Supersoup
String
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 4
- Nebulae
- 15
Pamyat
“I’ve done it.”
“I’ve done it.”
A thorough, ticking sound emits strangely vibrant through hollow, steel walls, the illumination of the crevices of this place void. A spark suddenly explodes within the room, the scent of burning metal picking up, as the illumination of that constant spark lightens the appearance of what was occurring; A man, a rather old man, holding a welder up to a strange, ominous machine and constructing it slowly, a tinge of impatience shown on his expression. Perspiration runs down his frail, narrow nose. A rather thick and large dossier sits opposite of him, open and prying eyes all available to read the discreet information.
The alluring dossier of information tells us, very simply, what is occurring, an astonishingly large table of contents following this summary. You are in the zone, and you will unlock its Secrets, for Ukraine and for Kiev glared blazing at you as soon as you opened it, like whoever wrote it wanted to remind you what you are. It goes on however, to elaborate. The zone is essentially a dead wasteland. The disaster at Chernobyl was followed by some sort of catalyst event that wiped out all life and expanded the radius of the danger zone by five miles, and that is what created this. You are an Ecologist, a government official from Kiev to establish scientific ground within the Zone and find out everything you can. You are to collect Artifacts and list the strange effects they do on the human body, obtain research on ‘PSI’ that directly affects the human mind and possibly weaponize it, and assist military officials whenever possible. Do not let our funds go to waste. The Ecologist had read it before, with bitter understanding. He did not like the Military, but they did give them a steel bunker to shelter themselves and the research to look at this centrepiece of endless scientific possibility. In fact, the Ecologist was doing just as the Dossier told him to do, discover new possibilities for Ukraine.He’d moisten his lips, an exasperated sigh escaping from his mouth that soon turns into a groan as he straightens himself, his posture painfully straightening as he inspects the glooming mechanical invention. He had indeed done it, he thought.
The machine looked like a startling large, metallic door, constructed from what seems to be jury-rigged alloys, plates covering unconventional places and a rather noisy, large compartment attached to the base. He’d grasp his calloused hands, refusing to smooth them out of his own recognition for his raw genius, and think to himself as he looks at the marvellous machine. He had done the impossible, He thought; he had proved his ignorant colleges wrong. They were busy worrying about the Artifact and PSI research to be concerned about anomalies, a particular anomaly in mind. “It’s unexplainable, leave it to that!” they’d say. Bah! What fools, simple-minded fools, all of them! He thought with relentless resentment. He was destined to be great as he thought great, especially with this particular machine.
Space anomalies. Nobody can explain them, or how they work. They defy the laws of reality itself, almost as if these intangible entities had a mind of their own. When you approach one, you risk yourself being lost within the time and space it was mutated into, never to leave. Or maybe you’d end up in an entirely different country, continent even. Or perhaps you’d simply cease to exist once you entered; Limitless possibility essentially. You can’t get any bigger than that the Ecologist thought to himself with a slight compliance to his humour. He could not wait any longer, his ego swelling at the pride of what he had possibly done and smacked his bony finger against an obnoxiously large, red button! A few moments passed, the machine humming and churning, like it’s digesting something on the scale of something utterly massive, the thought too overwhelming to think beyond that. But soon it fell silent. It was disappointing, visible on his face. However, he was convinced the machine had worked, and simply threw a pencil into the door, rather absent-mindedly. However, the pencil did not come through the other side. It had simply vanished. Any sign beyond that to convince the Ecologist of his success was unneeded, the frail man running off to put on a Green Environmental suit, made to combat anything that the unnatural might do to him. He thought, hesitantly as he stood at the door, thinking that the danger would be too great, that perhaps his colleges were right. But resentment came rushing back to him, his list of successes nil to none, and jumped in, grit and determination his strive for doing so. He was going to tame these Space Anomalies and spit in the face of everything illogical and logical.
It was odd. He tried to recall how it happened, but he simply remembered being in the Bunker one moment and within this strange facility the next. He breathed in slowly, a dense fog emitting through his enclosed respiratory system as he breathed out. His eager eyes studied the room he was in. It was sterile. Clean. Emotionally dead. Yet despite the eerie feeling of the room it felt… like home to him. Like he had been here once before in his life. Against a wall, the direction indescribable, was a brown desk. And on that brown desk was a small computer terminal, with a keyboard pressed against it. There was a permanent marker placed nearby, in such a manner somebody took the time out of their day to set it up as so. The Ecologist sauntered to it carefully, cautiously. The terminal seemed to stare at him, an inanimate beckon taking place. A seat, seemingly out of his view, or perhaps it just appeared, knocked at his side, and he took the seat, pushing himself close. What an odd place he thought calmly, looking at the keyboard. He slid the keyboard closer, bracing his fingers and typing quaintly, the blocky, technical keyboard tapping away with a satisfying click as he does so, the only sound emitting within that quiet room.
