[Note: This is the next chapter, following Blood in the Code.]
Phrack's eyes were open. Twin orbs of a deep gun barrel blue stared upward and through the stone ceiling of the compound structure that he laid within. He wasn't looking at anything, but rather through it all... time, space, everything. He ignored the dark cloaked figured that hovered over his body, as he contemplated his life thus far.
His birth had resulted in the separation and divorce of his parents. His mother had worked for the rest of her life to support both him and her, barely scraping by.
His time in the Brothers of Destiny had been a waste. In the end, they'd turned on him at the slightest whim, throwing away the so-called 'brotherhood' they'd shared with Phrack in an attempt to kill him.
His awakening didn't have any better results. He was a burden on people in Zion, and doubly so when he decided not to burden them any longer.
His departure from the Last Human City had coincided with the creation of E Pluribus Neo... and even that had suffered at his hand. The truth that had become clear to Phrack is that his termination, at any moment, by any person's hand, would have no negative affect on anyone or anything. His life, thus far, had been nothing but trouble for anyone.
Two wives had even left him because of this. But then... they all leave in the end anyway.
"It's finished." Arcane's voice rang through the chamber, as the men that surrounded Phrack's body slowly backed away to admire their work.
Phrack sat upright, slowly, taking in the throbbing pain that shot across his face and even now was beginning to contort into a fierce migraine. Calmly and without the slightest show of emotion, he turned to look at Arcane, revealing the fresh cross-shaped tattoo that spanned his face. It was a symbol... an alteration of his RSI to represent on the outside, the pain that he felt on the inside.
"How does it feel?" Arcane asked in a concerned tone, as the other exiles looked on.
"No different than anything else, lately." Phrack answered amidst the pain.
Arcane nodded at this response, his massive muscular arms crossed over his chest. The answer was an honest one, and not one that was unexpected. Single-file, the monk-like exiles left the two alone in the silent room: Arcane leaning against the wall, near a torch, and Phrack sitting upright on the alter with freshly-treated wounds and a new ritual tattoo. They sat silent for several moments, leaving only the noise of the torches, the crackling fire, to add ambience to the atmosphere. The stone walls of the room were similar to those of a dungeon, letting in a little light between the bars that filled them.
It had been three days since Phrack's battle with Arcane, and his submission to his fate. Perhaps it was this place, but his wounds had already begun healing at a much faster rate than they would have in the Matrix. He was sure that onboard his ship, his operator was worried sick about him... his signal had disappeared from the Matrix some time ago, when he first entered the white hallways to take the trip to Club Hel. It never returned.
It came to Phrack's mind that anything could happen in his departure from his ship that would cause him to drop dead in this place. A sentinel attack... an ambush... or his operator just pulling his plug, not knowing what else to do.
"What happens now?" Phrack asked, ready to begin whatever training Arcane had planned. He wanted to get through it and get it over with, so he could jack out or at least return to the Matrix, where he could let his operator know that he was alive.
"Your wounds are healed enough for you to begin your training, but I should warn you that it will be extensive." Arcane explained. "The dead man specifically ordered it that way."
Phrack nodded, as he rose from the alter to his feet. It was typical of SeventeenDead to give such and order. He'd never been one to appreciate the easy way, unless the easy way happened to be excessively bloody. He was sure whatever was going to happen wasn't going to be pleasant, but it was something he could handle.
"Then let's do it." Phrack said, before stretching the arm that had been unusable the day before. It still ached, and the muscle throbbed where his own knife had entered him... but it was much better than it had been only hours before.
"Come with me, the others should have the supplies prepared for our trip." Arcane told him, as he unfolded his arms and turned to head for the door.
--
The door to the apartment flew open with a single kick, sending splinters of wood and paint flying in and across the living room. Melissa walked in, almost wanting to gag at the number of snack wrappers and empty soda cans that littered the place.
"Search the place." She ordered, as two men, dressed in punk rock-style attire entered the apartment behind her and crossed the living room, weapons in hand. "The Merovingian ordered Speck found for his treason."
