I was sitting in the lobby of a burning building. The radio was still playing. My feet were perched up on the desk. I was just waiting. Waiting for the next one.
At first I hid, but why? I needed to be found. Why make it harder than necessary? It also made it easy for Robert to find me when he finally arrived. He approached cautiously, one foot in front of the other. I could tell from the look on his face he did not know if he was approaching his friend or a madman. I would’ve told him he was approaching both.
“Hey Robert.”
“Hi John.”
“I been thinking a lot since I been here Bobbo.”
Robert’s face was pure grief. “What the hell have you done? Good Lord and you are covered in blood,” Robert said. It was true. I was mostly soaked in blood. I left it there for effect.
“That’s what I thought you would say. I thought you would be angry. But I been thinking a lot and I think you got it wrong.”
“John, I don’t know how you aren’t deceased yet, but…”
I held a finger up in the air then pointed. There was a stack of bodies. Maybe 4 or 5? I had lost count. Some were BIMPT. Some weren’t. I pointed to my face and the slash that one of them had left in it. I’d sown it up as best I could and then ended up using the same needle to blind the next guy before I choked him out for good.
“That’s one of the things I’ve been thinking about actually. I’ve only been good at two things in my life. I was good at my scheme, you remember, the one I told you about? With the methyl-thiobutyrate? And I am good at killing people. Not the best. Probably not as good as Grady was. But people keep coming, and I keep taking them out. Robert,” I held up my hands now, both twitching involuntarily, “you should know that if you didn’t come here as a friend that I won’t hold back. I can’t anymore. I tried your way, I did. I tried BIMPT’s way. I tried Megan’s way. I tried all these different things. Different ways to keep myself holstered. Keep myself in check. You know what happened every single time? Something awful happened. To me. To others. That’s been my whole life though. Not a God damn thing has gone right, so it’s time for a change of pace. A change of methodology.”
"Please, come with me, you need help. You’ve snapped. This is dangerous. You can’t live like this,” Robert said.
“That’s the thing man. That’s the other thing actually I guess I should say. I can live like this. I actually think I prefer it. You know what I couldn’t live like? My piss testing job. I couldn’t live stuck in Megan’s apartment and I couldn’t live stuck in BIMPT and frankly, I am just realizing I spent my whole fucking life stuck in increasingly smaller and shittier prisons and honestly, I am ready to do something other than what everyone else is asking me to do. That’s how I got here in the first place man. Sitting around, doing something somebody else wanted. Sitting in a box, manipulating gizmos like a trained monkey. Sure, I didn’t do piss testing for BIMPT but it hardly made any difference. I just ended up with the same life, but without choice, without any agency. From one giant company to the next performing what amounted to an evil task for huge amounts of money that only benefitted other rich old Capitalists. I don’t want to be a lemming. I don’t want to be one of those mindless drones testing piss bottles all day long just to make it home in time to watch a show before I do it all over again. I’m tired of being one of those people working for the weekend when the weekend never comes. Just more work. I didn’t want to be one of those people who knew exactly what every second of their life was going to be until the day they died. I just wanted something, anything different.”
Robert was scared. It was obvious from the look on his face. I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t anything. I had just gone blank. Emotionally deadened from what was going on years of constant panic, anxiety, alternating drug abuse, and generally living a nightmare.
Robert straightened and spoke, “I am not sure if that is relevant now but consider our circumstances. We must leave this place. Then you can tell me all about your new outlook. However you disposed of those intruders I doubt you will be capable of doing it over and over again. We must leave this place immediately.” He stamped his foot after he finished. It was the most defiant thing I’d ever seen him do. It was…cute.
"And go where? And do what? You told me BIMPT never came because they were afraid of you? You know how stupid that sounds to me right now man? You said because they knew you were trained, and you had booby traps and you’d cost them lives and they’d failed in the past and on and on… That’s bullshit man. You have to know that right? You know they sent a helicopter, a fucking helicopter, after me in Atlanta that was shot the fuck down. Shot fucking down Bobbo. Like I watched a mute fucking Chechan mercenary hit it with a god damn RPG right in front of my eyes and then it crashed into an apartment complex and destroyed the building and killed like 600 people. People think I’m responsible for that. Do you know how that feels? Do you know what it feels like to know that most of the world thinks you kill children and will go down as the single biggest asshole in history? More importantly, do you think a company that was willing to go to that length, to cover that sort of thing up, is afraid of one measly old scientist? It doesn’t make any sense man. And after I burnt up the last of what they thought was the only Samskara substance on the planet that was capable of delivering what they wanted, they just…what? What Bobbo? They left? No one came looking? No one came for me? Or you? No one came for the Samskara. No one came for anything. You think a company sends an attack helicopter through a major metropolitan city to chase down the candidate they illegally injected with some sort of hellacious and highly illegal death sentence, but they won’t send a 6-pack of Navy seals to come roust you from your bed with a bayonet and some .556 up your ass?”
Appalled at my commentary, Bob stammered and then spat, “What are you suggesting? That I am in cahoots with our former oppressors?”
