Brink by Mikel Parry

CH – SINGULARITY

The drive over was silent. Neither Banks nor Thomas spoke a word. Whatever was going on in their heads was being carefully protected. Thomas was swimming through the darkness that filled his mind. It was chaos. The images of the people who had been lost so far whirled around and around through his mind like a carousel. Even Banks still made a part of him feel a little suspicious. The organization, Roslin, Banks—none of them could whitewash the filth away—so many questions, so many doubts.

Arriving at the organization’s main building, both men rehearsed the routine as best they could. It was clear that things had changed. There was an unspoken animosity between them. Looking at Banks as they entered, Thomas could see he was as resolute as ever in his belief in the organization’s principles. A true zealot of their workforce. Thomas’ time with him had proven that. Something inside Thomas was beginning to shift; his ideas about allegiance and duty were changing. Perhaps his time in Roslin’s circus was coming to a grand end.

“Let’s just remember why we’re doing this, alright? I know it’s gone out of control. But it’s all got to end somewhere, sometime,” decreed Banks.

Thomas looked at Banks, who had finally broken the silence. They were only a few steps from the door leading into the white room. They both paused.

“I don’t need to remember anything. There’s no purpose or reason with this guy. And if the killer doesn’t need a reason, than neither do I. I’m going to stop this. I’m going to kill this guy,” added Thomas.

Pressing on, Banks opened the door. Thomas pushed past him impatiently. Banks mumbled at his back.

“Everybody’s got their reasons.”

Once inside, Thomas couldn’t miss Jo, who was walking in tight circles in the center of the room, holding a large tablet. He was scanning over streams of data that appeared to be confounding him. Jo’s usual fearful self had diminished to one of pure frustration.

“This is improbable—illogical—just plain redonkulous! These numbers—these readings—what’s going on?”

Thomas caught the tail end of his muffled banter. Without asking, he already knew something was wrong.

“What is it?”

Jo looked up at Thomas, who was standing just an arm’s length away. His face contorted into a look of disgust for a nanosecond before returning back to one of complete confusion. Taking a courageous step forward, Jo shoved the tablet towards Thomas.

“Look at this pattern . . . and notice I said pattern, not patterns. Does that strike you as strange at all? Where’s the fireworks, where’s the light show? Know what I mean?”

Thomas wanted to plug Jo’s mouth with a cork. He almost never understood what he was babbling about. Did anyone? The man was completely crazy.

“Does it look like I know what you mean?”

Jo looked displeased. He pursed his lips together and let out an exaggerated sigh. As he did, Banks joined the fray. His eyes locked onto the tablet but then came back up rapidly.

“That looks odd. Don’t recall seeing any like that.”

Jo swung his arms open as if offering a massive bear hug.

“That’s what I was trying to tell Mr. Weird Hat, here. There are no waves coming off this node! It’s a specific singularity. One that’s pretty faint, but undeniably present. This is warp zone wild!”

Both Banks and Thomas looked like they had just sucked on a piece of sour candy.

“Okay, so let’s go see what it is then. Seems simple enough to me,” said Thomas.

Jo’s mouth dropped open. The ignorance in the room was insulting to him. But like a dog being scolded, he hung his head and walked off to his technological masterpiece of a room.

“Coordinates, Jo?” said Banks.

“Yeah, yeah, you can come get them. Just know that I think this is crazy. I have no idea what you’ll find.”

“Do we ever know what we’ll find? Seems pretty normal to me,” mumbled Thomas.

As Thomas entered the room, he saw the coordinates on display on one of the many panels in the room. He snapped out his wrist and hovered his hand over it. Though he’d seen it work its magic many times before, the watch, with its almost magical interface, always mesmerized him. What an unbelievable amount of science and effort for something so very small. As he plugged in the coordinates, he felt sick to his stomach. What was he getting himself into? . Every time he glimpsed, the world he came back to was on fire. But he had no choice. People’s lives were being destroyed at an ever increasing rate.

What are you up to now, you sick freak?

In his heart, a burning hatred had been festering, fueled by the ongoing events. A dark piece of his soul had grown two-fold in size and presence. How could he continue fighting against something so heinous without losing himself to it? Was he strong enough?