Her search for answers concerning Phrack's trip to the Ruins had led her back into the simulation, a place she preferred to be anyway. But she'd only begun her search when she'd been ordered to locate and terminate Speck for aiding in the escape of the two redpills who'd entered the Merovingian's club looking for Phrack. Melissa knew when she'd heard this that it was most likely her best chance at getting answers, and proceeded into it with her own agenda. She would do what she'd been ordered to, but she wanted answers.
"The place is clean. Looks like nobody's been here in days." One of the men said, as he returned to her location in the living room of the apartment.
"After the explosion, the three escaped into the garage and fled." Melissa thought to herself outloud as she walked through the apartment. "It makes sense that Speck wouldn't return here, he knew the Merovingian would be looking for him."
"But he has no place to go, even if the other two could jack out." Another man said, looking at her.
"Unless EPN put him up in a safehouse." Melissa noted, before pulling out her cellular phone and hitting a button on speed dial. The phone rang momentarily, and then the operator's voice could be heard. "Contact Flood and ask for clearance to access the Merovingian's list of Neonate safe houses throughout the city. There's a good chance that the Epeens are keeping Speck there, and out of the path of the Frenchman."
--
The trees swayed strongly in the wind. Arcane had led Phrack from the compound and through the forest for what seemed like forever, before they had reached a clearing. This place still astounded him with its alien nature. Above, the black skies were now barely visible as the deep brown clouds covered the sky, churning and boiling.
Lightning danced across the sky, followed by rolling thunder.
"What are we doing?" Phrack asked Arcane, who stood several feet in front of him, resting on a log.
Arcane was once again wearing his deep-black robe, and his hood covered his shaved head. On his back rested a leather pouch with various supplies.
"Smell the air." Arcane told Phrack, with a light smile.
Phrack inhaled, taking in the light smell of moisture and electricity. It left a strange taste in his mouth, like putting your tongue to a 9-volt battery.
"It's about to rain." Arcane said, before removing the pouch from his back and placing it on the log beside where he was sitting. "This is our first step... washing away the last traces of who you were, so that who you are is what remains."
Phrack nodded softly, taking a moment to fully understand the words.
"Now take off your vest." Arcane told him, which prompted an odd look from Phrack. "Just do it."
Without a word, Phrack did as he was told and slowly unbuckled each of the buckles on the black tactical vest, before pulling it off. He put it in one hand and tossed it toward the log. With one more look to the boiling sky, Phrack lowered himself into a kneeling stance as his head tilted upward and his eyes closed. Moments passed and nothing happened. Thunder blasted through the air, loud enough to make Phrack's ears ring... but he didn't budge. His eyes remained closed and his head stayed tilted back, as though awaiting a gift from above. And then it happened.
A single drop of black rain fell from the sky and landed on Phrack's shoulder. He could hear it sizzle as it burned at his skin, and he turned to look at it... watching as a small trail of smoke rose from the drop before it stopped sizzling.
It burned like hell.
"Yes. It's acid rain." Arcane told him, as he smiled knowingly. Phrack looked back at him with concern. "This is your baptism... now close your eyes and embrace it." He said, and Phrack obeyed hesitantly.
After a moment, Phrack's muscles twitched when another drop landed on him... but he soon recovered and waited for more. And then the sky opened. Black drops of rain fell from the heavens, landing on him in a downpour... making his muscles twitch and contort from the burning sensation of each new drop. In front of him, still resting atop the log, Arcane pulled his hood forward a bit more to make sure he was covered, before placing his hands in his pockets and hiding the last bit of skin. He watched as Phrack's body convulsed and spasmed in pain, as he fought to hold his kneeling position on the ground.
The black rain was now pouring down heavily, as lightning clawed at the sky like fingernails on skin, threatening to rip it open. Thunder followed, booming so loud that the ground itself seemed to shake beneath them.
Phrack's head flung forward, his face turning toward the ground as his arms lifted upward. The pain was unbearable, each drop of this tempest burning against his skin, as trails of oil-like black rain sizzled and trailed down the skin of his chest and back. He began to scream violently at the onslaught of pain, his voice rising back to the heavens that punished him.
Arcane watched in silence as it continued, his robe just thick enough to protect him from the rain.
Screams of torture continued as the thickness of the rain increased. Phrack's mind raced through all that he had done until now... everything he had sacrificed and all that had questioned his faith in Morpheus. It was all burning away.
