Chapter 3: Cavern Blues.

“Stop that, Sully. Get your anger under control. First thing’s first. Make sure the dude on the floor isn’t about to die on you.”

That seemed like the most reasonable course of action.

I moved over to him. Bending over the unconscious man and taking in his features. He looked to be about 20 years old. Maybe younger. With a toned, tanned body and a face that screamed up-and-coming-actor.

I leaned in closer, but didn’t smell any alcohol on his breath, so he probably wasn’t intoxicated.

I tapped him on the shoulder. Calling out to him

When no answer was forthcoming, I checked his pulse. Making sure that he was breathing normally, before turning him over into the recovery position with a grunt of effort.

Then I called out to him again and again. For a few minutes straight. Going so far as to gently pinch his shoulders and biceps.

All to no avail.

‘Damn it! Is this like my own dream? Is this guy stuck in his own delusion too?’

It was both completely possible and a really awful move on the part of whomever did this to us. This guy was unbelievably lucky that he was left here in the locked safe room. If he’d been outside with the centipedes, chances are he wouldn’t have made it.

I drew back and began taking deep, calming breaths once more. Forcing myself to stare into reality.

“Okay. Okay. Think. What comes next? What is the best course of action?”

Well, that was self-explanatory. Me and whatever survivors remained had to get out of here as fast as humanly possible.

Firstly, because there was no telling why any of us were taken or to what location; and secondly, because there was not telling how long it had been since we were taken.

Rule number one of kidnappings was that chances of survival dropped exponentially the longer a person had been missing. Especially if they’d been taken to a second location.

Now, some dingy warehouse out on the docks would have been bad enough, but this was a whole other level of sucking. For all I knew, there might be masked psychos with chainsaws and clown makeup waiting just outside the range of my fog. Rictus smiles plastered on their faces.

Granted, that didn’t explain the powers, but I simply couldn’t think of a reason as to why any kidnapper would want their victims to have powers.

Unless, unless this was some sort of sick game to them. Like how some serial killers hunt humans for sport. Only with higher stakes since there were monsters around and we all had superpowers.

“No. That’s stupid. If there really were a thousand people trapped here at the beginning, then that kind of reasoning doesn’t add up. Its too much effort. Too many resources sunk into this elaborate setting. For someone to either find or dig this cave system, it would have had to be an organization with significant resources.”

‘Then again. Any organization that managed to give people powers would never want for anything. All they would have to do was sell their patent to the United Militaries and all of them would be set for life. Perhaps that’s it. Perhaps we’re the Guinea pigs for that kind of procedure.’

I shook my head. Dispelling the spiraling thoughts before they had a chance to overwhelm me.

“I have to keep a level head. This is real. I have to find a way to live through this. Think Sully. Think!”

I tried to do just that, but kept coming back to the realization that whomever did this had money to burn and likely held a lot of influence thanks to that.

Worse, there was also the fact that this was a cave and therefore, one of the most hazardous biomes on the planet.

Vince had been a fan of disaster documentaries and I had lost count of how many events involved either caves or mines. There were stories of people being trapped when a monsoon swept through the area or when a lake’s bottom fell apart. (Centipede), there were even stories of people being trapped in air pockets due to simple, regular rainfall.

I recalled those incidents now. Thinking back to how few cave divers ever made it out alive in those scenarios. If that happened here, with all these people and monsters stuck in the same cave system, then the chances of survival would be miniscule, to say the least.

Not to mention other, more obvious and worrisome prospects involving the natural bio-chemistry of living beings.

That is, animals took in oxygen and breathed out carbon-dioxide. When there was more carbon dioxide than oxygen, people would encounter problems. However, if someone down here was foolish enough to start a fire in this confined space….

“Ha. Yeah. No. Carbon monoxide kills so quickly that victims are sometimes not even aware that it’s happening. It would mean a quick death, at least. Ha. Hahahhaha. Ha! Ha! Ha!”

I had to laugh.

Because otherwise, I might have wept.

“Whoo. Calm down man. Keep a level head if you want to survive. Don’t lose your mind now. Think, how deep is this cave? How long will escaping take?”

I faintly recalled that the deepest natural cave system in the world was somewhere on the range of two or so kilometres deep. Though a good amount of that was underwater.

Since we were mostly dry and there were obvious signs of human construction, that meant we were nowhere near that depth. Maybe half that, if this turned out to be some kind of abandoned mine or some space that a bunch of villains had hollowed out over the course of years.

In the former case, we should be looking out for some means of ascension. Like a rope or ladders or even rudimentary elevators installed on or near ventilation shafts. If we were dealing with a more modern mine, this would mean modern elevators as well.

However, if we were dealing with the latter case then… yeah. There was no telling what powers might be able to do, given enough time. This whole place could have been dug out in a weekend or over the course of the last two decades. It was simply impossible to know without dating equipment or a lab to analyse the limestone and the other samples of bedrock.

Granted, I could still make rough guesses based on how the tunnels appeared, but the more I thought about it, the less they looked like natural formations. For one, the tunnels were too wide and smooth for them to be normal works of nature.

