Season 1, Episode 5 - The Boxtops XLIII - "Jailhouse Rock"
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“I get so, I get so lonely, I get lonely…I could die…”
Jackson finished his ballad with a mournful whistle. He rested his hands behind his head and his back against the brick wall of his jail cell below the Tertiary Building of the Academy, not a care in the world. Honestly, a jail cell like this wasn’t terrible. Losing track of the days of the week was one of the greatest feelings in the world. He wondered if he could one day lose track of the years down here.
That might actually be boring, though. Good thing he would have some cellmates to pass the time!
“Alfie’s no fun,” Jackson complained when he didn't hear a response to his singing. “And you’re shaping up to be very much like Alfie.”
In the next cell over, Shannen answered with a simple “hmph”. Presumably, she crossed her arms and tilted her head away. By the time Jackson had been captured after the sewer fight, the Academy already domesticated Alfie, but Shannen still needed to be broken in. She swore bloody vengeance after the mercenaries dumped her into her cell last night, then taunted poor Jon the guard until he pointed a pistol at her. That made her goad him even further, but Jon the guard was Jon the guard for a reason and realized she was just trying to get out of jail early via a bullet to the dome.
Instead, he and another mercenary stuffed a dirty rag in her mouth. That gave Jon some peace and quiet so he could go back to reading one of his magazines, but it also meant Jackson would lack a conversation partner for a long while. Finally, Jon took the rag off about an hour ago so she could eat, and Jackson tried his best to make her a good conversation partner.
All she gave him was one word answers and grunts. At least Alfie would occasionally debate with him, but Shannen just shut everything down.
Her anger reminded Jackson of that kid Isaac he fought down in the sewers (and, well, lost to). “You got a lot of fury,” Jackson called out to Shannen. “And the worst kind of fury is righteous fury. Because who really defines what’s right? Self-righteous fury, that’s the better way to describe it.”
“You suck,” Shannen answered.
“...alright.”
“Enough philosophy,” she continued. “Everybody says things like oh, what’s evil? Oh no, you’ve become the he who fights monsters! Why do I exist? Who am I? Stuff like that is all talk. Are questions like that gonna put bread on your table? Action’s the only thing that matters.”
Jackson grinned, having successfully roped Shannen into conversation. It didn’t matter if she completely disagreed with him; in fact, that was actually better, since it made for a much more lively debate. “I overheard the guards talking. Is that why you took it upon yourself to assassinate the beloved Chairman Stockham?”
“What am I gonna do, vote him out of office?” she complained. “And enough talk. I have nothing to say to nobody.”
Jackson chuckled, since he made good progress with her for today. He yawned; perhaps it was time for a nap. Prison life wasn't the worst thing in the world. Yet, as he stretched his lean frame, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. As if he was waiting for something. That’s usually how it worked; someone led, he followed. With nobody to lead, all he’d done was laze around. It was fun…but just a little empty, too.
Jackson could hear Shannen’s rhythmic breathing, the low hum of light fixtures in the hallway, and the occasional rustling of a page as Jon read his magazine.
The top of someone’s head and face appeared out of the concrete floor of his cell. Two brown eyes stared up at Jackson.
He decided to ignore it and take his nap instead.
However, the rest of that someone’s body emerged out of the concrete. Jackson felt surprised to see a beautiful woman who looked to be in her twenties standing there, her arms crossed, Rddhi flowing through her entire body. She had long blonde hair that went down to her back and wore a long winter coat.
“My name is Sif,” she said, her voice low and firm.
Jackson looked at her in a daze. “...I must be dreaming.”
Sif also carried a hard edge in her voice. “I’m the only one dreaming here.”
Four lines appeared on her face, two below each eye, and Jackson thought he heard the sound of distant thunder. The walls, ceiling, and floor of his jail cell instantly turned into static. Small white splotches coalesced into larger ones, forming hundreds of rows and columns of white dots against the black static background. Jackson had seen a lot in his travels, but nothing like this; he found himself shivering when black dots - no, pupils - appeared in each white dot, forming the shape of an eye.
Thousands of eyes turned and stared at Jackson; even though he remained seated on his bed, he felt like he was falling.
He took a deep breath. There was a scientific theory that humans possessed the ability to sense when someone stared at them, a sort of sixth sense; that sense within Jackson was currently working on overdrive, making his hands and soul feel clammy. The eyes continued to gaze at him, burrowing into his very being.
He looked back at Sif, who appeared calm and composed. Taking another breath, he told himself that all the eyes could do was stare intensely at him. Keeping that in mind, he found himself making peace with his presumed demise at the hands of this woman. He knew New York had Rddhi assassins, though it also took them a long enough time to send this one.