Lightning stuck so close that Phrack could feel the hair on his arms stand freely from static electricity.
"Let Zion play their cards. I have my own to play, as they shall soon see." Morpheus' voice echoed in his mind, from that night in Club Messiah.
"You will know when it is time." Morpheus' voice resounded through his mind.
Time has come and gone, old man. I've waited for an eternity, and led people to follow you who otherwise would have left long before I.
"Is this what he would've wanted? I've never seen Morpheus act out of vengeance." Phrack's own voice chimed in. The memory of that day in the Sobra Shores church, trying to reason with Niobe while she called Zion to war with the Merovingians.
"That's not important right now." Niobe answered.
Of course it wasn't. For someone to claim themselves so awakened, you're so quick to act on your emotions and lead your people into situations you aren't prepared to handle.
No wonder Morpheus couldn't stay with you.
Memories continued to flash through Phrack's mind, one after the other... some very much real, and some merely imagined. Zion lit up with flame, the docks littered with bodies and inactive sentinels. War breaking out atop the roof of Jacob's Ladder in Apollyon, the very same place his mother had worked years before. Cypherites attacking in Bathary Row as he stood alongside Zion and battled the onslaught of masked soldiers.
Thunder crashed nearby.
The intensity of it all overtook him, until the pain of the acid rain disappeared. These were memories of who he was and what he'd done. The image of him standing alongside Merovingian soldiers in the white hallways, interrogating the strategically-acquired TIMCAMM. The image of him and his soldiers within Scarlet Prime, fanned out across Apollyon Park, fighting hand-in-hand with members of the Red Code Army. Faces from long ago. Shimori. Ettaric. Fryed. Olbaid. They were all gone. Zant. Vie. Vesperascit. They'd left him. Hexedesmal. Ratiug. So many of them had deserted him, just like Morpheus had.
Faster and faster they flashed, each one flashing brighter in his mind's eye. The images that were burned into his cerebrum were now drowning out his own screams, coming together in a single vision of truth: none of them cared. Not like he cared.
None of them tried. Not like he tried. None of them wanted what he wanted... none of them had seen the light like he had... but all of them had left him to rot.
So they could rot, for all he cared.
To hell with them all. Let them all burn. Without them... without EPN... without her... without his child... what was left? What -is- left when it's all stripped away?
He was.
His eyes opened wide at the realization, aimed upward toward the vicious and never-ending sky that unleashed torrents against him, like each drop signified another in the legions that he'd faced time and again in the past. His screams subsided and he gasped for air as the rain fell into his face, baptising him and washing away the pain that he'd carried with him for so long. It was at this exact moment that he came to realize...
...the rain no longer stung his skin.
They say that the truth is subjective. One man's truth may not necessarily be the truth to another individual. Who we are, where we are, what things represent... they all change accordingly to the eye of the beholder.
Maybe that's true, but I always had a hard time believing it.
The truth was the truth was the truth. It never changed, never faltered, never waivered. It wasn't a mirage, visible only as some heat-induced dream that danced on the horizon. It was real... substantial and tangible. Like pain.
Pain was something that never changed. It was always substantial, and it could always be felt... by everyone. And I've certainly felt my share.
I remember exactly what it felt like to lay on that stone alter as that needle stabbed into my flesh again and again. It was like freeing something within me... tiny pinpricks, opening microscopic doors into my body. The drops of blood were me. My pain... my anger... releasing from inside me, freed from its prison.
My skin felt like it was on fire. Lit up and alive... a feeling I'd forgotten all about, after hurting for so long that I've become numb. But then, my skin was only code wasn't it?
Code.
Digital blood that emitted from within... code releasing code. Blood red code.
Yes. This was me.
This was my pain.
Maybe that's true, but I always had a hard time believing it.
The truth was the truth was the truth. It never changed, never faltered, never waivered. It wasn't a mirage, visible only as some heat-induced dream that danced on the horizon. It was real... substantial and tangible. Like pain.
Pain was something that never changed. It was always substantial, and it could always be felt... by everyone. And I've certainly felt my share.