“You be careful. If Jo’s right, there’s something different about this one. I saw it too”

Thomas glanced at Banks, who had distanced himself. He looked upset. Thomas wanted to say something, but found he was lacking for words. The glimpse had taken precedence. The valve into his genius had been opened, and with it came a flood of memories and details. As the image of the room began to swirl madly out of control, he closed his eyes. Time was of the essence, and it was running out.

An abrupt wave of pain swept through his body. This was expected. Thomas recoiled. It was still very painful. A few moments passed and the world that had been thrashed apart began putting itself back together. Tiny pieces of the puzzle assembled themselves behind a blinding light before crashing to a stop. Thomas felt the icy shards of air cut into every inch of his lungs. His eyes shot wide open with the shock of the change in climate. He felt himself dipping slightly into the ground he was standing on. Taken by surprise, he fell to the ground. A few crunchy layers of icy snow pushed back at him like a cement floor. The impact rang through his body.

Where am I?

Putting his hands down to stabilize himself, he felt the cold permeating deeper into his body. Pulling himself back up, he inspected the area around him. The view was breathtaking. Snowcapped mountains extended along the horizon. A slightly clouded sky backed by a brilliant, crisp blue added to the epic scenery. He had never seen anything like it. Since all of his days had been spent dwelling in the bright lights of the city, he had never experienced the grandeur of the heavens above.

This is amazing.

Still struggling to gain his bearings, he focused on the ground around him. Snow and rock. The jagged edges of time-shaped stone jutted from its white, powdery cover. It was a world unlike any other. Disregarding his body, which was now beginning to shake from the chill, he glanced down at his watch. He saw the shining dot representing where the next event was supposed to happen. It, like all the others, was relatively close. But there seemed to be a slight problem; he was on the side of a mountain.

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!

Following the directions of the prompt, it became apparent that the only way was up. Up the side of what appeared to be nothing short of an assured death. He closed his eyes and let his head bob around. He was beyond exhausted, but had committed to something utterly insane anyway. Taking one last long look at his watch, he practically gagged when his heart jumped into his throat. He was going to do this.

Or die trying . . . that’s what I said. Why did I have to be so heroic? Thomas, you’re an idiot!

Doing his best to stay away from the edge of the mountain, which fell thousands of feet down into a white abyss, he examined the rock wall ahead. Small crags, crevices, and weather-chiseled edges dotted its landscape, producing a seemingly innumerable number of paths to take.

This is so stupid, Tommy. What the hell are you doing?

Letting his mind wrap itself around the problem at hand, it instantly began to toss the most logical paths to take back at him. Looking up, he realized there was a slender shelf above him. But the shelf was far out of reach, unless he climbed.

It must be there. Where else could it be?

Digging his fingers into the first logical crevice, the cold stone clamped down on his flesh. He felt faint. A tinge of fear had fallen into his toxic mixture of courage.

Just keep looking up. Don’t look down.

After adjusting his hat with his free hand, he dug his fingers into a predetermined location. His feet soon followed, and then the whole process was repeated. With each gut wrenching pull of his own weight, he could feel his body scream at him to stop. But it was his heart that pressed him forward. His thoughts had turned to those still alive; those who still had a chance. Perhaps it was possible that he could still save them; that he could stop this in time.

His right hand grabbed at a tiny ledge. As his fingers tried to clamp down on its surface, it slid out from under them. His body was flung out into space, on course to go tumbling down into doom. With a surge of adrenaline, his other hand dug deeper into the crag it was gripping. The sharp granite sliced open his skin leaking a trail of blood. He let out a shriek of terror as he saw the world swivel. Throwing all of his remaining energy into one swift movement, he spun back around, digging his feet back into the rock face while fighting to find a spot for his loose hand to grasp on the wall of rock.

Stupid variables! Ice!

He found a solid piece of rock to grasp, and once he felt secure enough, he began gasping for air. Breathing was difficult in any time-locked environment; it proved to be an even greater burden at this altitude. But miraculously, he recovered. The blood from his sliced hand was pouring onto the rock like a miniature waterfall. It was a stark reminder that he was on the verge of extinction.