Hello, he typed into the computer. He did not really expect or know what to do; only typing a simple response to god knows what. He nearly jumped when a log of text slowly ran by. Hello, it said, his eyes boggling into the words. He gathered his bearings and sat back down, exhaling sharply through the respiratory system within his suit. Perhaps it’s connected online. He thought, rationally, unknowingly foolish. He typed into the keyboard once more, the blocky clicking almost tinging through his body.
Who are you?
I am you.
He looked at the screen, confusingly and rather vexed. You’re me? Unbelievable, who does such a thing, wasting their time with trivial pranks? He typed into the keyboard, his pace increasing with his aggravation, the blocky feeling ebbing away.
Don’t you have anything better to do than to play unfunny jokes?
It is like you to make assumptions, isn’t it? It was what made you make that machine in the first place.
He looked once more at the computer, even more bewildered than before. The project he was working on was discreetly built in privacy. But that aggravated feeling came back, even more rushed. Oh, so it is one my colleges is it? Figures they would do something like that he thought viciously, typing into the keyboard once more.
Okay, who is it then? Is it Vladimir, or perhaps its Jedkenvich? I always knew he had something against me...
Once more, you assume. I am you, and after the experiments you so diligently preformed, you can’t relate yourself to the room you are in? Do you know where you are?
He thought to himself once more, directing his gaze around the boring, empty white room. It did, it unfortunately did. He knew that something about this room was related to him, he could just feel it. Obviously, this person was not a college. He gave up trying to make a rational thought, and turned back to the screen, typing rather slowly into it.
Alright, fine, I don’t. If you’re so smart, where am I? How do you know where I am? Who are you really?
Once again, I am you. This place is you. Everything here represents you. However, I will answer any and every question you have.
The first, and obvious question to him was on how to get out of this place. He typed it in, asking. Yet all he got was Do you want to leave? He wasn’t sure. He typed in yes, and nothing happened. No response. Nothing. He typed in No, same result. He typed in many things, all ebbing to the same, blank screen. So he decided to ask some other things. And he was completely overwhelmed by the answers he received. When he worked it out in his mind, he had to use the marker next to him to work out what the computer responded. Yet everything it said, it all somehow made sense. The factual being in front of him was indeed like a computer. It was amazing. It was exactly what he was looking for; a discovery that trumps all discoveries.
The answer to everything.
…
An unknown amount of time passed.
Time. What… happened to it? His courageous form was slowly being worn away by the endless thought of what would occur afterwards. He had exhausted the knowledge he wanted, not even being driven mad by knowledge, but the lack of what to do with it. He’d always eventually realize he was in the same room, staring that computer, the walls of inane, useless dribble, marked down by a long-worn marker, greeting him like an old friend, or a hated enemy. No.
No. Not even that.
It greeted him like he was there. Or maybe he wasn’t even there. It was greeting him like he was… an anomaly.
He eventually stopped typing into himself, the weight of overwhelming smallness taking over. He was in a place he couldn’t explain, he didn’t know why it was like this. Maybe it was because his perception is letting him see it as this. This room, he HATED it! It was a repressed memory, he had to be sure! This game of ebb & flow, of endlessness had to end! He thought deep and hard, his resentment never leaving his side, telling it to GO away! He put his rugged, filthy hands into his head, his suit being long worn away. Thoughts flowed to his head as he sat down, groaning at the conceivable idea that he was nothing, waiting for nothing, doomed to sit victim to forces beyond his rational and even insane thought. He was a fool. He looked back at the computer. A thought, a thought that should have been long gone, hit him like an epiphany. He typed into the computer, feeling like it was a last breath.
I want to leave.
Do you want to leave?
We both want to leave.
A few seconds passed.
Look up.
He looked up.
There was nothing. The room, the computer, everything was gone. He was about to think it would have been a white void, but his eyes couldn’t even sense colours, or shades. He thought he was standing, but he couldn’t be sure.
Am I even alive? Am I even thinking? Yes… No. Perhaps I should count. I should say something.
He opened his mouth to form a word, but strangely, he did not say a number, or a letter or something he even meant to say. When he said whatever it was that he said, he felt his presence suddenly give up. He had the sensation he was… going. His fingers trembled and he lifted them up, grasping and feeling something that was not there beyond the incomprehensible void he was stuck in.
“I’ve done it.”
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