I remember exactly what it felt like to lay on that stone alter as that needle stabbed into my flesh again and again. It was like freeing something within me... tiny pinpricks, opening microscopic doors into my body. The drops of blood were me. My pain... my anger... releasing from inside me, freed from its prison.
My skin felt like it was on fire. Lit up and alive... a feeling I'd forgotten all about, after hurting for so long that I've become numb. But then, my skin was only code wasn't it?
Code.
Digital blood that emitted from within... code releasing code. Blood red code.
Yes. This was me.
This was my pain.
Phrack's eyes were open. Twin orbs of a deep gun barrel blue stared upward and through the stone ceiling of the compound structure that he laid within. He wasn't looking at anything, but rather through it all... time, space, everything. He ignored the dark cloaked figured that hovered over his body, as he contemplated his life thus far.
His birth had resulted in the separation and divorce of his parents. His mother had worked for the rest of her life to support both him and her, barely scraping by.
His time in the Brothers of Destiny had been a waste. In the end, they'd turned on him at the slightest whim, throwing away the so-called 'brotherhood' they'd shared with Phrack in an attempt to kill him.
His awakening didn't have any better results. He was a burden on people in Zion, and doubly so when he decided not to burden them any longer.
His departure from the Last Human City had coincided with the creation of E Pluribus Neo... and even that had suffered at his hand. The truth that had become clear to Phrack is that his termination, at any moment, by any person's hand, would have no negative affect on anyone or anything. His life, thus far, had been nothing but trouble for anyone.
Two wives had even left him because of this. But then... they all leave in the end anyway.
"It's finished." Arcane's voice rang through the chamber, as the men that surrounded Phrack's body slowly backed away to admire their work.
Phrack sat upright, slowly, taking in the throbbing pain that shot across his face and even now was beginning to contort into a fierce migraine. Calmly and without the slightest show of emotion, he turned to look at Arcane, revealing the fresh cross-shaped tattoo that spanned his face. It was a symbol... an alteration of his RSI to represent on the outside, the pain that he felt on the inside.
"How does it feel?" Arcane asked in a concerned tone, as the other exiles looked on.
"No different than anything else, lately." Phrack answered amidst the pain.
Arcane nodded at this response, his massive muscular arms crossed over his chest. The answer was an honest one, and not one that was unexpected. Single-file, the monk-like exiles left the two alone in the silent room: Arcane leaning against the wall, near a torch, and Phrack sitting upright on the alter with freshly-treated wounds and a new ritual tattoo. They sat silent for several moments, leaving only the noise of the torches, the crackling fire, to add ambience to the atmosphere. The stone walls of the room were similar to those of a dungeon, letting in a little light between the bars that filled them.
It had been three days since Phrack's battle with Arcane, and his submission to his fate. Perhaps it was this place, but his wounds had already begun healing at a much faster rate than they would have in the Matrix. He was sure that onboard his ship, his operator was worried sick about him... his signal had disappeared from the Matrix some time ago, when he first entered the white hallways to take the trip to Club Hel. It never returned.
It came to Phrack's mind that anything could happen in his departure from his ship that would cause him to drop dead in this place. A sentinel attack... an ambush... or his operator just pulling his plug, not knowing what else to do.
"What happens now?" Phrack asked, ready to begin whatever training Arcane had planned. He wanted to get through it and get it over with, so he could jack out or at least return to the Matrix, where he could let his operator know that he was alive.
"Your wounds are healed enough for you to begin your training, but I should warn you that it will be extensive." Arcane explained. "The dead man specifically ordered it that way."
Phrack nodded, as he rose from the alter to his feet. It was typical of SeventeenDead to give such and order. He'd never been one to appreciate the easy way, unless the easy way happened to be excessively bloody. He was sure whatever was going to happen wasn't going to be pleasant, but it was something he could handle.
"Then let's do it." Phrack said, before stretching the arm that had been unusable the day before. It still ached, and the muscle throbbed where his own knife had entered him... but it was much better than it had been only hours before.
"Come with me, the others should have the supplies prepared for our trip." Arcane told him, as he unfolded his arms and turned to head for the door.
--
The door to the apartment flew open with a single kick, sending splinters of wood and paint flying in and across the living room. Melissa walked in, almost wanting to gag at the number of snack wrappers and empty soda cans that littered the place.