"No, I am suggesting you lost touch. I am suggesting that BIMPT is a multi-national institution with reach far beyond what we ever thought about and I am suggesting, no, shit, I am outright stating that you have known for weeks that they are already mass producing and distributing the Samskara substance around the world. I heard it last night man. It’s already gone out. You listened to this fucking thing every night.” I kicked the radio off the desk. “We already fucking lost. There isn’t anywhere to go but down from here. So no, I don’t think you are in cahoots. I think you are scared and quite frankly, as someone who never had a father and with you being the closest thing I’ve ever had to a mentor, God dammit, I get it and I don’t even care, but also you are being a giant fucking pussy if I can speak frankly, and I’m sick of it. I am. I don’t know what’s going to happen when I do something, but I know that doing nothing leaves me right back where I was. Bobbo you and I are good, but I am not leaving here until I have what I need.” I said
Robert sighed. He hefted a small but heavy plastic bag onto the desk. “Fine, I have the drugs you need. You’ll come with me now?”
“Ab-so-fucking-lutely not. I would take the drugs, don’t get me wrong, just put those anywhere, but that’s not what I am here for. I mean, I am not staying here much longer. You were one of the things I needed. I knew you’d come. I needed some resolution, just because I have so few people left. I am indebted to you Bobbo. I hoped you’d help, you know, help stop them. But you won’t, will you? Prevent the world from dying in the worst way possible, prevent some cluster of rich old bastards from turning us all into their worker drones. It’s fine if you don’t, but I can’t leave yet,” I said.
“So…that’s it then. You have bound yourself to some suicide mission that can only hope to end with your head at the end of a pike. Is this what is meant by your ridiculous sign? ‘Ares’ Town’? You mean to start a war?” Robert said.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
"What do you think of the name? Frankly I hate it. Wasn’t a lot of options though. I couldn’t really go with Saunter Two could I? Oh, the other one I liked was Anus Tower. I felt that would’ve attracted the wrong sort of clientele though. I needed something people could get behind. Maybe Anus Tower would’ve been the right call then! Better rephrase that - I needed to spark a movement. You’ve heard it all Bobbo. You kept it from me too, so you know how weird it gets. You know what’s out there. You know about the cult, all these fucking crazies that think that John Brunsen is a hero. These folks that think that I know something they don’t. Did you know that there were thousands, literally thousands of people that worshipped the two kids that shot up Columbine man? People are…people are fucked up. For every situation where 99/100 people say the same thing, there is always that one guy that says the opposite, just because he can. I guess that’s me now. Those are my people. The ridiculous naysayers that are wrong 99 times out of 100,” I said.
“You should tell them that. If you use this platform for anything it should be to disavow your own actions, turn yourself in, and if you insist on it, make a simple and impassioned plea for those in charge to do an investigation.” Robert said. He was so worried. I felt terrible. I saw him jittering. Not from the drugs, not from the Samskara. From fear. From not wanting to die. From knowing this place was bad and being here anyway to help a guy he barely knew, because that guy made horrible decisions that landed him in the same place Robert had landed out of pure bad luck.
“Nope.” I vaulted up from my chair. I grabbed the rifle I had procured from one of my attackers that was sitting next to my desk and fired three times into the distance. It was hard as fuck to shoot at this point from the twitching, but I was getting better and better and timing my shots between the shakes. A gurgling sound was heard fifty yards away confirming what I thought I had observed through my scope. “Fucking amateurs. Bobbo I’m getting pretty good at this actually.” Robert was cowering behind a nearby pillar.
“John, please don’t tell me...”
“They started coming hours ago. I haven’t stopped to ask why they were here at this point. Probably some came to help, but I don’t really have time to determine that. Other plans. Other goals Bobby. I figure I’ll stay here til I get what I need. Someone will have it. I’ve been checking them all. Worst case is that it takes a long time, and the serotonin syndrome hits and I die shitting myself and convulsing. Best case is that I die quickly from a bullet, and I don’t have to worry about it anymore. Most likely though is that I get what I want and then we move on the Phase 2. With or without you Bobby-Bobs.”
I went to the body. I don’t know what he was thinking. Hell, maybe he was here to join me, or here for some sort of parlay. An attempt to negotiate. I wasn’t negotiating anymore though. I wasn’t even having conversations. Right now, everyone who showed up got the same treatment. A bullet. Bob was the lone exception and that wasn’t necessarily an immutable response. I wanted them to come though. I needed people to come. I needed them to bring something to me. I was sure I would never get out, but surely someone could get in?
This one wasn’t even a soldier. A couple of them hadn’t been. One was a reporter, I felt bad about that, but he wasn’t armed with right reporting tools so ultimately not of use. It was a hell of a trip to get into Kansas City and to make it all the way here for the exclusive only to get shot in the head was a bummer for him I bet. Tragedy honestly. The world was getting ready to be mostly tragedy though, so it’s hard to spend time worrying about spilt milk. The people that came, that’s where the idea came from. How I figured out what I wanted to do, how I was going to try to do it. I didn’t need to call 60 minutes, or the local news. I just needed a camera, or a two-way radio or anything other than the pen and paper this dipshit had brought in some sort of luddite mission to get an exclusive from the great and terrifying John Brunsen, king of evil, the butcher of Atlanta, Satan himself.
