Byl to jeden z těch dní, kdy by byl vděčný nějakému teroristovi za kulku do hlavy ve spánku. Bylo asi pět hodin ráno, když mu na nočním stolku začal nekompromisně zvonit mobil. Venku sotva svítalo. Leon se zapřísahal, že příště, až půjde s Chrisem na pivo, nechá mobil doma, a otráveně máchl rukou směrem po zvuku. Slíbil si, že agenta Redfielda příště pozdraví pěstí do obličeje, aby mu náležitě poděkoval za opětovnou změnu vyzváněcích melodií.
"Co zas?" zabručel otráveně.
"Zadusím ji vlastníma plyšákama!" sdělil mu agent Andrews a zněl, jako by tu činnost už uskutečňoval.
"Co zas?" zasténal Leon.
"Má pavouka v koupelně," oznámil mu tupě kolega.
"Vždyť je..." Podíval se na hodinky. "Pět dvanáct, co proboha dělá v koupelně?"
"Má v devět rande s nějakým stážistou... chtěla si na ksicht nahodit obličej..." sdělil mu neblahé novinky evidentně psychicky zcela vyčerpaný premiant z Quantica, jehož nyní pohasínající hvězdu přebrala tajná služba od FBI.
"Nééé..." zasténal Leon a pokusil se utopit se ve svém polštáři.
"Ty ji převezmeš až v poledne, tak co fňukáš? To po mě chce, abych s ní vybíral šaty!" postěžoval si James. Leon si byl jistý, že kolega bude na konci měsíce chtít proplatit účtenky za psychiatra.
"Fajn! Je mi tě strašně líto... a kvůli tomu mě budíš?" zahuhlal Leon už opět v polospánku.
"Ne, budím tě, abys přijel zabít toho pavouka, než já udělám mastný flek z ní..."
"Děláš si ze mě prdel?!?" zařval Leon to telefonu.
"Ne... ona totiž začala šíleně ječet, tak jsem tam vlítnul... no, a byla jen v prádle... a já v tom šoku na ni mířil pistolí... tak mě sejmula lakem na vlasy. Teď je zamčená a řve, že jestli tě okamžitě nezavolám, strávím zbytek života hlídkováním v supermarketu..." vylíčil mu nebohý agent své momentální kariérní vyhlídky.
Na důkaz pravdivosti svých slov zřejmě i přiložil mobil ke klíčové dírce koupelny, takže byl poněkud dutě slyšet pisklavý dívčí hlas, "... eona, ať už konečně zabije to monstrum! Já se tady zblázním! To na mě nikdo nemůže brát ohledy? Dejte mi pistoli, já to snad zabiju sama! Já chci Leonááá!!!"
Zasténal do polštáře a začal nedobrovolně vstávat. Když se prezidentova jediná dceruška rozhodne, že chce Leona, tak dostane Leona, i kdyby se nebohý speciální agent Kennedy měl rozkrájet a celá tajné služba s ním. Ještě s nedopnutou košilí nasedl do svého Aston Martina a s smyšlenkou, že mu za necelý den začíná dovolená, otočil klíčkem v zapalování.
Nenáviděla, když ji ignoroval. Přišel, jejím růžovým plyšovým pantoflíčkem s králičími oušky skolil pavouka a rázně vyprovodil Jamese z bytu. Provedl rutinní prohlídku zabezpečení bytu a okolí a pak se usadil na svém obvyklém stanovišti. Pozdravil ji úsečně a ještě ji oslovil "slečno Grahamová." Nevěnoval jí jediný pohled... a to na sobě měla to nové krajkové prádlo!
Věděla, že ho asi tím ranním budíčkem zrovna nenadchla, a tak si dala záležet a aspoň mu udělala jeho oblíbenou snídani. Tedy aspoň předpokládala, že by to mohla být jeho oblíbená snídaně, nikdy jí totiž tuto "příliš osobní" informaci nesdělil. Vlastně byla ráda, že ty vajíčka šly poznat a na kávu měla espressovač.
Leon mlčky upíjel z šálku a s výrazem absolutního nezájmu ji sledoval, jak se hrabe ve skříních a vede s ním jeden ze svých sáhodlouhých monologů. Jejich běžná rutina, absolutní symbióza.
Nepromluvil ani při cestě do restaurace. Ashley se musela několikrát kousnout, aby to ticho udržela. Pořád se na ni zlobil. Běžně mu stačilo asi pět minut, než se vydýchal a přešel ho vztek. Měla to zmáknuté, stačilo sedět nehybně a v duchu počítat do tří set. Pak nastal restart systému. Jeho současné maximum tiché domácnosti byly dvě hodiny, když to tehdy opravdu přepískla na karaoke, ale zdálo se, že teď aspirují na nový rekord.
Prostě už strašně chtěla, aby se mezi ně vrhnul, oderval ji od něj a odnesl ji pryč. Daleko, do bezpečí, kde y mohli být jen oni dva, aby mohla obejmout jeho svalnaté tělo, koupat se v jeho vůni, poslouchat jeho hlas a žmoulat mu límeček od košile.
"Říkalas, že s námi bude jen tvůj bodyguard..." naklonil se k ní nespokojeně její nový pokusný králíček.
"Leon je můj bodyguard," odvětila úsečně a omluvně se usmála na dotyčného.
