Orientation
Author: Al K. Line
Date: 2014-08-30 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Science Fiction; Dystopia
Description: Nobody noticed as it swept around the globe - until billions began to die. Then it got a name: The Lethargy. Everyone just gave up, all interest in life relentlessly gnawed away. Marcus was different - he became the most powerful man alive. A man able to bend reality to his will and peel back the layers of the complex world he found himself alone in. His only true desire was to help safeguard mankind's future, so The Commorancy was constructed, a fabled safe haven for those lucky enough to get an invitation after passing his strict and convoluted entry requirements. But there are those out to

Contents

Title Page

Stubborn eh?

Sit Down

TRFDTWC
ffu

What's The Rush?

No Mountains Here

Growing Up

Sneaky Peeky

Dreams of Dreams

A Bedtime Story

George the Goat

The Dangerous Room

Copycat

Almost There

"A Man's Work...

Plum Blossom Child

Snick
rqz

Heavy Burdens

Anechoic Hole

Back to Beardsley

No Going Back

The Room For Bombs

Time to Think

What are The Odds?

Strobe Effect

I Can Cure You

Arriving

Holiday... Celebrate

Alphabetti Spaghwetti

Testudo Graeca

Annoying Klaxon Sound

Apocalypse? What Apocalypse?

Otaku Blues

That's Ages

Which One?

No Need to Panic

Grab a Spade

It's Been a While

Uncomfortable Grouping

Slaughterhouse Aesthetic

Time for Supper

Pretty Boy

Is it a Bee?

A Slight Oversight

A Bird's Work...

What's Your Tipple?

Would You?

From The Author

Orientation

(The Commorancy — Book 1)

Al K. Line

2nd Edition. Copyright © 2015 Al K. Line

Alkline.co.uk

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~~~

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Commorancy: a dwelling place or ordinary residence of a person. This residence is usually temporary and it is vacated after a given time.

Stubborn eh?

The plant never moved.

Not that it was supposed to, at least from the plant's point of view — if it had one. It didn't.

Marcus had been staring at it for more than forty-eight hours straight, juiced up to the eyeballs on fast depleting reserves of his own chemical creation: a cocktail he had learned he could create internally at will. It was a beginning at least: the control. Marcus was not only one of the few named The Whole by the scraps of the media still running, but he also felt the beginnings of something else stirring, and needed to understand just what it could be. While others faded into nothing more than mounds of flesh, he felt things developing within, things that needed his complete attention if they were to grow and reach fruition.

He huddled under the tattered blanket, covered in a patchwork of stains no longer noticed. The little warmth he got from his coverlet was nowhere near comforting enough to stop him from shivering. His thin and frail body, malnourished and always hungry, shook from top to bottom — sometimes he believed he could feel his teeth rattling loose — but he ignored it, didn't even truly acknowledge it was happening. Marcus stayed focused on the plant.

A simple house plant. Nothing special.

Against all the odds, it had survived the years since it had been found lying in the gutter in a broken blue and white pot, cherry blossom branches and men in boats adorning the crackled white surface.

Yet still the plant wouldn't move, even after all his efforts. He focused on it. He went deep inside himself and willed the energy that roiled around it, around everything, that passed through solid matter and permeated every single cell of his body. Not even a single tip of a leaf would budge.

Marcus knew it was feasible. Deep down he understood that everything was possible. Somewhere, sometime, somehow, the plant would be made to move through the force of his will and his connection to the all pervading life-force that made up the Universe, the miserable planet earth, and the spartan yet clean house he had called home ever since he could remember.

Nothing.

"Oh, for god's sake, all right," said his mother, shuffling into the room on her rickety thin legs without knocking. She was huddled in her once pink dressing gown, now little more than a foul stinking rag with a belt that did little to keep it closed and hide her malnourished body.

Marcus tried not to shudder, not from the cold this time. She slowly made her way over to the plant, grimacing with the pain, and shook it vigorously. "Happy now?" She left in a huff, somehow managing to make it sound like it was too much effort, gasping now and then, but not saying another word. She pulled the door behind her in slow motion. It failed to close — the lock and handle being broken since he had been given a room of his own when he grew too old to share with his brothers and sisters. Space wasn't an issue these days, damp, cold and crumbling masonry were.

Marcus, future tyrant and stuff of legend, came back to himself and disconnected from The Noise. He sat back against the foot of his bed, a simple grouping of wooden pallets with a soft, stained mattress on top.

He sat for many hours, thinking about what had just happened, wondering if, finally, he had his answer. It wasn't what he had set out to achieve, but the possibilities were there. Maybe his new train of thought, and the actions of his mother, had led him down a path that was chosen for him, had been there all along.

He may not be able to move things physically by manipulating The Noise, but maybe he had been doing it wrong all this time? It was people he had to focus on. He was one of The Whole after all, a rare thing indeed all these years after the beginning of The End.

He sat back, shivering, a smile on his gaunt face, dreaming of entering The Noise and getting his mum to bring him a cup of tea and a nice chocolate biscuit.

A sigh escaped his lips. Tea and biscuits. The stuff of dreams. No chance of that happening, such luxuries were no longer available. The ravaged world where nearly every single person on the planet had fallen into The Lethargy meant the whole system humanity based its very survival on had spiraled downward out of control. Marcus was alone in a world that had nothing left to offer unless you found a way to bend it to your will. It seemed like he had stumbled onto the answer to the misery that was the depressingly sterile, barren world he had unfortunately been born into, only to watch it unerringly slide into an undramatic demise.

The cup of tea never arrived. Neither did the biscuits. But his mother shambled back in bearing a gift. Her dressing gown gaped open at the front, her fluffy slippers were covered in the foulness she couldn't be bothered to clean up properly. She brought him a warm mug of water, the best she could do. More than he could have hoped for.

Her clothes were nearly as old as her now, there was no way to get new ones. Nobody made anything anymore. No new clothes — there were no factories. No shipping of goods around the globe. No mining for gas, for oil, no transport available. No inclination to even leave the house and drive even if it was possible. Things just fell apart slowly, nobody cared, they didn't have it in them to.

But a few did, a tiny percentage of the population still cared, still had life left in them. Some were special. Marcus was one of them. He may just be able to bring society back from the brink of extinction, one person at a time.

Marcus set about planning his domination of the world. He hoped it would mean tea and biscuits whenever he wanted them, and much, much more besides.