I look back to Robert, now stern. He was hiding his sadness. He wore the voice of a Drill Sergeant from some Vietnam Era Hollywood flick, but underneath it, you could hear the sad timbre of an old man who was watching an implosion. “You are just the monster they say you are then? You have decided to embrace the demon they want you to be? To just kill at random? To be some sort of harbinger for your own revenge on society? I thought you better than this John, a pathetic attempt to right the world you have created for yourself through atonement by blood. This is barbarism. This is exactly what the Samskara is supposed to do John. You are only ushering in the future that much faster.” Robert said. He approached me now and grabbed my shoulders. “Please son, I don’t understand this. I thought we were past this. Please, give this up and come back with me. We can find a new spot, find new things. What you are doing is irrevocable.”
“Ha, it’s true Bobby G. I have set myself on a course that I cannot revoke, and the even better news? I got no plans on revoking it anyway.”
“John, what is it exactly that you mean to do?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t. And even if I did know what I wanted, I don’t have a fucking clue how to do it. I know that I am not going to let BIMPT turn the world into a bunch of drones. I know that I am not going to go down as the world’s most heinous super villain, at least not without an asterisk. I know that we’re all fucked, regardless. I guess… I guess my goal is to make sure that whatever happens next, that I am going to make it extremely hard for the people who did this to me.”
“John, we cannot co-exist if this is your goal.” Robert said.
I hefted the rifle I had procured. I wouldn’t go so far to point at him. He had to know that I was serious though. “Robert, I hope that doesn’t mean what I think it means.”
“No John, put down your gun. No, I have no interest in fighting you. I simply came to tell you not to contact me, not to ask for help, and please, not to mention my existence. Ever. Our relationship is over. I had thought to try and help guide you, someone who was put into the same position I was, but you clearly do not want guidance. I want to live in whatever peace is still possible. I don’t think that’s possible with you around.”
He turned and walked away. A part of me said shoot him, he was trouble. I wasn’t that far gone. Not yet at least. It didn’t matter. The Bob part was done. Now I just needed to wait until my little light brought in the right moth.
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The most recent little fucker had snuck in while I kicking the previous guy trying to get some info. This little bastard was biting my hand and it hurt like hell. The guy must’ve been half shark or part Doberman or something because I could feel it even through the black leather gloves I was now wearing. His buddy had cut something deep on me. Really deep. I was bleeding more than I was comfortable with. I needed to end this fast. I needed to get a tourniquet or whatever on my leg before this whole thing bellied up before it ever got started. When he bit down, that was it though, that was checkmate. I love Nature documentaries. Maybe I used to love them. Not a lot of access anymore. Either way, they always said if you get bit by a wild dog then don’t pull your arm out, but instead shove it as deep inside the animal’s mouth as possible. Trying to pull it out is what the dog wants as the motion rips tendons, tears muscle, and leaves your arm useless. If you just shove the whole thing back in there as hard as possible, sometimes you can lock their jaws open and they can’t get pressure. That was only part of the goal here. Mostly I just needed a moment of distraction. I could feel the little dangly thing in the back of his mouth with my thumb, so I jabbed it as hard as I could and then grabbed it between my thumb and hand and pulled. I wasn’t really sure what would happen, but I guess a good uvula yank is fairly painful because the guy jumped like someone had hit him with a cattle prod. That gave me enough time to finish dragging the knife across his throat with my other hand. His blood rapidly emptied onto my chewed-up hand, and he quickly slumped in front of me.
The video recorder was laying on the ground nearby. I just had to make sure it had remote upload. It wasn’t like there were cell towers in usage around here, so I needed something that had satellite upload. I just hoped this guy knew what he was doing before he got himself killed.
The machine itself was pretty self-explanatory. It said “Live” in the corner and there was a red-light blinking. I don’t know where it was uploading, but my only hope was that this guy was someone with more than three people watching at any given time.
I pointed the camera at my face and thought for just a few seconds. I guess I never figured out what I wanted to say. Never really realized this moment might actually come.
“This is John Brunsen.” I paused and then spat blood on the ground. It wasn’t for effect, I just realized I could hardly talk. “Everything you’ve read about me is true. I killed a lot of people. I did a lot of bad things. All the shit I’ve done combined isn’t half as bad what happens in here every day. You’re fucked. Most of you. If you’ve already had your Grey Plague shot, you’re already dead. You just don’t know it yet.” I looked away from the camera, panned to the bodies, and then stuck it back on myself. “You think it’s just me? That I am the only one here. You want the truth? Come find out for yourselves. Brunsen out.” I pointed my rifle at the machine and shot the lens out. I immediately regretted it. Sure, it probably played cool as hell, but it had taken me a reasonable amount of time to get one of these and honestly that was extremely dumb. I just hope it paid off.
Message sent. That outta do it I thought.