"Hmm..."
Chvíli jedli v klidu. Leon přenesl váhu na druhou nohu a zadíval se z okna. Asi o minutu později upoutal jeho pozornost zápas rukou pod stolem. Ashleyin nový úlovek byl dotěrný, ale rozhodl se, že slečinku nechá, ať si hezky spapká, co si nadrobila. Pak, v klidu garáží, panáčkovi vykloubí rameno při přednášce "na prezidentovu dcerušku se nasahá, prasáku."
"A proč na nás tak zírá?" začal nanovo.
"Dělá jen svou práci."
"Zírání?"
"Zajišťuje mou bezpečnost."
"A co kdybych tě ohrozil?" pokusil se prasák o rádoby svádění.
Leon protočil oči. Takhle duchaplný rozhovor už dlouho neslyšel. Moc si přál, aby to Ashley odradilo aspoň na půl roku.
"Tak tě zatkne."
"To může?"
"Samozřejmě."
"Hmm..."
"Co zase?" došla jí trpělivost. Hodila ubrousek na stůl a odsunula se od něj do bezpečné vzdálenosti.
"Nevypadá jako agent tajné služby."
"A jak teda vypadá?" zeptala se Ashley podrážděně a dost nahlas na to, aby se za jejím pisklavým hláskem otočila půlka restaurace.
"Spíš jako gigolo."
Leon v tu chvíli přesně věděl, jak se cítí nová neonová atrakce. Všichni na něj zírali. Větší půlka restaurace ho svlékala pohledem, ten zbytek ho v představách pravděpodobně brutálně vraždil. Ale nejhorší na tom všem byla Ashley. Nic totiž neřekla. Jen se zasněně usmála a významně upila džus. Kdyby tam nebylo tolik svědků, zaškrtil by ji na místě.
Z restaurace ji v podstatě vyvlekl. Ochotně mu podala ploutev a v domnění, že je to od něj romantické gesto, se nechala manévrovat k autu. Poslušně se posadila dozadu.
Litoval toho během tří minut. Leonův Aston Martin a Ashleyiny jehlové podpatky nebyli kamarádi. Zastavil smykem při první možné příležitosti. Zklamán, že se nepraštila do hlavy, obešel auto, sebral jí boty a přemístil ji na přední sedadlo. Došel k závěru, že cokoli, co vyvede s jeho palubní deskou, ho bude stát méně, než nové kožené potahy.
Sotva se rozjel, Ashley začala hrát hru Koukej, kam všude můžu dát nohy tak, abys viděl moje kalhotky. Projel na červenou.
"Ashley..." povzdychl si unaveně.
"Ano, Leonku?" usmála se na něj afektovaně.
"Jestlipak víš, co se stane, když teď prudce zabrzdím?" usmál se na ni neupřímně.
Jelikož se na něj jen zmateně podívala, nezbylo mu, než jí důrazně naznačit, že narozdíl od něj není připásaná. Zatvářila se jako nafouklý kačer, zapla si pás a na truc pustila rádio na největší hlasitost. O necelou minutu později je stavěla policejní hlídka za trojnásobné překročení rychlosti a ohrožení bezpečnosti v dopravě.
S průkazem speciálního agenta USSS vám projde všechno. Tedy krom vraždy prezidentovy dcery, kterou máte hlídat. Kdyby dnes měl služební auto, projel by i tou závorou. Při parkování v podzemních garážích u Bílého domu už Ashley pařila jako o život a Leon zvažoval podání výpovědi... asi po sto třicáté osmé tento týden. Nevěřil by, že tyhle disco kreace jdou zvládnout v sedě, připoutaná pásem.
Jejich parkování už od výtahu sledovala pobavená ochranka. Okamžitě vytáhl klíčky, měl reálné obavy, že by se mu první dcera začala epilepticky svíjet na kapotě.
"A hele, náš blond Bond se hlásí do služby, dneska si prý i přivstal..." rozlehlo se podzemím.
Neuvažoval. Tasil, zamířil a sestřelil světlo vedle výtahu. Vtipný člen ostrahy dostal po hlavě krytem. Ashley zajásala, jakoby byl zázrak, že se trefil. Netušila, že je nejspíše na řadě.
O půl hodiny později už o střelbě v garážích věděla půlka Washingtonu. Naštěstí pro Leona, nikdo neskončil v nemocnici. I tak si ho pozvali na kobereček, přímo do Oválné pracovny. Stál u okna, díval se do zahrady a uvažoval o své "závratné" kariéře. Prezident s ním mluvil jako se synem, kterého si vždy přál mít, v Pentagonu měl prominentní parkovací místo, ministr obrany si on něj nechal radit, od ředitele dostal zvláštní kompetence, měl příplatky, bonusy a benefity, měl vlivné známé, stýkal se se všemi, co něco znamenali... měl Ashley na krku 24/7 a žádný čas na terapii.
Vešel prezident a větší částí štábu náčelníků. Leon zasalutoval, ale prezident Graham jen unaveně mávl rukou a posadil se. Generál Snyder zdaleka nebyl tak benevolentní.
"Hlášení," vyštěkl.
