CHAPTER 5

"Is he alive?"

"I don't know, you check him. I don't want to touch him."

"Are you squeamish?"

"I just don't want to touch him."

The voices, they surround me, permeate my being. I can feel my body again, my weight. It feels as if I've taken a header into a ditch. My eyes open slowly, and I see bright-yellowish lights casting onto columns around me, they stand against shined wood walls.

"Hey, are you okay?" Comes from my right, I turn my head slowly, everything seems to be a blur, acting on a sort of delay. I see two people standing. One is a guy a little older than I am, maybe a few years older, he's wearing loose pants and a gray hoodie, hood down. In place covering his head is a brown beanie with some specs on the bridge of his nose. Beside him is a younger girl, probably sixteen or seventeen, she is bigger, quite a bit bigger than the guy. She has somewhat long auburn colored hair and she wears a purple long sleeve shirt with a long but frilly skirt, they both stand tall above me.

"I...can't feel my tongue," I say, opening and closing my mouth.

"You...what?" The guy asks.

"No, wait, I think I have it, yeah. I got it. It was just numb for a moment," I say, sitting up and fully looking around. The room we're in is outfitted with a very ornate red carpet with gold trim stretching across, it almost looks like a fancy ballroom, save for the tables. It is very open, yet there aren't any doors or anything. It is just a closed room with no conceivable way in or out. I sat looking at the environment as if everything were moving in slow motion.

"Now, what the hell did you to me?" I ask.

"Us?" The guy asks, turning to the girl. His brows are furrowed and looking to her for help.

"He thinks we did this to him," The girl beside him says.

"Yes, I got that part, I was just confused by it." He turns back to me. "No, we didn't bring you here, but it's okay, I forgive you because I believed you to have done the same to us."

"You...thought I brought you here? How the fuck could I have done anything to you if I was out cold? And how the hell am I supposed to believe anything you say? I don't even know you."

"He has a harsher tongue than I thought," the girl says.

"Well, I mean, he couldn't feel it," the guy says back.

"Right, right," the girl replies.

The guy turns back to me, "I could say the same about you, my friend, but I took a look in your bag and you seem to check out."

"You went through my backpack?" I ask, feeling for the weight on my shoulders, but it isn't there.

I'm going to kill him. Straight up going to-

"Hold on there, chill out," the guy says, "Your bag is right here," he tosses it to me. I struggle to catch it, it dangles as I do.

"Hey, watch it! There's important stuff in here! What the hell right do you have to be looking in my bag?"

"The same right that you have of doubting me, Gavin Daniels."

"How...?"

"I saw your name on that box. I'm going to respect your privacy that much and will hope there isn't a weapon of some kind in there. I couldn't open the combo on the lock anyhow."

I stare at him.

"They say the best way to know your enemy is to befriend them, so I'm playing this by ear. Are you going to be friend or foe?"

"I'll be the guy who finds a fucking way out of wherever we are. Now, since you've been well informed about my name, would it be the slightest bit of consideration to share me yours?" I ask.

"Your attitude is noted, but unneeded," the guy says.

"I'm Grace, Grace Jackson," the girl says, breaking her silence. "I apologize for his rough exterior, we're both as confused as you are. What he's not so eloquently trying to ask is if you'll help us figure out what happened to us."

I turn to face her, "I understand, still wouldn't kill you to give me your name, would it?" I look back at the guy.

"Tom, it's Tom. Well, technically it's Thomas, but just call me Tom."

And technically you could've just said that the first time.

"Right, well I guess the first order of business is to ask if you guys know where this place is?"

"No clue," Grace says.

You're a load of help. Well, a load of something.

"Okay, and how about how you got here?" I ask. "Before...I was attacked. Both me and..." I trail off, remembering the sight of Addison being disemboweled.

It was like seeing a pinata be torn to shreds.

"There was this crazy guy in a gas mask who came in like a train. He started attacking and-"

"Gas mask?" Grace asks.

"You saw him too, then, figures," Tom says.

"Figures? What does?"

"I remember seeing him too," Grace says.

"Same, yeah. I was driving home from work and I'd actually gotten into an accident. I was rear-ended and spun around. When I came to I saw a figure hovering over my windshield. Get that? He was standing right on the hood of my car and kicked my windshield in."

"What?"

"Then he had this small little smoke bomb,"

"And let me guess," I interrupt, "It made you feel all numb?" I ask.

"Like I wasn't even in control of my body, it was freaky."

"Yeah, I remember that smoke bomb-y thing too. I was in my house and that freak in the robe came to my house and well, I bet you can guess what happened. I'm here now, obviously," Grace says.

