and hips become flexible and wild like the smooth motions of a snake, gracefully shifting from side to side.
Her tears are digested. Her sorrow has become part of the spectrum of things that has made her a more complete individual.
She goes inside our home when we are done, and I put pants on as not to subject everyone to my nakedness as I stand triumphantly on top of my building. The rain that I predicted earlier begins. It comes down slowly and picks up speed until it is like standing in a shower. I look down and dark mud bleeds like melting candle wax down my chest and abdomen and probably the rest of my skin beyond my vision.
I stand over my people with a sense of the future and confidence.
I realize that this is just a beginning. The birth.