“...what kind of Rddhi power is that?” Jackson asked, his nerves returning to him.
“You don’t even know what power this is?” Sif asked, pointing at the static and the lines under her own two eyes. “New York has kept you out of the loop on a lot of things.”
“I never asked to be in the loop,” Jackson countered. “I just did what they told me.”
Sif slowly nodded in understanding. The eyes staring down Jackson slowly directed their attention back at her; Rddhi flashed through the four lines on her face, and the eyes began to close. Observing the eyes obey her orders, Jackson felt reminded of a guard calling off their watchdogs.
Once that was all set, Sif looked back at Jackson. “I work for the Second Restorationists. I was sent here to rescue you.”
Jackson laughed, feeling rather relieved New York hadn't ordered his death. Yet he wasn't sure why a Restorationist was here. “Some rescue. There’s a guard right outside, and unless you killed him, I’m surprised he hasn’t shot you yet.”
Sif seemed unconcerned. “The power I used isolated this cell. The guard outside would simply see you resting in your bunk as though nothing has changed. Imagine we’re in a void right now, just to ourselves.”
Jackson rubbed the stubble on his chin. In all his time with the CEF, he never heard of someone possessing an ability like this. “Some power you got there.”
“That is not my true power,” Sif elaborated. “My true power is the ability to phase through materials. I phased through the earth to get to your cell.”
That would explain her coming out of my floor, Jackson supposed. He gestured up at the ceiling. “If you can phase through walls and such, why not just phase your way to Stockham’s office and kill him?”
Sif appeared cold and detached all this time, yet his question grew a hint of a smile out of her. “He’s not aware of it, but the Chairman is useful to our plans. His death wouldn’t do us any good. And we’ve monitored the rebuilding of the Academy’s metaphysical defenses. They're still relatively weak, but even so, there’s only a limited amount of space I can access here, and only for a limited time. Even assuming we wanted the Chairman dead, someone of my power might not even be able to make it through the defenses and reach him.”
Sif closed her eyes; she extended a lone finger and pointed it at the ground. “And besides…don’t you feel it? The presence beneath our feet. Far below the earth, far below this academy. It’s been getting stronger. This might be the last time opponents of the Academy will have free access to Elizabeth Pond.”
“I see...” Jackson didn’t really see, but he still wasn’t sure if this woman was going to kill him or not, so he kept his voice as neutral as possible. He wasn’t very good at keeping the carefree tone out of it, though. “So…you used this last chance to access Elizabeth Pond to rescue me?”
“Information about the New York smuggling operations,” Sif said. “We have need of it.”
“Oh yeah, I suppose you guys are our biggest buyers. Having issues with my successors?”
“They have been selling to a different group,” Sif explained, speaking in a stoic tone. “Instead of us, perhaps your people are selling to your spies across the city. Which is why we have need of you.”
Jackson laughed; Sif stared almost robotically at him.
“You think they let us know everything?” Jackson asked rhetorically. “I couldn’t even tell you who the spy in Elizabeth Pond is, let alone the rest of the city.”
“That’s alright. We suspected as such. You’ll give us as much information as possible. Knowledge is power. You will aid us in establishing utopia.”
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Jackson scratched his head. If it weren’t for the earlier scare with the eyes that indicated her true strength, the woman’s monotone voice would’ve put him to sleep. “And…what do I get out of that?”
She looked at him with a hint of confusion. “...utopia. That’s what you get out of establishing utopia.”
Jackson shrugged, having heard enough. This woman reminded Jackson all too much of people who took themselves and things too seriously. “Thanks for the offer, but I actually kind of like the world the way it is now. The more chaotic things are, the more opportunities for adventure and the like there are.”
Sif gazed over his jail cell. “You find such opportunities in prison?”
Jackson crossed his arms. “Well…no.”
“I can assure you. You will find many such opportunities on the way to establishing utopia. Consider utopia a retirement.”
“You think I want to retire?”
Sif sized him up for a brief moment. “I think that you don’t want anything at all.”
“‘Course I want things,” Jackson answered, his conversation with Alfie a few days ago coming to mind. “I want to fight, sleep, sleep with others, drink, shoot, sail, make money, spend money.”
“I see,” Sif realized. “You’re a manmukh.”
“...a what?”
“A manmukh,” she repeated. “A man controlled by his own desires. You move around aimlessly, following life wherever it takes you. A proper human takes control of his own life. He controls his desires, harnesses them for a greater purpose.”