"I was at my college," I begin, my headache pounding through. "I was with a girl...and that guy kicked down the door like it was nothing. Then he took this blade and stabbed her. After her he threw that smoke bomb and I was useless."

"Why'd he kill her, though?" Tom asks.

"You would think he would kill either both of you or none of you."

"I don't know, maybe it's because she had a gun,"

"Stands to reason, then," Tom says.

There is a crackling sound above me, I look up and take notice of what looked to be an intercom speaker. There seems to be something broadcasting from wherever we are.

"Hello, I assume you've had a nice nap. I am your captain, Leto, and I've gathered you all here for my game. It isn't really a hard game. You simply just have to escape. You have each been injected with a fatal dosage of Tubocurarine, a drug that slows your respiratory system to a halt. Within eighteen hours it shall spread throughout your entire body, meaning you will die a nice and painless death."

The voice is easily recognizable, it is the metallic harsh voice of the figure in the cloak. At least I've something to call the bastard now, Leto.

"What? Explain yourself!" Tom calls out.

"As I mentioned, there is only one way to prevent your demise, your escape. I've placed vials containing a drug called Axelavine at the exit of this place, your playground. This drug when injected shall protect your body from the remaining attack of the Tubocurarine."

"This is absolutely insane," I say, looking down to Tom and Grace.

"There might be others like you within the walls of your playground, I cannot guarantee their lust for blood is any less or more than your own. After my speech is concluded there will be a door that reveals itself to you, this is your first step. I suggest you who woke together work together, for that will be the easiest way to escape, but it is entirely up to you on how you move on from this point onward," Leto says.

All of us are silent in deadly anticipation. My head begins to pound once more, it becomes harder to breathe, but it passes quickly. A section of the wall begins moving to our right, it slides out of place revealing an opening into what looks to be another, similar looking room.

"Do we go?" Grace asks.

"I think so, I mean, we can't stay here with that Turbo stuff flowing through our veins," I say.

"Tubocurarine," Tom amends. I give him a look, and he shakes his head, "Sorry...med student. Knowing these things is kinda my job."

Jesus Christ, a med student? Only reason someone wants to be a med student in these times is because they're pretentious as fuck. "I want to help everyone who gets sick so they can all thank me and I can be their hero!" Give me a break.

"And what the hell's he got a med student kidnapped for?" I ask, poorly hiding my disdain.

"I don't know, maybe because I have some knowledge on the drugs he was talking about? I can't think of any other reason. Maybe to avoid doubt over what they say." he looks nervous.

"Because I know about them, look at me and be amazed!" Fucking asshole. "That sounds about right," Grace says. Or maybe Leto has good taste in hating med students as much as me.

"Well, they do act as he said. So if we really do have Tubocurarine flowing in our blood stream we better start moving."

I turn to the opening in the wall, looking into the room ahead. It looks to be some sort of party lounge. I take a few steps towards the opening and feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn to see Tom past his hand.

"Woah, hold on there, you almost fell," he says.

"What? No, I didn't. Let go of me," I say, pulling away from him.

"Okay, okay. Chill, just helping you out," Tom says, holding his hands up. I look at him hard before turning back around.

I so was not falling, I'd know.

In the party lounge I can see a very large grandfather clock ticking slowly at the end of the room, just next to a metal door. It seems that we have until four whatever-time-of-day-it-is before we succumb to the effects of the Tubocurarine. Then I notice something else inside of the clock, just behind the small glass window at the base. There's a single sheet of paper caught up inside. I grab at the paper and pull it out.

"Did you find something?" Tom asks.

"No, I just love investigating the innards of clocks."

"What does it say?" Grace asks.

"I'm reading, I'm reading," I say, shaking my head and turning back to the sheet of paper.

YEAR ZERO

03/30/2007

Today is a new day. It is our first day on our research on the Lantrate and Dicoberene. I must admit I am a little hesitant, it's my first day on the job and I'm already being given these orders from up high. I guess this stuff came from Mars, we got it in these little vials the size of my pinky finger. It's quite insane that I've finally got the work to help keep me in line, I'm anxious.

I'm working with three other men, I haven't met them yet, or even know their names, but I think I remember hearing something about another coming in a few weeks later. I should go, I've got to go see if I can wing this whole "meeting the other members" thing.

Signed

Jack Adata

"Do any of you know a Jack Adata?" Tom asks.

"No," Grace says.

"I might have known like, a Jack Adams or something like that, but nada on that one," I say.

"You sure?" he asks.

"Yeah, I think I'd remember someone with the last name Adata."

Something there. Something about saying that name, having it roll off of my tongue. No, I'm sure I don't know any...Adams...Adata, nah. Okay, Jack Adams was that kid I knew on the outside, the one who liked to kill rats. I remember he told me his name once after he offered to share some with me. No matter how desperate I get for food I am never going that far.

