#001 - "Arrival"
Chapter 1: Trial by Fire
I wake up on a dull grey, lead like floor. My head is spinning, my hands clammy, and my stomach churning. I can barely contain the urge to vomit.
“Where… Am I?”
I look around the small, dimly lit room I find myself in. The walls look like some sort of smooth concrete, and the room is lined with metal shelves cluttered with random junk.
The room doesn’t seem to have any light fixtures - At least, not that I can see. But instead, a loose ring of glowing vapor circles around the edges of the room. The light is faint, flickering like a bad fluorescent bulb. Maybe the lights are ingressed into the walls?
“Oh please don’t tell me I’ve been kidnapped.”
I stumble to my feet, using the shelves for leverage. Standing up makes my stomach hit critical mass, and I vomit into a nearby bucket.
Okay, I say “into”, but in reality I only probably got about 60% in. The rest of it some other poor bastard is going to have to clean.
My legs feel like jelly, and I’m cold sweating almost like I have the flu. My mind is in a fog. I can’t seem to remember what it was I was doing before this, where I even came from, or Hell, even who I am. I can grasp onto bits and pieces, but something keeps nagging at me. The moment I try to grasp it, and then it’s gone. What was I doing again?
I lean up against one of the shelves trying to get my bearings, and I look over at the junk piled on top of it.
Strange metallic canisters, vials filled with unlabeled liquids. I open up one of the boxes, and find a row of syringes.
Have I been drugged!? Is that why I feel so awful?? Remembering can come later. First thing’s first, I gotta get the Hell out of here, and figure out where “here” even is.
Frantically I start digging through other boxes. Spare parts of some kind, papers talking about shipping manifests, and what I can only guess to be scrap metal. Another has what looks to be some kind of strange work tools, and lastly surgical tools – Bloody surgical tools.
I immediately pull my phone from my pocket, ready to call the police. I’m not about to be made into some psycho’s lampshade, or basement gimp.
No signal, are you serious right now!?
I grab a hefty hammer from a box and stuff it in the back of my pants. I also take a screwdriver and a few weird looking surgical scalpels with a purple blade.
The vents kick on overhead, I can hear the flowing of air, and clanging of metal. Strangely enough, the glowing vapor barely reacts to the wind from the air duct.
I sway my way over to the metal door, and press my ear against it. Apart from the air running up above, it’s dead silent.
“Alright, time to get out of here. Please God, say they didn’t lock the…”
I look up and down at the door, and there’s no doorknob. I don’t even see so much as a hinge.
“Fuck.”
Panicking, I start searching around the room for some way to open the door. Finally after a few minutes, I find a panel on the wall hidden behind some boxes. Now why they would stick the door panel halfway across the room is beyond me. It has a dimly lit yellow touchscreen. As soon as my hand approaches it, the screen lights up. I hit open and the door quickly descends into the floor with a hydraulic hiss.
I exit the storage room and find myself in a wide hallway. The floor looks like some kind of polished black marble tiles, and the ceiling seems to be carved out of some kind of brown stone. Am I in a cave?? The same glowing white vapor floats up top, but this time the light is warm and steady, and the hallway is well illuminated. This place is what I imagine a Bond villian’s secret volcanic lair would look like – Clean, classy, and ominous. Totally different from the storage room’s “I’m going to cut you up and take your organs” kind of vibe.
The hall is lined with similar doors to the one I just left. To my left at the end of the hallway are a large set of steel doors, and on my right, the hallway connects to an adjacent hallway. The end has what looks to be a glass display case, which houses an expensive looking marble slab with prominent veins of various shades of orange, and gold. Whoever my would be kidnapper is, he has good tastes.
As soon as I think that, I hear a door open in the adjacent hallway, and hear a woman screaming at the top of her lungs.
“AHHHHHHH!! I’M SORRY!!! I’M SO SORRY!!! PLEASE!!!”
I immediately slink back into the doorway of the storage room, and peek around the corner. Just then I see three men dragging some poor girl down the hallway by her hair, stopping in front of the display case.
Her hair is a potent blue, with a slight hint of green, which smoothly transitions to what I can only describe as electric cyan at the ends. The poor girl has obviously been treated very harshly. She has a bruise on her cheek and black eye, with tears violently streaming from her face.
I damn near leapt out, hammer in hand to save her until I noticed what one of the men was carrying.
Is that a light machine gun!?!? Holy shit these guys are bad news.
The gun looked a lot like an M60, but was more boxy and rigid. It was painted maroon red, with red LEDs. I guess for style? I've seen way worse gun customizations before.
