WRITING The Snare of Hysteria.

Discussion in 'SHOWCASING' started by Arcadia, Mar 12, 2015.

  1. Part I: An Exodus Of Normality
    Prologue

    "You serpents, you brood of vipers, how are you to escape
    being sentenced to hell?"
    ~Matthew 23:33

    The room was dark, with the mere exception of a monitor, alight, in its center. Scraps of paper and flesh littered the floor. The monitor provided him with just enough light to gaze upon his creation. It lay dormant, a creature of liquid ooze the colour of midnight. He smiled. He was a self-proclaimed messiah, bringing a malevolent Lazarus back from Sheol. Tendril-like appendages of mercury slithered like snakes from the creature. He looked toward the various heart rate monitors and IV cables sustaining the beast, a homunculus of his own patent and design, a sole example of his own demonic genius. He would use this demon to wreak havoc upon those who had scorned and wronged him. He would become a puppeteer, preying on their most primal of fears, with the ultimate soldier at his side. He would use this being to force these people to their knees in subservience, and then he would slaughter their loved ones left and right until these agitators, anarchists and revolutionaries were punished to the full extent of his powers for ever having dared to fathom a rebellious thought against him.

    It was time. Inhaling slowly, he caught the sickly sweet smell of detrital flesh decay. After months of experiments; live, and theoretical; he had finally created an automaton of flesh, gristle and bone who would follow his every command like an obedient, yet murderous, lapdog. Grabbing a nearby electrical cattle prod he had used to keep his live experiments obedient, he decided he was ready. It was now or never. Pulling out the IV lines to a cacophonous chorus of electronic squeals, this solid indicator would be the determinate factor to which his machination rose to existent glory, or become a failed experiment which send him into a relapse of progress. He began to doubt himself. Months of work, toil, sweat and blood, and his experiment not work? It was self-admitted, psychological torture. But before all hope was completely lost, the table began to shake, the tendrils of the creature gripping the sides of the experimental desk so hard, fractures began to appear in the wood. A deep, inhuman growl could be heard as it rumbled throughout the room, bringing on a smile from the man. IT HAD WORKED! All his trouble, and his homunculus was now a fully grown machination, ready to carry out destruction on a large scale. He looked at the being, a few feet away to ensure he was not attacked in its awakening.

    Its eyes opened. And then it stood, its mouth detached like that of a snake, a wild, black tongue swirling about in its head.

    "Ma....ster..." It spoke. "Ma...ster. What...do...you require...of...me?"
    He had to give this creature a name. Something that would strike fear into the hearts of his chosen targets. Something...like... Azazel. "Awaken, Azazel. Crush these people-" He took a remote from his pocket, wirelessly turning on a screen in front of them both. "I created you with powers beyond human comprehension. It's time to play a little game of cat and mouse. With your power, the power to absorb the blood of these evil scum, you will become more powerful, become a god among men. Now go. I have some introductions to be made."












