The reporter chuckled, showing shiny white teeth between two ruby red berry-like lips. Her eyes searching every crease in the steel building, she tucked a lock of golden hair behind her ear in a nervous anxiety. “So, Ms. Asimer, could you tell us a bit more about just what exactly are all these scientists doing locked up here?”

The aging, friendly-faced lady laughed warmly, and gently opened a gold-panelled French-style glass door into another white and silver room of computers and test tables.

“Well, my dear Mrs. Jean, we are a group called the GSOA, meaning the Government’s Scientists Official Association, or as we call it, the Generic Severely Over Appointed people.” Ms. Asimer’s voice was far younger than her face, her thick French accent adding a pleasant string from word to word.

Mrs. Jean held the microphone closer to the soft-voiced scientist, motioning for the cameramen to capture every visual in the room. It wasn’t everyday that some low-income reporter was given the chance to explore a top-secret laboratory.

“Here is our main testing area for some of our more gentler experiments, and the next room over is where we analyse our findings.”

“Very interesting. But, tell me, Ms. Asimer, what exactly do you experiment on?”

The scientist laughed, toying amiably with the nametag on her white jacket. “Oh, nothing living, I assure you. We test out new medicines, new herbal techniques, and transferring brain waves through substances.”

“Could you elaborate for us that last one?”

“Of course, my dear: we strive to improve the human psyche, and perhaps find a way to open up the rest of the currently unused human mind.”

“And how do you do this without…guinea pigs?”

“Oh, my dear! You must understand that the technology we use here is far superior to any commercialized source in the world. We have created simulation brains out of pure non-organic materials, but to elaborate on that further would be giving out too many of our delicious little secrets, now wouldn’t it?”

At the all-around amiable nature of the lady scientist, Mrs. Jean laughed her superficial, media-friendly laugh. “Of course. So, what do your scientists do around here for fun?”

“Anything they wish to, dear. We try as much as possible to ensure a normal life for our staff, and so we give them as much fun as they can possibly bare. By the time the weekend comes, they’re all funned out.”

Mrs. Jean laughed her ugly laugh again, and was happy that she had managed to grab this interview. And such a lovely person!

“What a cheesy-ass smile.”

“You should talk, you ass-kisser.”

“Hey, at least I get promotions.”

“Would you two shut up? I’m trying to hear the interview.”

A man lazily ran a darkly tanned hand through dyed hair, grinning as the smoke slowly seeped from his mouth in twisting little wisps. “Why bother? It’s all crap anyways.”

“Just like what’s on your nose, Jacob?”

“That’s it, you die now, Ass Rapist!” With a lunge, Jacob was happily pounding the other man’s long, pale face, laughing hysterically.

“I’m not an Ass Rapist!”

From the other couch in the lounge, a much older man rubbed his face in exasperation. “I hate you two. I wish the Boss would just fire you both.”

“He can’t fire Jacob or else he’d lose all his compliments!”

“Die, Ass Rapist!”

“I’m not an Ass Rapist!”

“Oh, hey, Asimer.” The older man greeted the room’s newcomer, who grunted sourly in return.

“Um…why is Jacob beating up Ass Rapist?”

“Fucktards!”

“Shut up, Ass Rapist!”

“For the love of God, I’m not an- Shit, that hurt!”

The older man turned his head away from the scene of brutal beating and followed Asimer’s movements to the sink. “Was that fun?”

“I hate doing that. Every god damn minute some low-rating news show spontaneously gets the brilliant idea to visit us, completely catches us unaware, and I’m stuck doing this ‘oh, hi, thanks for invading’ thing.” Wetting a cloth angrily, Asimer added a cocktail of concoctions to the rag, and proceeded to wash her face with it roughly. “Put on the stupid facial affects, Raymon, comb your hair back, Raymon, put on a nice suit, Raymon, smile a little more, Raymon…kick their freaking asses out of here, Raymon, that’s what I want to hear.”

The old man chuckled and turned his gaze back to the duo of destruction, who were currently sitting on opposite couches, glaring daggers and nursing various injuries. “I hope you two have learned your lessons.”

“Shove it, Old Man. Just shove it.”

“And like it.”

“No, that’s your job, Ass Rapist.”

“I’m not-”

“Shut up, Ass Rapist.”

“…I hate you too, Asimer.”

“My name’s not Asimer, jackass. It’s Raymon, and despite all your dumb-ass tendencies, you know it.” Tossing the towel away, Raymon returned to her favourite couch, feet up and a bowl of Cheesies in hand. Her hair was back to it’s black self, and the appearance of an elderly lady was gone entirely: in place of the gentle Ms. Asimer, there was an aggravated looking youth with dark eyes and no smile. “So, when’s Mr. Boss-man coming?”

“I thought you’d know, since you’re his pet and all.”

“No, that Jacob’s job. That, and pleasing Ass Rapist at night.”

“You are such a bitch when you’re sober.”

“Pleasure doing business with you.”

Just as Jacob rose from his position of sulking to attack the youth, the door was abruptly slammed open, ricocheting off the wall loudly.

A monster of a man entered, a long black trench coat trailing behind almost dangerously. His shoulders were large, his torso firm, and his eyes colder than the steel the building was made of. The out-of-character smile twisted his otherwise charming face into a living threat as he strolled to the far wall, making a bee-line for his beloved desk.

“Well, my minions, it seems that I cannot leave any of you alone for five minutes. Already, the nurse has reported several injuries have occurred due to little traps set in your respective offices.”

“Uh, Boss? Why are there only four of us here?”

“Mr. Jacob, kindly shut up. It is because you four have been identified as the main suspects in another small bomb going off in the cafeteria last week.” Shuffling a few sheets around, the Boss looked up from his all-important pile of papers. “By the way, good job on the interview, Raymon.”

Lazily raising her hand, the youth nodded. “Thank you for some much deserved appreciation.”

“Sadly, all your pays have been docked for this month because of the other unfortunate accidents.”

“…And might I add, Boss, you are an ass.”

“And, Miss Raymon, yours has just been taken for the next two.”

“…I’ll shut up now.”

Once more, the Boss shuffled his papers, and cleared his throat. “In other news, I want immediate status reports since you have all so kindly decided to come to this meeting.”

“Not our fault that no one ever tells us.”

“That is because, Mr. Jacob, you are all considered terribly tempered and therefore have been placed in this building, and not our famous fake steel one so often seen on television.” With a sudden jerk of his large head, the Boss motioned towards the aptly dubbed Old Man. “Your report.”

The Old Man scratched his stubble of a beard, clicked his tongue, and slowly begun speaking in a tired, drone-like voice. “Stage one has been fully completed of the Twin Cities project, and the first three stages are finished on the God project. Hm…oh, and I ran out of toothpaste the other day, so I took Jacob’s.”

“You ass!”

The old man snorted, but otherwise remained wisely silent.

With a heavy sigh, the Boss waved it off. “Okay, Mr. Jacob, now it’s your turn.”

“Okay, fine. You’ll be happy to hear that I’ve completely finished all my parts of the God project, and am almost done stage one of the Twin Cities.” A beaming smile followed the proud statement, which was soon interrupted by a pillow in the face.

“Ass kisser,” came the miffed reply from the pale-faced man, still holding a bruised arm protectively.

“I’ll see you in hell!”

“Nice sneer, Jacob.”

“Shut up, Raymon.”

“Can we have a dignified meeting for once in this miserable hell-hole?” With an impressive bellow and a very convincing fist slammed onto his desk, the Boss leaned back once more. “Raymon, go.”

Swallowing a Cheesie slowly, the youth began speaking paradoxically rapidly. “Well, the God project is nearly complete, and the schematics are ready at any point of time. I will need a notice of how soon we will be getting the psychologist in to input the preferred brain wave statuses, so I can re-create a stable cerebrum to match the potency. Right now, the potential is only at fifty-eight percent, so it may take a few more weeks to achieve the desired amount.