I couldn’t see any sort of ammo belt fed into the receiver, but I wasn’t about to jump out with a hammer and charge at them - Praying to God that thing wasn’t loaded.
I’m sorry Miss, but I can’t help you.
Taking a closer look, I assess the situation. Does that girl have cat ears?? No, some kind of fox ears? She even has a tail with the same hair color! Did they make her wear some kind of…? Holy crap did it just move?
It definitely just moved. I think... I think that might be a real tail!
She’s wearing a blue metal collar of some kind, and a short blue sleeveless robe with a sash tied snuggly around her waist. Her outfit is showing off a lot leg, the side profile of her thighs, and emphasizing her cleavage. She looks young, probably in her mid teens.
“P-Please don’t take me to the Export Box! I’m sorry!! I’m sorry!!”
“SHUT UP!!! I’M DONE LISTENING TO YOU!”
The man kicks the poor girl in the stomach, forcing the wind out of her. She curls up in a ball, and covers her face in fear.
I take a closer look at the men abusing the helpless girl. Anyway you look at them, they’re definitely thugs. They’re all wearing brightly colored body armor that has been mismatched and pieced together. All of it looks like a graffiti art project. Two of the thug’s armor looks like a child painted them, but the guy who’s dragging the poor girl by her hair has his armor immaculately designed and painted. It reminds me of how a Yakuza gets their whole body tattooed. Each of their armor has what looks to be an uppercase ‘H’ on the shoulder, with an ‘I’ through the middle. Or maybe it’s supposed to be ‘HH’?
The girl cowers in fear, expecting a second strike, but it never comes. Instead, the man holding her hair stops the other man.
“That’s enough. We can’t get much from damaged goods. We’ll throw her in with our VIP, see if we can’t make them buy this one as well if they want that woman so bad.”
“Huh, that’s a damn good idea. We'd be killing two birds with one stone! If they want that woman so bad, paying extra for this one would be a drop in the bucket for them.”
“Exactly, now you’re getting it. So cool your thrusters.”
The woman’s tear filled eyes peek up from behind her arms, and her greenish blue fox eyes meet mine.
She doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t need to. I can tell exactly what those eyes are saying: “Help me - Please."
The man holding her hair begins dragging her off once again. The entire time, through her sobbing, her eyes are locked with mine. Begging, pleading with me to come save her.
Goddammit, what do you expect me to do!? Run headlong into a hail of machine gun fire!?
Gradually, the hallway turns silent once again, and I am left alone with my thoughts.
I walk to the end of the hall where they had stopped, and peek around the corner. On the left, where they had headed, it turns into a corner. On the right, large steel doors.
I got a few options here. One - I could go where they came from on the right. Considering the size of these doors, and the fact they came from here, it probably leads to a main hub area. I would rather not open a door, and be welcomed by a firing squad.
Two - I could go through the large doors behind me, but once again – I'm getting firing squad vibes from there.
Three – I could go left where they went, but I know for certain there’s a guy with a big ass machine gun there. That said, “Export Box” huh? Well, if they’re exporting stuff, or people in this case, that also means there must be a way out. So left it’ll have to be.
But before that, I should really explore the other rooms in this hallway. After seeing that guy’s gun, running around with nothing but a hammer, a screwdriver, and some surgical scalpels seems like suicide. I wouldn’t even be able to close the distance before someone pumped about 30 rounds in me.
I head back and press my ear against the first door past the storage room. It’s dead silent, so I hide behind the wall, reach around the wall, holding my breath, and open the door using the panel next to it.
The door descends into the floor, the room lights up, and – a row of stalls. Well, I found the bathroom, so a potential hiding place at least.
I try the next room, bracing myself for the worst, open the door, the lights turn on and - nothing but showers.
Maybe I should just pretend I belong here. Hiding around the corner when I open the door is basically announcing I’m not supposed to be here. But the idea of opening a door and immediately catching a bullet in the chest is terrifying. I wish these doors had windows, I feel like I’m playing Russian roulette right now.
I go to the other side of the hall, and press my ear against the door – Silence. Fingers crossed that third time’s the charm. I hide around the corner, hold my breath, and open the door.
This time the lights in the room don’t come on. The room is much smaller, and I can make out the shape of a dresser, a corner table, a nightstand, and a bed.
There’s someone in here sleeping.
I can see on the nightstand next to his bed there’s what looks to be a gun. Exactly what I’m looking for. He’s facing the wall, but if he’s not actually asleep, or I wake him up, he can reach for his gun a lot faster than I can reach him.
Or what if I manage to steal his gun, he wakes up later, finds it missing, and raises Hell that somebody stole his gun. While their initial reaction would probably be to search their own ranks, I don’t need them on alert for any reason.