    Semi
    The man was asleep. In a motel, outside of the city. It was a troubled and toiling sleep, the depth of darkness within his mind an unyielding source of psychological despair and torture. He had the same recurring dream. The same pit of anguish that he could inevitably never escape from. It was his fault. He knew it in the back mind and he had always known it. From the day it had occurred, he was the one who let it happen. He was the one who couldn’t prevent the obvious from arising. He tossed and turned, mumbling warnings. He was having a dream, no a nightmare, of his previous career before he experienced a forced retirement. It was the heist. Semi, and his two other comrades-in-arms. He remembered fluidly. It was his every memory in the dreamworld. The swirling black cocoon unconsciousness conjured up the familiar images once again, the next round of mental daily torture ready to pierce the images into his brain like the beginnings of a visceral lobotomy. He was in the truck with his two team mates. He could not see their faces clearly, the dream state only allowing a faint recollection of such a thing, their names at the tip of his tongue but not able to be enunciated and expressed. They were driving up to the corporation building, the highway stretching behind them like a grey stone mass of conformity. They were professional heisters. And this organization was their latest target. The tallest of the three, his lean face chalked with scars on his cheeks which spread to the edges of his lips; scars from what was told to be a bad bar fight, the slashes symbolic of his own vitriol that was discharged toward his opponent. But the old saying goes. Never bring a knife to a gun fight, or in actuality, never bring coercion into a knife fight. They were all set up. Semi brought with him his laptop in a briefcase, its network that of the corporations, its purpose, that of disabling the security systems to allow themselves anonymity within the confines of the metropolitan building. They stepped out of the van and onto a busy street. Around them were glass skyscrapers, machinations of defunct conformity that served less of a purpose of being called beautiful, but to serve the daily grind of its ordinary citizens, the underclass who worked their lives under the thumbs of the elite corporate CEOs. That’s why Semi had chosen to tackle this building. As much as the man who owned the company claimed to be a philanthropist, making dozens of donations to variable charities every year, it could not be ignored, the intelligence about the man Semi and his team had gathered. The CEO was a man of science, forced to cover up doctor’s overalls within the monotony of a business suit and tie, the classy edge nothing more than a dull blade in all truth. He had invested in the science of biology, examining studies of the brain and the body, reading up on books such as Mary Shelley and her campfire story Frankenstein, and further investing his cash into the study of humanity within the confines of mortality. He would send out hired mercenaries, and take people off of the streets, where they would never be heard from again. Once the hounds of journalism caught wind, it was too late. The CEO would have already bribed every public official into calming the inevitable storm of panic. But this time, Semi would do the dastardly to eradicate the evil. He would rob all the resources that The Corporation had to offer, steal any monetary funding that they had encapsulated through “favours” as they were seemingly known in the political spectrums, nothing more than dirty pay-offs to clean the hands of another of its guilt and blood. He smiled. The sun was shining. The sky was blue. Despite the atrocities they were about to commit, he felt at peace, calm, a Zen-like state washing over him. Grabbing the briefcase, he looked at the two other men. “Time to move, you two.” He exclaimed, the men slipping their Kevlar jackets on underneath their formal suits, the disguise suitable for their needs. Walking up the steps past businessmen and women, clients, and those who dealt with them, they entered the expansive lobby of the building. It was art décor, chairs and tables made of odd polygons to establish the illusion of modernism in this fairly drab landscape of corporate conventionality, formality taking a front seat compared to that of a pleasant environment. Sitting on one of the chairs, Semi unhooked the laptop and plugged in a set of wireless earphones, acting as his transmitter and receiver. He opened the screen to the familiar tone of a Windows machine, the application opening, his suite of tools flashing onto the screen. He smiled. He found an icon that looked like that of a typical security camera, labelled “DISABLE CAMERA FEED” and clicked on it. Bringing up an error box with a Yes/No option, he clicked yes, the cameras suddenly deactivating, all feeds now inactive. This would give them a window of ten minutes, in the best scenario, where his other companions would be able to steal the vital information they needed, and hopefully a little monetary gift on the side. Essentials came first however. “You have ten minutes you two.” Semi posed, as he checked the feed he had from the building. Security were more alert now, since their only method of doing their jobs semi-efficiently was now defunct and inactive. He heard some static from the microphone feed, then one of his allies came into audible range. “I’m in the science labs.” He said casually, the sound of a weapon being cocked filling the air. “Time to rock n’ roll, Semi.” Replied a gruff voice, his other heist mate, the gunner. Semi smiled, opening a code input and typing out some script. Then, pressing entering, the fire alarms started to go off. This was where everything that had gone successfully without a hitch, began to hitch itself. His scout team mate, who had been given the task of finding these research papers and the money to continue their heisting careers, began to shout at the mic, the loud volume causing static. “….guards…” It fizzled; “…can’t….guards….papers…gold bullion…” It fizzled further, Semi frowning as everyone was fleeing in brazen zigzags. Then he smiled. He was sure, guards and all, that everyone had left. Inputting more code, the doors to the front entrance were shut, security shutters making sure that the guards were displaced for the next part of the plan. The voice feed came back to life. “Semi.” The voice of previous stated. “I have some research papers and am in the vault with…” the static began to roar into life again. “….we’ve got 8,000 worth of gold.Semi could hear roars and footsteps on the opposite end of the video feed. “Go!” Semi shouted, PD guards now entering the room on the feed. Shooting one of the police in the leg and reloading, his gruff teammate made a run for it. The guard tended to his injured associate, and once that had been taken care of, he exited the video feed after Semi’s friend. He pulled up his other feed, his scarred teammate seemingly having a better time, gold bullion stashed in a sports bag and ready to be transported. 4,000 dollars’ worth of gold bullion. They’d be able to new equipment with just that, but 8 would mean they could upgrade their arsenal. However, as Semi’s hopes were raised by the prospect, so to would they fall. Locking the doors behind them, two guards had his scarred team mate trapped, Tasers charging up. “Hands on your head!” said one guards, inching closer. “On your knees, maggot!” The other exclaimed, firing a Taser bolt into the leg of the scarred team mate in order to force compliance. “You thought you could steal gold and be a Bonny and Clyde folk tale? Well? No answer? There’s no hope for you now, maggot. You’ll rot in a nice cold prison cell for a few years, see if that siphons the deviancy out of you.” The guard then noticed the camera feed on the lapel of the man’s suit. “Oh, am I being recorded? We’re going to find you. You won’t escape the law.” Said the officer, before the video feed was cut off abruptly. Pulling up his other link, Semi, with beads of sweat dripping down his brows, called his other comrade. “You need to get out of there. They’ve already arrested one of us.” Semi exclaimed, his comrade giving him an answer quickly. “I’m in an elevator going down to the first floor. I have a few research papers but not all of them. Only half the bullion too.” The man said, as Semi in real time heard the familiar ding-dong intonation of the elevator. “Let’s go!” Semi roared, as he could hear massive bangs rom outside the door, accompanied by manly grunts. They were trying to ram their way in. Then the screech of a metallic saw appeared in the noise, now the cops were trying to cut their way in AND break down the door. His companion threw the bag to him as he drew to dual Uzi SMG’s. “Viva la Revolution, brother.” Semi called out as he headed for the fire exit with the bullion in hand. Suddenly as he headed down the metal steps and through the delivery exit and entrance, along with the metallic clanging of the steps, bullets ricocheted above him at a rapid pace, and he could hear roars of triumph and protest as his last companion faced off against his combatants.

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    Hope this is good so far and you enjoyed reading it! Chapter 2 will be up at some stage in the future! :D
    @fatalrendezvous