"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! "
The siren rang loudly into every house, tent, and shed of the workers of Farside. A man looked down at his hands as he fidgeted with a glass vial, his eyes twitched as the noise vibrated within his skull. Prolonged sleep is a luxury for those who are capable of it. He has been awake for quite a while now, and the only meaningful action he has done was rubbing his fingers along the smooth glass vial, which is now oily and filthed from the grime and dirt in his hands. As he puts on his clothes and equipment, he tucked the vial into his pocket, the patches and wrinkles of his clothes are a common sight for men of his caliber. A photo of a cheery girl and proud father laid beside his bed, to which the man kissed before putting back into place. The man limped his way to the door with some parts of its frame hollow and broken, the breeze and the light flows through the holes and it has been troubling the man for quite a while. He shouldered the door open and stumbles into the street cascaded by the heavy clouds. There were many such as himself already walking down the street to the factory.
"Larson! "
A voice can be heard from down the street, Larson instinctually turns his head to face whatever voice has called his name. It was his co-worker, Claude, who had joined the factory a few months back.
"Morning, Claude." Larson said in a dry raspy voice.
Claude's eyes widened somewhat, some words were swallowed back down his throat.
"You don't look good, did you get yourself checked by a doctor like I recommended?"
"No, too tired for that." Larson looked away from Claude and kept walking forward. Claude noticed Larson's reluctance, but he pushed further.
"Hey, I know that you're in a tough spot right now, I wouldn't mind lending you some–"
"I said no Claude, no need. "
Larson stared at Claude with frowned, narrowing eyes. His hand placed in his pockets as he fidgetted with the vial that was there. Claude looked back at him, his figure defeated and his head downed. Larson picked up his pace and limped his way to his personal station. He inserted his ID into the small monitor before him. The machine rumbled as it jolted awake.
"Good morning [Larson Clark]! Due to the recent Call of The Deep phenomenon, today's task additionally entails removing 100 extra organs and the draining of blood of Neolife: Finders, in barn #49. Please reach the quota of 400 before 5pm to avoid penalties. The Linveil Corporation values you, and we are glad to have you as our associate!"
With that, the old dusty monitor turned into a screen of the Linveil Corporation's logo.
"Pieces of shit."
Larson whispered under his breath as he got off his station and walked slowly towards barn #49. The path to the barn crosses many other sections of the factory-farm complex. Larson dragged his leg before a couple of workers lifting a large cage that should be impossible for humans to carry. Some of the workers looked way stronger and more energetic than others. Larson looked as one of the weaker men who struggled bearing the weight of the cages collapsed, the heavy metallic cage dropped as it crushed the men's feet. The man screamed as he struggled to pull the mess of blood, bones, and crushed flesh out from underneath the metallic cage. He instinctively tried to approach the man, but he stopped himself.
"All too common…" Larson mumbled underneath his breath.
He stared at the collapsed man's feet for a bit, the crushed mess triggered a chain of fragmented memories within him. Larson froze in place before the sensation of the hard glass vial brought him back to reality. A sweat bead rolled down his face, he grunted a bit and hurriedly walked away.
After some time, Larson finally shuffled his way to barn #49. Pushing the heavy metallic door open with all his might. He stepped inside through the small gap to find that Claude was inside of the barn. Larson grabbed a knife, a hammer, and a pair of pliers from the rack and limped his way to Claude, who was operating a giant machine to scoop the creatures that darted around in the pit and placed them into a temporary cage.
"Claude!"
Larson shouted as he went closer to Claude avoiding the large pit of monstrosities resembling large horse crabs with elongated legs, their black spiked shells with blue highlights and radical movements alerted Larson on a biological level. They swarmed and nudged at each other, moving in all manners of directions, trying to climb out of the pit. Claude was alerted by the sudden call to his name, leaving the cockpit of the scooping machine to meet him face to face.
"I– I'm sorry, was feeling a bit under the weather." Larson stuttered a bit to finish his brief apology.
"It's good mate, I know things have been tough for you ever since you told me that you've sent Belle to Žádnýznam," Claude relaxed his tense position a bit. "How's she been?"
"It's been tough, even though she started her own shop, that stupid girl loaned money from those people in the Virgo Association. I should've never–"
Larson takes the dirty and scratched glass vial from his pocket and fidgets with it some more. His face darkens and his body trembles.
"Thump–"
Larson fell onto the ground as he started coughing and shaking but he squeezed the vial to stop it from falling into the pit. Flashes of memories appeared before his eyes, mixed with illusions and fantasies.
"I miss you!"
"Why keep going even if she's gone?"