“Now, the fact is that the brain may become more powerful than the body. With the current settings and environment conditioning, plus with the genetic mutations, a percent above one hundred is more than simply possible. We must have ample preparation if such a case were to happen, but heightening the standards and lowering the conditioning would mean we could lose the interest of the government funding immediately.

“And now for the Twin Cities project. The inter-dimensional rifts that could very possibly be created are- at best- a telltale sign of disaster, but the ability alone to do such a thing could end all wars, if you catch my drift. In all simplicity, there is a greater chance that the project will fail immediately, thus causing the rift to implode upon itself, and devouring anything nearby. And…er…yeah, that’s it.” Nodding to herself, Raymon leaned back again and plopped another Cheesie lazily into her mouth.

The Boss read a few sheets over again, and then followed suite in a nod. “Fine. This is your notice- the psychologist is coming this week.”

“Blah.”

“And…do you have anything to add, he who seems to have recently been beaten?”

“Thanks, Boss. Anyways, as I’ve said before, I’m still waiting for Jacob to get his ass in gear and give me my portion of the Twin Cities project, and the God project is waiting for Raymon’s go.”

“Hey, Boss, why is Raymon in charge of the God project and not someone else?”

“Because, Jacob, I’m reliable. Ass.”

“Shut up, all of you. Jacob, is being second in charge on the Twin Cities project not enough for you? Complain when you have a reason to.” With a peeved grunt, the Boss nodded again to no one, and waved his hand dismissively. “Go on. I’ll be checking up on you all over the week. Do actual work this time.”

With a small riot of cursing and rustling, the group left the lounge, entering the bleak grey hallways of the real laboratory.

“Welcome, Mr. Satisse. You will find our establishment quite an…extraordinary one.”

The newcomer smiled graciously at the large man, nodding his head ever so slightly. “Thank you, Mr.-”

“Just call me Boss, Mr. Satisse.”

“Oh, sorry. Thank you, Boss.”

Starting the tour, Boss began the ascent into the laboratories where his brightest and most dangerous reigned. “As you well know, your participation in the God project is essential to a proper finished result. The team you will be working with- although not always agreeable- are assuredly the best suited for the job as well.”

Mr. Satisse smiled again, believing the remarks to be but humour. “Of course, Boss.”

The Boss glanced over the newcomer quickly, and almost felt sorrow for the poor man. A psychologist in such a place would surely lose his mind. “Now, here is the workroom of Mr. Jacob, who will be working with you.”

Opening the door, a semi-disco of lights welcomed both intruders to a what once was white room, with music blaring, garbage everywhere, and a very tired-looking man sleeping under a blanket on his desk.

After a few awkward moments of silence, the Boss sighed. “That’s Jacob. It’s best not to disturb him. Let’s move on.”

As they approached the next door, classical music was heard from within, and they entered a clean, blue room of gigantic proportions with an elderly man leaning over a specimen.

“Mr. Jaghan, if you please.”

At the sound of his Boss’ voice, the man turned, smiled distantly at the newcomer, and waved his hand, some pieces of the skeleton still attached to it. “Hullo, there. You must be the psychologist! I’m rather busy right now, but we can meet up later. Carcuses can only wait so long!”

Without a second spared, the Old Man was once again hunched over his work, whistling away to the music.

The Boss sighed as Mr. Satisse raised an eyebrow at him quizzically.

The next room was oddly quiet, and was still stark white, without a trace of anyone being inside or ever having been.

After an eerie, lingering, silence, the Boss shook his head. “As you can see, I’ve done everything but exaggerate these people.”

“It’s quite alright,” was the completely passive response.

Grumbling to himself, the Boss lead the way down another long hallway to the last door.

More music rang from within, but the scene was very much more alive than Mr. Jacob’s room: there was the same splash of randomized colour everywhere, but the newest, most high-tech computers projected the interactive data in a glowing green semi-circle, surrounding a very relaxed looking youth.

Looking backwards, Raymon waved quickly, then proceeded to input a few commands into four different computers.

“Raymon, this poor man has had no contact from the other workers, so the least you can do is say hi.”

Glancing back as she readjusted a few more settings on one computer while transferring data onto another, she raised her eyebrows. “Hi.”

Mr. Satisse smiled at the seemingly emotionless response, but happy enough to have contact either way. “Hi. Nice to meet you.”

After a moment’s pause, Raymon nodded at him and turned back to working.

With another dramatic sigh, the Boss grunted. “There’s going to be another meeting tomorrow morning at o-nine hundred. Got it?”

Raymon nodded, but didn’t look away from the monitor-less computer stations, reading floating information and inputting the same.

“Well, aren’t they extravagantly insane?”

Mr. Satisse chuckled, but somehow didn’t doubt it.

The Boss surveyed the empty room, eyeing every crease and crack as if they were possible threats. Muttering something about “paranoid bombers”, he judged the meeting room to be safe and trudged inside.

Falling back into his chair, the giant rubbed the bridge of his nose whilst scattering a few papers onto the mahogany desk. “I’ll be grey by next year with these freaks.”

When a small noise penetrated his thoughts, the Boss glanced sideways on his spinning leather chair, watching Mr. Satisse enter slowly.

“Good morning, Boss.” The psychologist’s smile didn’t fade, but he nervously glanced around a bit, “Am I early?”

With a grunt, the Boss wondered how the man could be so cheery in the morning. “You know what, Satisse? I’m only thirty-eight, and I look fifty. Here’s a lesson for you: don’t let those other guys get to you. They’re absolutely nuts.”

“Well, I’m sure they aren’t that bad, Bo-”

Satisse halted when a very tired Mr. Jacob entered, unshaven and clearly unbathed.

“Have no fear, Boss, Jacob is here!”

With a sigh, the Boss continued to massage the bridge of his nose, sensing a headache closing in.

“Jacob, did you see the others on your way here?”

“Nope. Well…I stole the Old Man’s toothpaste, but I doubt that should hold him up for long.”

As if by magic, the Old Man himself strolled into the room, smacked Jacob in the face with his wet towel, and flopped down. “Hullo, everyone.”

“Go to hell, Old Man.”

The Old Man scoffed at Jacob, but kept his retort to himself.

It was five minutes of watching the Boss fret, listening to Jacob whine, and Satisse looking baffled later when Raymon entered quickly. Pivoting on her heel, she slammed the door shut, locked it, and continued to her favourite chair.

Approximately twenty seconds later, the final member could be heard yelling at the door.

With another extravagant sigh, the Boss retrieved his last worker. “Let’s get down to business, children.”

“This is the current design…however.” The neon green projections began to fly by dizzyingly as Raymon nonchalantly typed in commands. “These are the current problems.”

Satisse rubbed his eyes, not quite accustomed to this style of life: his eyes ached incredibly due to the sheer darkness of the lightless room in stark contrast to the neon holograms. He easily understood the diagrams and analysis, but couldn’t quite comprehend how this team had managed to get this far; surely, he understood their almost frighteningly bright minds, their abilities stood straight out, but their teamwork skills were just…dead.

The technology being used was unlike anything he had ever seen, and in that, he realized that most of it had probably been made by these same people just for these projects.

As for the God project, he was morally against it, yet scientifically entranced by it: he figured that they only felt the scientific aspect, seeing as how none mentioned the inevitable mayhem it would surely cause. Some things just weren’t made to live: the God project was the best example possible.

The Twin Cities project- although out of his league- seemed utterly catastrophic. Even a nuclear bomb seemed more rational: what they were suggesting was a complete cave in and surface-based black hole forming. Satisse numbly wondered whether they were planning a war apocalyptic enough to even consider using it.