It meant more than he could have ever dreamed possible.

~~~

Marcus put the memories of his youth to the back of his mind and focused on the present. Why did he keep recalling events so long ago? It was hard to even think of that life as his own, it certainly bore no resemblance to how he lived now — none at all.

He smiled to himself. That day with the plant was the beginning of a new life, and now here he was, centuries later, the memory still so vivid it could have been yesterday.

Back to business, thought Marcus with a sigh, and watched as a man entered a very special Room.

Sit Down

"Take a seat," said Marcus, pointing to the well-worn leather chair opposite his desk. The furniture went well with his outfit for the Orientation about to commence. He waited while the guest sat down warily. "Right, I just want to go over The Rules before I give you your key, just so there is absolutely no misunderstanding concerning what you are about to do."

"I know The Rules," said the man, with confidence. "I should do, I spent long enough finding out about this place."

Thunder crossed Marcus' face. His eyes grew dark, veins pulsed to the surface, thick and full of blood carrying a unique chemical cocktail. As rapidly as it surfaced it was gone, calmness returned.

I've been doing this for three hundred years now and still I find it difficult to maintain this facade. Ugh.

"You sit, you listen. No choice in the matter if you want your key. Let me tell you this," Marcus lectured, leaning back, shoulders relaxing as if noticing for the first time how comfortable the chair was. "Not a single person that has sat where you are now, and there have been many: chairs and people, more than you could ever imagine, has ever known The Rules until I told them. Do you understand me?"

"I understand. Sorry for the presumption." The man was getting extremely unnerved, he had to have a Room. Be taken there by Marcus.

"Well, okay then," said Marcus, seemingly placated. "Drink?"

"Yes please," said the man, grateful for the distraction. Marcus poured a glass and offered it over courteously. He sipped it, unsure what it tasted of, only knowing it went down well. "Nice, what is it?"

"Oh, just something I came up with over the years," said Marcus, smiling to himself. "Now, where were we? Yes, The Rules. You may think you know them, mainly because you have been lucky enough to get this far. I understand the difficulties involved, I made it that way, not anybody else. Me. So you think that you know what will happen from forums, from snippets of The Web, what remains? Maybe from clues in books? That I probably wrote by the way." Marcus was getting into his stride now. He enjoyed Orientation.

"Nobody that has been given a key and walks out of here afterward has ever put anything on The Web or written down what they have learned. If they say they know what you can expect, then they are liars. No arguing that, it's the truth. No books have been written by any guests from here. What you read? Most likely I wrote it."

"But, but I thought that The Rules were there on the forum, once you did The Tests?"

"Let me stop you there. All of that," said Marcus with a dismissive wave of his hand, "is there to let you get this far, not necessarily to let you get a key. Hundreds of people that have sat in The Orientation Room get no further — some never leave this Room alive. Are you beginning to understand me?"

"Yes, sorry. I want to go further, I need to go further."

"Good. Fine. Right, well the first thing you need to know, a Rule if you will, is that if I give you a key, and you fail, fail to live up to your end of the bargain, then that's it. There is no second chance, no other way out. There is no democracy here. Dead is what I mean. Never to see the door to your Room open again. This is not up for debate, and this is not some easy task. Many have died before they get to even hold a key, you know that. Some never leave this Room. My Room."

Again, a darkness surfaced for a second across Marcus' face; bulging veins, constrained strength, urges fought and defeated. Then normality, the face of a healthy twenty-something.

"If you want to carry on then you must agree. Right? No argument. That or leave. If you don't succeed with what you state is your intention at the end of this interview, and it had better be the same as the one on your application, then you will never leave your Room alive. You must accomplish your goal, or you will be eliminated. There is nowhere to hide, I'm watching. I'm in control. Succeed? You will be what you want to be. Do what you want to and have a life so very different to the one you have now. This time? This blip? Nothing," he said, waving away the notion. "You will look back at it as a tiny mote in a long line of much, much more living. But this is the cornerstone. The pivot. The point where it all began. If, if you succeed. Don't take it for granted you will, lots don't. Lots become something else, lots become nothing. They are gone, poof. No more. You understand?"

"I do. It's different to what I expected, you're right."

"You don't know all of it yet. Time, yes. Time to tell you. The Rooms, whatever you think you know about them you don't know. They are yours. You have your key, you go in. The Room is then yours. Not just today and tomorrow, you understand? Yours for as long as it takes. You know how many?"

"How many Rooms? Yeah, well, I think I do. There are seven, right?"

"Wrong. There are eight Rooms. But seven are for others. I have this one: Room0. My Room breaks The Rules. The door is open, yes?".

"The door is open," agreed the man.

"Yours will not be. You know how hard it is to get into a Room, yes? You have waited a long time, tried for a long time?"

"Three years."

"Nothing," he said dismissively. "There are guests that have been here almost since the beginning. You go in and you don't come out until you have accomplished what you want. I give you that. Whatever you want you can have. But you must do what is asked of you to become what you want to become. To achieve what you want to achieve. You stay inside until you do, or until you die. I don't open your door until this has happened. So your decision now is final. Once you are given the key you do not back down, change your mind, ask to come out. The door closes, you get what you ask for. Now, please wait here, I will sleep."

"What? What do you mean, is that it?"

"No. That's not it. But I want sleep. Sit, think, ponder. All those things you need to do to decide. One hour, I will be back. Walk around, sit, eat, drink, anything. The open spaces are yours. If a door is open you may go in. Closed doors, no. That is a Rule. I will be in The Anteroom Room."

Marcus stood, his slim body rippling with something intangible — a strength. More, a primality waiting to tear you limb from limb. The man shuddered.

Marcus walked from behind his desk out into the open area known as The Anteroom Room. He lay on a couch then called out, "George," before he fell instantly asleep.

He snored.

Wow. Intense. Who's George? thought the man, using all his powers to stop sweating, to keep his thoughts under control.

Something stirred in the corner of the room. "What? What the hell...?"

A well groomed goat trotted over to the man and nuzzled his shirt sleeve, then repeatedly nudged his hand, encouraging him to give a pat on the head. "Um... well, okay," he said, deciding to go with it. Things couldn't get any weirder that was for sure. He patted the head of the extremely sweet smelling goat. The compact curled horns glistened with their weekly oiling, buffed to a high gloss. The well groomed tan hair of the goat was almost as polished as the horns. It got bored after a while and wandered languidly yet proudly out to where Marcus was deep in sleep on the couch. The perfectly trimmed beard hung low on its chin — it swayed as it ambled over to its master. The goat hopped up nimbly onto the sofa and curled up next to Marcus. A few seconds later the two companions were both snoring in unison.

Who has a goat for a pet?

He sat, pondered, then roamed the small complex he had fought tooth and nail to gain entry to for three years. It hadn't been easy. It didn't look like it would get easier any time soon.

The man looked around Room0, trying to get more of an understanding of the infamous Marcus. It gave little away. Dark paneled walls, a proper old-fashioned office, books, lots of books. Stuff he couldn't even pronounce, let alone hope to read and understand.

He walked out into The Anteroom Room, careful not to disturb Marcus. He felt sure the goat was watching him.

Along one wall, running the length of the space, were eight doors. All totally different. Sizes, shapes, materials, keyholes, all unique, yet absolutely stunning in their own way. He had never seen such beautiful things before. It almost made him want to stay alive forever to uncover more beauty that man had created.

Almost.

~~~

"My vanity, an homage to technology. Not much of it available now, is there? Thought it would be cool: to have a whooshing door. I was a lot younger then," said Marcus, by way of explanation.

Marcus was lost in thought, then snapped out of it. "I made sure they were all different, the doors. Just for kicks really when I first got the idea. But it somehow spiraled, I have a collection. You wouldn't believe the beautiful things people from around the world once made. It's incredible."

Marcus stopped in front of the door to the man's Room and explained about the door.

"C'mon, seriously?" smirked the man after the tale was told. "That can't be true can it? I mean, it's made up, right?" He was feeling very uncomfortable. Marcus was boring into his very soul, he could feel it.