"I'll be coming home!"
"she'll never be back"
"Stop fighting."
"I will always be here."
"Do not lie to yourself"
"I'm Back!"
"Why suffer in loss?"
"Join us."
He can feel his eyes grinding against their sockets, he feels his heart popping out of his sternum, a strange yet eerily comforting feeling writhing and strapping itself around his lungs. Sounds of scatterling and screeches grew louder from within the pit.
"You alright!?" Claude yelled as he approached the weak man to steady him up.
Larson looked as if he could collapse at any second. His face appeared blue and there were visible bumps and humps on his body. He suddenly shot back up and sweat beads can be seen rolling down his forehead and cheeks. Larson stumbles to the side of the pit and vomits blueish watery fluids into the deep pit. Claude clenched his hands in futility as the man fell to his knees again.
"I'm Fine, let's get going to work." Larson said as he brushed Claude away from him.
"But– "
Ignoring Claude's pleas, Larson pushed his arms against his knees, steading his body against gravity, and dragged his way beside the cage. He raised his hammer high above his head with his thin and crooked arm and crushed one of the crab's structures; he grabbed the crab from the cage and swiftly took apart its shells with the pliers and gutted the creature, placed its organs into a container and drained its blood into another. He tossed the emptied shells back into the pit, the creatures swarmed for it and devoured any remaining flesh that it might've had.
Claude stared at the display in awe, even though he has seen this quite many times, and the man who was performing so seemed so weak and fragile, Larson's skill with the tools has made what would be a grotesque display into art, and Claude was enthralled by the art he witnesses with his eyes. A reminder of his time under his father who conducted flawless negotiations and competent deals appeared from his mind. However, he noticed Larson would occasionally stare straight into the void of pit, seemingly in deep conversation with himself, or maybe it was with the Finders? Crab after crab, the man seemed to be more consumed and devoured by whatever it was.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! "
Hearing the siren rang once again, Larson was pulled back to reality, the siren signified a period of rest, one for nourishment and sustenance. But Larson felt neither joy nor relieve from the rest. Tucking the hammer and knife into his pockets, he stumbled out of the barn with Claude's help.
"Alright Larson, I'll see you after Lunch." Claude said as he parted ways with Larson.
As Claude walked away, Larson lingered his gaze towards the young man, a slight expression of disdain and bitterness appeared on his face. Taking his steps slowly to the cafeteria, the way was filled with other workers, some just like him, down to their last breaths it would seem. Slouching mechanically on his way, he was quite late to the cafeteria even compared to some of the injured and maimed workers.
As he enters the crowded cafeteria, he makes his way to the counters to see trays upon trays of a familiar yet grotesque jellyfish like purple-ish stew. He picked up his bowl and went in line to take a scoop of 'Lawns' into his plate. He's been eating this slush for the last 30 years of his life in this factory. Being so abundant and cheap to produce, it has become the staple source of nutrients for sweatshops and common folks like him across the city. He looked around for a seat and sat down at an empty table. As he began to eat the substance, it tasted of a salty and bitter jello, every scoop into his mouth, he could feel the sensation of stems in the food even though it shouldn't be possible. As he mechanically shoves the jello into his mouth, a man walks up to him in front of his table.
"Well, isn't that the infamous old man? Heh, it seems you're enjoying yer 'food'. Has being cut stuffed some rats in your brain? "
The man remarked at the disgusting mash that was in Larson's bowl. He looked up to see the man who made the remark and saw the logo emblem on the man's head; The Anthracite Union of Workers. A combination of words he was very familiar yet disgusted by.
"Yer not far from where I'm at, if you know what's good for you, you'd tinker that head of yours while you're still able.", Larson said as he stirred the substance in his bowl some more with his spoon.
"Why would I listen to some goddamn Halva?" the man spat at Larson, then switched his demeanor into a mocking grin. "How's your girl been? Has she finally given up on you seeing yer a bloody Halva, let alone a real fine father?"
The man chuckled a bit and looked at Larson some more. Larson stood up to face the man, he was noticeably shorter and much weaker than the man in front of him, yet his eyes were filled with a rage much more empowering than his figure. The man before him didn't care for that and kept belittling the old Halva.
"I bet yer see that slush and feel pity for it don't you? After all yer might as well be down in the pit with those horsecrabs right?' The man pushed his head closer to Larson's, getting a clear view of the blue-ish flesh and throbbles of the man's body.