The team seemed absolutely perfect for the jobs: all seemed completely sane, utterly aware of what they were doing, and held no regrets. He didn’t know whether this was good or not.

He had spoken to Mr. Jaghan, and was utterly shocked at some of the things he had revealed.

“We’re actually a pretty good team. It doesn’t seem like it, but we’re basically one big family: we’re not permitted to leave the grounds, have our own guards, and are rather forced about. But we’re still pretty happy.

“But I understand, you see, how you must feel: we must look like monsters. Don’t worry about it, boy, it’s fine: we’re quite used to it. I’m not even sure why any of us are willingly- or otherwise- working on this stuff. We know it’ll be terrible, and we know we’re ending the world, but somehow, that’s just one of the many paths and futures ahead: we need the now, the present, to get there. I really just think we’re trying to see how big of a mess we can make before we get caught.

“See, I came here quite some time ago. I was a college teacher before this, you know: loved my job. But, (shrug) I guess I got a little too big for my britches. They came and took me away. Never got to see my daughter again. But I’ve never tried to escape, because I moved to this division out of free will: I wanted this. I may be an Old Man, but I’ve never been sharper.

“And don’t let the others bug you too much. I basically do the talking for them around here, believe it or not. They’re all really workaholics. Jacob actually does his job seriously, and is damn good at it. He’s quick and endlessly efficient, but he pushes himself too hard: it’s a long story, but he doesn’t have the happiest past. Jacob’s a fun man, beneath all the tough-guy attitude and usual macho shield. Wouldn’t be a team without the guy.

“And our so-called Ass Rapist doesn’t have that name for any other reason than the fact that we can’t pronounce his real one, and it slightly resembles Ass Rapist. Oh, and the fact we busted him out of jail- we never got tired of alluding to that. Him and Jacob work together so well it’s awkward, and they’re actually pretty good buddies outside of work. Ass Rapist is a damn good mechanic, though: he’s doing the rough blueprints for most of the models, and is our chief coordinator in the Twin Cities project under actual structure and building.

“But don’t push Raymon much: she’s actually one of the veteran members here. She came right after myself, and I still haven’t seen her smile. Don’t know why really, she’s just like that: another unhealthy workaholic. She can be nice, at times, but don’t push your luck: I still don’t know much about her, other than the fact she came here a lot younger than she should have. She’s a bloody genius, amazing with computers- as you can see- but I always thought we should have waited a bit longer. No offence to her, but let the kid live out her life before dragging her in.

“But, I digress: the meeting’s actually starting. I suppose it’s time to get down to business. Good luck.”

Satisse had to admit, the meeting was quite amazing: everyone had some great progress, and both projects were starting to settle down a bit more. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something apocalyptic would be bred from this.

He was quietly walking the halls, searching for Raymon’s door with his newest schematics in hand. The basic outline was done, and he needed to know how much should be variables and what should be a set, independent factor, and he figured she would be the one to know.

The door approached too quick for his liking. Confrontation seemed awkward at best, and he preferred to step out of it: but, this was his job, and if he wanted to get out of here, it had to be done.

Not that he thought they would let him leave.

Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand to knock, then lowered it again. He sighed, hating the predicament.

With a sudden and somewhat terrifying whirr, the door opened, and Raymon poked her head out, looking completely unimpressed. “Well, were you just going to stare the door down, or are you going to come in?”

Without waiting for a response, she quickly turned and headed back to her centre chair amidst the screens.

Satisse bit his lip uneasily, then hurried in, shutting the bizarre door behind him.

“So you’re a psychologist.”

He nodded, dimly aware that there was no other place to sit in the room.

Raymon turned back to him, one eyebrow raised in something akin to amusement. “Yet you wouldn’t knock. Where does a psychologist go when he needs mental help?”

For a second, all he could do was blink, completely off-guard- did she just grin at him?

“Anyways, I’m sure you’re here for a reason.” She spun back around, bringing up more images of the cyborg body of the God project.

“Have you ever heard of Project Blue?” He stepped back a bit, a little startled by what he had said: it must be this place, it’s messing with my head, he thought with a pinch of worry.

After a few seconds, Raymon spun back on her chair, regarding him again with that semi-curious look.

“Yeah. It was the synthetic virus that destroyed the human world in 1980. At least, according to King.”

Satisse struggled to figure out why he had spurted that out: somehow, it seemed important at the time.

“If, my dear shrink, you are insinuating that we are developing our own anti-human, genetically manipulated, weapon of endless and mass destruction, then you are…correct. We are.” With a few commands, all the monitors simultaneously shut down, and she leapt from her chair lithely and stretched. “But here’s the hidden hitch: we’re not doing it for a future peace. We’re not doing it for a future. We’re doing it for a now, for an endless paradox. It’s ours…and that’s all we need. Our laws, our theories, our project. So…yeah, we’re destroying the world. Join in. It’s a blast.”

Now he was sure: that was a grin. And it was more terrifying than he thought it would be.

“Come on. We’re all going to lunch.” With that, she left him, standing dazed and a little more than confused.

“What the flying fuck are you trying to say, Major? Are you saying that you’re unwilling to continue? If you are, then-”

Boss sighed miserably, waving his hands in front of the video screen defensively. “No, no, sir- I’m merely stating that we may have to push back the date a bit. I’m not sure if we can secure the projects in time, and any precautions not taken could result in-”

“Major. We are not employing you to do body counts. Let the media work with it: we need a device. We need a flawless, doomsday device. The God project is sounding more promising every day, but the Twin Cities is M.A.D.- and we are not looking for a mutually assured destruction weapon. We want a damn good body count.”

Boss rubbed his eyes, wishing the meeting was over with. He’d just as soon as switch places with his team than continue for a few minutes. “Sir, please, we cannot ensure public safety without more time.”

“Listen, Major, we’re not looking for public fucking safety: we want a threat, we want a controlled apocalypse. Don’t doubt us in how far we will go. You have a date, and on that date, we will start real testing. That is all.”

The Boss didn’t think that sneer could leave his video screen fast enough. In a fit of rage, Boss let his fist fly through the screen.

“Damn it. This is a disaster. Good fucking show.”

Two weeks had gone by entirely too fast.

The Boss sat back at his desk, re-reading updated reports on the two major projects for the sixth time. The results seemed perfect, completely and entirely what was wanted, yet there were these variables that couldn’t be counted for, and could dramatically change each project.

The major variables would be his team. Boss knew it: if this failed, his team was gone, and no one is ever dismissed when they’re in this deep. He had to be able to count on their continuous success rate, their endless amount of time efficiency, and their deciding factor: could they follow through until the end.

Morality was an issue here, Boss understood that, and didn’t doubt that his team understood just as well. If there was a Heaven or a Hell, they were all going to Hell.

The Government was too deep with their investigations, having already unearthed relatively unpleasing facts about each team member, and having confronted Boss on more than one occasion about various other problems besides the approaching date.

But just as much as Boss hated the monstrous possibility of complete mayhem and massacres, he would rather continue than quit now.

Jacob stared blankly at the blinking, as blood-red letters flashed back and forth across his screen. This was something new, something possibly terrifying: he didn’t like it.

Growling at this new thing, Jacob paged his God project partner angrily.

They both stared blankly at this new outcome. It sat there still, in all its flashing red glory.

“So that’s it, then.”

“Looks like it.”

“You’re some help, Ass Rapist.”

“Hey, this is your section. Why didn’t this happen before?”

“I don’t know! How could I know? I’ve never seen this thing before- what it means is obvious, but, hell, why is it appearing now? What variable is inflicting this?”

“Didn’t the function’s outcomes clearly state that this wouldn’t happen?”

“Yeah, of course! Otherwise I would never have used it!”

“So an independent factor has changed.”

“By itself.”

“Without us.”