"I don't joke about The Rooms. Other things? Yes. The Rooms? No. The story is true, this door is that old. It is what I say it is. Believe me or not, but do not mock me, or laugh." Marcus' eyes sparkled with hidden knowledge. "Last chance to change your mind." Marcus waggled the key in the air in front of the man. He was smiling, and it was totally and utterly unnerving.

"Thanks. I appreciate it, but I want my Room."

Marcus leaned a hand on the door at shoulder height, just a hair's breadth to the right of a swirling pattern that ended abruptly, and then resumed his standing position. "In you go then, see you... well, when you're ready."

Marcus passed over the key. The man unlocked the door. There was no dramatic sound, no signal that something momentous was about to happen. In fact, nothing happened at all apart from the fact that the door could now be opened.

Sweat beaded the man's brow as he turned the handle and said, "Thank you," before walking tentatively inside.

He screamed in agony seconds later as pain engulfed him. He felt himself torn limb from limb whilst every nerve in his body burst, sending impossible signals to his brain that his skin was being flayed from his flesh, torn to pieces, his body melting as flames licked all around...

"Oh, do behave, I haven't got time for such histrionics," soothed Marcus, as he stabbed a finger into the man's chest and stared through his eyes, peeking at the hidden plans unconsciously bubbling to the surface under such duress. "Don't know how I could have missed it you know? Must be getting complacent in my old age. ffu is it? You lot really do have the lamest names you know that? Anyway, make yourself uncomfortable, I'll be back later to deal with you. Actually, no, I won't. I haven't got time. And you know what? I'm actually feeling in a good mood anyway. So you, my friend, are getting off very lightly indeed." Marcus turned to leave before stopping. He gave a parting gift. "Oh, don't forget to take a look around before you die. You know, just so you realize what you will most definitely be missing." With that he closed the door gently behind him.

"Well, guess there is a Room going spare. I didn't expect that to go quite the way it did," mused Marcus quietly to himself, mumbling as he made his way to The Room For Doing Things With Computers. "I suppose I may as well see if we can't get a guest in as soon as possible. Better than waiting too long and letting the Room go to waste."

TRFDTWC

The Room For Doing Things With Computers was a Room Marcus didn't visit as often as he should. It had the abbreviation TRFDTWC stenciled in frosted glass on the door at the entrance to the Room proper, not the outer Security Room For The Room For Doing Things With Computers. This particular door was designed to look suitably hi-tech and intimidating. Marcus often wished he had used one of the old Balanese Tiger-house Clan Marriage Night doors, they were as hard as nails and gave a warmth to a Room, but he never got around to getting the change-over organized.

It swished open in a suitably futuristic way — a genuine swoosh, not a fake one — less than a second after he placed his left hand on the door three inches to the left and two down from the first letter T in the sign.

Marcus stepped inside.

He felt the butterflies in his belly as he always did when he entered. It was one of the few times he ever got excited nowadays. There was always a tingle of anticipation as nobody, not even him, could ever tell for sure if there would be people waiting to get a Room or if everything was quiet out there. Maybe today nobody had got far enough to make it past the dead ends to find the final stages of virtual interrogation that could, but not always would, lead you to The Commorancy.

Marcus stared at his ancient computer. He contemplated something he had used as a personal mantra for meditations in recent years.

Was it still the same computer any longer? He had changed the hard disk drives on numerous occasions over the years; the processors likewise. So too the case, motherboards, cables and the keyboard. Monitors had been gone through by the dozen and he had probably tried every style of mouse in existence. He scratched his chin as he pondered the question yet again, and smiled to himself as he thought back to an old comedy show on the BBC that had a similar set-piece about a man and his broom. It always made him smile. He would have to watch it again soon. But who had the time for such things?

Marcus made himself comfortable at his workstation. The chair was one of a long line of replacements, but The Desk was the same one he had used his whole life. A simple plain oak affair that had been in his bedroom as he grew up. It was one of the few constants in his life when it came to material objects. He was long past being overly sentimental about transient objects yet he had never changed his desk. It was not because of distant fond memories of his childhood. He wasn't at all sure what it said about him and he didn't think about it. It was simply The Desk. A constant, as were many other things that allowed him to get through his extraordinary life without going completely insane.

Although he did sometimes come close. His was a life nobody had ever lived the like of before.

He settled himself down and shook the mouse slightly, awakening The Computer.

He cracked his knuckles, went still and into The Void for a moment, quickly returning to the present to see if future potential occupants had made their way to a place where he could vet them for suitability. Although the laborious process they had already gone through would certainly be enough under normal circumstances, the oversight on his part about the latest would-be occupant made him especially keen on vigilance today.

"Oh, nearly forgot." He settled back again, stilled himself and made his way to The Room occupied by ffu.

These people and their stupid names. He felt his senses tingle as he came upon the mind of the man. He could sense the sorrow, the regret, the anger at being shown what was now not to be his. Marcus decided he didn't deserve the pain that would be all too visceral and make him a martyr in his dying moments. Instead, he let the man fade away into nothing, it was all he deserved.

"Right, time to focus. It's been so long since anything like that happened I guess I'm getting lazy." He scratched his nose, knocking the brim of his hat, then promptly forgot about it and went back to work.

~~~

With his back aching, his neck cricking and the coffee cold in its cup Marcus pushed back his chair and smiled to himself.

"Now, this could be interesting. Well, a good day's work I think, time for a night-cap. George. George? Where are you you silly goat?" He looked around the almost too small Room and then noticed that George had been under the desk all along. Funny, but he never seemed to lose the goat in some of the larger Rooms, but often mislaid the silly beast when in tighter spaces. "There you are. Come on, fancy a few drinks before we get ourselves off to bed? It might be a busy day tomorrow if our next guest is as keen as I think she is."

~~~

The Room For Evening Drinking was Marcus' favorite room in the whole of The Commorancy — almost. Often, the day after a visit, he cursed it to high heaven and promised to rip it out with his bare hands. He never did get around to the task, knowing himself far too well. He always went back for more of the same once his head cleared.

Of all the Rooms in Marcus' vast home his alcohol-scented Room was the most themed of them all. This comfortable, yet rather large chamber was more akin to a sepulcher than what was once known as a pub. It was actually in part a requisition from a building he stumbled across when a very young man. As buildings crumbled and were left unoccupied he gathered up more and more architectural salvage as The Commorancy was constructed, meaning that part of it at least was less built than reconstructed like a complex jigsaw.

Closing the door behind him and George he pulled the red drapes closed over the door and sighed.

"I sometimes wonder why I do this, you know? All this bother, all this danger. I just wanted a safe place, somewhere to help others. Now I get people infiltrating our domain George, our home. The nerve." He tilted his head to one side, peering at his companion, not waiting for a reply, but thinking an acknowledgment wouldn't go amiss. George stared back at him then leapt from a standstill onto the large wooden table dominating one corner of the room. He turned around a few times, gave a haughty stare at a tankard in the way, bent his head and nudged it along, then lay down and promptly fell asleep. He began to snore.