As the man in front of him said this, Larson took the hammer from his pocket and swung it at the man's face. The hammer made contact with his jaw and disconnected the bones holding the two parts together. The blood splattered across the room, splashing on passerbys. The man fell to the table and collapsed, his body splashed by the bowl of Lawns while he became motionless. His jaw was completely separated from his face, sliding across the floor not far away, but soon enough, the man who was previously presumed dead started breathing again, blueish flesh tissues could be seen stitching the bones and flesh back in place. The wriggling tendrils extended out, grabbing and consuming the bowl of Lawn to use as materials for the mending. A few stopped after seeing the aftermath of the fight, but most people only watched on as the man on the ground squirmed.
A couple of workers bearing the same logo as the man came over and picked him up. They looked at Larson, their heads shaked at him as they lifted the man out of the cafeteria on a raft.
"What comes around goes around…" one of the men uttered. A mixture of sarcasm and mock lined his speech as he looked first at the man on the raft then Larson.
Soon the commotion settled down, and everyone went on their way once again, as if nothing had happened. The only testimony of anything that happened in this room was the severed jaw that had been kicked underneath a counter. Larson froze watching the scene play out, his expression shifted from one of rage, to regretting contemplation.
As Larson made his trip back to the barn, his head was filled with only the thoughts of what had transpired, along with the flashes and segments of memories that he had buried deep within his mind. They resurface now if not only to mock him and his situation. His hand on the glass vial had not loosened its grip even since exiting the cafeteria. Perhaps, he could find comfort in the sensation of the solid and hard glass, or he is just trying to remind himself of his predicament.
"Larson, my dear."
The sudden voice of greeting would interrupt his thoughts of introspection, and Larson looked up from the ground to see who had called. Turning his head around and shifting his body to accommodate his stiff neck gained him no more clues as to who might've called him.
"Do not resist me."
The voice felt as if it came from all directions, no angle was safe from it. It even felt as if it came from the very core of his soul.
"You wanted this, didn't you?"
A voice so alluring, sweet as a silver bell, luscious as the first sip of water in days, and a feeling so soothing, it reminded him of his time as a baby, placated by the cooings of his mother. But he knows, it's not here for his comfort. Reaching his hands into his pocket, he took the knife he had stowed and stabbed it into his own palm. The pain instantly cleared the voices and visions he was seeing, he opened his eyes wide, seeing the red blood mixed with bluish streaks poured out from his wound. Ripping the knife straight out of his palm, the wound mended almost instantly. However, he was not glad at the sight, his face grew gloomier and dark.
"Goddamn it!"
Larson punches the wall beside him and slams his fist against the wall over and over again. One would say he was trying to harm himself, but whatever wound soon healed in an instant leaving only the blue tendril like tissue stitching and healing the would like nothing had happened.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuuuuuuck!" Larson shouted into the sky.
After a few moments staring at his own hands, Larson sped his way back into the Barn. As Larson opened the heavy metal door of the barn, he was met by Claude, who stood by the pit and had a very stern and concerned expression on his face. Larson ignored the man once again and walked straight to his station. For a moment, there was only silence between the two, but Claude simply couldn't let this moment continue.
"Larson! What did you do!? ", Claude yelled.
"What does it seem? ", Larson asked in an agitated manner.
"Do you understand who that man was!?", Claude once again yelled.
"A piece of shit. ", Larson once again responded with his raspy and aged voice.
"I know that, but do you understand who he represented!? It was THE Anthracite Union of Workers." Claude remarked sharply.
"Don't ya think I fucking knew that!?" Larson finally snaps and lashes out at Claude.
"I was in that revolting union once! Back-stabbing, and so righteous collection of shite! "
He got off for his station and limped slowly towards Claude, who stood by the edge of the large pool of Finders. It was hard to see this old, and crippled man as anything more than a candle in the wind. His approaching presence alerted no fear nor panic within Claude.
"Those bastards took everything away from me when I became a Deadman! It's you who don't understand that! You naive twat! Why do you think you, being so fucking incompetent! Is my upper!? You get to just sit on yer ass in that machine all day, turning yer brain off. "
"Don't you get it? The only reason you are in this position right now is because of your family." Larson raised his trembling finger to point at Claude. "Yer a bloody Sloane Ranger, and ya eat with other bloody Sloane Rangers, you will never understand the pain I feel every second of my life! But you keep pretending like you do! Pretending to speak like some deadmen! Pretending to even know a sliver of my pain! "
Larson takes back his hands and begins to scratch his bumpy and cyan skin, sinking his finger nails into his flesh.
"I can feel somethin' crawling and wriggling under me skin every micro-second of this blasted body. I can hear them talking to me, whispering in me fucking ears!" Larson shakes his head violently side to side. "And they never stopped! Not a single minute of me wake! And they showed me things, they showed me what I so wish had happened to her, my dear –dear Belle."