"Pane prezidente, generálové, po dobu mé služby se nic závažného nestalo," oznámil strojeně. Dalo mu práci tvářit se naprosto vážně, protože si při pohledu na Snydera vybavil Jillin návod na dokonalé vojenské vystupování, "v ruce křeč, v hubě mýdlo, v prdeli deštník." Proklel agentku Valentinovou.
Generál zbrunátněl. "Střelba v přítomnosti prezidentovy dcery vám nepřipadá dostatečně závažná?!"
Než se Leon stihl pokusit o samotku za insubordinaci, prezident sdělil všem generálům, že si to s ním přece jen vyřídí sám. Sotva zaklaply dveře, sáhl do stolu a vytáhl nějaké listiny.
"Chceš, abych to podepsal?" předložil Leonovi předtištěnou žádost o okamžité propuštění ze služby.
"Dnes ne, pane, zítra mi začíná dovolená," usmál se Leon shovívavě.
"To jsem rád," usmál se prezident. Na papírek připevněný sponkou k žádosti připsal další čárku a vše vrátil do svého spodního šuplíku.
"Má sekretářka ti zapomněla sdělit, že Ashley mě dnes zastupuje na banketu na Japonské ambasádě."
Leon zavřel oči a začal si velmi sprostě nadávat. Ashley ve společnosti. Ashley a valčík. Ashley a šampaňské. A jediná možnost, jak se tomu vyhnout, už zase ležela v prezidentově zamčeném šuplíku. Tedy pokud si nechtěl zahrát ruskou ruletu se služební zbraní.
"Pan velvyslanec nedávno dostal darem vzácné paroží. Myslím, že v rámci předcházení mezinárodním incidentům bude lépe, když od nich udržíš mou dceru co nejdál.."
Představa, jak Ashley nešťastnou náhodou zakopává a nabodává se na paroží, ho vyprovodila z Oválné pracovny. Jeho svoboda už měla jen podobu čárky na kousku papíru. A Leon ztratil přehled o jejich počtu. Nejspíše to bylo dobře.
Většina lidí znala Leona Kennedyho jako mírumilovného flegmatika, co se rád baví a má slabost pro hezké slečny. Většina z nich se nikdy v životě nepotkala s Ashley Grahamovou, takže absolutně nechápali, jak si polovina Washingtonu může myslet, že je Leon drzý, cholerický puntičkář prosazující celibát.
"Leonku!" zavolala ho zrovna do svého pokoje.
Stála u zrcadla, podle všeho úplně nachystaná vyrazit na velvyslanectví. Ještě byl čas, měli jen půl hodiny zpoždění. Jeho naděje na hladký průběh večera ovšem dokázala zchladit už prvním krokem, kdy jí na vysokém jehlovém podpatku podjela noha. Kdyby ji nezachytil, vezla by je limuzína tak leda do nemocnice.
"Prosím, přezuj se," požádal ji okamžitě.
"Tohle ale jsou moje nejvyšší podpatky! Jinak si nezatančíme!"
Tvrdohlavě klopýtala ke dveřím. Poznámku, že k tanci ho dnes večer nedonutí ani ozbrojené komando, si nechal od cesty. Šeredně se ovšem mýlil. Ashley to zvládla jedinou větou, pronesenou k onomu darovanému paroží.
"Jééé... můžu si sáhnout?"
V tu chvíli už ji vlekl na parket. Ne, že by nechtěla spolupracovat, ale její boty jí to téměř neumožňovaly. Marně se jí pokoušel sdělit, že se má držet dál, protože jejich blízkost je společensky nevhodná. Přihlouple se na něj usmívala, pokyvovala hlavou a držela se ho jako klíště. Vypadalo to, že kdyby mohla, ustele si v jeho náprsní kapsičce. Čekal ho ještě dlouhý večer.
I had to go. I had to leave them behind. All of them. I know they did not understand why. Not even the Captain. But I know that he was not angry. Just confused. Sad.
I had no choice. I could not contain myself any further. My mutation was just starting to show. The physical manifestations were slight at first. Noone noticed, but at the time I left I was not the same anymore. I was stronger and faster than ever. I saw things I could not understand at the time. I was craving.
I needed to let go, to free myself. I was a caged beast. I could not stay with the humans, I was not one of them. And trying to change that, to be like them, was exhausting. To help them was pointless. It was crushing me. It made me pretend I was something else. It tied me to a world long gone. They lived in the past. In the present, they were only surviving. Hoping for a change that will never come.
It was ironic. They put their hopes in me, the very worst thing the New World had created. I felt chained by their hopes. They believed I was the link between them and the New World. They thought I was partially human. And I tried to be. I tried very hard. For him.
But it wasn't possible. The human leftover in me was just a shadow. An echo of a life long gone. It wasn't sustainable. If I killed the monster, there wouldn't be anything left. I couldn't do that. It was time to stop surviving. I needed to become fully alive again. To let go. To be free of it. Free of everything. Free to be whoever, whatever I was meant to be.
I was drawn east. I crossed the continent so fast this time. Once New York. The epicenter of the Apocalypse. It was calling me. Whispering. Promising. New York. Freedom. The city of monsters. My city. My throne. My immortality. My Liberty.
And she was beautiful. And mistreated. The first time I saw her, I was mesmerised. I fell in love with the statue. With her cold skin. With the way she refused to be anything else than the thing she was created for. They carried her far from the coast and burried her neck-deep in the ground. They wanted to use her as a warning sign. I didn't work with me. It didn't work for her either.