There’s only one bed in this room. Which means he doesn’t have a roommate unless it’s a rotational living space. But considering the fact the walls are covered in what I presume to be band posters, the floor is layered in dirty clothes, and the room reeks even from this distance – Willing to bet this guy is this room’s sole owner.
And given the fact those other guys didn’t seem exhausted like they were on shift for 10 hours, willing to bet this guy has at least several hours before he has to wake up.
Okay... The safest way to do this without raising any alarms will probably be to just kill him.
I don’t plan on staying here. They most likely won’t find this guy’s body until I’m long gone. Killing a man in his sleep feels dirty, but if his cohorts are anything to go by, this guy is scum.
How should I go about this? A hammer would be too loud, I need this to be as fast and as quiet as possible. Using the scalpel seems to be the most sure bet.
I inhale deeply, preparing myself for what I’m about to do. There can’t be any hesitation, remember: It’s him or me, it’s him or me, it’s him or me.
I exhale softly and quietly step into the room, shutting the door behind me. The hiss from the door made my teeth grit in silent panic, but the man didn’t seem to respond.
The room is nearly pitch black, the only miniscule amount of illumination in here is coming from a tiny green light on some sort of electrical device. Probably a charging indicator of some kind. Just enough for what I need it for.
I step lightly towards the bed. Every step making my heart skip a beat. I’m trying to keep my mind empty, I cannot afford to hesitate. Closer and closer, until I’m at the edge of the bed, standing over the man as he sleeps.
I pull the scalpel from my pocket with my left hand. The blade faintly shimmers a cold violet in the darkness.
Deep breath Max, you can do this.
Wait, who’s Max?
Oh right~ That’s me.
More memories rush back to me like a tidal wave. I vaguely remember walking in the park the other night. I remember my job at the shop. I remember heading to the bar last night to forget a really bad day. But I can’t remember why it was so bad?
Snap out of it Max, you have a job to do.
I look down at the man, and our eyes meet – He’s awake, and staring right at me.
For a moment, we both pause, time feels like it has come to a complete hault. I don’t think either of us are breathing. I don’t know, I can’t tell. The silence in this room has become deafening.
Suddenly we both launch into action. He leaps over for his gun, while I cover his mouth with my right hand, and drive the scalpel into his throat with my left.
His skin becomes literally red hot as soon as the blade enters, like melting metal. I can feel his screams trying to escape from the palm of my hand, as he digs his nails into my wrists. I drive the knife deeper and run it across.
Eventually the vibrations of his screams subsides, and his body goes limp. It’s done.
Jesus Christ, I… I just killed him. I know I had to do it, and I know I’ll probably have to kill more on my way out, but this – Stop. I don’t have time to think about this right now. Be a machine Max. Be a machine.
I walk over to the light switch and turn it on. This room is even more disgusting than I first thought. All of these clothes on the floor look damp, and I don’t want to know why. There’s trash and half rotten food everywhere, and the smell – Actually unbelievable. I knew it was bad, but I didn’t realize just how bad it was because of all the adrenaline. This room reeks of mildew, various bodily fluids, and ripe garbage. I feel like I can taste it in the air. The air feels thick – Humid.
I go over to the now dead man. I look at the wound I dealt to him, and found that his skin really did melt like metal. There’s only a tiny amount of blood on the sheets, maybe a papercut’s worth. What is up with this scalpel?
Wait… Is his skin actually metal?? I touch the skin on his neck, and sure enough, it’s hard. His face felt normal though? His neck doesn’t seem to be metal per se, it feels more like a carbon fiber, or a lightweight composite. But it looks like normal skin! Underneath that layer is just normal flesh. What the Hell is he!? Thank God I didn’t try the hammer, I might’ve not made it past his skin otherwise.
I toss the hammer on the floor and pick up the gun next to the bed. It looks like a stubby one-handed submachine gun. It’s painted florescent yellow, with a laser pink barrel and magazine. What the Hell is with these color choices? The mag has two strips running up it glowing a deeper pink on a slow but steady rhythm. I eject the mag, and find not a round sitting in it – but what looks like a pin connector. Is this a battery? Where do the bullets go? There’s not even an ejection port!
Whatever, if it’s a replica, I can still bluff my way out of a confrontation hopefully.
I dig through the nightstand, and find more mags, and toss them in my pockets just in case I’m missing something. Didn’t this guy have a phone? Well… It’s probably somewhere in that mountain of damp clothing over there…
Ah it’s probably locked anyway, I’ll pass on that “expedition.”