“Without any of us.”

There was a long pause, their eyes never leaving the screen.

“Ass Rapist?”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s call a meeting.”

The Old Man sat, watching the others crowd around in puzzlement over this New Thing. It was aptly dubbed: it was new, and it affected so many variables that it infected everything, like some virus thing. He understood what the others couldn’t. His years of teaching had given him this much: it was an error. The others had very seldom encountered one so late in the project, though they had been abundant in the earlier stages. All this meant was they needed extra time now.

He sighed, happy the Boss wasn’t there to see this grand error, but knowing that it meant something horrendous as well: no one had issued a new function property. No one had inputted any sort of new information, and definitely nothing like this.

Something was interfering.

It took a few seconds, but Raymon eventually quarantined the area of the New Thing. She typed furiously, eyes darting every which way as she read and typed, inputted and deleted, rearranging and rebuilding in an effort to control this development.

It was completely inexplicable, there was nothing left of what had implanted this New Thing, and she had checked every program enough times to be positive that no one had infiltrated their systems.

The others were at a loss here, but she was thriving on the idea that the answer lay in the database in the founding blocks of their God project. The God was not working as it should, the finite parts of the functions were too quickly evolving into variables, and the outcome was a mass revolt of every brainwave, leading to a possible mass body count later on.

Then something clicked, and she lay back a bit, relaxing in the sudden awareness. It was so simple: the others were so worried about the current occurrence and what was affecting it now, but this she knew: it was now completely independent from what had started it. It was evolving on its own, and this New Thing was exceedingly simply complex.

Swinging around in her chair, Raymon glanced from face to face of her team, then motioned for Satisse.

Jacob nudged the Old Man, his eyes never leaving the two backs that faced them. “Do you think they’ve figured it out?”

The nudged just shrugged. “I have no idea. However, if Raymon called over Satisse, then there is a very good chance that she has an idea.”

“Thank you, fearless leader!” With that, Jacob leaned back happily, more than content to allow the others to work the problem out.

“But what makes you so sure that they can figure this thing out? It’s not like we have any experiences in this, we’re basically stabbing in the dark here.”

Jacob sighed, closing his eyes and making himself comfortable on the meeting room couch, grunting in mild aggravation all the while. “Ass Rapist, if they can’t do it, then we can. Come on, man, we’ve gotten too far to let this die. It can’t be that bad.”

The Old Man sighed, letting them continue their little debate, knowing full well that it would eventually escalate into a severe beating. As per usual.

However, just as his theory was becoming real, there was a sudden noise that caused mass silence.

All three turned their gazes to the main computer, where Satisse was standing back, looking slightly terrified, and where Raymon had knocked her chair over.

They continued to watch in silence, not knowing what to do.

Satisse shook his head, his hand over his mouth in surprise or horror. “This simply isn’t possible, not yet. I… Something had to have happened.”

With a frown, Raymon began typing at a speed that the others found a little disturbing. “Jesus freaking Christ, this is nuts. This cannot be happening, there must be something seriously wrong with this thing, this is not a good thing.”

Satisse nodded, then slowly made his way back to the couch, whereupon he flopped down in something akin to horrified exhaustion.

Jacob frowned, not liking the situation. “Hey, what the hell’s going on?”

With a slam, Raymon shut the terrifyingly powerful laptop, staring down at it angrily. “You want to know what’s going on? I really don’t think you want to.”

Standing up, Jacob glared at her in a simmering rage. “What the hell, Ray? Just spit it out, already- if it’s that bad, we don’t have time for these stupid games!”

“We could have all the time in the world and it wouldn’t matter.” Satisse hesitated, then spoke even quieter, “We can’t stop it.”

“Stop what? Jesus, what’s your guys’ problem?”

Turning to the others, her eyes flashing, Raymon laughed in a way that made Jacob shiver. “Problem? This isn’t a problem- it’s the end of everything, my friend. God is awake.”

The Boss stared at them for a long while before speaking.

They all stared back, his team, the only people he would ever have trusted with projects like these. Not a shred of mutiny among them, no sense of selfishness for the glory, no, not even a sense of glory, not even any hint of ambitiousness for anything but satisfied curiosity there. They waited for his orders, though they all knew what they were: something went wrong. It was an error of terrific proportions, but it was no fault of theirs.

This project should have never been attempted.

“Boss?” Jacob shifted a bit, uncomfortable at the heavy silence. He felt the air as a liquid, like molasses, and everything they could do was too slow, and now, they were doomed.

The Boss shook his head slowly. “We have to leave. There is going to be a mass evacuation. I will alert the Government. There is nothing we can do.”

Raymon waved her finger in the air, seeming once again unaffected by the problem. “I will stay. There is a minor chance of stopping it since it’s awareness level is only linked to electronics at the moment, and I might be able to trap it inside. Though… It cannot be killed.”

Boss frowned. “I don’t like that idea. The God did not evolve out of electronics and technological blasphemies, it evolved out of a strong link to everyone in here. It was aware before we realized it. It could very well be planning on you to do that.”

“Boss, listen to me, there is a chance that this God can be trapped in here. Whether or not it wants me to do that doesn’t matter, seeing as how the place is secured enough that it cannot leave in any form outside of physical- even then, it can be shot down, the body can be stopped. We have no electronic connections to anywhere else in the world, and all our facilities are completely isolated in case of this: let’s exploit this weakness.”
“Raymon. No.” Standing, Boss finished signing a few dismissal papers, then held them out. “There is that chance. I’ll acknowledge that. However, we gave it the potential to give itself telepathic tendencies. If it can manipulate that, it won’t need the electronic methods anymore- it can steal one of us. We need to completely isolate it.’

Meeting him at the desk, Raymon grabbed her paper, but held his gaze. “If we cannot try this, what can we do? I’m telling you, this is the only chance we will ever have to stop this thing. This is not a replica, this is a God. I made it. I can tell you that it can’t be so much as paused once it attains so much as seventy-nine point two-three-five percent capacity. It is at sixty-eight. Right now. Soon, the process will speed up exponentially as it continues to evolve. Once that happens- not during, but once- its ability to learn defence measures will instantly become incalculable. Do you get that? The very moment it is fully awake, the moment it recognizes reality, it can immediately counter anything we can ever throw at it. It will be a God.”

The others stared, transfixed, as the two stared into each others’ eyes, waiting for any sort of hint of thought. Another minute ticked by as the air became thicker.

Jacob jumped when Satisse stood, a little shakily, and approached the two in deadlock.

“But what about... Well, scientifically, there is no chance of predicting a black hole. There is no chance of containing a supernova. The Twin Cities project mixes these two.”

Leaping up, Jacob nodded energetically. “He’s right! Even if we tear open the space-time continuum, the God will follow it! We have a method it cannot counter!”

Raymon turned to him slowly, glaring in a way that made Jacob more uncomfortable than he had ever been in his life. “How can you say that? The God currently lives in our system- with the Twin Cities project’s information! How can it not have calculated a corruption by now?”

Slightly enraged, she met eyes with everyone in turn. “Face it. We’re screwed.”

He had sent everyone back to their rooms. They were to pack or burn, to cleanse out the system of everything that they had devoted their lives to. The computer interfaces were to be wiped, but only around the God- that area was to be avoided at all costs. They could not risk waking it up.

Boss had never encountered this type of situation in his life, and he doubted anyone else had: they had created the ultimate in power. It was to be controlled by them. It was to be asleep for decades before put to use. It was to awake when the world could deal with it properly. It was not supposed to have human will. But it had developed it.

The God could have been aware for hours, days, so much as weeks- it would now know all that it needs to do away with any opposition they could create. The God was perfection, but was not to be in a human sense- it was to be a half-organic robot with a brain in it. Nothing more. But it had evolved, it had grown into something quite different- had it given itself a name yet? Likely- Raymon had put the question to him as they were leaving. As casual as it was, he understood- it was more than awake, aware, it was sentient.