"Guess I will drink alone then," muttered Marcus, unsure whether it was a good thing or not. Now and then he had company, but he may as well have just been talking to himself. He took off his hat, placing it carefully on the stand beside the door, brushing imaginary lint from atop the bowler. It was still as black as the day it was manufactured — lifetimes ago. He removed his jacket and waistcoat down to a light undergarment, a blindingly white shirt that was as new. The stiff cardboard collar came off and he breathed out hard. Next came the shoes, then the socks. He unhooked the fob from his pocket and placed it carefully on the rim of the hat so he wouldn't forget it.

Marcus padded over to the warm fire he had made some time earlier, enjoying the licking flames, the comfort — it gave him company of sorts. He rested his arm on the high stone mantle, worn smooth and shiny by countless men lording it over their domains, and he looked around the Room. He wasn't a sentimental man but it always gave him great pleasure to know that at least one piece of ancient history would be forever preserved here. The stone pillars and carved arches that held up the high roof cast a satisfying shadow across the floor, leading his eye to the far wall where the drinks were kept. Stacks and stacks of bottles of all description, behind glass, organized as only Marcus could organize. All kept at the correct temperature for the perfect drink and to preserve their contents. The tightly temperature controlled glass cabinet was the one concession to what had once been called modernity, now nothing more than ancient history.

After pouring a drink then returning to the fireside, he wondered what the next day would bring. He tried to imagine what was going on with the latest would-be guest. Hopefully she would arrive tomorrow. He was quite looking forward to it. Making a mental note to go over the whole process and to add in more ways to assess the few that ever got as far as the earlier guest did, he made a promise to himself to bulk up the defenses both virtual and physical. The Commorancy and what it meant for the remnants of humanity was too important to be left anything but impenetrable.

After finishing his drink he decided to have another.

Then another.

Hours later he stumbled from the Room and made his way slowly, wobbling slightly, to The Bed Room, where he had slept every night since construction of The Commorancy had first begun.

ffu

When Steven, a.k.a. ffu was twenty-three years old he tried to kill himself. He failed, just as he had done at everything else in his life so far. He had failed to keep his wife alive, failed to stop his newborn, a miracle in itself, from succumbing suddenly to The Lethargy, and failed to find another living soul to share the misery with after he was left alone.

He wandered, growing ever more bitter. What was the point? Why was he here? Why was anybody here?

It all seemed so pointless, it was an uphill battle that could never be won. The world was being reclaimed by nature that had been defeated for so long. Now it was the time of the plants, animals and birds. There was proof of this everywhere that he went. He never stayed still for long, he couldn't bear it. All the places he traveled to he encountered the same thing time after time: the mark of man's presence on the planet slowly but surely being eradicated.

He thought much about this and about the existence he was now living, finally deciding that ending it all would be the answer. Ceasing to exist would be best — humanity was just in the way. The Lethargy was proof that the natural order had changed and that Homo sapiens were due for extinction. If not already overdue.

One day he hung a rope and tightened the noose around his neck. He jumped. The result was a bad rope burn along with an awakening to something deep within himself. He felt a presence, a person waiting for ones such as himself, so he followed the dim feelings manifesting inside and over time uncovered more and more about The Eventuals.

He joined. Became one of them.

He had a goal, a mission, a point to his life. It felt good in a strange kind of way. He was part of something that would set things right. To let the earth return to its natural state with no interference from man. He would make a mark before he left for good.

He wouldn't go down in history, there would be no mention of his passing, no record of his achievements. This was how it should be.

He would stop the one thing that stood in the way of exorcising humanity from the planet: Marcus and his damn Commorancy.

He learned the teachings, meditated on his own impermanence, entering The Void and understanding what it was to be nothing, knowing it was the only permanence there ever could be. It was where he came from and where he would return. Where all past, present, future, and never born truly belonged.