Jackson frowned. At least when Alfie called him out, he didn’t deliver it with an air of self-righteousness, just genuine wonder and reflection. But this Sif looked at him as if she was completely in the right and he was completely in the wrong.
“And who told you that?” Jackson asked, a hint of anger in his voice.
Lights in her eyes briefly broke through the mask of stoicism. “Our Sensei. He’s the one who’ll lead mankind into utopia.”
“He can keep his utopia,” Jackson muttered. “I think I’ll stay here, down in this jail cell. I’d rather stay here than put up with you or your sensei.”
Upon the mention of her sensei, Sif’s eyes darkened. “Very well. We’ll continue talking in just a moment.”
She raised a hand right in Jackson’s direction; he felt his stomach lurch, but realized she was only targeting the brick wall behind him. The thousand eyes on the wall suddenly blinked opened and slipped away, taking the wall with it, clearing the way into Shannen’s cell. The black static rushed out of Jackson’s cell and into hers, covering its walls, ceiling, and floor in the same process. Shannen only had enough time to gasp before a thousand eyes opened in unison and directed their stares at her.
Shannen, sitting on her bed, scooted away to a corner, but the eyes’ stares followed her. Judging from Shannen's reaction, Sif must have really isolated Jackson’s cell, preventing Shannen from even hearing or feeling what went on inside. And now, with the black static covering her cell, that isolated void included Shannen now as well.
“Are you here to kill me?” she asked, frowning.
“I thought you were ready to die,” Jackson called out to her in amusement.
“I’m one of you!” Shannen protested to Sif. “I want to change things, too. So what if I failed? If you’re here to kill me, then it’s your loss!”
The stoic mask on Sif’s hand gave way to a small grin. She looked at Jackson. “This is someone who knows what they want.”
Jackson rolled his eyes; Sif raised a hand, and he almost vomited from the sudden teleportation of both he and his bed to the other side of the cell. As he caught his breath, he watched Sif stride over toward Shannen and introduce herself and make her big spiel and yada yada.
Just like Panama. Panama had all that fire in him, believing in something so much greater than himself. He genuinely believed in the CEF’s mission of vengeance against New England. And look where that got him. A shard of glass across the throat, a body floating down a sewer tunnel to oblivion.
The moment you fully become part of something greater than yourself, value something more than your own life, that's when you forfeit your life. That's the moment when you stop living.
“You had contact with the Dorrites,” Sif explained to Shannen. “They are trying to supplant our support base among the urban poor. We have need of you.”
Shannen crossed her arms. “Well, before I go, I just want you to know that I’m not a revolutionary for a revolution’s sake. I joined up with the Dorrites because I believed in the message they said. I won’t just revolt for anyone.”
Sif shook her head. “The Dorrites can’t promise salvation. Only we can provide that.”
Shannen raised an eyebrow. “And what makes you say that?”
Sif extended a hand, rainbow Rddhi lights trailing behind it as she raised it toward Shannen. “Here, let me show you…”
Shannen cocked her head, but she clenched one of her fists and raised the other toward Sif’s hand. Shannen gingerly took the offer, and then Rddhi lights flashed and she saw everything.
Jackson presumed she saw everything, at least. Ripples pulsed through the black static as random sets of eyes around the enclosed space opened and closed, blinking rapidly. Shannen, looking directly into Sif’s eyes, now had rainbow Rddhi lights falling from her own, resembling tears.
A moment later, the eyes calmed down. Shannen kept her hand within Sif’s and used her free hand to rub her eyes as her senses came back to her. She spoke softly and slowly, as if she just woke up from a dream. “That’s…that’s what we’ll feel like once the Restorationists win?”
“For all time,” Sif confirmed.
Shannen stifled a sob. “It’s beautiful.”
She tightened her grip around Sif’s hand and gave a firm shake. “I’ll help you,” she said passionately. “I want to create that utopia.”
Jackson gave an amused smile at the whole process. Sif helped Shannen off her bed, then looked down at Jackson. “Let me be clear. You’re coming with us. I would like to at least give you the choice first.”
Jackson eyed the hand that still held Shannen’s. “Maybe let me see that psychedelic vision question, and I’d be in.”
“Only those potentially worthy might see it,” Sif answered coldly. “You agreeing to come with us peacefully would be a good start.”
Jackson cracked his knuckles. “You know, I’m starting to think that this whole eye power thing might just be for show. A psychology warfare power, rather than anything physical-”
Sif held Jackson’s heart in her hand.
Jackson didn’t recognize it at first, but something inside him screamed at him, telling him what had happened. He then looked down, almost lamely, expecting to see a hole in his chest, but his body looked perfectly fine. Or perhaps, more oddly, his body felt perfectly fine.