That little thought had put his team ill at ease. The God could have developed likes, dislikes, wants and desires, it had evolved to such a point. And what couldn’t it get? All it needed was a completed body- and it needed someone to finish it.

Raymon had shut down the body functions. The half organic, half robotic body would be useless if they could keep it away from the brain. The brain was currently linked to dozens of computers, all interfacing with the other, but on a private server- it could be cut off from the rest. If the God decided- and it could now decide- to develop telepathic abilities, it could connect to a person’s brain. If it did so, it could use that person to finish constructing its body, the only means for it to escape the compound. To install itself into another body would risk it substantially- the cyborg body was especially created for the God, and only it could house the brain and the incredible power it possessed.

The body itself was a work of art: appearing human, it had the look of the average citizen. The one stand-out factor was the lack of eyes, the lack of vocal chords, the lack of anything in the head area that connected to the brain. It still needed to be completed: its legs were especially designed to be akin to a steel-like metal, yet also malleable for quick movements. They were not yet complete- the metal was made, but not yet grafted into the organic compounds. The torso gaped with a large hole, where organ-like creations lay dormant, waiting for the click of a button, and for a heart-like monstrosity to be finished by the Old Man, which he had lovingly dubbed “The Beast”.

It wouldn’t need to take one of the designers to complete it, but it would be quicker and more efficient.

So the Boss worried. The God was waking- if it had already examined all that surrounded it, it would have already picked out a target to infect. He didn’t have to wonder who that would be. The God would naturally cling to whoever had done most of it: Jacob had worked on the minor details, some of the cell structure. When he had run into difficulty with the ether reproduction, he had teamed up with Raymon. He had done the least on the God project, and for that, he was the main expert on the Twin Cities project. The Old Man did much on the God body, however, he had needed to team up with Raymon to connect Asrapian’s mechanical parts to his organic. Satisse had done all the neurosurgery, and was thus a major factor in the God project, however, his partner was Raymon.

It was not difficult to identify who the God would probably pick.

So Boss wondered why- in all the earthly goods- would Raymon wish to stay behind. He was not foolish enough to believe she wished to be taken over, for it was evident enough that she didn’t. To take responsibility for the project was natural, but she had disobeyed orders to do so. It would be a great risk, and if the God could take over the body of another person, there was very little chance of Raymon surviving.

Sighing, Boss deleted the last few files from his server.

With a single click, years of work disappeared from the face of the earth.

Raymon clicked again: more work disappeared, this time, work on the God project. All that would be left would be the original function, most likely to baffle the God.

She glanced through her semi-transparent holograms and stared intently at the pure white door at the other end of her room. With an annoyed grunt, she turned back to the clicking and deleting.

Satisse had questioned about her intentions for stopping the God. She had laughed: he knew that she wasn’t trying to be a martyr or a heroine. He knew exactly why: she wanted to be the one to kill it, she had created a perfection, and wanted to mar it. Raymon held very little fear for humanity, but great annoyance that the wish to overcome the God would not come true. She had suffered very few challenges in life, though was met with great obstacles. She knew hardship, she laughed at it- when Raymon laughed, others were screaming.

Satisse had understood: it was purely chemical, very little to do with personal choice.

With one final click, the last files were deleted. Everything was wiped. Now, it was time for her to do her job: create a virus.

If the only way to kill a giant was to inflict a thousand blights, well, that she could arrange.

Satisse had very little to do.

His files were organized, and with a single click, they were deleted. With another click, the server, computer, and entire technological universe had no more knowledge of them.

So he sat, wondering what could possibly save the world from a God. An apathetic, negative God.

The psychological patterns he had examined had shown one very terrifying factor: the God seemed bipolar. Had he been able to get proper EEG patterns, it would have been even more ominous. After it awakens, it would probably become violently bipolar, and in that, be more dangerous than any other affliction. Not only bipolar in attitude, it seemed bipolar in every other way- the brainwaves and situational behaviour simulations deemed that it switched from impulsive to cautious, from repetitive to random. It was completely unpredictable until it would wake, and then, it would be invincible.

Satisse had, initially, wondered why anyone would even attempt such a catastrophic project. It was sure to fail, to become a disaster, it was easy to perceive. But after some time, he had finally realized what it was that appealed so much to these people: it was that sense of human magic. Science could not build a God, not alone- and imagination could never achieve anything of the sort in physical form. They had a team capable of doing something that none in history could: they could recreate a God.

At first, the notion was to build an Athena, but the idea was left behind as the project grew. The Government wanted a power so great it would frighten nations, while the scientific community wanted a being so intelligent that it could actually power the rest of the unknown mind simultaneously and voluntarily. It was a journey of discovery, of uncovering answers, and in part, actually helping the world.

It had been brought to his attention that the work done on the project had, in fact, influenced several scientific revolutions and changed the way the science community thought about life. Governments no longer wanted super weapons when mentions of a God were made.

But it had to end. Satisse could no longer feel endangered by the team’s reactions to the project: he understood. They had done it for the present, that was proven: all the information, the discoveries, the theories, were all worth it. And when Raymon had informed him that she had never intended to let it wake up, he had realized that maybe they weren’t insane.

The Government would have to wait. The team had never intended to let the God wake. It would lay asleep, then die, as they cut off the support. True, they were killing a life they had created, but for the good of the world.

Satisse, however, was not foolish enough to believe that was their main goal. It was simple to comprehend now: their goal was to change the world, to challenge everything and themselves, and that was it.

But the God had known it. It had begun waking, and all they could do was escape while it continued.

Sighing, Satisse lay back in his chair, and thought of the doomed world.

“There has to be a way. Ray’s right, man- it’s not awake yet, this is our only chance!”

“Jacob, I know what you’re saying, but think about it: if we tried anything- anything at all- and that ended up making it stronger, what would we do? This is a God- it probably already knows what we’re going to do before we do!”

Jacob placed the Queen of Hearts on the table, shaking his head. “You know what I mean, Ass Rapist. We’re all going to die anyways, we might as well try to do something while we’re breathing.”

His opponent in all things and brother in arms grunted as he checked out his hand of cards. “You’re starting to sound like Raymon. It’s just that I really don’t think we can stop it, even now. What can we do? The simpleton says we could destroy the brain, and be done with it.”

“Yeah, but the simpleton’s wrong! It’s waking. It’s leaking into every little thing around it. We could burn down this whole damn building, and it’d still be alive and well.”

“Aren’t we burning it down anyways?”

“Yeah. Vain hope. The brain only matters because it’s where everything is housed, but the essence can spread. That’s like saying you can kill God by shooting him in the face. It’s just…wrong. We didn’t make a perfect being so it can be shot in the face.”

They sat, staring at their cards, in a bittersweet silence they both loathed.

“Hey, Ass Rapist?”

“Yes?”

“What game are we playing?”

“I…don’t even know anymore.”

“Thought so.”

There wasn’t a thing left, and they were finally leaving, but the Old Man didn’t care. He had had enough troubles in his life, and he wanted the security and comfort that this building had offered. He accepted the change, but had yet to embrace it: there was a void between his love and acceptance.

His files deleted, all that was left to be done was pack up his stuff, or let it burn. He chose pack.

Clothes, slippers, Jacob’s toothpaste, it was all great memories that he refused to let burn. But he had very little initiative to hurry: since the discovery of the God’s sentience, he had known that this was his time to die. It was a little nagging in the back of his mind, and no matter how many times he chastised himself for being superstitious and paranoid, it would not leave. He truly felt that his death was near.