Caves, especially big ones, were infamous for having tons of narrow crevices where people had been stuck while spelunking. Sometimes resulting in their own death. But these tunnels didn’t look like that would be possible. Even at the narrowest points I’d see so far.

What’s more, natural caves were sometimes formed by underground rivers, as the stones were eroded over the course of thousands or millions of years. But there were far too many diverging paths for that to make sense down here. Not to mention the presence of grates that allowed water to flow in and out from somewhere.

“If that somewhere is a pumping station, it means there has to be some group behind this. If it turns out to be connected to a reservoir outside then…”

Then it was only a matter of time until the whole thing flooded and killed everyone inside. Either due to the masterminds deciding to erase all evidence of their crimes, or due to natural flooding from the rain.

I rubbed my temples softly. Trying to massage some of the stress away.

My mind was struggling to make sense of everything. Despite my best efforts to remain calm and collected.

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Part of me was still at the shelter; seeing the tall man playing while the here and now clawed its way into the forefront. Pain distracted me from thinking clearly, as the wounds on my feet began to register alongside the pain in my hand and the bruise on my shoulder.

The throbbing worsened too. It resonated within my skull as purple mist flowed freely from behind my eyes.

My entire body felt out of balance, thrown off kilter by the overlapping sensations of reality and the unnatural fog.

My eyes darted around and captured two different scenes at the same time, each violently clashing with the other.

I tried to banish these new flaring impressions. To isolate myself from the both worlds and shield myself within memories. To escape.

More memories of documentaries and interviews surfaced. This time on the subject of Espers and powers. I tried to recall anything that might shine a light on my situation.

Classroom lessons came up; facts so well-known I never bothered to pay much attention. Mrs. Doyle’s utterly nihilistic monologues began to play within my skull. Blurred and distant impressions from the seventh grade emerging to fill the gaps.

“Now kids, today we’ll be going over Esper typing and career prospects.” She had said, just before lighting a fresh cigarette and drawing in smoke.

“Most of you won’t get powers. That’s a sad fact we all have to acknowledge. Still, the curriculum demands that you be somewhat educated on the matter. Maybe one of you will meet a real Esper someday while you’re out delivering fast food or cleaning vomit off the floor. Maybe.”

She stopped for effect, narrow beady eyes staring into our souls.

Small grey puffs continued to escape with her words.

“Regardless, you have to know the statistics to pass, so we might as well.”

Another pause.

Another drag.

“Enhancers account for roughly 51.7 % of all super humans, making them the largest demographic by far. If you develop these abilities, you can expect a typical military career after graduation. There isn’t much super strength or speed can do for you in an office after all. Any Enhancer will find themselves in high demand near rift-prone cities and even the weakest of them get decent wages and benefits.”

She yawned after that, as if this was an annoying routine that someone had dumped on her.

Every motion of her face betrayed her disinterest as her eyes drifted about.

“Projectors make up 18.6 % of the whole and can look forward to more options, depending on what they can do. Pyrokinetic and Electrokinetic Espers have the highest demand right now as power plants are hiring more and more suppliers. Or you could go the military route as well, though you’ll have to demonstrate some offensive abilities in order to justify any special status. Other powers can get you into a circus or a performance group, so there’s always that to fall back on.”

There was a smirk on her face for a mere fraction of a second.

Then it was gone and lost forever.

As if the very idea of humor repulsed her.

“Moving on, Shifters sit at 21.2 % and should all report to their nearest police station immediately so that their tracking bracelet can be installed. You will then be required to attend mandatory anger management courses until graduation. Failure to comply will result in incarceration. If you get Shifter powers, you should just keep your little furry head down and cash in the healing money. Also, you should stop growling at people trying to buy your services. Just heal people and get rich. How hard is that? Oh, and do your best to avoid snapping and killing people. Seems to happen an awful lot. The government really wants it to stop.”

She stopped to nod her head at this point, in a way that suggested she’d done us all a genuine favor with that advice.

“Lastly, Telepaths are the least common at a measly 8.5 %. There weren’t many job openings for these guys before the bombs fell. As you can all guess, this hasn’t improved. Due to the threat they pose to global security, Telepaths are all required to register for forced re-education and monitoring. By order of the Entente Coalition, all Telepaths violating this agreement label themselves as enemies of the free world. This legally revokes all human rights and allows for law enforcement to carry out on-site executions.”

“Good Riddance.” Said someone behind me.

“Indeed. Remote controlled attack drones are standard in these cases, although snipers have also been used on occasion. Career prospects include police work, SWAT team negotiators, espionage, military service fighting rift spawn, life on a prison island or target practice.”

I distinctly remembered my lack of reaction to that statement.

Back then, the shelter visited me every night.

Memories of a smaller, more vulnerable version of myself watching people move and dance according to some freak’s whims. Seeing the tall man forcing the monsters to kill each other. Being helpless as he toyed with my neighbors and my parents and everyone I loved.

It was normal to hate Telepaths. Just one of them sparked the third world war. Who cared if they got shot?

No.

I didn’t have time to think about that back then. I was going to be an Enhancer. The strongest one in the world. I wouldn’t wind up in some boring job like Mrs. Doyle said. I would be like Horizon or Thunder Fist.