"Well, like, I guess it must have been maybe the people on this ship before us," Grace says. Or are we in some sort of sick television show? I do not even want to think if anybody can see me right now," Grace brushes her hand through her hair, looking around.

They say the camera adds ten pounds...

"Television show?"

"Some sick human sport to keep the masses entertained while the world whittles away around them," Grace says, looking around for any sign of a camera.

"To be honest, I don't know about that, I think that Leto guy would have mentioned something about it. I think this might be for his own personal enjoyment. Why personally, I don't know."

"I still don't know why this note relates, then," Grace says.

"I'm just going to say it's here to waste our time. The more time we're here talking about it the less time we have to get the hell out of here," I say, stuffing the paper into the back pocket of my backpack.

I don't say it, but I have a lingering feeling I'm wrong, that this is important. Somehow. Someway. Whoever this Leto guy is has got me figured out cold for not leaving anything unturned.

"Well, all right then, we ready to go through that door there?" Grace points to the heavyset door. It looks like something you'd see on a ship in a cartoon, the handle is even made to be a wheel on the face of the door.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"I can handle this door here, step back and watch the magic happen," Tom says, cracking his knuckles. He grabs the spokes at the top and bottom as he grips it hard. The wheel refuses to move.

I remember moving into the apartment that I lived in. My father was struggling just as much with a box that contained some of our kitchen appliances, most of which were sold a month after due to our low storage space. We moved into a small apartment in Denver back in 2007, back when it was actually nice. My parents worked as scientists, they were top of their game. The only thing was they worked freelance so they didn't get paid in stable intervals. Then my mom got a job over in New York and she had to be away so that she could help us live and-

"Hey, are you okay?" Grace stares at me with a grin on her face.

Of the two people I had to wake up to...

The door is open in front of me, Tom managed to get it open. "Yeah, I'm fine," I say, walking through as I peer into the next room. It seems to be a Parlor Room. There is a table in the middle of the room, some surrounding chairs, a dresser and an empty frame sitting upon the wall. Just beyond the tables lies a metal door that looks exactly like the one I'm next to built into the wall, except only there seems to be a small machine to the right of it on the wall. I walk inside and try the door, the metal doesn't budge a single inch.

"I think this is some sort of input device," Tom says, walking up next to me, inspecting the machine. I look over, and it has a small display at the top of it's square-like box. Below it is a numbered keypad from one through nine.

"Maybe it needs a password to be unlocked," I say.

"Any chance 1111 is a no-go?" Grace asks.

"I'd guess so, is there even really a point to trying that? Who would honestly put their password as that?"

"I don't know, maybe it is. There's literally no harm in trying it," Grace says.

"Oh? No harm? What if us putting in the wrong password causes some bad reaction? Think of that?"

"Hey, come on, lay off her, it was just a question."

I walk over towards the dresser at the other side of the room, the empty frame hangs right behind it, the wall inside of the frame looks just like any other, except it looks a little bit lighter in shade. I take the frame in both of my hands and slide it off the wall, apparently it wasn't an empty frame after all, it had a glass pane with a slightly off color section of wood inside. Behind the frame is a tiny alcove in the wall. There's a tiny sheet of notebook paper stashed away, on it is scribbled, "0399."

"Hey," I call out to the others, waving the sheet in my hand.

Tom looks over and smiles. It isn't the goofy buck-tooth smile I'd been expecting. I chalk him up a silent point. He presses the buttons on the keypad, and the display glows a bright green before ringing a sound of approval. Another sound shifts in the tumblers of the metal door, and Grace takes the wheel in her hands, surprisingly able to make it move.

"Hey, Gavin, Grace, look at this," Tom says, closing one of the drawers of the dresser. He turns fully around and is holding a full sheet of paper.

Okay, they aren't completely useless. I'll give them that. I may have been a little harsh in my original judgments.

"It's got writing on it similar to the last note, same typewriter like look," he says.

"What kind of font must he have been using to not go for a default, nice looking font?" I ask.

"Maybe it was made with an actual typewriter," Grace says.

"In 2007? I doubt it," I say.

"I guess you're right."

"So, what does it say?"

"So, this one is labeled Year Zero as well," I say.

YEAR ZERO

04/02/2007

I last updated on Friday, but I've a good reason for my absence. We've been so busy on the Lantrate and Dicoberene. I've been warned to not mention specifics in these journals, so I've done the duty of redacting out any mention of them from this point on. I can't really go back in time to fix my mistakes, right?