So he chose his side and he felt if not happy then at least motivated. A sure sign he had not succumbed to The Lethargy himself.

~~~

He looked around at what was to be his Room. The plan had not gone well and now he was at a loss as to what to do next. All that work, years of trying to infiltrate The Commorancy, to be offered a Room, to get close enough to Marcus to eliminate the abomination that was always in the way of The Eventuals.

He shook slightly, slowly recovering from whatever Marcus had done to him as they stepped inside. As he got control back of his body he began to cry.

He cried for what he understood he had lost, all too apparent as he took in his surroundings. The Room was his dream come true, everything he had ever wanted, back before he had grown so weary of life, the loneliness, the degradation, the sheer pointlessness of it all, before he sought out The Eventuals. Now he understood the mistake he had made.

It hurt to look. It made his head spin and his heart weep. Such promises, all here for him. The tests he had undergone had certainly revealed what would make him happy, now here it was.

For him.

Everything his deepest heart desired. He thought he had been so clever hiding his commitment to The Eventuals through such rigorous selection processes, but now he realized his folly. The Tests were there to get to the heart of the person, to uncover the truth beneath the surface. Now he was confronted with the realization that The Eventuals were the ones in the wrong, Marcus was the future, not their wish to eradicate humanity. Here he was, with the opportunity to become something exciting, something important, something good. He had thrown it all away by cheating his way in and seriously underestimating Marcus as both a man and as a person not afraid to be judge, jury, and in this case, executioner.

He had nearly accomplished his plan and wept for the missed opportunity. If he had succeeded then he would not be confronted with this... this perfection.

Better to have never known what those such as Marcus had to offer the likes of him, it was too much.

The work put in to get here had been more focused than he had believed. What he thought were often ridiculous questions, stupid hoops he had to jump through, endless days and weeks of dead-ends, more questions and strange quests he had to accomplish, had served more purpose than was apparent. He had done so well, too well. His innermost desires had been made real in this Room. Now he had missed the opportunity to eliminate Marcus he had been shown what he could have had. What he knew would now not be his.

The Room faded along with any hope of salvation. There would be no reprieve for his trespass — Marcus was aware that this would send entirely the wrong message to The Eventuals.

Marcus, autocratic leader of The Commorancy, was not a man to allow such Rule breaking. He had accomplished too much to forgive such an attempt on his person.

At least it's painless now, thought Steven. He believed he would exit his sad life in a blaze of glory when the time came. He was afforded no such martyrdom.

Steven felt himself go.

The final irony, he supposed. He would leave the world not with a bang, but as a whisper. It was all so familiar, so goddamn pathetic.

ffu: Steven, before he took on the anonymity of The Eventuals, cried as the world closed in on him. Consciousness slipped away. He tried to hang on to his life, to think back to a happy time, but couldn't. He had never known it, never known his mother, the love of another person, the embrace of a woman or the joy of a happy heart. That wasn't true was it? Was that really to be taken away from him as well?

He tried to muster up something, anything, but it wouldn't surface. He felt his self dissipating — tiny pieces breaking away and floating into The Void, going back to where he came from. Where he belonged. Steven clung to his identity as best he could, but it too faded. Soon he neither knew his name or was aware he ever had one.

After a few hours in a Room that offered a new life full of countless potential futures Steven was obliterated from the history of man. It was as if he had never been. His consciousness had returned to The Void. All that was left to show he ever existed was a pile of clothes on the floor and a dessicated corpse.

An hour later only dust remained — to be swept away when Marcus had the time. Fertilizer for the plants that fed Marcus and his guests.

Nobody mourned him. Nobody cared — only Marcus. The man that destroyed him for breaking a promise and coming into The Commorancy with anything but good intentions.

If you broke The Rules you paid the price. This was a dictatorship, and Steven, unlike many of his never-met associates, had gotten off very lightly indeed.

He was lucky he caught Marcus in a good mood.

What's The Rush?

Letje couldn't believe it. Finally, after all this time, it was really, truly going to happen.

"Yippee!" she shouted out into the sky, amazed that she was invited. The note had just arrived, all she had to do now was get to The Oak in time and she was going to not only gain access to The Commorancy — a place she had begun to believe didn't exist — but she was to get one of The Rooms.

She wanted nothing in the world more than to get a Room. Only if she could take Constantine Alexander III with her though, they had been together a long time now.

She patted him absentmindedly, his hard shell worn smooth by her hands over the years. He was very old, so her father had said, and she supposed he was Whole — like her.

"Chances are I'll be the last of our family to be Whole, Constantine. Mum and Dad said that there aren't enough people left anymore. If I want a husband then I will have to take you to lots of places to find one. But if we can go to The Commorancy then I will definitely get one. Imagine that, a man to be our friend, I've never met one apart from Dad. I wonder what actual boys are like." Constantine kept quiet, just stared at her with his heavy-lidded eyes.

"Heck, I'll risk taking you, can't leave my precious friend behind now can I?"

Letje was sat in her favorite spot. It overlooked the small lake at the bottom of The Lawn where the house sat, a long single story wooden structure all glass and what was once cutting edge architecture. She still called it The Lawn although it had been a very long time since it had been mown. Now it was more of a wild meadow, the plants growing tall, attracting butterflies and bees every year, exactly as it had done for centuries now. But traditions remained, and each previous member of her line had persevered in calling it The Lawn. It made it feel more like home somehow.

Her family had lived here for generations, too many to recall, right back to the beginning of The Lethargy. Her home had lots of history, it was so strong Letje often thought she could feel it seeping out of the walls, coming up out of the ground in the garden like hands from beyond the grave trying to drag her down and suffocate her. Her great, great, great, great — she could never remember how many — grandfather had moved here once he left The Commorancy. He had been one of the first to get a Room, emerging in awe.

He had been given the gift he wished for: he came out more than just one of the few Whole surviving. He had a glimpse of what might be, what could be, so had begun to make the changes within himself, changes he had learned inside his Room. Undoubtedly, he had used his Awakening to good advantage. Every male child in the lineage since then was born Whole, but there had never been a girl born since. It was the responsibility of the male to seek out a Whole female to continue the line. Until Letje's birth this had been the case since the gift to her family had first been bestowed.

But insights were forgotten, lessons ignored, until inevitably powers waned. As the population plummeted to near extinction after a few generations it became increasingly hard to find Whole women. Tiny aberrations crept into the gene pool, often those that were assumed to be Whole succumbed to The Lethargy later in life, both male and female, until when Letje was born the lineage was nothing like it should have been. The ideal had been to birth a line that would equal Marcus in power and knowledge but the dream faded fast, those given the responsibility succumbing to The Lethargy, even if often it was late in life. It never took hold strongly enough to stop a birth from occurring, but as parents aged they were overcome — tending to them became a great responsibility.

Letje was released from the burden at an early age, the last five of her fifteen years had been spent with nobody but her tortoise for company.

And it was boring.

When she was eleven and could stand it no longer, she decided that she would go to The Commorancy too, just like her ancestor had. It was a harder task than she had first thought. First and foremost she had to stay hidden. As Whole humans were so scarce now, and those with the Lethargy just as rare, it was imperative to stay safe. It was more dangerous now than ever before to venture anywhere you could be picked up through The Noise. The Eventuals wandered the country, listening out for the slightest shift within it, ready to follow the signals and eliminate anyone that tried to get in the way of the total extinction of the human race. So for generations her family made their home here, isolated and remote.

Safe.

Boring.

The males had wandered to find a bride, carefully entering The Noise to pick up a sense of a partner. Their heightened bodily functions allowed them to stay hidden, enhanced awareness giving plenty of warning of when to move and when to stay put. They were gifted in this sense, but it waned over the generations until the men were Whole, but mostly nothing more.

Seldom did one become Awoken.

All ancient knowledge gifted via The Commorancy became forgotten. Customs were slowly left behind so the family degenerated. What had once been a grand vision dwindled and faded, come to nothing. A slow fall from grace. A descent into not even Wholeness any longer, The Lethargy creeping ever closer, taking hold at a younger and younger age each generation.

Letje didn't want that for herself: the first female in her line for fifteen generations. So she decided it would be her that would become more than merely Whole; she would be like Marcus; she would learn what it was you did to control your body — to enter The Noise and bend it to your will.

First she had to get a computer, learn how to use it, access The Web, find The Commorancy, and not get caught while she did so.

She took almost five years. It had been worth it. Today she finally had her invitation. It seemed there was a surprise opening, a Room was available, although if she wanted it she would have to act fast. Letje's invitation ran until the next day. So little time to solve her final puzzle, pack what she needed, and make her way to her destination.

She was very excited.

"Well, what do you make of this then Constantine? After all this time and work all we get is a bit of paper telling me to get on with it. I thought it would have been harder than that. Hmm." Letje solved her final riddle in seconds, now came the hard part. She sat by the lake a while longer, enjoying the views, trying not to think too much of the past, then began to mentally go over what she would need to take with her. She couldn't think of much really, most things held no importance to her. Her views on material objects were those of her family. Consumerism or attachment to material goods wasn't a consideration. She thought of practical items and Constantine, that was about it.

She stood, her lanky frame testament to the long heritage of the manipulations her ancestors had begun within themselves so long ago — ever since the family had been lean and muscular and always in exceptionally good health. Her mousy hair was cut straight across at the fringe and her features were lightly freckled on an angular nose, tanned from spending so much time out of doors. She was not boyish but had a hint of the tom-boy about her at the same time. Being alone meant there was no female, or male influence to make her much aware of the power she could have on the opposite sex. She had never known about the ways of men and women.

Letje placed Constantine into his duffel bag and strolled up the gravel path to the house as if she had all the time in the world. She made a point of smelling the roses over the arbor, picked a sprig of mint and breathed deeply, purposely brushing the lavender as she went by. She may never see the place again, or at least not for a long time, so she tried to store as many memories as possible.

Inside the house she gathered up a few bits and pieces, nothing more than clothes and the like, and made her way to the barn. Letje began to get very excited, she was about to do something she had not done in years, and even then it was under such strict control, and so brief, she wondered if she would remember exactly how to do it. Nevertheless, the grip on her stomach told her she was in for a rare treat.

She opened the barn door and pulled off the tarp, spluttering and coughing as the dust dispersed slowly in the stale air. That will teach her to neglect her chores.

"What a beauty, let's just hope it's still running. I bet it is, it always starts first time." It was one duty Letje had never neglected until recently. Once a week ever since she was young she had started the car and let it run for five minutes exactly. Fuel was an extremely valuable commodity; it was never to be wasted. It was stored very strictly — only enough for the week's activity ever poured into the car's fuel tank.

She retrieved the can, then from the airtight storage tank, with multiple redundancies to ensure vapor never escaped, she carefully allowed the fuel to drip until it was at the line drawn on the can. "Damn, what am I doing? I don't have to just put in the minimum, I need enough to drive and get me there. Stoopid." She tapped her forehead with her palm for being a dunce and then filled up the can to the brim, careful to catch any spill with the rag. Then she went over to the cap and slowly poured the rare liquid into the tank of the car.

Letje hopped into the driver's seat and pumped the acceleration pedal twice. Then she turned the key and Old Faithful started up immediately. She crunched into first gear and ever so carefully pulled the handbrake off and drove out of the barn. This was as far as she had driven since she was taught to drive. Even then it was only down the road and back a few times.

Letting the car idle and warm up, she ran back to the house and grabbed what she thought she would need for the trip. The house had felt cold and empty ever since her parents passed, yet it was her home and full of memories. It was as if she could feel the generations of her family in the very walls — they were so much a part of the space. But she wasn't sentimental, her upbringing had been mostly concerned with survival and staying hidden. A pre-occupation with worrying if The Lethargy would descend without even noticing, until it was simply too late. With a final goodbye she locked up the house and loaded up the car. Constantine got to ride shotgun. With a careful eye on the road, Letje went to meet her future.

For the first time in a long while she thought she might have one after all.

