The Ballad of a Buried Beast

Chapter 31.

"Grandma?"

"Yes?"

"So, what exactly is this place?"

I walked down the halls with Mal, following Mr. Bell's lead as we rounded a corner and headed straight. We were in department G., a wing of deeper experimental studies. Processing was located in J., Distillation in X. Artifacts, in Y. and Z.

"Oh, well... That's complicated, sweetie."

"Oh."

"When I joined, things were different..."

Wailings came from behind the doors, rattlings for some others. I wanted to ask Mr. Bell what was being done inside, but he made it clear I wasn't to talk. His loyalties stopped at my grandmother.

"In the past, we were, well, 'justice,' it felt like."

"... And now?"

"Hm... Now it feels more like a rebellion."

We passed a door as something slammed against it. Mal and I flinched away, but what surprised us more was when Mr. Bell lifted a leg and kicked it back. There was a thud from the other side.

"Fuckin' drongos..." He muttered another curse as he removed his foot, a visible dent left at the impact. "Come on," he placed his foot down and continued unphased, "We're almost there."

We entered H., then a pair of doors slid apart and we went down I. Something provoked Mal to reach over and grab my hand, but I barely felt it. There was a heaviness to the air, a tightening in the atmosphere. As we ventured deeper down the halls, breathing became a conscious effort.

And none felt it more than Mal.

In her fur, in her bones--in the digging of her claws and the tightness of her grip... She walked down the halls eyeing every corner, skeptical of every turn. She wouldn't even allow herself near the walls.

"Here."

We left I., and a door with a bold 'J' on it met us at the end. There were guards positioned next to it, left and right. Like the closet, it had a keypad beside it. Mr. Bell glanced at us, then he turned away. He didn't flash any badge, nor did he speak; the guard simply understood.

First a beep, then a click. The door slid to the left, and a cold rush of air escaped. It swept across my face, slid down my hair. I let go of Mal's hand and stepped away out of instinct, but I was grabbed at the arm and kept in place by Mr. Bell.

"Sit still, shit bag," his eyes bled into me through the visor. "Go get 'em," he ordered the guards. "And you," his grip tightened as he yanked me forward, "Watch."

The soldiers disappeared into the room; Mr. Bell stood me at the entrance. There was rummaging, then there was groaning. The room was blue, but it didn't have any lights. I peeked forward, and I saw screens. Four screens. Then I saw beds.

"Oh but, I suppose 'rebellion' isn't quite right either, is it?"

My eyes widened; my stomach churned. Mounds of wires, hanging from the ceiling; pairs of feet, twitching at the ends of the beds. Toes curling, knees bending. Their groanings became just a little louder as I watched the guard's shadow yank.

"Things are different now, after all."

I took a step forward, and he let me. I counted out the beds, then the feet. Two pairs; four beds. One of the monitors was off, and the other was blue with a [DISCONNECTION ERROR] flashing in bold black letters. Those were the empty beds. The ones occupied were too close to the wall for me to see.

"Things have gotten more heated--more... Chaotic..."

The guards pulled, then they yanked. The hidden screens flashed, and sharper blue light filled the room as the people gasped and moaned, beds creaking as their feet dug into and kicked at the mattresses. My heart took to my throat, drumming into my ears. I felt a presence developing at my side, but I couldn't look. With nowhere to go, the wires sparked and writhed.

"It's... An Insurgency, sweetheart."

The feet stretched, then they stilled. A final exhalation escaped the room, and the two men shot up from their beds, both dripping in sweat as red marks goggled their eyes. One was Sam, the other was Gabriel. Their breaths were quick and heavy, and their eyes were widened and strained a sickly red. Sam was the first to hurl, then Gabriel fell out of his bed and did the same, gasping and heaving as the two keeled over themselves and clutched onto whatever was near. 

"It's an Insurgency."

They lifted Gabriel from his scruff. They dragged Samuel off the bed. The two were dressed in hospital gowns, spotted blue, and Mr. Bell pulled me back as a pair of folded clothes was taken off a counter and provided for each.

"Get dressed," one of the guards said. Samuel looked at him, eyes drooped. Mind, spent. 

"Processing's over." 

Samuel nodded; Gabriel quietly followed. They stripped naked before the guards with their heads sunken in shame, eyes closed in exhaustion. There were marks indented against their wrists and forearms, and a thin red road burned across their chests. 

I felt sick to my stomach, a cruel mix of guilt and bile boiling inside my gut. I wanted to scream, I wanted to yell and fight and hurt and cry but-

But I couldn't speak. And I couldn't act. My mouth hung open in silence, and the wrist clasped onto my arm kept me still and planted. 

"The lucky ones are the ones who go through Processing," a cold whisper hissed beside me. "Distillation's the real hell." 

I looked at him, and he didn't look back. I felt the grip on my arm tighten, and I felt my palms sweat as I recounted the beds: 

One-two-three-four...

I nodded, four total. 

One. Two.

Two empty. 

I looked at Sam, then Gabriel. The two were dressed, and the guards were ushering them out. My eyes took to the screens. 

Four total. Three on. One off. 

[Disconnection Error]

[Disconnection Error]

[Disconnection Error]

The bold letters flashed violently; the blue screens hummed. My eyed widened, and the tips of my fingers twitched. I looked back at Mal, and she seemed to have the same realization. She began peeking over the heads, surveying the room. 

We were one short. 

Where was Jason?