Fragments: Part One

I feel like hell.
Inhale. Exhale.
My breath rises from between my lips and thickens the cold air in the small, empty room. The older I get…every day counts now, every since I first tasted It. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. My body seems to be failing me every step of the way. Unless. Unless I have it.
Inhale. Exhale.
Alone. So alone. I struggle to turn my head through the heavy, leaden air. A dead, grey woman lies behind me, slumped into the corner as if piled there by an uncaring machine. Who did that? I wonder. I blink and she is gone.
Inhale. Exhale.
Creeeeak.
The heavy door opens on squealing, rusted hinges. He walks through the door. Yes, him. I remember.

Max Kennet. At least that’s what he told me. Tall and pale, his greasy, black hair grudgingly accompanies him. He has dark, sunken eyes. He looks like a Demon. He is my Demon. My Demon of Truth.
My Demon shakes his head, “No.”
“You said you would have it, Demon.” I think Demon, but I say Max. I stand up. There is the grey lady again. Always haunting me…
Inhale. Exhale.
Gone.
The Demon shakes his head once more. I raise my heavy fists.
Thwack!
My knuckles split across his teeth. The pain. Feels good. The quick exhilaration of the cut flesh and the warmth of hot blood trickling down my arm fuel me. At last, I again feel alive, if only for a while.
Thwack!
Crunch!
His nose breaks. Blood spurts. I feel the cartilage and bone give way satisfyingly beneath my relentless assault.
I do not stop until the Demon is cowering on the ground. Everything is grey, everything but the unchecked crimson flowing from his nose and mouth, a river of scarlet.
“You lied to me, Demon.” This time I utter the word. “Do not lie to me.” I step over his crumpled body and walk out the door, eaten away by rust.
Like me.
Three minutes later, my arms ache like hell. I don’t know who I’m kidding. I’m just walking dead now. The grey concrete of the sidewalk seems to want to swallow me up.
I want to let it.
There are grey people walking all around me now, smiling. Laughing. Life is good. I used to be like them. Happy. Living in a dream world. Until I got a taste of It. Everything came crashing down around me, and all I could feel was the need for more. I hate it. This addiction.
It’s all that keeps me going.
The dead grey lady is across the street this time, walking parallel to me. I walk faster, but she is gone.
May as well head to the bar. Drown my sorrows.
Heh. Like that’ll work. It’s been tried before.
I open the heavy oak door to the bar, stained by the weather, back before it was controlled, pockmarked with dart and knife holes, from back before knives were outlawed by the Ascendancy. Smells like piss and liquor inside. Raucous laughter tumbles through the air and out of the door, spinning as it bounces off of me. I glance casually around. Most everyone inside is the usual rabble, except a group at one of the table and a Demon in the corner. He is fat. Dressed well. Black hair, as usual. He has three women with him. They’re grey. Everyone’s probably drooling over them. Probably supermodels or something. I have seen him before. I do not know his name, but he is powerful. Powerful, and he has something I want.
They all do.
Them. The Demons. They’ve all got it. I’ve got a little. Most people don’t. Need more.
I guess I should explain how I can see them. The Demons. How I got ripped from my ignorant, peaceful, bullshit little world.
To start, I guess I really don’t know how they’re Demons. Or how I can see them. But they are, and they can.
I worked for one of the world’s largest software programming corporations. USP, Inc. United Software Programming, Incorporated. Creative, isn’t it?
I was working overtime one night, as I did frequently. I had to pay my mother’s medical bills. She’s dying. Might even be dead now. And I never got to say goodbye. Never got to tell her I was sorry for all the things I said. Thank her for all the wisdom she ever shared. She had cancer and epilepsy. None of the treatments worked. Only one real cure…the permanent one. Damn doctors probably used it, too. I wouldn’t know.
A few others were working late that night, too. Me an’ Susan Lanbrook had just finished our annual reports. No one was answering the phones upstairs. Understandable, it was late. The fax machine was in for repairs, too. Those reports had to be on the boss’ desk by morning, or it was our asses. So we figured we’d take the elevator. All the way up. As is forbidden.
Stupid idea.
From fifteen to seventy-four/ I hate skyscrapers. From outside, they look like a giant was sucked into the grey, concrete earth. Just his fingers are left, reaching for the sky. The sun. Reaching for a last chance at life. Inside, always seems like you’re ground level. It feels wrong.
Of course, back then, I love them. The pinnacle of modern human architecture. The skyscraper. So high, you can reach out, touch the stars, grab the fluffy white clouds. What would King Tut and his pyramids think of that?
When we hit the top, it seemed like the doors didn’t want to open. Like they were talking to me: “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”
They were right.
Ding.