~~~

"Damn, damn, damn, damn. Damn! C'mon, please, this is like a bad dream. Stupid car." Letje slammed her hand against the steering wheel, frustration needing its release after hours of getting more and more annoyed. Her trip was a straightforward one, but she hadn't reckoned on the nightmare that was the state of the roads away from home. "Why didn't anyone tell me it would be almost useless learning how to drive? What's the point of having a car if you can't go anywhere? Damn!" She vented her anger on the dashboard this time, then took some deep breaths and tried to focus.

"Think Letje, think. Which way haven't you tried?" She consulted the ancient maps once more. There were two hundred miles to travel and she had gone about fifty if she was lucky. She would get so far only to find the way totally blocked with not a chance of making her way through. Either nature had reclaimed the roads, bridges had collapsed, or vehicles rusted away to nothing, abandoned in her path generation after generation. Letje retraced her route countless times, trying to find passable roads, even resorting to back lanes at one point, which was impossible almost as soon as she began. Smaller roads were not there any longer. No maintenance, and no cutting back of the vegetation on either side meant they were now merely part of the fields, or swallowed by huge forests that had cropped up throughout the country.

She tried again, taking a large motorway that was apparently one of the best in the country at one time. She got somewhere, and through the night made her way closer and closer to her destination. The nearer she got the more she worried. Sweat beaded on her forehead, her clothes grew sticky. She felt like she needed a good hot shower, plus a change of clothes, to come anywhere near feeling like herself again.

"Well, there is sure to be somewhere to freshen up once I arrive," she muttered to herself. "There better be, I can't go to my Room stinking like a dog."

The road began to disappear. Large trees sat right in the middle, casting huge shadows across the ancient tarmac, now covered in moss. Swathes of bluebells clung to the damp shady patches, screaming their presence in vivid blues. Further on she could see it was impassable, nothing but forest. She took the exit, winding around in a loose curve until she was onto another road — another stretch of motorway. She checked the maps, it wasn't even on there. It must have been an addition after they were printed. She didn't have the latest editions anyway before road building halted. The road seemed to head off in the wrong direction though, so trying not to panic, as she was getting manic, she turned around and retraced her route. Stopping, she checked more closely, calculating to see how far she had left.

"About ten or twelve miles I reckon. That's not so bad. Nothing for it but to walk the rest of the way." She checked her watch, an ancient thing that still worked flawlessly. Apparently it was worth as much as a house back in the days when her distant relation had first "found it," as the story told to her was so delicately put. She was fine, there was the rest of the night and the full morning to make it.

Easy.

She got out where the forest began to thicken and grabbed her gear and Constantine in his bag.

Letje set off walking.

She was graced with an athletic build worked on over the years to stay as fit as she possibly could. Walking a few miles would be a breeze, she had spent days walking in the past, longer. Often she would stay away from home for weeks at a time, trying to just experience a little of the outside world for herself. She may have limited exposure, but she was at least intelligent enough to know that there were huge gaps in her knowledge of the world as it now was — there was always a lot to learn when she ventured away from the comfort and relative safety of her ancestral home.

No Mountains Here

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrghhhh."

Marcus had been screaming at the top of his lungs for thirty seconds now and felt a lot better. He had no mountain to release his anguish atop, so The Screaming Room was the next best thing. He visited it more often than he would have liked. But he always felt better afterward.

Life was not always perfect for such a man as Marcus; humanity's survival was quite a burden to bear. It wasn't just the weight of responsibility and the questionable acts he nevertheless knew he had to perform no matter how much it went against his nature, it was the flow of time itself. Marcus was out of the loop, an aberration. Past, present and future became impossibly intertwined.

Sometimes he didn't know if his memories were recent, the distant past, or if the events he remembered had yet come to pass. The human brain was simply not meant to keep such a long life partitioned in any proper order. So it did the next best thing — it jumbled it up and hoped for the best.

Screams spent, Marcus closed the door behind him.

Quietly.

Growing Up

Marcus was spent — exhausted yet unable to sleep. All he could do was think, dream of the past and the man it made him. Was that right? Made him? Was there a choice? With gifts came responsibility, and Marcus discovered very early on that the gifts he acquired post-Lethargy were rather more than he could have ever hoped for. Or wanted.

Three centuries after The Lethargy, in The Orientation Room, drifting in the past, Marcus remembered one of many turning points he could never go back and change — not even he was that powerful.

A smile spread across his youthful face as an impossibly ancient man recalled his youth — when innocence was well and truly lost forever.

~~~

Marcus was sixteen, at least he thought he was, he'd stopped keeping track of the days. He hadn't celebrated a birthday for several years now, not since The Lethargy began and his mother lost interest. He thought back on the previous years and couldn't believe it was the same life.

At first it seemed like a dream, like a happy home life couldn't have really fallen apart so easily — how dependent he was on his mother to make everyday life run smoothly.

Now he was on his own.

Thankfully, it had been fast for his mother, she went relatively quickly from crazy, interfering super-mom to deceased.

Good for her, bad for Marcus.

He didn't have time to adjust properly, although even those blessed with a quick ending still took almost a year to shut down fully. As she faded, so Marcus grew. He didn't understand how, or why, The Noise was suddenly just opened to him. Maybe it had always been there? The ability? And he had just never tried before? Or something had happened to a select few when The Lethargy crept around the globe? He never knew, just thanked The Void for allowing him to be one of the chosen few.

More than that. He soon realized that he was unique. Not only did he remain Whole, but he became something spectacular very quickly. Yet he was still a young man, not an adult with life experience and a semblance of wisdom — he made countless mistakes as he developed his abilities.

Sat in the empty town center on a bench dedicated to somebody he had never heard of, Marcus did the first thing he was truly ashamed of. There would be many more such instances, on grander scales, but this was the first time he used his growing insight into The Noise to manipulate another human being in a way that left no room for subtlety.

He rested on the bench, staring around at the empty stores, the smashed glass and the wide-open doors, looted and no longer staffed. Some were still running. Shopkeepers, not knowing what else to do, turned up for work and hoped everything would be all right one day. Stock may have been low but there were still a handful of people who came shopping, trying to carry on as normal, thinking that a spending spree would help — the problem being money was now worthless. Banking systems collapsed almost overnight around the globe. The virtual digits that made up people's once guaranteed wealth were obliterated. Instead, there were the beginnings of a tentative barter system, although nobody knew quite how to go about exchanging one thing for another when they wanted to buy a new dress or the last few tins of canned meat on the shelf.

Marcus was well fed, he used his influence to ensure he always had enough food and water now. It was simple enough, he just walked into houses and took what he wanted. Most were devoid of life, the only thing he had to contend with was the smell of decomposing bodies. If he found anyone alive then he calmed the home-owner by a subtle shift in The Noise, just enough to make them forget he was ever there. He never stole from The Whole though, but encounters with such people were rare.

He fiddled with his hat — he had seen many wonders since The Lethargy crawled out into the daylight, but clothes were the real eye-opener. So many styles to choose from. So many cultures, colors and cuts. He now had stacks of the best quality cloth he could find, going almost daily to high end clothes stores, outlets, factories and once exclusive and discreet studios — taking whatever he wanted. Today he had on a perfectly fitting pinstriped suit with wide lapels and a matching hat. It was a retro take on the Al Capone years of 1920's Prohibition era America, a style that had seen a brief return to popularity and one Marcus loved. He tweaked the hat, setting it at a jaunty angle, then stopped as he heard a woman screaming from inside one of the stores.

Frowning, Marcus picked up his shopping bags and went to investigate.

If he had known that three minutes later he would have killed a person he would have turned the other way and just gone home.

Maybe.