Just keep going, Tommy!

Fighting the pain and fatigue, he pushed himself up the rock face. The bitter cold numbed his touch. His hands felt like to useless nubs. But he could see it now; the crest of the edge. With a few more torturous heaves, he threw himself on top of it. He rolled and collapsed onto his back. Shivers vibrated through his body like pulses of electric current. The nightmarish climb was still streaming through his thoughts. But he had made it—exactly to where, however, he did not know. Rolling to one side, he saw something that practically stopped his heart—a corpse. And it appeared to be the corpse of a woman.

She was frozen in time, literally. Her face was one of pure exhaustion that had finally been able to rest. Although Thomas was no doctor, it was apparent that some of the woman’s bones had been shattered. Across from her resting place was a small cave bored into the side of the gigantic mountain. The remains of a parachute, various gear, and other specialized equipment was strewn about.

You landed here?

Thomas looked into the woman’s face. Her eyes were frozen shut. She looked so peaceful. The dire cold had probably taken her in her sleep.

You were stranded.

He continued his inspection of the area, looking for clues. He looked at his watch. He was standing on the epicenter of the change. But the peculiar nature of it struck him as odd; a change that hadn’t created a rift? Maybe Jo had been seeing things. This couldn’t all be mere coincidence. That’s when it caught his eye. The woman was wearing a large coat that was slightly opened at the top. There, beneath the layers of clothing, was the edge of something familiar; a pendant. Forgetting his place, Thomas tried to bring the pendant out just a few inches more so he could see it better, but the force of time fought his efforts, keeping everything in its place. He already knew without looking what was etched on its surface—three triangles, connected in the center. A symbol he was so tired of seeing that it practically made him explode with rage at the mere thought of it.

Again and again and again . . .

Looking over the body, he found nothing else that hinted at anything vile in nature. Now it was just a waiting game; waiting for the burst of light to sweep across his present world and set things in motion. Thomas waited. The seconds that passed in this relative time and space ticked by painstakingly slow. His heart beat faster with each passing moment. What was going to happen? He searched his mind for answers. He looked for lines connected to dots in both the past he knew, and the present he lived in. But there was nothing. At least nothing that screamed loud enough to be heard above all of the other competing details. But there was something . . . He felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck—he felt the presence of something—a presence he had felt before. Turning around, he looked into the cave. Because of the icing of winter it was almost completely shrouded from view. The woman must have taken shelter in there until finally succumbing to the elements outside in one last desperate act of survival.

I know you’re there!

Squinting his eyes, he strained to see into the opening, but it was too dark. The contrast was too strong. Forgetting his fear, he left the frozen body and entered the dark embrace of the cave. Once inside, he saw the world turn to darkness as his eyes struggled to adjust. Apart from a few tiny trickles of light, there was nothing but a black blanket extending endlessly.

“I’m done chasing you! I’m not afraid anymore! You will get caught, and when I catch you . . .”

He heard a crack coming from somewhere behind him. It was the sound of a misplaced footstep breaking through a microscopic layer of ice. In the darkness, a miniscule burst of light shone through to the floor ahead. Feeling intrigued, Thomas honed in on the location. As he stepped forward, he was careful to keep his balance. Ice was slippery; ice, frozen in time, was ridiculous. Further inside the cave, he saw something unexpected. In the dim light, he swore he saw a name etched into the wall:

JOHNNY

Who is that

He took a few steps forward on shaky legs. Winter’s frigid fingers were pressing into him like jagged knives. Something needed to happen soon; he wouldn’t last much longer. He put his face as close as possible to the carved letters.

How long have you been here? Lost, forgotten, or worse?

Suddenly, from out of the darkness, an arm wrapped itself around his exposed throat. It choked the air out of him, leaving him breathless and silent. As the arm had passed over him, he had seen a watch, accompanied by a dark glove. His fate was all but sealed now. His foolish endeavor—his quest, his story—would ultimately be plagiarized by a murdering psychopath skipping through time. With his last bit of strength, he tried to fight back. Then the world around him began to spin.

