DAIMON

I don't know where I am. I only know I'm not where I once was.

Has a chunk of my memory been erased? Is that why I'm not able to bridge the gap?

One second, I was in the underground bunker. And now...

I appear to be standing in the walkway some corporate office building. A good twenty to thirty floors off the ground, going off of the view to my right. It's not really a wall, but a giant, continuous window, with a handrail in front of it, at the edge of the walk.

There are few places like this, anymore. Buildings like these are a relic of the old world. They represent a time of greed, endless expansion, unsustainability. That's why they're mostly gone. In the times of war and severe environmental conditions, they weaken, crumble, and disappear. The creations of man, eroding, disintegrating. While only the Biodroids remain.

Not to mention the view itself. A sprawling metropolis. Hundreds of buildings, in all their forms, sizes and functions, stretched out, segmented like conductors on a computer chip. Humans don't cluster like this, anymore. Not on the surface, anyway. It makes a big target. It's too tempting for the SERAPHIM.

No. None of this is real. Unless there's something seriously wrong with my memory banks. Which I doubt.

This is some kind of simulated reality. Some kind of...

I search my mind, trying to discern the moments leading up to this. It's like looking at a blurry photo. The colors are there. The basic shapes of things. But the context is missing. Out of reach.

But maybe I don't need a complete picture. I know this: I was about to show Silas Turner how small he really is. But something happened.

Much as I hate to admit it, he must have pulled a fast one on me. I don't know when, or by what means. But this is Jacktech, what I'm experiencing right now. It has to be.

I take off at jog, eyes out for a door, or a button—some kind of exit mechanism. Outside in this simulated world, the clouds are thick and dark, casting a greyish blue haze over the city. It's dim out there, and dark. It's beginning to look like rain.

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Not that it should matter to me.

Only, there is something about this place. This city. This building, even. I've been here before.

A streak of lightning reaches across the now-black sky, briefly illuminating the city below.

Smoke. For a brief second, I can see it. Thick. Black. Roiling.

And then I hear the screams.

Not real screams. Imagined ones. Resonating out of the depths of my subconscious.

That's what this place is, isn't it? The lower layers of the self. For humans, these parts of the mind have always stayed secret, out of bounds. But with Biodroids, under the right conditions, Jacktech can be used to access those sub-level parts of the artificial mind.

Which is...troublesome. I keep this stuff tucked away for a reason. There are monsters here I'd prefer to keep locked up.

I run, faster. More than angry or inconvenienced, I'm beginning to feel nervous. Agitated. I don't want to be here.

Some dark shape thumps against the window-wall. Slowly slides down it. Lightning flares in the sky again, and for a second, I can see the object clearly.

A human hand. Soaked and surrounded by some strange, dark fluid. Like motor oil. The hand slides down the glass, lubricated by the inky substance, leaving a slimy trail behind it.

I find my gaze locking onto it as I run past. I deliberately tear my eyes away.

Another thud, as a new projectile hits the glass. Followed by another. And several more, all at once. And then dozens, rattling like wet hail against the side of the building in sick splats and thunks.

The sky sparks with light. And this time, I try to look away. But I'm not fast enough.

I am not alone. There are a thousand or more people here with me. They're just not...whole. That's all. They are scattered, in pieces and parts, all across the glass wall. Heads. Hands. Legs. Feet. Eyeballs. Individual fingers and toes dot and speckle the wall. All of them oozing with oil.

The screams. Getting louder. Hurting me.

I run. Faster.

Lightning strikes the side of the building. Sparks fly. The oil ignites, flames sweeping across the length of the glass. The screams transition into high-pitched, non-stop shrieking. The death wails of a thousand throats.

I put my hands over my ears. Palms tight against the sides of my head. I try to cut myself off from the sound. But it is fruitless. Always fruitless.

Ahead, at the end of the walkway, is a double-door with an EXIT sign over the top of it.

I slam into the doors, pushing with everything I have. To one side of me, the glass wall crackles and bubbles from the flames, melting apart. The screeches of the dead intensify. As they always do, and will. Without ceasing.

The doors start to give, then stop, before going back, locking into place again.

There's something pushing back. From the other side.

I slam into the door again, shoulder first.

No effect.

I peer in through a rectangular window in the door. Something moves, there. I see a shock of blond hair.

"Let me out!"

I slam into the door again. I hit it, over and over again with my palm.

"Please! Let me OUT!"