Liberty Imprisoned. Old laws buried. Old fires put out. A goddess of the Old World. Diminished. Degraded. Humiliated. I hated that. I hated them for treating her like that. So I bowed and promised I will bring the world to her feet again. She will become Liberty Freed. She set me free and I intended to return the favour.
* * *
Time to live... and it's time to die... sometimes I feel things happen ahead of time... Live to forget...
Live to Forget, Firelake, S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: Call of Pripyat, 2009
those selfish secrets shamelessly slaughtering souls
passionate about pulverising their prey
a fake facade of ferocious foes
artificial adversaries asking for answers
generously agreeing on gore in a greedy grave
a boistrous blight of beasts brutally butchering innocence
especially exhausted by efficient extermination
of crippled creatures craving corruption
and mutilated monsters mesmerised by mortality
the vicious venom of the voracious villains
predators polluting by passion for pretence
burried in toxic tombs for terminated traitors
hungry hyenas hunting with hollow hate
irreversibly infecting the imagination with fear
distracting the defective and depraved
by concealing the contaminated cacophony in confusion
where the world went wrong?
* * *
I'm waking up to ash and dust... This is it, the Apocalypse... I'm waking up, I feel it in my bones, Enough to make my system blow, Welcome to the new age...
Until we can measure * * * Just gonna stand there and watch me burn But that's all right because I like the way it hurts... Just gonna stand there and hear me cry But that's all right because I love the way you lie...
The Pet. That's how they called me. They thought I don't know, of course. The Captain wanted to name me, but names are for humans. Back then, I wasn't sure what I was. But I knew what I wasn't, I knew what I didn't want to become.
"Your sickening innuendo with that thing is unacceptable!" the Colonel just yelled at the Captain.
"Sir, with all due respect, she is standing outside your office. Please, sir, show me the proper way to treat her. Feel free to order her to prep for the next mission, sir. Actually, sir, if you find my results unsatisfactory..."
"One more word, Captain," the Colonel warned him.
The Captain went silent, but I knew he had a smug look on his face. I wondered if it was wise of him, to enrage his superiors like this. To use me as a shield in this little power game. They were all frustrated and tired. I helped things to get better for them, but by that, I showed them how powerless they are. They hated that. They hated me.
"I'll go with you. The others want to join us, if you want. Your call. We will follow you. Without questions. Respect you. You'll be the leader, a real leader," he started a few days after that.
We were at some research facility, packing whatever was useful. We had a team of volunteers, twenty six men and nine women. We worked well together. They listened to me. First because whoever didn't, died slowly and painfully. But they started trusting me.
I went first, checked the area, killed anything dangerous. Why waste ammo, right? The Captain came after that, assessed the place. Then he called the team. I was on the lookout, making sure they were safe. They knew how far they can go to still be protected. They knew what to avoid. They were light and fast, efficient. They had no problem to leave the fight to me.
The Captain stayed with me. We planned ahead. Or just talked. He talked, I listened. He talked a lot. The others wouldn't dare, but he was crazy enough to fully trust me. With everything. A perfect second in command. Because they trusted him. Because he picked only those he could trust.
And he was smart enough to try and get all the women the base could offer. A good strike team, a few scientists, doctors and medics, fifty people tops. Much safer. Easier to protect than hundreds of soldiers stuck in a large complex. Mobile, adaptable. Not bad, not bad at all.
I hate sanitation. They refused to let me inside the base until I was absolutely clean. I still think they just liked to take off my clothes. Or whatever's left of them.
This time, nobody yelled. They barely dared to breathe in my presence. I tried to tease one of the guards at the second gate, he run away. The Captain scolded me with a look. A Colonel blessed us with his presence. He too was rather speechless.
"Impressive," he squeezed out after a moment.
"Well, someone had to do it. And you were obviously incapable to handle the situation," I pointed out the obvious.
"How are you feeling?" the Captain asked after were inside and finally alone.
"Restless," I admitted.
I sat down on the floor and hugged my legs. All I had on me was a towel. He probably wanted to ask if I was cold, but he made up his mind.
"I thought you would be exhausted, I got a room prepared just for you, no surveillance." He pointed me to a general direction, left and down.
"So romantic."
I was like that for weeks. I killed monsters for them. I subjected myself to their tests. I borrowed their toys and explored the cities around. I wanted answers. I wanted to know what happened to the world. I wanted to understand what happened to me. What was still happening.
I still felt the rush of Captain's blood in my veins. It changed me. He offered me more, but I refused. I was not ready to open that door. It was probably the best decision I have ever made. For a long time, I thought I was the only one like me. Of course I'm not. But I did something that separated me from the rest of my kind. Actually, I didn't do it. I refused to feed on humans. It wasn't about ethics. It was about freedom. About having a choice.
I took care of my meals carefully. I hunted in the clean woods. I tracked and killed everything rotten in the area, so that it would not spoil my food supply. They were too scared to go into the wilderness with me, only the Captain was crazy enough to try. We found out that the woods are clean of any pathogens. They got a new, safe water supply.