It’s too early. That much time hasn’t passed, has it?

The man’s grip on him increased in fervor, keeping Thomas tight against his body. Fragments of reality encompassed them entirely. The bolts of pain that accompanied the miraculous leap came. The ice capped mountains faded into nothingness and were quickly replaced by a faceless floor of white. He felt as if he was falling. At last, the man released him.

Thomas hit the floor with a loud thud. He let out a howl of pain and rolled to one side. He saw a sea of white that he knew well. But how could this be? Confused, Thomas painfully pushed himself onto his feet. His hand dripped blood, which splashed on the floor. His head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. His body was beyond exhausted.

“Where are you?”

Thomas’ scream came out sounding like a maniac on a rampage. He was tired of the cat and mouse game. Either he was going to kill or be killed. This had to end.

Holding his chest, desperately trying to gather his emotions, he examined the room. It was a room just like the room in the organization’s building where he had glimpsed several times; a room he had come to loathe. But he suddenly realized that it wasn’t the room he was used to. He noticed subtle variances, but they were obscured by the bizarreness of the scene that was frozen in place in front of him. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Was it even possible?

Solidified in place and time was a small group of men. Each was professionally adorned in the organization’s standard black suit. But there were two men who stood out from the rest—two men that he had come to know by some twisted stroke of fate—Roslin and Banks. Looking at the group of men, it was obvious to Thomas that there had been a highly heated argument going on, with each man accusing the other of something. Whatever was at stake had inspired a passionate level of emotion in the room.

What was it? What happened?

He slowly approached Roslin. As always, the man stood like the unbreakable statue that he was. He was a force of nature, plowing his way through the realm of reality to get results. His eyes were narrowed. It was clear that his mind was mulling over the subject matter deeply. And then there was Banks. He appeared to be going straight for Roslin, stopped only by the few men who were desperately trying to hold him back. His eyes were watering, filled with both anger and something more elusive. Thomas was horrible at recognizing human emotions, let alone understanding them. Yet something about Banks’s composure made his heart sink; was he in pain?

What did they do to you?

There was an audible sound of movement from somewhere in the room. It had come from somewhere behind the frozen figure of Roslin. Thomas’ mood suddenly changed from one of deep inspection to rancid anger.

“What do you want from me? Why are you doing this?”

His emotional plea rang through the time and space he was locked in. His eyes darted back and forth looking for who he knew had to be the killer. Much like cancer, he was looking for the malignant tumor that had started this ongoing nightmare. His heart pounded against his chest in anticipation; he was going to kill him. The burning anger he felt was unquenchable. The only thing left was satiating his need for revenge.

“Show yourself!”

Examining the white room he was in, he saw that there were various rooms that branched from it. Each was cloaked in a heavy blanket of darkness; each one a potential place from which prying eyes could watch.

“Why did you kill them? Why did you kill all of them?”

In a fit of rage, Thomas swung a fist through the air in an attempt to release some of his pent up tension. He spat a stream of saliva onto the ground. He was losing control. His eidetic memory was encircling him like a python, squeezing him with too much disjointed information. But the overlying concept was about his failure. Lives had been lost and there had been nothing he could do to stop it. More blood would be spilled if things didn’t change. Looking at Roslin, he felt a dark hatred form. Who was he really? What was he capable of? Lies, secrets, and more lies.

His eyes began to sting as tiny droplets of sweat slithered their way into their corners. He wanted to scream, lash out—but then he saw something. As always, it came at his emotional precipice. Three triangles joined at the center, printed on a flimsy card. It lay at the opening of one of the rooms; its menacing presence undeniably ushering in a wave of sheer terror.

No more! I’m so tired of this!

Forgetting his unfavorable position or that a homicidal maniac was hiding in the shadows, he stampeded forward. His eyes locked on the tiny card. He allowed himself a moment to ponder over it, its meaning still unclear, and its origin infuriatingly unknown. He picked it up with surprisingly little effort. He felt around its crisp edges, letting his mind wander. For a moment he felt disjointed, separated from the very reality that he was trying desperately to salvage. There was but one real question front and center; why was he still alive?

Why haven’t you killed me?