Well, besides that, we've got good work going. The potential of this stuff is insane, maybe if we keep digging we can cure cancer. Maybe then I can get a bonus and I can take Pamela and Megan out for a nice vacation.

Also, one of my co-worker's wives is struck something bad, with the cancer, I mean. I don't remember her name, but his name's Jay. I'm still trying to get them memorized, Jay's got the highest pitched voice out of all of them, his hair shows peaks of gray before any of the others, but only slightly. The others don't stick out enough yet, I'm trying. I think one other's name might be David...yes! David! He had this super-dark hair that clung close to his head, and his voice was very deep. He seemed to talk very casually with Jay, maybe they knew each other before hand? Actually, all three of them seem to have a sort of familiarity with each other, (I cannot remember the last one's name or anything about him.)

Signed,

Jack Adata

"Okay, what is this?" I ask.

"Hey, can you let me see that first letter?" Tom asks.

"Sure," I say, grabbing it out of my pocket.

Tom's eyes scan the paper and he grins. "Yeah, here, those two redacted sections, I think they belong to these two things right here that he wrote about in the first page." His finger rests on the two words "Lantrate" and "Dicoberene".

"That seems very likely, and this guy was scolded for writing about it, but isn't this a sort of private journal? How could anybody have found out if it's private? After the first day even?" I ask.

"Maybe it wasn't private?" Grace suggests.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Well, this is just a theory, but like, that first letter mentioned something about Mars, right? And like, I don't ever recall hearing of those two...things that it wrote about. Lactate?"

"Lantrate," Tom corrects.

"Lactate is breast milk," I say.

Grace's eyes open wide and she immediately turns a bright tomato red.

"Not exactly, technically a lactate is a base for lactic acid..." I stare at him, a specific look that just begs him to ask "what", but he doesn't.

"Or...it could also be from lactation," he says, a defeated sound.

"Well, yeah, I meant Lantrate, but oh boy did that have me embarrassed! But anyway, uh, yeah, I've never heard of them before. Now, I'm no science whiz-"

"Guilty," Tom speaks up.

Now it's her turn to look him hard, "Anyway, but even I passed Chemistry with a good grade, and both of those are unfamiliar. So, that and the fact that they mention Mars, and that it needed to be redacted, I propose that these are things, elements maybe, that they found on Mars?"

"They who, though?"

"Who do you think? NASA most likely, they're probably government stiffs."

"Okay, well, I suppose that's a possibility. Wouldn't you think that someone on government level would like, know a bit more about their job on the first day? Or maybe even like, not sound like a dunderhead?" I ask.

"Maybe, but even government people are still people, you're going to have your dunces and goofballs anywhere, we just seem to be following the paper trail of theirs. Although to be honest, you do seem right in saying he doesn't so much fit a government type, but then again, we know next to nothing about him."

"Maybe he got canned and these are his only two papers," I say, laughing.

"Maybe," Tom says, not so sure.

"I also seem to recall you saying that this was just a waste of time?" Grace asks, turning her head to the side and giving me a look not unlike a vapid spider, a million little bug eyes staring me down.

"I was wrong, okay? I'm starting to think that these...logs or whatever have some relevance, my joke aside. Whatever these people were working on seemed to be really important," I say.

"And also let's not forget we get name-dropped two coworkers, this guy's definitely got shit memory...or maybe it's a selectively great memory? I mean, he has like physical features down, but can't even remember one of his three coworkers?" Tom asks.

"I don't know, we don't even know if he actually works right beside them or just heard names in passing. He could be a total loner."

"Maybe."

"And how about this Megan and Pamela?" Grace asks.

"I'd think family. It'd be weird to ask your new co-workers out for a vacation."

"True."

I've never been on a vacation. Things have always been so busy and hectic, I just remember being busy when I was younger. I don't really remember what about, but just a general sense of "busy". Like, a foggy cloud you'd see in a cartoon when someone's doing millions of chores in the shortest amount of time possible.

"I guess we can only speculate on what these were for until we get more information," I say.

There is a loud sound, almost like an explosion.

"Anybody have any idea what that was?" I ask.

"Not a clue, hopefully it's not Leto pulling the plug on us early," Tom says.

"Let's just get out of here," Grace says.

We walk through the door and we enter a room that looks to be an infirmary. There are a few hospital beds lying against the wall, one of them to our right blocking a hallway that leads into darkness, but other than that, the room is stripped bare. In front of us is a large metal-set door. The floor is a thin wood and I'm sort of fearful that it may break out underneath us. The walls are barren of any color whatsoever, as if they had been completely sucked out by some color-vampire.

And lying face down on that furthest bed is a girl, seemingly naked lying face down. Please either be dead so I don't have to bother or have a really nice rack.