And, for the first time in his life, he had nothing to say about it. There was nothing to be said: sure, he debated the use of escaping when an unbeatable destructive force was being let loose, but what could he say that hadn’t already been said? The Boss and Raymon had both voiced his thoughts, and nothing had come out of it.

Part of him wished to stay, to fight it out, as Raymon wanted- but the timid part wished to retreat and regroup, come up with more ideas and more strategies. They had said that time didn’t matter now, but it did for him: he felt his death, and every moment he was still breathing, life was beautiful. No matter what circumstances dictated it.

The Old Man sighed and finished up his last cup of coffee. “Time to visit Boss. Hell’s calling for us, but I’m not ready to go yet.”

Boss dropped the phone in disbelief. Seconds later, the dial tone stopped, the power cut off. Lights flickered. The auxiliary power came on in a low, dreamlike glow. Everything seemed a little hazy, the dull yellow light softening the surroundings to the point of fantasy. His computer screen dampened, then died out completely.

There was the faint buzzing of a fly in another room. The echoes of electricity ending danced through the hallways hollow, horrifyingly. For three minutes and forty-two seconds, Boss just sat and listened to the most advanced technology in the world commit suicide.

A panel down the hall fell open, a metal crashing becoming obsolete in the silence. It swallowed everything. A few burnt circuits sizzled. A dull smoke rose, then disappeared.

Boss could hear his team making their way to him. He could hear the other members of the building yelling, running, slamming doors and leaving. They didn’t know yet: he had yet to make the announcement. If they stayed, they would die.

He inhaled deeply, then let it slide out. Numbly, he reached the door, stopped, twisted the handle weakly.

He had contacted the Government. He asked about evacuation procedure. About transportation. The voice had simply replied none. There was no transportation, because there was no evacuation. Everyone was to die in that building when it went up in flames.

They washed their hands of the apocalypse. No help was coming.

Satisse knocked on the door ahead numbly. The moment the lights had gone out his mind had become awash with images, with ideas, of isolation, desolation, of being left and forgotten. The auxiliary power was fading at this point, and he had no doubt in his mind that something very wrong had occurred. The doubting voice in his head said one word, over and over, and each time he tried to smother it: forsaken.

He mind wrapped around it, consumed by the image of military men covering the area, hunting down survivors. They should die, they were meant to die, but there was nothing in him that was willing to accept those orders. The moment the lights went out, he ran to Raymon’s room.

He wasn’t quite sure why, but he had little doubt that it would help. He needed a calmness before he was swept away by panic.

The bittersweet irony was that she wasn’t answering.

With a grunt, Satisse forced the jammed door open. A desk toppled over, a glass figurine of a Chinese woman smashing on the floor. He stared at it, unable to remember having ever seen it before.

He eyed the room warily. It was empty, but that did little to calm his mind: the door had been blocked, so Raymon could not have left this way. Sliding in, he gently shut the door behind him, and picked up the desk.

He didn’t remember the desk very well, either. The room had a small cot in it, he knew that all too well- many a time he had fallen asleep working on that cot. He saw the skid marks on the floor: the desk had been beside the cot, but mostly covered in extra blankets. Those were gone.

Speaking of missing, much was.

Satisse sat on the cot, glancing around the empty, full, room.

The computers were all fried. Raymon’s personal, powerful, data-mongering laptop was gone. The mini-fridge was idle and defrosting in a corner. The shelf containing books upon books was still there, but a few books were gone. He didn’t bother to guess which ones: the ones still there were basically reference books on how to do things. Raymon never read them: she favoured fictional pieces.

The CD player still lived, though electronically dead. The CD’s were gone. The set of ornamental glass figurines were still standing there, except for the calico cat. He remembered Raymon having that one for years, couldn’t remember from where or who, but thought it was adorable. It was: it had a little ball of wool at its feet, its ears tilted forward, and sat at approximately nine centimetres tall.

The largest missing thing was the set of blades Raymon had normally kept atop her shelf. Three small daggers- no, not daggers, just little throwing knives, he was sure- but they were sharp. He didn’t want to know why they were gone. In fact, he really didn’t want to know why so many things were gone.

It brought a small smile. He leaned back, resting on the cot, feeling more relaxed already. If Raymon fully believed that she would want those things, that they were truly worth bringing, then she must truly believe that there was a chance of survival. Or, at least, a chance to get out of there. Something inside told him that if Raymon believed such a thing, then she had a plan- and if Raymon had a plan, when she put that powerful brain to use, then Satisse could relax.

He allowed his eyes to close. The silence was calming, in some effect: though it seemed utterly unnatural in this place he now considered home, it was something of a farewell. There were no noises in this wing of the building. No one was permitted within a grand radius of this wing.

Except for him. Except for the team. Except for the God, too, apparently.

He stretched, feeling the cot shift uncomfortably beneath him. His hand brushed against something. It felt coiled, stitched, and old.

Slowly, Satisse turned his head and opened his eyes to see a tiny book crammed between the cot and the wall. Blinking a little at this tiny thing, he sat up and pulled it out.

It was small, to be sure, and it was definitely old, but as to how old he wasn’t sure. The creases in it were deep, perhaps saying that it had been crushed in that awkward position for quite some time. It was a brown dye, the covering slightly disintegrating. He flipped the first page open, and cringed when it tore a bit.

The pages were a little yellowed, but were hard pressed to get too bad in such a sterile environment. Satisse figured that this discovery was quite old, more or less forgotten in such an odd place. Such an idea made it only more prominent to see what was inside.

His better judgement informed him against such an audacious act, however, being a qualified, unofficial psychologist gave him the ability to shove that voice away. If he were to die, then he felt better kicking the bucket doing something he wanted.

He opened the booklet gently, and glanced immediately for a date. When there was none, he felt more than a little baffled, but acknowledged it as a sign of really not caring. He figured that this book did indeed belong to Raymon.

He did a simple double-take on the first words. He allowed them to slowly drawl out of his mouth, like having the greatest sin whispered to another. Licking his lips uneasily, rather unsure, his entire being now wanted to read this little discovery. And perhaps return it someday.

When he continued to read, he acknowledged that he did so willingly.

No Title

Satisse shut the booklet firmly, assuring himself that this was not at all proper, that this was his partner he was reading about, and there was nothing that could possibly justify what he was doing. He grinned a little ruefully and dropped the booklet into his pocket.

“I never said I was a psychologist. Patients have no defence against that.” Licking his lips, Satisse walked over to the edge of the room. Ran his hand along the wall until he felt a little uneven piece. Triumphant, he shoved the doorway open.

The old man was gone. Raymon was gone. He had little doubt that they had left together. He had little doubt that he should be following.

Holding on to the bag around his shoulder, he walked out the door and headed towards Boss’s room.

Raymon had little to think about for the moment. With one last glance around, she shoved the desk against the door. Ignoring what still lay on it, she grabbed the top blankets and went to the wall. Her bag was with her, filled with little things she felt was necessary. She remembered the doorway very well, and quite calmly, slid it open.

The old man was standing there, staring into the mirror half-heartedly.

She slid the door shut again and leaned against the wall. “We going?”

He smiled a little sadly, showing teeth that were a little too white to be natural. “I’m happy to see you. Shall I bring my laptop?”

“No need, mate. I got mine.”

“Ah, I suppose that serves the purpose very well. Shall I bring some weapons?”

“Psh. What have you got?”

“A Winchester.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“You want to see it?”

“…Just bring it.”

As the Old Man busied himself with preparing the rest of his stuff, Raymon sat down on his cot. There was truly little to think about. She told herself that again, but by this time, she had really stopped caring. She wanted that God dead.

She patted her laptop. It was cushioned and hidden: only the Old Man would know that she had it. Thus the barred door. She hoped Satisse wouldn’t try to get in: he would be the only one she could think of that would force the door open. For a psychologist with a fear of confrontation, he could be awfully pushy.