The General's favourite missions were scavenger hunts in the cities. Boring, dangerous, toxic, and generally not worth it according to me. But the soldiers couldn't eat the infected flesh, they needed human food. And gas, oil, coal. Medical supplies. Technology. Basically anything that was hard to find. They were frustrating this way. Too fragile. They died easily.
I had little patience with them back then. I didn't understand pain. Pathogens had no effect on me. I couldn't get injured. I was fast and strong. I didn't need rest. And they had no understanding for my little game with the Captain.
* * *
... blinded children of the atomic area ... told of being safe and sound ...
Ghost City, Firelake, S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: Call of Pripyat, 2009
Faith. Trust. Affection. Some people are able to go to ridiculous lengths because of them. They die happily for something they believe in. For someone they trust. For someone they love. I wondered if I could still be capable of them, as I watched him getting closer and closer, breathing heavily in his PPE.
"Wow, you need a bath," he greeted me cheerfully. "Impressive mess you have made."
"Flirting with death, Captain?" I grinned at him. I was too tired to care about anything. I wanted to enjoy a little nap on the charming pile of bones I found.
"I brought you lunch." He held out a plastic bag full of fresh blood. "It's not much, the morons refused to give me any from our supplies. But at least I got my own, freshly poured, no Es."
I turned on my belly and stretched. "And what makes you believe that I won't take all of it once I'm finished with the bag?"
"Well, I figured, if you wanted me dead, I would be dead already. So why not make the most of it?" He threw it at me.
"You know you're just plain lucky, right?" I bit off the ending of the tube.
"I'm Mr Lucky right now. Does this count as a lunch date?" He wasn't armed, I could tell.
"Don't push it."
I started drinking and the world exploded. I never had human blood before, just a few mutants. This was different. It tasted wonderfully. It was pure. It made me feel warm for the first time I remember. It made me feel alive. It filled me with acute awareness of everything.
I knew I missed twenty eight rotten bastards, they weren't a threat, but I couldn't take the chance. I knew their exact location. I felt the soldiers, their movement and warmth mapped the entire base for me. I knew they were desperate, low on ammo, low on supplies. Fighting a war they could not win, looking for a cure that could not be found.
And I saw him again. Still talking, without a clue, unable to comprehend what he just did to me. Unable to understand that he took my mind to a totally new level, on a joyride around the base and back. And then I was back, staring at him. Feeling the vibrations of his voice. His warmth, dimmed by the PPE. Remembering his smell. The brief touch of his hand as he hit me. His eyes.
"Ok, now this hungry look does make me nervous. Could you please stop that?" he asked.
* * *
Sometimes I've believed as many as six unbelievable things before breakfast.
It took me some time to burn out all the chemicals they injected in me. I felt sick, dizzy, tired. So tired. For a moment, I closed my eyes. I wanted to blink, just a blink, a microsecond, and then I would be fully awake again. But the moment my eyes shut, I could not open them. And then something hit me hard.
"Faint and they will kill you," he snapped at me.
They were not happy with me. They were not happy with my answers. They were not happy with the way my conversation with the Captain went after they left us. The room was closely monitored, reinforced, sealed. And they liked it that way very much, they liked me locked as much as possible. But that didn't help them.
"Why do you care?" I whispered.
"All they can see is a threat, I see an opportunity," he explained.
"For what?"
I shouldn't have asked. Not that it would change anything. The next few days were rather exhausting. Fulfilling. And, in the end, frustrating.
To keep it short and simple, the base I was in had a problem. It was heavily fortified and well equipped, but the only way in and out was by air. They were surrounded, trapped like rats, waiting, knowing that, in the end, something will go wrong. They have lost two bases just like this one already. They have simply made an unforgivable mistake. They attracted too much attention. There were too many of them in one place. And they still thought they were on the top of the food chain.
The Captain was the first to realise he isn't looking at a girl. Or a freak. I'm not just a monster. I am a weapon. I can cause some serious damage. And he was smart enough to point me in the right direction. At first, I was glad I had something to do. A mission. Something, that mattered to someone. Well, to him, the rest, I didn't give a damn about the rest of them.
The creatures outside the gates weren't the same as the ones I met in the woods. Those were beautiful animals of the new world, wild and strong. The hordes at the gates were just disgusting. They smelled so badly I immediatelly lost my appetite. They were rotten, insane, vicious and hungry. They were the leftovers of the humans that lived in the nearby cities. The area surrounding the base was a dead zone. Those things killed everything. There were bones of mutated animals on the ground, nibbled white. The trees seemed scorched, there was no water. Just decay.
It made me angry, knowing this could have been a beautiful place full of life. I'm not a nice person when I'm angry. I tend to slice things. It took some time and effort, but I managed. I was crazy hungry after that. So hungry they knew it just by looking at me from the distance. I could feel them shivering in their uniforms, their warm hearts beating fast, their blood pumping through their veins. I was hungry for that.
"Open the gates, Captain's orders!"
* * *
We fought the infection. We survived the apocalypse. And now, we face extinction.
The myth says Venus was born of sea-foam, they depicted her as arriving to shore on a shell, a pearl of the Ancient world. There is a new legend now, in the new world. A legend of a goddess stepping out of her pod, surrounded by freezing pink mist. They say that, in an instant, everything stopped. That's not entirely true.