Claude could only manage to watch as the decrepitated man broke down both mentally and physically. Larson fell onto the ground. He felt a bit hurt from what the man in front of him had said, but also sympathy for the sad and miserable creature.
"She's gone, Claude. She's gone. "
The man started sobbing and crying, covering his eyes with his forearm. Trying as hard as he can to not show his face to Claude. He takes the glass vial filled with the purple substance out of his pocket and shows it to Claude.
"This vial was the last thing she's ever sent to me, " Larson held the vial close to his heart, almost as if he's hugging it.
"I can barely even remember her face. How could've I let her die like this, in some strange alley far from home? I decided to send her to that district, I thought I could give her a better life. It's my fault, it's always been my fault!–"
The man screamed and groveled more, causing the monstrosities down in the pit to grow more restless and excited. At this moment, it seemed that even the world itself was mocking him. In this barn full of blood, guts, and monsters, it seemed as if the biggest disgust of them all was he. Claude tried to think of something to say to Larson, anything to share his sympathy with him.
"Larson… I know that– no, I don't know. I'm sorry, Larson. I would never know or feel anything that you're feeling. "
The grown man at his feet could only sob even more at his words, he has suffered so much. The pain of losing his loved one, the pain of his body, and the pain of his mind. Perhaps what he sought was never a vent to gush out his anger, but a listener to share his grief with.
"... "
A long period of nothing but the sobbings of Larson's cries bellowed throughout the large barn. The sorrow of a father who has lost their daughter left out on full display for all to see. For Claude, he simply stayed with Larson and shared his grief with him. Eventually, Claude finally spoke out.
"You must keep living, Larson, do it for Belle. She would want you to be happy, even without her, live for her, live for yourself. I have never lived a day in my life without my father being disappointed in me. To be honest, I'm envious of her, I'm envious of your love for her."
"So even if you don't think to be worthy of forgiveness, " Claude looked down at himself for a moment before looking back at Larson, " do it for Belle, do it for yourself. "
"I am a Deadman, there is no way for me– "
"No, there is always a chance to change, " Claude's eyes locked into Larson's with a firm conviction, "No matter how desperate it seems."
These words, as much as they are just language and rhetoric, are also enough for a dying man like him. He reached his trembling hands towards his face and wiped the tears off his eyes, his clear vision once again looking at the vial in his hands.
"Claude, ya've always been good to me, but I was too much up my own ass to care." Larson said as he looked bitterly into the distance.
Claude chuckled at these words of retrospection. He felt heart warmed as well, feelings of joy and accomplishment roused within his heart. Perhaps the recognition of a friend is what aroused this long dormant feeling within his life.
"Haha, that's true, you really are an asshole. But still, I would offer to pay for your medical visits fully, no need to pay it back."
"I don't know what to do, but, thank you."
The barn soon filled with a small hint of laughter, before it evolved into a full on chuckle of the two men. One that filled the void of both their hearts.
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!– "
Their heartfelt laughter was interrupted by the sound of the screeching door opening. A couple of seconds passed, but no further sound came out. Until–
"Hiiiii~ "
A playful and exuberant voice peeked through the half open door. Its presence, though similar, failed to fit in with the joy that filled the room.
"Oh, don't stop for me, I can wait a bit more."
The voice was calm, the voice was neutral, the voice was without the baggage of this world in a terrifying way.
"Who's there? ", Larson said cautiously.
A bright looking man in a long jacket casually strided into the barn. His clothes cleaned and straightened to professionalism, though few spots stained with imperceivable red. His hair extended to his shoulders, and fashioned in a simple pony tail. Seeing the man's face and clothing, Claude's face was filled with dread and horror. The room itself seems to get colder and even the shadows shy away from the man in the long jacket.
"I am 'Friend', a member of the Seraphim division within the Department of Defense and Annihilation, responsible for the cooperation and negotiation of and with the Linveil Corporation. Wow, that's a mouthful! ", the man introduced himself while slowly pacing towards Larson and Claude.
"Mr- Mr. Friend, what brings you here today?" Claude practically stutters as he anxiously replies to the man.
"Hahaha, you have nothing to worry about, I was here today to do some negotiation for the Corporation and on my way back decided to chat with a couple of your co-workers and do a little bit of a tour! ", the man exclaimed with his hands above his head.
Claude loosened up his expression and relaxed, but Larson remained cautious.
"Interestingly, as I was talking to some of the nice gentlemen from the Union, they told me of an atrocity that occurred to one of their members today."