They opened, grudgingly, anyway. Looking back, I almost wish they wouldn’t have. If they hadn’t, I would still be living in my dream world. A normal guy with normal problems. Almost.
Ignorance is bliss. You’ve heard it before. It’s really true. Lies. So much easier than the Truth. More comfortable. Ten times more comfortable than the naked, bright, ugly Truth. But now I’m addicted.
The doors opened. To Star Wars. Black floors, silver walls, sliding doors. I half expected a goddamn stormtrooper to walk by.
There were two big doors ahead of us, doors that opened up and down. No, not doors. A mouth. Ready for us to walk straight in. Be willingly eaten. Walk right into that gaping maw, please remove all metal items, sir, as they may cause indigestion.
Endless hallways to the left and right. I had a bad feeling. Didn’t say anything, though. No sir. So what if the boss likes cold and sterile? Nothing to be afraid of…
We walked straight in. Straight through those hellish jaws. The jaws of the Beast.
That Beast ate it all. Everything I ever knew. Tried to eat me, too.
Soon as Susan walked into the mouth, BAM! She hit the ground with blood gurgling from her throat and mouth. Hot, scarlet, sticky blood. Like a bubble bath. I ran to her. Tried to put pressure on it. Course, I’m no medic. A few soft clinks slammed me back to reality. A little metal canister landed a few feet away from me. Two red eyes glaring hatefully at me. All of a sudden, they closed, those hideous eyes. The canister made a popping noise. Sprayed some kind of green gas all over the damn place. From what had happened to Susan, I guessed its purpose. Kill me. Leave me for the Beast to digest.
I got a little in my lungs, and a lot on my face. Only a little where it mattered, though. Doesn’t mean it didn’t burn like hell. After that, I held my breath and ran.
I threw up what little was left in my stomach in the elevator. Almost as soon as the doors closed on that hellish “office.” What had happened to Susan…those red eyes. I still have nightmares about those eyes. I can’t begin to describe how awful they were. Like real eyes, almost. Right out of some poor soul’s head. Just glaring. Not from this world. Some nights, they talk to me. I swear it.
Sitting there, watching the invisible stench of my sick float up to stain the ceiling as it had stained the floor, dropping back down to the “real” world, I thought about what I had seen in between when the canister had closed its grotesque, red eyes and spat in my face, and when I had hit the elevator, frantically scrabbling for the button.
After I ran from the room, through the open mandibles of the Beast, I wound up in another room. One I hadn’t been in before. Shouldn’t have been there. It was like a movie theatre. A movie theatre with only one seat. One seat, one screen, and a thousand doors.
One the screen. Carnage. A bloody hell. Men with limbs blasted clean off. Men covered in sweat and blood. Men destroying other men.
Men wearing the seal of the United Coalition of Western Nations.
There wasn’t supposed to be war. The news said all that had been over for nine years. World peace. No more fighting. Even old war movies were outlawed now. At last, after centuries of the human race tearing itself apart with everything from stones to lead to nuclear weapons, it was supposed to be over.
It wasn’t.
I threw up. A coloured blemish upon the cold, grey floor. Already everything was seeming to lose colour. Fading, slowly. All to grey.
The doors. I had to get out. They were all different. Sliding, hinged, iron, glass. All grey, even the glass seemed it.
All but one.
A wooden door on the left side of the room. Almost shining with the warm, golden glow. Beckoning me, it seemed. I ran for it. It opened to that Death Star hall again. The elevator was just across, seconds away.
After the office incident, I looked discreetly for more answers. For the next month, I went underground, living on the streets, searching for answers. I couldn’t go back to work, I knew that. My whole life, gone. Destroyed because The Man doesn’t want me to see the Truth.
Then I was contacted. By Max. The Demon. He told me to meet him, said he’d have answers. The Demon told me little of what I wanted to know. Just a little at a time, keeping me on a leash. For whatever reason, he didn’t want me to have it all at once. Maybe because the sheer suddenness of it all would have killed me. Maybe he just wanted to keep me wrapped around his finger.
And keep me he did. I was addicted. The only time I could shrug off the hurt and pain of the neurotoxin was when I received a new piece of the Truth.
He was supposed to give me something last time. I don’t know what, but it was supposed to completely open my eyes. He didn’t have it.
Damned Demons. So unreliable.
I honestly don’t know why he helped me in the first place. Most Demons are evil. Pure evil. Paragons of deception.
But he was different.
I also don’t know why I’m still alive. He could have torn me apart in that room. I can’t fight a Demon. To kill a Demon…Frank Castle might have been able to, back in the day. Or Cage. But they’re gone. Dead. If they ever really existed. Could be a lie, too.