The alarm kept screeching for at least an hour. The noise was overwhelming. The flashing lights blinding. I was instantly nauseous and irritated. The mist was cleared by the ventilators and the lab was sealed.
The soldiers and scientists were paralysed. Fear does that to humans. I looked around and saw them, hands shaking, frozen in the middle of a movement, never reaching their guns. I didn't care about that. I only cared about one of them, he managed to make few steps back and hit the table behind him.
"What's your name?" I whispered. My voice was rusty, weak. I have made a few steps toward him. My feet were crushing the glass on the floor.
"Captain..." he tried to answer automatically, but his voice failed too.
The door opened. An armed commando burst into the room, ready to open fire at me. Something was telling me it hardly matters, so I paid them little attention. I wanted his name.
"Stop!" he ordered and rushed in front of me.
"Captain, move!" their leader barked back.
"She asked for my name!"
And I never really got it. Sure, his last name was on his uniform, but that was not the part I was really interested in.
I didn't move, because I knew the soldiers would immediatelly open fire. And it's really hard to have a decent conversation when your being shot at. So I waited patiently, until they sorted it out. Some officers arrived and were outraged, because the lab doors were supposed to be shut to contain any infection or attacker. The were arguing and it was ridiculous. They had no idea what was really going on.
It took some time, since there were many of them and they all had different ideas on how to dispose of me. But in the end, the Captain won and was allowed to talk to me. That was after his superior shot me, twice. I didn't move. But I remember his face. And I'm very sure he doesn't sleep well now, knowing what a vengeful bitch I can be.
After that, it was all questions. And it was tiring and boring, because I was not the one asking them. I had no answers. I had no memory. Or an explanation of what I am and how I broke free. Or how I can still be sane. Thinking. Talking. Well, they were mostly concerned about becoming my next meal. I assured them that, after Louisiana, I'm especially picky. That didn't satisfy them much.
* * *
I think you might do something better with time than to waste it in asking riddles that have no answers.
Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland, 1865
PS: If you read, comment. I'm curious if I have an actual audience or if you are just lost souls messing with my poor statistics...
Precision. Routine. Sentiment. These things marked my next few days. His precise routine. At the beginning of his shift, he came, checked everything in exactly the same, mechanical manner. He came every hour, on the dot. There was no clock, but I knew. I just knew he would never be late. Just like I knew there was a living, feeling heart underneath that robotic facade. Because, every time, he stopped in front of my freezing prison. And, for a whole minute, forever was not just a word.
Twelve times, he just came, stared and went. But, at the end of his shift, he whispered, "Good night." It must have been just a silly impulse. A moment of weakness. A sign of a human being, desperate to connect. To share. At least something. Anything. A meaningless utterance noone was supposed to hear. But I did.
Everything else is a blur. The only really conscious moments were those marked by his presence. By my desperate need to do something, anything. To touch the glass and melt the frost, so I could look into his eyes. Just that. So close, so out of reach. Two worlds separated by a glass wall. Just a few centimetres, we couldn't have been further apart.
The soldier and the monster. No. I refused to be that. I refused to be their monster. I am my own maker. I determine my path. I am my monster.
"Good morning, beautiful." He was smiling. I knew he was. Just a bit.
All I wanted was to see him smile. It was a desperate, nonsensical whim. Something I yearned for hopelessly, clinging to the last spark of life in me. Ironically, the very last thing in me still fighting was the human. The human I tried so hard to dispose of. The human I loathed. But, back there, I felt it in me, screaming, slamming on the glass. "Move! Move!"
I clenched my hand into a fist, the pain inside me was much greater than the pain of anything I could have possibly done. Anything they could have possibly done to me. So I moved. I reached out. All I wanted was to touch that glass. To touch that impenetrable barrier between us. I guess I was a little overeager. Too happy something was finally happening.
I hit the glass. I smashed it hard. It cracked. It shattered. An alarm went off. He was not smiling anymore. I think he still hates me a bit for that moment.
It was very silly of me, the whole thing. Heading north, being considerate. But who am I kidding, it wasn't my first mistake, or last. And it didn't end up badly. I have met my first friend. Not that he wouldn't shoot me in the head, repeatedly, but it's a start. All things considered, it's very romantic. Let me explain.
I originally planned to head east, to reach the ocean. No real reason, but it was a long journey and I needed time to think. After the Swamp, I reconsidered. There were things happening to me. Things I didn't understand. Things I didn't like. Couldn't control. And it felt good. That worried me. A lot.
So I went north instead, hoping for a dead zone. I thought it could be refreshing after the meeting with the new world's flora. For some time, it seemed just like I hoped. I followed the Mississippi River upstream and, for a while, I was completely alone. There was absolute silence. Peace.
Then the landscape changed. Woods. For miles and miles. Wilderness. The creatures living in there were quite bizarre. And overgrown. The trees had strange colours, mostly as if it was autumn, but some turned blue or purple. They made weird, periodical noises. The grass underneath them was also strange. As if made of glass, it sparkled and broke when I touched it. It made quiet shattering noises. And, in the centre of all this, there was something. Something I couldn't comprehend back there. Something beautiful.
I walked through the forest, among the creatures. They passed me, they didn't care about my presence. I was just like them. I was one of them. A creature. I walked for days.
