- last post: 01.01.0001 12:00 AM PDT
The information pleased Fasul, even as he began to feel worried over the doctor’s grim look. He had not considered the option that there might have been something actually wrong with him. The blow he received in the Ashion when it malfunctioned was what he perceived as being the reason for his extended slumber. What other reason could there be?
“Do you know how the Ashion functions?” the doctor asked.
“A host enters the shell, and awaits for the piercing light from the interior. A connection between the machine and the mind of the one inside is made. From there, anything that those outside of the Ashion ask, will be answered by the host’s own memories.”
“That is a simple explanation.” The doctor nodded. “There is far more to the operation then that, but it isn’t important right now. Allow me to explain just what happened on the day when you entered the Ashion.
“The sabotage done by the separatists was complicated, and highly irregular. Had they wished, they could have simply rerouted several routine security checks and implanted their falsified memory clips from there. That would have triggered the video displays the moment the Ashion was activated, and would have saved me the trouble of having to studiously observe you for the last several years. However, they didn’t do that, instead, they placed time-delayed activations for their memory clips, so that when a host entered, and the scouring began, they would be played at that point. The important distinction between those two options is that the latter puts the host inside the Ashion in great peril. The images are run through the host, synching with his memory and picked up and displayed through the scouring process.
“In effect, those images become a part of your own memories. What that means is, right now, inside your episodic memory, there are thousands and thousands of memories dealing with the D’orl virus, and the pain that it created. When it was first learned of what transpired inside, I was amazed that you were still alive. The force of having those images forced into your mind, and then displayed for all those to see, it would be enough to send anyone into a nervous breakdown.”
Fasul found that he was struggling to swallow. His mouth had gone dry, and it seemed as if he might become sick.
“I…I was struck by something when I was inside. I fell unconscious shortly after the Ashion began to malfunction. I don’t remember anything after that,” Fasul admitted.
“Humph, that likely saved your life then,” the doctor remarked shortly. “Still, the fact that those images found their way into the Palintheum chamber is enough of an indication that they did synch with your mind, regardless of whether you were conscious or not. So they are definitely somewhere in there.”
The doctor lightly tapped Fasul’s head as he spoke.
“The security precautions we took concerning you should be easier to understand then, right?” he asked, “We didn’t have much of a choice you see; while it was entirely possible you might never wake up from your coma-induced state, there was also an equal chance that you would return to the world of the living and try to relive some of the unending pain in your mind by killing everything in your path.”
“I’m no monster,” Fasul whispered. “I would never do such a thing.”
“Perhaps, but we did not have any guarantees to work with. I specialize in cognitive science, Fasul, and I have observed for a long time, as I mentioned before. If, and when you fall victim to these dormant memories, no matter how gentle you may believe yourself to be, something may happen. ‘From thought, action is born’.”
Fasul chose silence. He denied the doctor’s words even as he accepted them in his heart, and felt the pain that bloomed because of it. He was no monster, that was true; but for how long?
“Here,” the doctor announced, and Fasul found himself standing in front of a door.
“You wanted to clean yourself didn’t you?” the doctor asked when he saw Fasul’s questioning look. “Go in, I’ll escort you back to your room once you’re finished.”
Even as he tells me that I am not a prisoner, he treats me like one.
The room was immaculate; the walls were of a pristine whiteness that cast out a reflection of Fasul as he walked by. He stopped and gazed at himself, realizing that though it felt as if he had just seen himself in the mirror at his home the other day; it had in fact been years. His skin had become pale, the equivalent of the dress-piece he was wearing. His eyes seemed darker than before, as if there was a shadow cast over them. His once proud muscular frame had become soft, like he had lived a life of inactivity. Gazing at the individual differences closely, Fasul finally pulled himself away, and gazed at his body. He looked old, as if he had gained two hundred years of age overnight.
Thisbe shall not recognize me, and my child will recoil.
It was then that Fasul began to feel the twinges of anger. He hated the Majal that had caused everything to happen. He hated Geul for his trickery and deceit. He hated Enorym for not doing something to help him in the Palintheum. He hated the doctor that had constrained his movements like he was a criminal. He hated Thisbe for not being there to tell him that all was still well. He hated his child for the confusion that he imagined in it’s eyes when it would see him for the first time. He hated the universe for giving him such a cursed life. He despised the God that would give grief to His creations, with no signs of relief.
Lashing out, Fasul struck the elderly stranger staring back at him. He was weak, and the display of violence did nothing but hurt his hand. The reflection still mirrored his grief; it had not gone away. Disgruntled, Fasul pulled away and staggered towards the bathing area. The basin was empty of water, but the stall with a mounted faucet dripped water, and he came to stand underneath it. He could not see any controls to operate it, but the moment the thought crossed him mind, scalding hot water poured out and struck him. He did not recoil; instead he relished the pain.
Let this water wash away my spirit, for I know now that I still walk amongst the living. I no longer wish to stay within this world, there is nothing tying my soul here anymore. Should you find me Death, I shall welcome you with open arms.
Anguish flowed from his unseeing eyes, the tears mixed with the tepid water as they fell against the broken body. The dress-piece clung against his skin tightly, yet Fasul made no move to remove it. His was a mind far ravaged by this universe. The spirit of Majal and God was not infinite. Pain burns all, equally, and it breaks the strongest of souls. A creature of indeterminable strength, Fasul braved every pain the universe brought to bare against him, but faced with the ignorance and hatred of his entire race, he collapsed. What creature should be forced to carry the burden of being the catalyst for a war he did not start?
The Majal had moved on since that day in the Palintheum, but for Fasul it was only beginning.
-------------------------------------------------
The long hallway that led into Fasul’s room and no other acted as a causeway through which the bowed Majal could here others coming. Footsteps, no matter how light, echoed soundly down the hallway and into his room. Thumping, swishing, swaying, the noise served as a constant reminder of his condition. Those steps were meant only for him, as they never receded until the creator of those noises arrived within his room. Each step drove the blade deeper into his heart; the reason he was in that room, the reason that so many came to see him, it was always there. He was determined to be a dormant criminal. One that had not acted violently, but there was little uncertainty on that matter. His undoing at the hands of the separatist’s act of sabotage would claim his mind. He would cease being Fasul, and in his place would stand a maddened creature, overcome with memories of death and sadness, none of which he had ever witnessed with his own eyes.
And so, a day after he had spoken with the doctor, and fallen into depression within the cleansing area, Fasul found himself lamenting the single footsteps echoing within his room.
Cruel world! You have seen fit to take from me my family, my life, and even my own mind! Yet now I lay here upon this bed of thorns, wishing that I could have but a moment of silence whilst I prepare myself for my death, and you deny me that right! Spoiler of life, shall you deny my every wish? Or will you twist them into terrible things like you did with my dear child, Absolon? Find another soul to torture, for I have no desire to bare the sins of all my people.
Louder and louder the steps became, until it sounded as if Fasul’s heart was thudding within his mind. The beat of drums to signal the oncoming army, hell bent on conquering everything that lay before them. How he wished it would go away! Would the universe not be pleased until he had succumbed to the madness dwelling within the darkest recesses of his mind? Then at this moment he would gladly give them the pleasure, if only it would end the incessant thumping that grew louder with every step. The reaper of souls was coming for him; only a demon of the next life could have such heavy steps.
At the moment when it seemed that if the steps grew any louder he might combust, they stopped. Fasul knew what this meant; his visitor had arrived. Fasul knew then that it was Enorym, though he knew this without having to look up and see whom it was.
“I apologize for not being here yesterday,” Enorym said, by way of a greeting.