~~~

The few people that witnessed the assault on the young girl did so with dead eyes. Marcus knew that not all those eyes belonged to victims of The Lethargy — they wanted no part in the violence so walked away.

He had no such aversion to injustice and in his rush to save the girl, now almost naked and being mauled by two men who had unjustly been left Whole, Marcus dove deeply into The Noise. He shut them down. The two men stood motionless, their bodies obeying only the control exerted by Marcus.

As they stood there Marcus pulled the girl to her feet and covered her best he could. She was already back in the abstract embrace of The Lethargy, her brief return to consciousness untimely and terrifying. He walked her slowly back into the clothes store and noted that she must have been sleeping behind the counter area. She would have been pretty at one time, her young body still showing signs of the full figure she had once possessed. Now she was little more than a machine slowly breaking down. Marcus knew that he would be unable to fix her. He lay her down on her dirty bedding and sadly left her. There was nothing he could do.

Walking over piles of clothes strewn across the floor, he made his way back outside, still gripping the minds of the two assailants firmly and with ease.

He released them.

"What the hell? What was that? What did you do to us?" asked the older of the two, a man with cruel eyes and a mind Marcus shied away from reading too deeply.

"You were attacking the woman."

"So? What's it to you? She doesn't care anyway, she's got The Lethargy."

"But you don't, and you should know better. How about some respect?" Marcus spoke quietly, matter-of-factly, not wanting to let his anger rise too high. "She is a person. She knew what you were doing. People shouldn't be treated that way."

"She came around for a second, so what? She won't remember what happened, and if she doesn't know then there's nothing wron—" The man lunged for Marcus, trying to distract him by talking.

Marcus had seen his intentions before the man even knew he would attack. He unleashed his anger in a fit of rage he hadn't known was so close to the surface. With a single stab into The Noise he animated the other man, who assaulted his friend with unadulterated fury. In seconds the man was down on the floor, his face bloody pulp. Marcus vented all his pent-up emotions, his sadness, his frustration and loneliness, on first one man then the other.

He controlled them both easily.

They smashed each other with fists unable to feel pain. They kicked, screamed and fought until they could no longer stand.

Marcus left them there on the ground. Whole, yet cruel. He felt them dying as he walked away.

He let them.

~~~

It was an act of violence that truly awoke Marcus to the terrifyingly powerful potential of what he had inside of him. It was this that led him to construct The Commorancy. There had to be a safe place, one where others that were Awoken, or had the potential to be, could be safe — to learn how to control the gifts given to them. He never wanted anyone else to unleash such madness, to witness the brutality within all men. Infinite potential power that could be used for untold harm if not controlled properly.

It was just a shame it would involve its own kind of cruelty to build such a place. If Marcus had regrets then murder was the first, but much worse was to come. He knew exactly what he was doing when he set about building a home that would be truly his to control, to share with those that had will enough to join him.

If he extended an invitation.

Marcus became a tyrant that day. He terrified himself more than anything else ever had — or would.

Sneaky Peeky

Letje found a marker miraculously still standing at the side of the once huge road. She was only a mile from Gravelly Hill Interchange, even now still known as Spaghetti Junction. The crazed convergence of countless roads that was the heart of Birmingham, gateway to the Midlands. Her goal was almost in sight.

She was to meet at The Oak, a tree that had been recorded as the first to grow smack bang in the middle of it all, and hit the news headlines according to the stories her great grandfather had told her, stories he had passed down to her so they would stay a part of The Knowledge.

Apparently, it had begun to grow as the roads deteriorated, fed by the dammed-with-debris canals and two rivers that ran below the eighty-foot-high pillared motorways and slip lanes that spiraled and turned in ever more dizzying paths. While there was still news on the television all day every day it got a lot of coverage. It was decided it would be left, a sign of The Lethargy taking hold — a portent of things to come. Now The Oak was vast, and this was their meeting point — if she had solved her riddle correctly.

As the night washed away to reveal a bright clear dawn Letje could see the looming monstrosity of converging roads in the distance. Atop the crazed spirals, jutting ragged pillars and partially collapsed bridges, she could make out a huge oak tree. It dominated the skyline.

She had heard the stories of how once all the roads carried hundreds of thousands of people in their cars every single day, but even seeing the confused mess of tarmac it was hard to believe that such business ever took place. So many people, it was impossible to imagine. All with goals, dreams and aspirations? Where were they going and what were they doing? She had been told that they would mostly be going to work, to go to the crumbling skyscrapers that no longer stood tall and proud, their presence unnatural and offensive. The Birmingham skyline was ragged, broken teeth telling of the rot all around. Nobody went to work anymore, nobody visited the shopping malls once filled with goods of all description.

Tales of constant human activity seemed far-fetched in the extreme. She recalled getting very angry years ago when told how the ancient civilization worked — it made no sense.

People were mostly unhappy, which may have led to The Lethargy, although nobody knew for sure. Adults would get up early five or six days a week, go to the tall buildings, the shops and the factories, to do things they mostly disliked so they could get paid. Then they spent what they earned so they had to do it all over again. She had tried to argue that why didn't people just not spend the money they earned and not do things they hated, but was told rather sternly that that was simply not how modern society had worked. If people didn't make the things then people couldn't buy them, so there would be no jobs, and no money. If people couldn't pick up a phone and be sure they could complain about something then they wouldn't be happy. Letje argued that they weren't happy anyway. The answer was, no, they weren't.

And on it went. She never got a real understanding of how people lived their lives before The Lethargy, just that it was all very complicated. Society seemed to rely on everyone somehow agreeing that they would make more and more things so that everyone had something to do. Then everyone agreed to spend their money so that the things made were bought.

Then it stopped. Or, rather, it began to stop. The World Wide Web took hold; people worked from home, traveling less. People spent less money and The Economy collapsed. Then people were let go from their jobs and they didn't know what to do, so they locked themselves away. It crept and crept until nobody did anything. Nobody wanted to.

Then they couldn't. Then everybody slowly just died. And the babies? Those that were born? Well, it was in their genes by now, most never got past a few months of age. Others survived for many years with a lot of care from their family, but as the parents withered away so did the children. In a few generations nobody was producing children. Nobody cared.

Everything somehow crumpled. It languished in apathy and what had been a golden age turned into the darkest of times. It was myth and legend now, an impossible to believe time where much of the world could have anything they wanted but chose to wear ties and drive cars and live in houses they couldn't afford and buy things they didn't want. Water, gas and electricity were a constant — always reliable. This was something Letje could never believe; it seemed too convoluted. An impossible dream to get all those things to billions upon billions of people.

Even the number was too big to imagine. Where did everyone fit?