Is that really my heart?
“I removed your heart from your body,” Sif said. “The four lines below my eyes give me that power. They also give me the power to stimulate the role of your heart in your body right now. Should I let up even for an instant-
A streak of blood came out of the corner of Jackson’s mouth.
The reality of the situation hit him like a truck. She really could kill me. Just like that, I’d be dead-
Wait, wait, wait. Why would I die here? What am I dying for? Don’t tell me - I talked all about how stupid it is to die for something, and here I am, about to die because I believe too strongly in my own way of life! My own lackadaisical, go with the flow kind of life! The irony!
Jackson raised a hesitant hand. “I don’t agree with your beliefs,” he said. “But I’ll go with you. I’ll cooperate.”
Sif smirked and the heart in her hand vanished, returned to Jackson’s body. He sighed in relief and wiped his mouth.
“Good choice.” Sif reached out with her other hand and grabbed Jackson’s; her touch felt warm, just like any other person. He wasn’t sure why he expected coldness. Her powers gave her an otherworldly aura to her, but at the end of the day, she was just as human as he was.
“Hold your breath,” she ordered each of them.
Sparks of Rddhi emanating out of her enveloped the trio. The static on the walls and ceiling spiraled into a vortex, disappearing into Sif’s back as she descended down into the earth, taking the two along with her.
Sitting in his chair, Jon took his usual customary glance up from the magazine he currently read to check on the prisoners. He dropped it in surprise.
The two cells, formerly occupied, were now completely empty, as if the prisoners had vanished into thin air.
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Sif led the party through the earth, eventually arriving in a subterranean tunnel. Jackson wondered if he recognized it as a smuggling route, but having been out of the game for a few months now, all tunnels just seemed to blend together in his mind.
That, and the feeling of passing through solid earth made his stomach do somersaults. From the pale green look on Shannen’s face, she must’ve felt the same.
“Onward,” Sif ordered. She let go of both of their hands at this point. They were an odd trio, the stoic Sif being the tallest, an annoyed Jackson next to her, and the shorter Shannen alongside them. Jackson was glad to have his hand back to himself, now matter how nice Sif’s touch felt.
Enough flickering lights and the occasional torch on the wall illuminated their way. They headed up concrete stairs, down ruined platforms, over makeshift bridges. The air seemed just as stale as Jackson remembered it.
When they rounded a corner, they found two people waiting for them. A man in a white trenchcoat rested his back against a brick wall, his eyes closed. A huge man stood imposingly next to him.
Sif grasped both Jackson’s and Shannen’s hands again, forcing them to kneel alongside her. “Sensei. Cousin Tityos.”
Jackson went to complain about how he knelt for nobody, how nobody in the former United States knelt for nobody, but he tilted his head at the names she mentioned.
Sensei? One of these men is their cult leader?
The man in the white trenchcoat stepped forward; each step carried unseen power with it. Jackson immediately realized this man as the sensei. This man was the one Sif placed so much trust in. This man was the source of the cause they served.
He didn’t look all that imposing. But looks could be deceiving.
The Sensei looked over Jackson and Shannen. “Welcome, you two,” he greeted calmly. “I hope you’ll work with us in our question to establish utopia on earth.”
Shannen nodded intensely.
The Sensei picked up on that. He looked at Sif. “You showed her our dream?”
Sif nodded, listening intently to every individual word the Sensei said.
“Good. I’m glad she’s taken a liking to it.”
He then looked over at Jackson. Even a mere look from this man made Jackson’s skin crawl. Power, submit, surrender, those three words seemed to radiate out of the Sensei.
“I take it you came by choice,” the Sensei supposed. “The correct decision. We’ll take good care of you.”
He gathered Sif and Tityos. “You two know the way back?”
Tityos twiddled his thumbs and shifted his weight towards Sif.
“I can lead us home,” Sif declared confidently. Tityos sighed in relief.
The Sensei nodded. “Excellent. I’ll expect you four to return to the School of Athens by midnight. We must hope Alcyone can do the same.”
“Sister’s powerful,” Tityus exclaimed. “She can do it.”
“I have faith in her,” the Sensai said warmly. “I have faith in you two as well.”
Sif and Tityos immediately saluted with an arm over their hearts.
Jackson went to roll his eyes once more at the sight of all this, but his eyes only widened. The Sensei’s legs suddenly disappeared, turning into dust that blew away despite the lack of wind in the tunnel. His stomach and torso followed this pattern, as did his arms and neck. The last thing Jackson saw of the Sensei was his eyes before they, too, disappeared into swirling dust.