She smiled a bit at that, but felt the impatience swell up. “Almost done?”

The Old Man glanced around the door and smiled toothily. “Almost. You in a hurry?”

Raymon offered him a grunt and leaned back. What more was there to prepare? The God was diseased. It might die. It might not. She didn’t quite care as to when it died, or where, or after the mass body count- as long as it did. However, there was very little in her that wanted to be near the building when it went up in flames. It was a strong repulsion that led to her being uncharacteristically hasty.

“Done yet?”

“Nope. Give me a second. This thing is old, and I’m afraid the safety doesn’t work, so I’m just checking it over now…”

He said more. She stopped paying attention. He was never very good at answering the stupid question.

“Raymon?”

She grunted again, waving her hand in the air as she lay on the cot. In the wrong way, of course, because her back was seriously starting to hurt.

“You brought your toothbrush, right?”

“Jesus, mate. What are you trying to do? Get your crap together.”

“Just making sure. You want shiny teeth like these babies when you’re older, right?”

“If you don’t hurry it up, there won’t be an older me.”

“Fine. You don’t have to get so pushy.”

She could practically feel his sulking from the other room. With a sigh, she got up and stood at the door. “I’ll be out in the hall. I hate your room.”

She didn’t hear his reply, but didn’t really care to. The hallway was a better place.

The silence made her more than calm. It exceeded calmness: it actually made her excited. For once, she felt like a kid in a candy store. Silence meant no machines: no machines meant no security. No security meant no obstacles to that damn door.

She allowed herself to burst into uncharacteristic laughter. Life was good- no, not quite- life was becoming interesting again. That was it.

The Old Man sighed as he shaved. He knew that hurrying was an unspoken agreement, but he couldn’t find it in him to do so. His razor slid across his cheek harmlessly- that was, it was harmless as long as the hands it was in knew how to use it. Then again, he felt that way about everything.

The God project should have been harmless. It had the best damn team he’d ever seen working on it. The hands that moulded it knew it inside and out. Then again, there are variables.

The bodywork was perfect. He knew they had outdone themselves in that aspect. Mainly himself, Jacob, and Ass Rapist had done the actual body, and it was a beauty as far as it was done. He knew his hands could make the body harmless, and he knew the others could as well. But, then again, it wasn’t the body that went wrong.

He wasn’t blaming it on Raymon. He knew her better than that: her hands could make anything harmless. He felt overjoyed to have Raymon be in charge of the project- she could handle it. He knew that he couldn’t, and not to put the others down, but he felt that they couldn’t. Ass Rapist was a hard worker, but was inconsistent with his work. He was moody, and his work followed that. Jacob worked himself to death, but he broke easily under too much pressure. The Old Man knew that he couldn’t do it: he just didn’t have the morals of steel for it. He felt every infringement they made as a personal affront. He knew it wasn’t, but sometimes, that didn’t help.

It wasn’t that the others had no humanity. It’s just that they had come to the result that he lacked: it wasn’t necessary in this job. There was nothing that could keep it around when it wasn’t needed. They worked like that: that’s why they were strong. They could toss away pity here, complete emotion there, as if it were all nothing. Of course, they all had their limits. He could say he had seen everyone’s breached a least once.

Jacob had cracked when the first project crashed. It was his first, at least, and when it died out, he just lost it under the pressure. He felt that he needed to please a little too much. Jacob couldn’t handle being proven that perfection was impossible: he craved it. Not even for himself, but for anything: the God project had hit very near home for him.

Ass Rapist had gone missing for two and a half weeks. Not even seen: he just disappeared. When he came back, none of his work was done, and he simply told everyone that he hadn’t felt like doing it. He was an escape artist like that: no one else had ever been able to leave the building. What amazed the Old Man was that Ass Rapist had come back. The Twin Cities project was his favourite: he treasured it. When he saw it, he ignored the God project. Probably why the body wasn’t finished yet.

He was positive that the second time he had met Raymon was during her breakdown, but he was unsure. She rambled on a bit about some monkey thing, then shut up for the rest of the day. The week as well, actually. When they had finally been given a project, she clung to it almost desperately- but he had never felt comfortable connecting the word desperate to Raymon. It didn’t work. The moment of weakness for her would have to have been when her seventh escape failed. She had come into his room, the worse for wear, a little messed up but fortunate considering the guard treatment, silent as ever but somewhat brooding. Brooding was also not a word commonly associated with Raymon.

Their group was of eight people then. Needless to say, many of the group died. It wasn’t a shock. He had simply asked how it went, and she had pulled out this little blade-thing that looked absolutely harmless. But, then again, those hands could make anything harmful. It had blood on it, and she muttered something about payback. He wasn’t sure to this day what that meant, but he accepted that she had simply lost it and some poor sucker had the unfortunate fate to be standing there.

So, in part, he didn’t truly witness it. It was a given that Raymon did not lose anything. She had lost her calm, collected air that day. He couldn’t remember another moment like it. Even when arguing with the Boss, she kept relatively calm. Her voice might rise, but she never looked frazzled.

And then there was Satisse. The Old Man couldn’t find it in him to trust that man. He seemed too sincere, too simple to be here. He was a psychologist: that was all he knew. But the Old Man did know this: Raymon stuck with that guy. Rather it was out of a mutual trust, or simply to keep an eye on him, he wasn’t sure. It really did make him feel better, though. Raymon was good for that.

The Old Man sighed. He stared at his reflection again. Wished it good-bye. He tried not to let the wrinkles show, but it was futile. He was too old for this.

But he couldn’t rest yet. He had some people to watch over.

He dropped the razor and grabbed a towel. He dried his face, tossed the towel, and grabbed his bag. That was it. He left his room. He realized then, too, that he hated this room.

Jacob stopped mid-walk. Ass Rapist went past, then stopped a few feet ahead. Pivoting, he glared back at this brother in arms.

“Come on. We gotta go see the Boss.”

Jacob stared at nothing for a second, then shook his head. “Ass Rapist, what can he do?”

The other man sighed dramatically and dragged his feet back to his friend. “Jacob. He’s the Boss. He’ll figure something out. It’s not like he’s gonna say run for your lives, we’re all screwed. That’s not Boss. He makes great plans. We’ll be out of here and living it up in no time.” Shrugging, he started to walk away. “I mean, man, I never thought you’d be so down to leave this place.”

Jacob shook his head and trotted a bit to catch up. “You know what I mean. Boss won’t have a plan: how can he? We’re trapped inside a building of death with a demon God! Jesus, man, don’t you see that?”

“Don’t be simple. Boss has this huge arsenal of ideas. You know when that explosion happened in the east wing? All that fire? He had that contained before we even knew about it. You don’t wing stuff like that- he had some plan stored away in that crazy-ass brain of his. You know it, Jacob.” He laughed, trying to cover up his increasing uneasiness.

“You’re being simple! What if he doesn’t have some almighty plan? We could be out in the wild for days! If there is even a wild out there! We could be in Area 51 for all we know!”

“No- we know more about Area 51 than this place. We worked with them before, remember?”

“Oh. Yeah. That made my day. But, Jesus, those guys were assholes. Fucking tards. You’d think they weren’t asking us for help.”

“That why you told them to shove it?”

“Nah. That was for me. That was all for Jacob.”

“You’re a real nice guy.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m being sarcastic, you asshole.”

“Thanks again, jackass.”

They walked in silence a bit, one hating the silence and the other trying to ignore it.

Jacob reached the wing exit door first, and stood there when nothing happened. “Hey, Ass Rapist?”

“Yeah?”

“Why am I standing here like a moron?”

“Because the doors aren’t automatic anymore. Shove it open.”

“Ah. That makes much sense.” Grunting with the effort, he tried to barge through, his heels digging into the floor uncomfortably. “I can’t get this open.”