Something whistled next to my ear. It was fast and small. I turned. Another whistle. It hit my neck. Shoulder. Leg. Neck again. I fell to my knees. I was angry and dizzy. Angrier. Dizzier. Tired.
I woke up, probably hours later. Everything hurt. I wasn't tied, no. It was much worse. There were tubes hanging from me. I could barely move. I felt cold, a strange kind of cold. There was nothing but freezing pink mist around me. It covered the glass with frost. There was someone standing behind it, watching me.
* * *
She generally gave herself very good advice, (though she very seldom followed it).
The first thing I remember, clearly and exactly, is the Swamp. I believe it used to be Louisiana in the old world, I checked a few maps. It's a curious place. Swampy. Foggy. Beautiful. Toxic. "Well, who would actually bother to nuke crayfish and gonorrhea..."
The fog was the first conscious thought after weeks of blank staring and mindless walking. I went through what was left of the cities and I felt pain. It was different than before. Pain didn't bother me until then. But suddenly, I took a breath and it burned as if I had acid in my lungs. My eyes started tearing, and I involuntarily touched my face. I was crying blood, bright red, cold and sticky.
"What happened here?" I asked myself, and my voice emerged as a dark shadow from unknown depths, echoed in my head and shattered all of me. I was blinded by pain and awareness. I was alive. I was. I. Reborn.
And then, rage. "The weak are meat and the strong do eat..."
Darkness. I blinked. I just blinked and it was night.
"How long have I been here?" I whispered to noone.
I realised I was still in the Swamp, except I was in a city as well. Nature went wild around here. It couldn't have been more than two months ago, but it seemed like decades. The trees were taller than the buildings, covered by moss. Everything was covered by moss. It was thick, soft, bright green, luminous, radiant. Glowing. The moss was glowing. And moving. "Hungry..."
I was standing on a street, knee deep in it. It was warm and strangely structured underneath the plants. I felt as if I was standing in a freshly gutted corpse. It burned a bit, but it smelled really nicely.
"Hello."
I turned around quickly. I could see twenty one of them, but I knew there were more. Hiding, lurking in the shadows and under the surface. They were beautiful. So full of life, just like this place. Colourful, tender, moving slowly. Flowers in the rain. Reaching.
"Come, join us," they sang. "Come, be us."
Mesmerising. Glittering. So gentle. Blossoms carried by wind. "So hungry."
I moved towards them. They were smiling. Swaying. Messing with my head. They surrounded me, dancing wildly, laughing.
"Mother is so pleased you are here! We haven't had a visitor for weeks!"
They reached for me and, as their small, gentle fingers, covered with moss, touched me, I felt it again. Pain. Horrible pain. As if I was digested alive. "Stupid."
I was being digested alive. The Swamp was nibbling at me since the moment I came there. And these creatures were its hands. Its teeth. Its tongue. I was bathing in Nature's stomach.
The only thing I'm sure of after this point is that I lost it, completely. I got angry. Never before was I so angry. So filled with rage. Disgusted. Furious. Loathing.
I woke up next morning, covered in drying, green goo. The scent was amazing. I was lying on the same street, but there was no Swamp around me. It receeded a few meters from me. Nothing was touching me. The Swamp was watching me closely. Mother Nature, offended. Scared.
I started walking and a path appeared in front of me. The Swamp was filling the space behind me carefully, slowly. It showed me the shortest way out. A fragile truce. "Live and let live," I told one of the biggest trees.
I saw them as I was leaving. They were waving sadly in their diminished numbers, praying that I will never come back. The cult of toxic sirens. A very unhealthy meal. Looked good, tasted funny. Not very nutritious, either. But I was rather hungry.
Oh, yes. I have crossed the Swamp's Leftover Bin on the way out. Strange place. It showed the true power of the monster devouring the land. Nature, taking back what belonged to her. Nothing organic was left, only plastic and metal. There were clothes of thousands of people. Uniforms of at least a brigade. Torn PPEs, ripped gasmasks, broken firearms. And a few tanks, opened up as if a child was impatient with a can.
It wasn't much, most of it was too damaged, but I have found a few nice items.
And then, the rain stopped. And then, everything just went crazy. People, mostly.
It started with the weather. Heat waves, storms, blizzards, tornadoes. Then wildfire, floods, drought. Then earthquakes, landslides. Then hurricanes, tsunami. You just never knew, what's next. People were grilled alive, frozen solid, drown, crushed. Some starved or died of dehydration, of course. Firearms did the trick with most of those who were left. The world was finally full of surprises.
I remember walking the streets in the heat, people collapsing around me. The pavement was so hot, it burned my feet. The fires spread quickly, the smoke smothering everyone, covering everything with a thick black coat. Scorched corpses, reaching. Mummified bodies, everywhere.
I remember the water, flushing everything away, leaving just wrecks and an awful stench. I remember walking knee deep in mud, in fields of neverending sludge. There were cries in the distance. And every once in a while, something moved underneath the mud. I never saw a corpse, only scattered bones, torn clothes, leftovers.
I remember the storms, so wild I could not see my fingers in front of my face. I remember it was so cold my hands were blue and stiff and I could barely walk. And around me, statues, frozen in the middle of their path. The clouds had strange colours, a bit green, a bit brown. Etched remains were pressed desperately under roofs, bridges, cars. The lightnings were so strong and intense, the mere sound was strong enough to break windows.