"Search the place." She ordered, as two men, dressed in punk rock-style attire entered the apartment behind her and crossed the living room, weapons in hand. "The Merovingian ordered Speck found for his treason."
Her search for answers concerning Phrack's trip to the Ruins had led her back into the simulation, a place she preferred to be anyway. But she'd only begun her search when she'd been ordered to locate and terminate Speck for aiding in the escape of the two redpills who'd entered the Merovingian's club looking for Phrack. Melissa knew when she'd heard this that it was most likely her best chance at getting answers, and proceeded into it with her own agenda. She would do what she'd been ordered to, but she wanted answers.
"The place is clean. Looks like nobody's been here in days." One of the men said, as he returned to her location in the living room of the apartment.
"After the explosion, the three escaped into the garage and fled." Melissa thought to herself outloud as she walked through the apartment. "It makes sense that Speck wouldn't return here, he knew the Merovingian would be looking for him."
"But he has no place to go, even if the other two could jack out." Another man said, looking at her.
"Unless EPN put him up in a safehouse." Melissa noted, before pulling out her cellular phone and hitting a button on speed dial. The phone rang momentarily, and then the operator's voice could be heard. "Contact Flood and ask for clearance to access the Merovingian's list of Neonate safe houses throughout the city. There's a good chance that the Epeens are keeping Speck there, and out of the path of the Frenchman."
--
Human.
It's a simple enough word... but words are meaningless if you can't comprehend what it is that they imply. Which leads one to wonder the definition of the word 'human.'
What is it? What makes someone human?
Is it emotion? Free thought? ...No.
Exiles have feelings and thoughts. They aren't human.
Perhaps it's our ability to reason. Ha. As if we reason... there's nothing reasonable about humans.
So what does it mean to be human? What makes our species different from the machines or the exiles? What makes us unique?
The only answer I have is flesh. And with flesh comes pain... which means pain must be what it means to be human.
It's a simple enough word... but words are meaningless if you can't comprehend what it is that they imply. Which leads one to wonder the definition of the word 'human.'
What is it? What makes someone human?
Is it emotion? Free thought? ...No.
Exiles have feelings and thoughts. They aren't human.
Perhaps it's our ability to reason. Ha. As if we reason... there's nothing reasonable about humans.
So what does it mean to be human? What makes our species different from the machines or the exiles? What makes us unique?
The only answer I have is flesh. And with flesh comes pain... which means pain must be what it means to be human.
The trees swayed strongly in the wind. Arcane had led Phrack from the compound and through the forest for what seemed like forever, before they had reached a clearing. This place still astounded him with its alien nature. Above, the black skies were now barely visible as the deep brown clouds covered the sky, churning and boiling.
Lightning danced across the sky, followed by rolling thunder.
"What are we doing?" Phrack asked Arcane, who stood several feet in front of him, resting on a log.
Arcane was once again wearing his deep-black robe, and his hood covered his shaved head. On his back rested a leather pouch with various supplies.
"Smell the air." Arcane told Phrack, with a light smile.
Phrack inhaled, taking in the light smell of moisture and electricity. It left a strange taste in his mouth, like putting your tongue to a 9-volt battery.
"It's about to rain." Arcane said, before removing the pouch from his back and placing it on the log beside where he was sitting. "This is our first step... washing away the last traces of who you were, so that who you are is what remains."
Phrack nodded softly, taking a moment to fully understand the words.
"Now take off your vest." Arcane told him, which prompted an odd look from Phrack. "Just do it."
Without a word, Phrack did as he was told and slowly unbuckled each of the buckles on the black tactical vest, before pulling it off. He put it in one hand and tossed it toward the log. With one more look to the boiling sky, Phrack lowered himself into a kneeling stance as his head tilted upward and his eyes closed. Moments passed and nothing happened. Thunder blasted through the air, loud enough to make Phrack's ears ring... but he didn't budge. His eyes remained closed and his head stayed tilted back, as though awaiting a gift from above. And then it happened.
A single drop of black rain fell from the sky and landed on Phrack's shoulder. He could hear it sizzle as it burned at his skin, and he turned to look at it... watching as a small trail of smoke rose from the drop before it stopped sizzling.
It burned like hell.