“That’s because you’re a pansy.”

“Then you open it.”

“…No.” With that, Ass Rapist leaned back on the wall, smiling happily and closing his eyes.

Jacob flipped him off and kicked the door repeatedly.

“Does that actually work?”

Jacob jumped, waking Ass Rapist up. The kicking stopped for enough time to let the Old Man and Raymon get comfortable in the cramped area.

Jacob grunted and gave the door a final kick. “Apparently not, Raymon. Wanna have a go?”

She waved it away lazily and plopped down on the floor. “Have your fun. I’ll wait here.”

“Asshole. How about you, Old Man? Got an idea?”

The Old Man made his way through the sprawled legs on the floor to the doorway. “It’s completely automatic, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I’d say so.”

The Old Man rubbed his chin in thought, eyeing the mechanism beside the door. “Raymon, do you have any idea how to open this thing?”

“Yeah. If I had a booster. Or a super-powered force blaster gun. But, sadly, those haven’t been invented yet. I can’t open those suckers without any power going to them.”

The Old Man sighed wearily. “Seriously?”

“Absolutely.”

“There’s no way?”

“Not in the least.”

With a grumble, Ass Rapist slowly got up and shoved the Old Man out of the way. Just as he bent down to open the panel, the door slid open with a low hum.

All the sets of eyes blinked in unison.

“Ass Rapist?”

“Yeah, Jacob?”

“How did you do that?”

“With your mamma.”

“Shut up.”

On the other side just so happened to be a very unimpressed looking Boss.

Jacob beamed, a little more than anyone else thought necessary. “Boss! Thank God! Okay, what’s the battle plan?”

The Boss looked from one expectant face to the next, nodded, and turned around. “We run. Here and now.”

Ass Rapist smacked his forehead, the sound echoing off the walls eerily. “Give me a bloody break.”

“Nope. We’re going. Let’s go.” With that, Boss began moving, just as the sound of explosions echoed down the halls.

Jacob sped down the next corridor breathlessly, just missing running into Raymon. “Boss! What about Satisse?”

The Boss paused in front of another door, fiddling with another remote controller. “He’s on the other side. Got through before you guys did.” With that, the door swooshed open, and he ran through.

Ass Rapist shrugged at his friend, a mean grin on his face. “Guess you’re too slow.”

Jacob slapped the back of the other man’s head lazily. “You’re an ass. Get moving.”

Another explosion erupted, and debris flew past. The door spasmed, half-way to closing, half-way to permitting entrance.

Raymon grunted as she walked by, not without a tinge of hurry in her step. “Guess we’re next.”

The Old Man nodded sagely, pivoted on his heel, and slammed the door shut as they exited the final corridor.

Each stood in awe of the never-ending sea of forest ahead, the moon casting a dreary glow on all the moving wonders below.

Jacob shivered. “I forgot how cold it got out here.”

Boss grunted in reply, catching sight of Satisse waving them on ahead. “Moron. Get going. We have to leave before they find us.”

Leaping deftly, Jacob stopped Boss mid-step, his hands up in sincere concern. “Ahem. They?”

Boss nodded, glanced over his shoulder at his devout team, then kept walking steadily. “Yes. They’re here to kill us.”

Ass Rapist laughed it off, stretching languidly. “That’s it? Good luck to them.”

Jacob fell back into step with his brother in arms, giving him a glare that promised pain. “You, my good sir, are an asshole.”

The building blew into flames, shards cascading the area, billowing smoke suffocating the night sky. The moon was blotted out, the stars no longer existed: the sole light was that of the controlled bonfire, swallowing everything but what it should: from a distance, one could see something move within. Boss pretended it wasn’t there, but couldn’t ignore Raymon’s curse at it.

“Damn. It’s moving.”

“Say nothing of this to the others.”

“Isn’t that a little deceptive, Boss?”

“I didn’t believe you were going to listen anyways.”

“I wasn’t. Just wondering.”

“It’s for their own good.”

Raymon laughed, and the Boss cringed at it. She swung her body around, hands crossed behind her head, and lightly strolled back. “I always wondered who decided that stuff, Boss.”

He shook his head, fretting that the future was too quickly being overrun by the past.

The Old Man lay on his blanket, staring up at the night sky. Four hours of walking later, he thought drowsily, and they finally allow this old man to sleep. Four hours of walking and smelling their home burn, hearing the echoing cracks, seeing the orange-tainted sky. Knowing that was home.

He would have prayed, but doubted that would accomplish anything. Once upon a time, religion had been important. It was an everyday matter, prayer, and blessing, and sinning- now all there was was living. Surviving. Home took away religion, not for any other reason than it was a pointless distraction. And, nowadays, the Old Man couldn’t agree more.

Raymon lay down a few feet away, her back to him, doing a half-curl against the night air.

“Good night, Raymon.”

She grumbled something inaudible, paused, then sighed. “G’night, Old Man.”

He smiled. Here it was, he wanted to say, the outside world you longed for so much: is it worth losing everything for? Is it still beautiful, or was that beauty purely in memories? Is this the same world that you left all those years ago?

He meant no malice by it. He meant no harm by it. The Old Man wanted to know- because his own opinion was ebbing away. Beauty? He forgot what that was: was that orange sky beautiful? Was the dew on the grass beautiful? Was the blowing trees, the scarlet flower, the irony of it all- were they beautiful? Hell, was Raymon beautiful? He didn’t know.

The Old Man was afraid that, perhaps, society wasn’t ready for them yet.

Jacob frowned, poking at a snail on his foot. “Boss?”

“Yes, Jacob?” The Boss covered his head with the blanket, attempting- no, praying- that for one second, that man would shut up.

But, shut up he would not. From a few feet away, Jacob could still be seen and heard, sneering at the poor snail. “This sucks. I remember liking camping. This isn’t camping.”

Boss sighed, mentally cursing Jacob for being so goddamn noisy. “Jacob? Shut up.”

Sulking, the other man stuck his tongue out, brushed the snail away, got it stuck to his hand, and proceeded to flail it about in panic.

From the other end of the area, Ass Rapist burst into laughter, then was wisely quiet when Jacob threatened to make him eat snail.

Satisse laid back, a good distance away from the others, yet not so far away as to be out of view. The night was a little too light for his liking, so he decided on getting some reading done. Said reading didn’t have to be anything particularly legal, so he pulled out the tiny journal again. There was something about reading it that made him smile- perhaps because it was a tool to complete his mission, or perhaps because he simply enjoyed it.

Either way, he read.

Another guy came in. Said his name’s As…Asp…something. Sounds like ass rapist. I’ll keep that in mind. He’s not so bad: it’ll be good to see some new faces.

Met Fred. Not much to say. It was a quick rendezvous. Oh! Met the new Boss. Nice guy, I think. Said no more slap intakes. This is very good, but a little late. Slap-happy Jimbo’s dead.

Oh, I neglected that, didn’t I? Another escape. This is…what, the seventh, sixth one now? It ain’t working out so well. I get the feeling that I am exceedingly lucky that they haven’t just killed me yet. Anyways, went a little… Yeah. Snapped a bit. Got caught again, but it was that slap-errific guy from a while back. Bad things happened. He went a little too far in the punishment department, did a few things that I couldn’t let go unpunished. I got…well, perhaps revenge. He’s gone. Dead, dead, like everyone else who steps a little out of line.

Except for me. I don’t get it yet, why I’m still here, but as much as I like it, I hate it. Another damn love-hate relationship. Maybe I’m important, they can’t find another programmer so fast. What the hell am I talking about? I’m not a bloody programmer. I’m some random kid they pulled out of school one day. That’s it, really: got called down to the office, saw some guys in suits, thought it might have been a hacking gone wrong, went back to class. They called again, I ignored them. They sometimes go away.