Since the gas hit me, I black out sometimes. I just wake up without knowing what I’ve done for the past few hours. The most I’ve ever lost is two days. I guess the stuff did some damage, aside from making me feel old all the time. Tired. Weak. Can barely lift my head some days.
The bar. That’s right. I remember.
“…in celebration of two years of complete world peace…” the television says to me.
“Peace is a lie,” I murmur.
“…will be marking Wednesday as International World Harmony Day…”
“Peace is a lie,” I repeat, louder this time.
“…promises to be the biggest day of the year…”
“Peace is a lie!” I say. Almost shouting now. Nobody seems to notice.
“…an appearance on international television from all the world’s leaders, united…”
“Peace is a lie!” I scream. My throat feels like I swallowed a cheese grater. Nobody notices my outburst. Heh. I thought I screamed.
People hear what they want.
I slump heavily, defeated onto a tattered barstool.
“A pint, Vinnie?” I ask, my voice course and rough. Vinnie, the short, fat bartender with one tooth and a big, bushy beard, taps me a pint. I glance over my shoulder at the Demon in the corner. There is a fourth woman with him now.
Hello, Susan.


White light. Damn, that hurts. I clamp my eyes back shut. Who am I? Where am I?
I am Allan Christianson. I am thirty-seven years old. I live in Chicago.
I cautiously open my eyes again. A bed. A desk. A lamp. Nothing on the walls but a calendar. Where am I?
The calendar. January eighth, 2097.
Last I remember it was November. Two months? I’ve never lost near that amount before. Never. What the hell is going on? What am I doing?
There’s something else written on the calendar. Max, eleven AM. I recognize my own unruly handwriting. There’s a clock on the desk. Nine AM, it tells me.
Wherever I am, I’m alone, tired, and dirty. I need a shower.
The showerhead vomits too-hot water down my back. I barely feel it. Two months? Such a long time…at least the Ascendancy hasn’t caught me yet. But what have I been doing?
I turn to let the water pour on my face. It fills my mouth, covers me.
It turns to blood. My heart nearly stops, I scream like a little girl. I back up against the far wall, as far away as I can get from the gruesome blood fountain. Mumbling incoherently, I hurriedly step from the shower. It is still spraying blood. The once-pure bathmat is stained deep red, the tiled floor showered with ruby drops. Susan’s blood. My mother’s blood. The blood of those soldiers, dying alone on a field more blood than earth, coated in the gore of fallen men.
The shower curtain reaches out and grabs my leg. I cry out and fall. Water splashes across my face. Glorious water. I lie naked on the ground, panting, crying, begging God to make me pay like the devil I am. “Kill me,” I cry. “End this madness.”
As I pull my clothes on, I feel dirtier than before.
AAAARRGH!
It all comes out in an instant. Hate, pain, confusion, sorrow, love, anguish. Fear. My knuckles. Bleeding bad. There is a decent sized hole in the sheetrock near the bathroom door. My pulse spikes. Adrenaline. Feels good.
There’s nothing to do but go see him now. My Demon. My last hope. Perhaps he has them, at last. The answers. The Truth.
My head is spinning as I walk the streets. I know how to get where I’m going. Thousands of them. Thoughts racing through my mind. Memories. I can’t process any of them. They fly by much to quickly.
Soon enough I’m there. I glance around. Mot too many people out, and none looking at me. I duck into the alley and jog down the stairs.
Again, I am in the room. There are two doors leading from it now. She lies in the corner. Susan.
Ten fifty-seven. The door in front of me bursts open with a bang, bouncing off the wall. There he is. Not panting, but a slight sheen of sweat covers his pallid, waxy brow, which means he’s probably been running. Fast. Demon fast.
“Get out! Take the other door behind you and go! There’s not time to explain. They are coming. Go!” the Demon tells me.
“Demon! What’s going on? I need answers!”
“Allan, there’s not time! I’ll try to buy you enough time to get out. I’ll contact you later, as soon as I can. They’ll be here in seconds. Get out!”
“Who’s com-” I begin to shout. I am cut off by thundering footsteps on the stairs, and four of the faceless Ascendancy piling through the doorway. From their gear and the way they move, I can tell they’re Demon Hunters, a covert squad specially trained to destroy any superhuman threat to the perfection and benevolence of the Ascendancy.
“Get down!”
“Hands on your head!”
“On your knees!” they shout. I bolt for the back door. The sound of a gun being fired shatters the charged stillness of the air. Miraculously, they miss me. I slam the door and run. Maybe they’ll catch me. Maybe Max can give me the final answers someday. I don’t know.
My name is Allan Christianson. I am thirty-seven years old.
And I am losing the Truth.