As the man says this, Larson's face grew cold and stern. He steps in front of Claude to face the man, his hand held firmly onto the knife he has in his pocket. A bead of sweat began rolling down Claude's face; his skin grew pale, and his heart fidgeted.
"I heard that it was a violent, miserable, and pathetic man who did it. "
"I heard that the hostile, gloomy creature has lost their daughter recently, that their daughter died while being slowly crushed by a slab of stone. "
"I heard that the thing was close to becoming an assimilated, and it could be a safety hazard for Farside." the man in the long jacket, provided an innocent and provocative smile.
"Larson Clark. What do you have to say for yourself?"
The man in the long jacket literates as he continues to step closer and closer to both Larson and Claude.
"Larson don't!"
Claude instinctually shielded the man behind him from pouncing in to attack the man. Larson only looked at Claude with a complex expression of determination, relief, and acceptance.
"I don't know what you are talking about, and you need to get out. "
"Ohhh! Have you already lost your mind to the Curse? ", the man's smile never wavered as he uttered these words.
Larson took the vial in his hands and popped the glass vial open. He downs the liquid into his throat, a sudden feeling of control over his own body and mind returned to him. He felt the chains dragging his soul loosen and the voices finally stopped. In what seemed like decades, his mind gained back its solidarity. He could once again hear his own voice in his head, devoid of the whispers and temptings of the Curse. After opening his eyes, Larson stared straight at 'Friend' with a look filled with the human spirit to live.
"Quite the contrary, I had never think me self to be as much as a human than in this very moment." Larson declared loudly towards 'Friend'
In an instant, Larson drew the knife in his pockets and thrust it towards the man's neck. His motion and speed was impeccable for any common man to react to.
"Thud– "
His hands were stopped mid-way on their strike towards the man's neck. 'Friend' disarmed Larson and used his other hand to squeeze on Larson's neck with a might that shattered one's windpipe. Larson squirmed and shaked while being held up by 'Friend', his trachea had been completely crushed and compressed, his own blood suffocating himself. The grip of the man was so strong that it stopped any and all efforts the tendrils could do to keep him breathing.
"Codename: Friend, conducting execution on an assimilated worker in Farside. Time: One Opiuman calendar week and 3 days after The Call of The Deep phenomenon in Year X231 or 19PO." 'Friend' accounted cheerfully.
"NO! NO! NO! PLEASE! SIR! STOP! He is not an Assimilated!" Claude begs the man in front of him.
"Not yet~" 'Friend' said as he threw Larson down the large pit of Finders.
The swarm of creatures ferociously gnawed and tore the flesh of the man who was tossed down into the pit. Screams of agony and the sounds of a man choking in their own blood filled the barn in an echoey cacophony. Every tear and bite heals itself almost instantly, and the suffering was prolonged for more than that was humanly permissible.
"Wow! It's not often I get to do this, it's kind of exciting! ", the man giggled and looked down the pit where the Finders were feasting.
Claude's whole body shaked with distraught, he was too scared to look into the pit. He could only hear the voices of the excited monsters, and the screechings of his friend who now sounds unrecognizable.
Soon the screaming stopped and the Finders calmed down, and Claude finally found the courage to look down into the pit. What remained in the pit was a creature who wore the tattered uniforms of a worker of Farside, its body lumped and covered in blue fleshy tendrils, some parts of its body had fused with each other, forcing its thighs and shin to stitch together. It made disgusting gurgling sounds that could haunt a child's nightmares. Claude couldn't help but vomit into the pit, at seeing the monstrosity that Larson had turned into. The creature approached the vomit that splashed on the ground beside it and scowered it with its human-like tongue.
"Well! He lasted longer than I thought. ", 'Friend' took out a fleshy cube and talked into it for a bit. Noises that could not be understood by Claude responded from the flesh cube, not that he was focused on deciphering the message.
"Claude! Was it? Some men will be here soon to get rid of this Assimilated. Just help me out and keep watch for a bit, I'll need to be heading out!"
With that, the man walked out as suddenly as he appeared, leaving Claude collapsed on the ground in a trance of his own guilt. He simply sat on the ground, idle as he thought of Larson, of his own family, of his regrets. The scuttling of the Finders occasionally brought him back from his thoughts, but he insistently returned regardless, even as the clean-up crew arrived to take 'Larson' away. Hours passed.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
And the cold repetitive sirens rang once more, ending yet another ordinary day of work in Forceouna. Except, for the work of perhaps just one person who has changed. Claude knelt down on the ground, picking up the empty vial of suppressants, grasping it tightly, and storing it deeply into his pocket. He stood up and exited the haunting metallic barn.