I also find a pack of smokes and a lighter. I remember vaguely that I had quit smoking back in my early 20’s, but screw it. After murdering someone in cold blood with your bare hands, a smoke sounds pretty fucking fantastic.
I light the smoke and inhale, instantly calming my nerves just a touch. The harshness and burn hits my now healthy throat and lungs like a truck, but for whatever reason, it puts me at ease. It feels nostalgic. Nostalgic for what, I’m not sure, I can’t seem to grasp whatever it is I’m thinking of. I just know this is pleasant.
The vents kick on overhead, and all the smoke begins to get completely sucked out. It must be automatic? No wonder the walls aren’t stained yellow. But I wonder why I couldn’t smell the cigarette smoke in here over the smell of the funk. Cigarette smoke should still win in this battle of the stank.
I finish up the smoke and put it out on the metal nightstand.
I then open up the dresser, and start digging through it. I find mostly a random assortment of junk, but I did manage to find one good thing – body armor. Specifically the thug’s body armor, complete with a full face mask.
If it fits, I could sneak out of here as one of them. Even if someone recognizes whose armor this is, my chances of sneaking out is way higher this way.
Alright let’s try it on!
Like the other thug’s armor, this armor looks like a hodgepodge mismatched set that was painted by a child. It mostly maroon, olive green, and fluorescent yellow. To be honest, if the dude had even the slightest amount of artistic ability, this color scheme could actually mesh pretty well. So he must have had an eye for color, not quality. This armor too had “HH” painted on the shoulder. Must be their gang.
Underneath the piled on paint, I can barely make out the name Tony. So this guy’s name was Tony? Good to know. Also who paints over their nametag?
The mask was a padded fabric ski-mask like hood with built-in red opaque goggles. I put it on, and by the grace of God, it doesn’t smell. I was pleasantly surprised to find my vision was crystal clear through the goggles. I look around the room and the goggles highlight Tony’s body with a purple box. Does it identify what it thinks are people? Handy.
I put the armor on over my clothes, and besides being a little tight around the forearms, and short at the ankles, it more or less fits. It feels much lighter than it looks.
Now the boots are agony though. I can feel the bones in the top of my feet getting compacted into dust. But I can’t walk around in body armor and tennis shoes.
I do one last sweep around the room, even suffering through exploring the moist pile of clothes, finding nothing of note. I figured he’d at least have some keys or something.
I hide Tony’s body in the dresser, just as some extra insurance. Sorry Tony, I hope your next life will be better than your last.
I have one last smoke, before turning the lights off and exiting the room, closing the door behind me.
I walk down the hallway as confidently and as naturally as I possibly can. Which is easier said than done since every step is a new nightmare for my now broken feet.
I turn left, where those thugs took that girl, and turn right at the corner. The walls changes from stone cave to tan tiles, and the floor turns into metal plates. At the end of the hall there are some doors.
There are windows further up ahead.
Weird – There’s light shining through pretty brightly, but I can see the night sky?
I walk up, and look out the windows, trying to figure out where I am.
“What. The. Fuck.”
There’s nothing – ACTUALLY NOTHING.
I-I’m in fucking space!? This isn’t some kind of optical illusion or something right!?!? I frantically search every square inch of outside through the window. The only thing out there is stars and the sun humming brightly in the distance.
I take a step back, hands on my head, almost falling flat on my ass.
How the Hell… Am I supposed to get out of here!?! I don’t have a spaceship, I don’t know how to fly a spaceship, I don’t even know where I am!!! It’s not like I can just negotiate with these guys now, I killed one of their men and stuffed him in a closet!
Oh my God I am so screwed.
I fast walk back to Tony’s room, open the door, throw the lights on, and light up another smoke.
“Okay Max think: How the Hell are we gonna get out of this?”
I can’t negotiate, I can’t fly, and even if I could fly I would need to hijack a ship – assuming this place keeps ships docked here! The Russians only travel to the International Space Station once every few months right?? There’s no way I can pretend to be this Tony guy for several months, with a rotting corpse in the room!
Okay wait, that girl said something about an Export Box right? And those guys said someone wanted some VIP right? So that must mean somebody is coming soon!
Whoever’s coming sounds like a customer, not an ally. So I doubt I can pretend to be Tony and hitch a ride. Stowing away might be possible? No, if they’re here to buy a person, it’ll probably be a quick tradeoff and done. No – I’ll have to hijack the ship.
But what if the ship needs multiple crew members to operate it?
…Then I guess that girl is going to get her wish.
I’ll have to bust her, and this VIP out, and pray to God they can help me escape.
I finish my smoke up, stomp it out, and open the door.
“Okay, let’s do this.”