A superhero.

Someone who wouldn’t be helpless ever again. That brilliant, juvenile fascination with super people and what they could do had me in its grip back then.

Telepaths were the bad guys taking over companies, starting cults, hijacking political movements, defrauding the public, escaping custody, harassing people and all sorts of other wacky hijinks. I only needed to worry about taking them down.

Back then, it was a small dream. One of those fantasies that always kept their appeal. Until I passed the age range that is.

If someone didn’t get powers between 12 and 14, then that was that. Normal as normal could be. Getting powers at 22 should have been impossible.

Yet here I was.

In a cave.

All alone.

Hung over and sucking on stones for hydration.

Okay, I wasn’t sucking on stones, but I was scooping up unfiltered water with my one good hand.

Unhygienic? Absolutely. Did I care? Absolutely not.

“(Centipede) me, that’s the stuff. Oh, I really needed that.”

I’d been running from the freaking centipedes for a good hour. Yes, I checked my wristwatch. One whole hour of dragging a throbbing, bleeding hand all over these nasty tunnels to save my sorry behind. My sorry Telepath behind.

This time, I managed to hold the sobbing in check. There had been enough of that already.

“Get yourself together man!” I shouted. “You survived university! You can survive this! You’ve got this passed-out guy to take care of too! Keep your wits about you. Stay calm. Stay positive. Think about what happened and what you can do about it.”

A few seconds passed as I bathed in the deafening silence that followed.

‘Yep. I’ve officially lost my mind.’

I chuckled in response to my own dry humor before reasserting my argument as valid. Sure, the situation looked bleak, but staying positive and thinking things through never worsened someone’s odds.

Firstly, the issue of the cave. I’d never heard of being teleported to some hole filled with giant centipedes. I mean, there weren’t that many people with powers, maybe two hundred thousand or so worldwide, but the few that did exist loved going on talk shows. I was pretty sure someone would have mentioned this if it was part of the process. Maybe this was what the inside of a rift looked like, but that just begged the question of how I’d gone from my cozy bed to an open rift.

In addition, there was the screen. I focused on it once more and brought it before me.

Name:

Solomon Carter

Psy:

43/65

Type:

Telepath Level 3

Abilities:

[Sense Thoughts] 1 / [Message] 1 / [Mental Bolt] 1

Ability Points:

6

‘Okay.’

‘Okay. Don’t panic. I got this.’

‘Breathe in, breathe out. I’m not some kind of deranged cult leader or anything. I haven’t brainwashed anyone. No one needs to know.’

‘Yeah, in fact, no one will know. I’m way past the testing age. Who would think to look for me?’

‘So long as I keep my mouth shut, I can move on with my life. Just get out, get my final grades, my degree and my cat. After that, get a nice stable engineering job and never think about any of this ever again. But first, I need to survive this place. Positive thoughts now. Positive thoughts.’

The screen was still open and I glanced at it once more. Hesitation boiled through my entire body, suffusing each and every one of my cells.

I had no idea what this thing was. Where it came from. How it changed me.

It looked like something out of a video game, which only raised more questions than it answered. What kind of sick freak kidnapped people and threw them into video game land?

More importantly, why? Was this a secret military experiment?

The levels implied that they wanted me or, us I guess, to get stronger, which meant that outcome was to their benefit. If so, why do it like this? Why not just throw a bunch of people in a boot camp?

I didn't know what happened as I was laying down in bed.

I didn't know if someone used a power or some drug to make me into a Telepath.

‘Or some new experimental cybernetic implant. That would explain the screens and the censorship. Best case scenario, its an ocular implant and someone gouged my eyes out. Worst case scenario, it’s a cranial implant and some yahoo was poking around my brain while I was out. Ah (Centipede), that would explain the censorship. What’s with that? Is this daytime television? Is the CBC going to pull the plug on this whole operation if some of us express how (Centipede)ing horrible this situation is?’

Images of bomb collars assaulted me. All were taken straight out of documentaries detailing the prison lives of Espers convicted of violent offenses. They couldn’t be trusted to roam freely out in society, but the governments around the world couldn’t let a rare resource go that easily. Not when rifts still killed so many.

Maybe that was it.

This really was a government experiment to get more soldiers on the ground.

Human rights be dammed.

‘Come to think of it, I don’t even know if this could be reversed. Maybe there was some hope for me. Some way that I could be cured. If that was the case, then any interaction with the screen might blow my chances of rehabilitation. It might make this whole thing infinitely worse.’

Frustration set in as the throbbing in my hand worsened; along with the aches in my head.

That insufferable itch returned to the forefront, demanding my attention.

Fresh memories assaulted me. Jaws tightening around my hand. The second strike that never came due to my intervention. The usage of my power.

I bit my lower lip as I recalled the feeling. The relief that it brought. With that came the certainty that I would not have survived without this power. Wicked and evil it may have been, but I was still alive because of it.

Thanks to it.

Yeah. It would be stupid to give it up. I needed all the help I could get. If the screen let me live, then it was right to keep using it.

I hardened myself. The choice was made. Time to game plan.