"Yes. It's acid rain." Arcane told him, as he smiled knowingly. Phrack looked back at him with concern. "This is your baptism... now close your eyes and embrace it." He said, and Phrack obeyed hesitantly.
After a moment, Phrack's muscles twitched when another drop landed on him... but he soon recovered and waited for more. And then the sky opened. Black drops of rain fell from the heavens, landing on him in a downpour... making his muscles twitch and contort from the burning sensation of each new drop. In front of him, still resting atop the log, Arcane pulled his hood forward a bit more to make sure he was covered, before placing his hands in his pockets and hiding the last bit of skin. He watched as Phrack's body convulsed and spasmed in pain, as he fought to hold his kneeling position on the ground.
The black rain was now pouring down heavily, as lightning clawed at the sky like fingernails on skin, threatening to rip it open. Thunder followed, booming so loud that the ground itself seemed to shake beneath them.
Phrack's head flung forward, his face turning toward the ground as his arms lifted upward. The pain was unbearable, each drop of this tempest burning against his skin, as trails of oil-like black rain sizzled and trailed down the skin of his chest and back. He began to scream violently at the onslaught of pain, his voice rising back to the heavens that punished him.
Arcane watched in silence as it continued, his robe just thick enough to protect him from the rain.
Screams of torture continued as the thickness of the rain increased. Phrack's mind raced through all that he had done until now... everything he had sacrificed and all that had questioned his faith in Morpheus. It was all burning away.
Lightning stuck so close that Phrack could feel the hair on his arms stand freely from static electricity.
"Let Zion play their cards. I have my own to play, as they shall soon see." Morpheus' voice echoed in his mind, from that night in Club Messiah.
His own cards? What cards? Creating chaos in the streets and then leaving others to take the heat for it?
"You will know when it is time." Morpheus' voice resounded through his mind.
Time has come and gone, old man. I've waited for an eternity, and led people to follow you who otherwise would have left long before I.
"Is this what he would've wanted? I've never seen Morpheus act out of vengeance." Phrack's own voice chimed in. The memory of that day in the Sobra Shores church, trying to reason with Niobe while she called Zion to war with the Merovingians.
"That's not important right now." Niobe answered.
Of course it wasn't. For someone to claim themselves so awakened, you're so quick to act on your emotions and lead your people into situations you aren't prepared to handle.
No wonder Morpheus couldn't stay with you.
Memories continued to flash through Phrack's mind, one after the other... some very much real, and some merely imagined. Zion lit up with flame, the docks littered with bodies and inactive sentinels. War breaking out atop the roof of Jacob's Ladder in Apollyon, the very same place his mother had worked years before. Cypherites attacking in Bathary Row as he stood alongside Zion and battled the onslaught of masked soldiers.
Thunder crashed nearby.
The intensity of it all overtook him, until the pain of the acid rain disappeared. These were memories of who he was and what he'd done. The image of him standing alongside Merovingian soldiers in the white hallways, interrogating the strategically-acquired TIMCAMM. The image of him and his soldiers within Scarlet Prime, fanned out across Apollyon Park, fighting hand-in-hand with members of the Red Code Army. Faces from long ago. Shimori. Ettaric. Fryed. Olbaid. They were all gone. Zant. Vie. Vesperascit. They'd left him. Hexedesmal. Ratiug. So many of them had deserted him, just like Morpheus had.
Faster and faster they flashed, each one flashing brighter in his mind's eye. The images that were burned into his cerebrum were now drowning out his own screams, coming together in a single vision of truth: none of them cared. Not like he cared.
None of them tried. Not like he tried. None of them wanted what he wanted... none of them had seen the light like he had... but all of them had left him to rot.
So they could rot, for all he cared.
To hell with them all. Let them all burn. Without them... without EPN... without her... without his child... what was left? What -is- left when it's all stripped away?
He was.
His eyes opened wide at the realization, aimed upward toward the vicious and never-ending sky that unleashed torrents against him, like each drop signified another in the legions that he'd faced time and again in the past. His screams subsided and he gasped for air as the rain fell into his face, baptising him and washing away the pain that he'd carried with him for so long. It was at this exact moment that he came to realize...
...the rain no longer stung his skin.