Humanity went nuts. They turned on each other like savages. I remember all the screams. The shootings. And then, the silence. Some tried to save those that were already doomed, some killed those that could have been saved. It was chaos. Madness.
The army went to high alert sometime during the rain. Most survivors believe they knew what was actually going on. I met some soldiers and I know for sure they still have no idea. The officers knew the local situation, if they were lucky, but noone had a clue what was going on in the rest of the world. Can't blame them, there was no time for that. They weren't prepared. Nobody was.
And I guess it got much worse after they nuked half of the planet, they say that was day 9, I think. It doesn't matter.
* * *
Earth's doomsday is close, dancing on the ashes of the world, I behold the stars.
Dirge for the Planet, Firelake, S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: Shadow of Chernobyl, 2007
The first thing that I do remember is the rain. For those inside, it seemed like normal precipitation. The streets were wet and quiet, except for the silent hum of raindrops and cars in the distance. People were grumpy, wearing raincoats and carrying umbrellas. There was no wind.
But it was different, when you were outside, getting wet. The water didn't feel like water at all. It was warm and sticky. It smelled funny. It tasted funny. It was sugary, for some reason I can't explain. It wasn't sweet, it wasn't nice at all, but I remember kids opening their mouths and sticking out their tongues, as if trying to catch every possible drop.
It was awfully quiet and peaceful during those rainy days. I don't really remember why, but I remember thinking that life just got to the point of being boring to death. Ironic, really. Knowing now that those were the days when life held its breath as hard as it could, struggling, refusing to let go. And then, it did.
I smiled a lot during those days. I watched my hands, wet, cold. I sang. Nobody knew, back then, what was coming. All those little bits and pieces, gentle warning signs, were there, unnoticed, ignored. Life carried on to its last moments oblivious, uncaring, bored, and a bit annoyed. And all that mattered back then is now gone. And for some reason, it makes me smile again.
My memory of that time is strange. I remember everything around me. Every sensation, even the smallest details. But it makes little sense. There is something missing. There is someone missing. I remember a shell. I felt movement, my own. I remember all that I saw, in flashes, randomly playing through my head. I remember the emptiness. The vacancy inside. I remember that noone noticed. Noone cared. From the very beginning, I was alone.
* * *
It's no use going back to yeasterday, because I was a different person then.
Memory is a tricky thing. Most people have very little actual control over it. They forget. They remember ugly things at inconvenient moments. They can't remember. They forget.
I don't remember much from my past life. It's too far gone and there's nothing to remind me of it. It's like a dream, a distant, unreachable world, hidden behind a curtain. Little pieces that don't make sense, utterances without meaning. Places that don't exist anymore. Faces I can't recognize. Feelings I can't connect to. Things that don't matter anymore. And fear, I think.
I used to think memory matters. That it has a meaning, a purpose. Value. That the past can teach us something, help us have a better future. If only we could learn from our mistakes. From everyone's mistakes. If only we weren't doomed to repeat them over and over again. If only we were not doomed.
I used to think that remembering would help me. Help me understand. Understand to make a difference. A difference big enough to change the world. But I know now my world might be young, but it's build solid. And what has been done, cannot be undone. We are doomed.
What is still frustrating though, I don't actually know what happened. But I don't think memory would help me with that. I have heard many stories, most of them contradicting. It was back then, when people were still mostly people. When they were used to talk. When there was still hope. When some still believed that all of it will make sense one day.
The fascination with one's origin is a very human thing. To be rooted, to belong somewhere, to someone. To have a place to come back to. It gives them a sense of security, I think. Heritage, maybe. Legacy, even. It's gone now, all of it. Well, at least all that could have been destroyed. But there is something humanity left after themselves. The destruction, that is their true legacy. Complete destruction. Not death, though. The world is a little short on that.
And it doesn't matter if we came to this by accident or plan, good intention or bad, government or terrorist, one person or a group. The result is the same. The old world has been forgotten, left behind. The past matters little when your life is measured by minutes. The days are the same, an endless routine of fight, survive, rest. This new world is strong and fierce. Humanity is facing extinction. And I'm here to watch it, a cold, distant observer.
* * *
My name is Alice... and this is my world.
Alice, Resident Evil: Retribution, 2012
NOTE: This story is a tribute to the art of Luis Royo,
* * * You won't try for me, not now Though I'd die to know you love me I'm all alone And if I sleep just to dream of you I'll wake without you there Isn't soumething missing?
Vášeň,
žhavé doteky,
ukradené vteřinky,
tohle je přece mnohem víc.
Tisíce kradmých pohledů,
city nejsou okovy,
lehkost bytí,
strach.
... naděje ...
Nevěřím ve věčný led,
budu tvé něžné jaro,
bouře, hromy a blesky,
voda nového života.
... ticho ...
Oheň,
roztopím tě,
zapálím ti křídla.
Dokud je čas,
shořet.
H
N
E
D
* * *
a ty se zeptáš kdo že jsem pak řeknu nevím mám své stíny a jedno srdce v němž se pletu a hořkost krásy jiných světů jsem ze dna moří tichý host tlumené světlo škvírou dveří zbývá mi z tebe jestliže nikdo neuvěří má duše shoří na němost