Looking into the darkness of the room beyond, he pondered something sinister. Was the man showing him something for a reason? Was this man truly evil incarnate or something more human? There was a true purpose here, one that had been carefully constructed throughout time. Going over the faces in the room apart from Roslin and Banks, he could see them one-by-one. Two of the men he knew, or at least he had seen them in their last moments of life. The others remained a mystery. Could one of them be connected? In another time and place, what was now few, was once many. With so much death, the agency’s numbers had dwindled drastically of late.

Is this what you want? To see me fall apart?

Thomas shook his head. He was letting himself drift off into a stupor of thought. He had to bring himself back; there was too much at stake. He heard movement once more. Letting his clasp on the card loosen, it floated back-and-forth on its path to the ground. He took a step forward. At the edge of the light, his eyes strained to see inside. As he instinctively reached for a light switch, a black glove shot out from the darkness and grasped him by the throat. The swift and unexpected force took him by surprise. Gargling on his own saliva, he fought to breath. He was staring directly at the dark mask. Its eye sockets appeared empty and soulless.

“I’m going to kill you,” Thomas hissed, barely able to choke out the words.

The man’s grip on Thomas’ throat relaxed. He was surprisingly strong. For the first time he spoke. His words came out through a convolution of shattered tones, masking his identity.

“I’m already dead.”

The man flung Thomas forward, his back plowing into the sharp edge of one of the tables in the room. He collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. He felt his eyes fill with blood from a lack of circulation. But his will was pressing him on. He wasn’t going to give in.

“What is it you want to show me? Why play these games?”

The man stood motionless, his lifeless mask examining the room carefully. The aura of evil was pronounced by his looming presence.

“Answer me!”

The man’s head turned slowly towards Thomas, who struggled to get to his knees. The killer gazed on in silence. It was as if he was trying to understand Thomas. What he was, why he was, how he was, who he was . . . deep questions that seemed to elude him. Thomas was about to demand an answer, when he was again cut off by the inhuman voice.

“Truth has many forms. I am one of them.”

Thomas paused. The statement was profound to him for some reason. The word truth struck a nerve that hummed in his soul. As he was finally getting control of his breathing, he watched the dark mask looking back at the quarreling group of agents. It was as if he was asking Thomas to see; to understand; but he couldn’t. He couldn’t possibly understand this man’s perverse mode of thinking.

“What do you want from me?”

The man let his gaze rest on the frozen group of agents. Another drawn-out silence pressed Thomas’ to his limits.

“Freedom or slavery . . . you choose the path you walk.”

Thomas spat out a salty pool of saliva onto the ground. He adjusted his hat carefully, feeling a power reignite from somewhere inside. His thoughts turned towards his last moments with the only true love he ever had—Jen. His heart began to throb in his chest. He needed to dig deeper.

“I know what this is. I know what you’re trying to say. And I say no. I’ll never help you.”

The man turned his head slowly towards Thomas. Again the soulless eyes began picking him apart. In the silence, Thomas felt his hands start to tingle with anticipation. What was going to happen? Without warning, he bellowed out his denial once more.

“Did you hear me? I’ll never help you! You’re a sick freak!”

This time the response came quickly. The man’s posture tensed. He was preparing himself for what he was about to do.

“Time brought you here and only time will set you free. I regret what I have to do.”

Just as the man reached for his pocket, Thomas pounced. He had to use every fiber left of his being. He threw himself at the man’s legs, ripping them out from underneath him. The man fell, losing grip of his silver revolver. It clanged against the ground as the crack of bones hitting floor broke the world into chaos.

The man fought to get out of Thomas’ grip, as Thomas fought like mad to gain the upper hand. He tried to snatch his own pistol from his coat. The man spotted his attempt and thwarted it, back-handing Thomas and sending him sprawling backwards. The force broke Thomas’ concentration, just as his fingers had barely pried his gun loose from its holster. It spun across the white floor, sliding through a narrow path comprised of the legs and feet of the group of agents. Thomas’ eyes bulged wide in horror.

Without hesitation, both men fought their way towards the revolver. It was close enough that their misplaced feet kicked it around the floor, sending it careening in all directions. Thomas ducked as the man threw an expertly placed punch, missing him by just inches. Thomas responded by throwing a gut punch of his own, digging his fist deep into the man’s body. He felt one of his ribs shift to one side. The man was quick to respond to the pain, ramming his knee into Thomas’ face. He scurried away while Thomas caught his breath, snatched up the revolver and pointed it.

Thomas saw him out of the corner of his eye and made a desperate move to stop the inevitable. His hand shot up, pushing his aim to one side. A fiery round erupted from the chamber. The bullet ricocheted off of one of the walls before bouncing off another. The powerful force of time propelled it back at every angle. After dealing his adversary an elbow to the face, Thomas slid his finger onto the gun’s trigger and pulled back on it. The chamber emptied, sending another four bullets blasting through the room. Both men paused for a moment, realizing what had just happened. The once tame, unassuming room had become a death trap. In awe they watched as a bullet blasted one of the agents directly in the back, shredding a tiny part of his suit. Instantly, there was a flash of light, marking the reality of the change.

“What the hell did you do?” screamed Thomas.

The man responded by hammering Thomas with another fist to his side. As he did, the dark eyes of the mask locked on the remaining pistol. He turned on his heel and sprinted towards it. Thomas followed suit. He desperately fought through his horrific pain to beat the killer to it. The murderer arrived first, only to be sent reeling backwards by the force of a stiff, accusing arm, stuck in time, belonging to one of the men standing in the group. Thomas tried to weave between the impervious walls of flesh, as the pistol had come to rest in the center of the stilled agents. A literal jungle gym of bodies lay between him and the only upper hand. Another flash of light flashed through the room; a second bullet had altered something. Thomas rolled out of the way as one of the bullets ricocheted just inches away from him.

This is unreal!

He glanced back at the pistol and saw a hand trying to weave its way through the forest of legs. Not wasting another moment, Thomas sprang to his feet and quickly assessed the situation. The man’s fingertips were just about to reach the pistol. He had to do something. Without thinking, he climbed onto one of the men standing closest to him. Using arms, shoulders, and anything else he could, he climbed up and over the human obstacles and dropped onto the killer, his full weight slamming into him. The man let out a painful wheeze. Quickly, the killer retracted his arm and rolled away. Both men stood up slowly. Blood trickled down Thomas’ lips. The blood from his hand was smeared all over the mask and clothes of the killer. Both men heaved for a minute, gasping for breath. The clanging of bullets echoed now from the depths of the room. The flashes of light came one after another as if on a timer. Thomas prayed that they hadn’t unleashed hell.

“What do you think you’ll accomplish? Kill me; kill everyone! Watch the world collapse, and for what?”

The masked man stood firm. He watched as Thomas picked up his hat from the ground and placed it back on top of his head. An evil, bitter cold rushed into the room. It wasn’t over. The man came at Thomas again, this time with a renewed vigor.

“Justice!” the murderer shouted coldly.

Thomas dodged the first few attacks but fell victim to a well-placed fist across his jaw. He felt it unhinge and then snap back into place. The acute pain awakened his desperation to survive. He couldn’t lay down and die—not like this. Trying to defend himself, he threw a punch of his own. The man ducked, sending Thomas’ clenched fist into the back of one of the agent’s heads. It smashed like jelly hitting a cement wall. Thomas roared in pain and collapsed to his knees feeling torn and broken. The clang of bullets was closer again; the flashes of light intensifying. When he looked up to find the masked man, he instead saw the hollowed out end of his own gun pointing at him. The killer had won. Soon he would be blasted into oblivion.

“Do it! I’m tired of the games! Either you go or I do!”

He watched as the man paused, his finger twitching. Just as he pulled the trigger, an out of control bullet caught his shoulder. The force knocked his shot off course. The killer let out a yelp of pain as a pool of blood spread on his suit. As he raised the gun again and took aim, the world around them began to shred apart. Shards of light ripped at their current reality like a tornado. The man aimed and fired. Thomas closed his eyes. His mind went blank and he fell limply to the ground. The maelstrom of time had finally come to an end.