~~~

Letje made her way gingerly over the lumps of concrete and asphalt, rising jagged giant's teeth on all sides. Most of the bridges and roads had collapsed in sections, making the whole area a perilous maze. She weaved around huge lumps, clambered over others. Slowly, she made her way upward toward the top of the mess. Snaking through much of it was the tree: The Oak. An aberration like a beacon that grew to signal a return to the natural world that had been concreted over and made barren. Now it was reclaimed. She reached out and touched the rough bark of the totem of vigor that mocked the decline of humanity.

She stepped around a lump in the road, a long stretch that curved upward and skirted the tree, still intact and leading into the town by the seems of it. The wind was stronger up here, the light brighter, the air fresher. Looking toward Birmingham, she caught glimpses of the old buildings, shopping malls, row after row of houses, all lived in once upon a time.

By now the sun was lazily climbing higher, she was sweating so stopped for a drink. She tried to imagine how it must have been, cars whizzing past at incredible speeds, bumper to bumper, everyone going somewhere. What would the smell have been like? The noise? It was an impossible scenario. She had no reference point to make the comparison to the silence that now dominated. All she heard was the pip, pip, pip of birds and insects deafening her with their clitter, clitter, clitter. She looked around in all directions, waiting for something to happen.

Was she late?

Had she messed up and missed her opportunity?

Or had she not understood the note properly?

The wind picked up and she spun around, a sudden noise becoming deafening, shattering the silence, stirring the leaves on the huge tree that stood atop man's mastery of his environment, calling out its disdain for such a vain attempt to overtake the natural landscape.

She heard a noise in the branches, leaves rustling, feathers flapping. She peered into the dark twists, making out a pair of heavy-lidded eyes behind the largest beak she had ever seen. It disappeared deeper into the tangled dark as the wind increased and leaves were shaken violently from the tree.

She shielded her face as she looked up into the blemish-free sky.

It was a helicopter, as black as the basements where cars, once used daily, now rusted away in their sealed catacombs. The small machine landed. It was like the pictures of ones she had seen in ancient books, but miniature. Large enough for two people only, her and the pilot.

As the blades slowed, the man beckoned her to the aircraft, signaling with his hands to keep her head down — the blades kept running.

"Oh well, guess it's now or never," said Letje to the tree. She plucked an acorn from a branch and stuffed it into her pocket before ducking low and running over to the insectile machine — all bulbous head and sleek rear. Letje tried to ignore the fact this was the first person she had spoken to in five years. She said, "Hello, I'm Letje. I have an invitation to The Commorancy," as if she had such conversations all the time and it was no big deal.

"I know, I'm the one that invited you," said Marcus, trying to act like he flew helicopters regularly and that this wasn't the first time he had left his home in over a century. "Time to go, I don't really trust this thing," he said, scowling at the controls all around him. "Flying is for birds really, not man. C'mon, hop in."

Letje got in, threw her bags behind her, just keeping one on her lap. "Hi."

"Hello, I'm Marcus." He held out his hand to shake.

"Wow! Cool. So it's true then?"

"Depends what you mean by true, but let's talk later. Strap in. Oh, and I assume that," said Marcus, pointing at the holdall, "is Constantine Alexander III?"

"Um, yes. Is it okay if he comes too? I didn't want to leave him behind." Letje was aware how ridiculous it sounded. As if she were a child.

"Of course, of course. I understand. You know, I felt kind of sad just leaving George at home today."

"George?"

"You'll meet him later, I bet you two will get on really well."

~~~

After the turbulence settled and The Oak went back to bending in the natural breeze, a large beak poked out from behind a thick, gnarled branch. Two pale blue eyes as cold as ice, the most intelligent eyes any bird had ever possessed, looked about cautiously, controlled by a power far from where it perched. It had watched as Letje took the acorn and then climbed aboard the machine.

Satisfied that there was no danger present it stepped out into the light. It was huge, with a wingspan many yards wide. The brown feathers ruffled as it got ready for flight. Without warning it let out a piercing screech of pleasure then leapt from the branch. Spreading its wings to their full span, it glided on the thermals, effortlessly circling high above the tree, following in the wake of the turmoil caused by the recently departed black monstrosity.

Vastly intelligent eyes not its own peered at the landscape below. The Wedge-tailed eagle screeched its delight at the greenery it observed, happy the desolation once caused by humanity was gradually being reclaimed, covered over — wiping humanity's existence from the planet as it healed.

~~~

Hundreds of miles away a naked man sat on the edge of a stone ledge, high up in his Home. His feet dangled into thin air as he smiled as only the truly free can. His pale hair flapped in the strong breeze as he directed Bird back home, enjoying the view of the landscapes below as he steered it away from the helicopter with the subtlest of suggestions.

He released the creature from his grasp, giving it back its rightful freedom.

Bird turned on the wing and glided back Home — to Master. Knowing he was stationed on the ledge, the fleshy perch exposed — waiting for him to land. Where he could nuzzle in close to be given the warm prize he so rightly deserved.

"Gotcha." The man smiled triumphantly. It was all coming together. This was the final piece of the puzzle. Soon he would know the whereabouts of The Commorancy and his plan could be put into action.

Dreams of Dreams

Letje stirred and woke in a panic. Trying to draw her knife, all she did was get more tangled in the sheets. She calmed quickly, rousing herself from a dream, the same one she'd had for days now. Always The Commorancy, always someone out to stop her, someone coming to get her, take her away.

She was still young, twelve, her first year of trying to gain access to the stupid place. She was getting annoyed with her lack of progress. Every day she tried again, tried to find a way in, not even that: tried to find mention of it, to discover what it actually was. For all that her ancestor had been one of the first to enter, there was not a hint of how to do the same. There was no clue what happened there apart from the myths surrounding The Rooms and Marcus, nothing about how a young girl not yet in her teens could possibly find out how you got an invitation.

The signs, hints, information and more, had changed so much since The Commorancy had first accepted guests that even if she had been told how her ancestor did it the information would have been less than useless to her now. Time didn't stand still, even if it seemed that way.

Letje awoke from the dream of her younger self, tangled in the sheets — again. Just like back then when she had the recurring nightmares. She was fourteen now, that young child seemed like a different person; it was hard to imagine that was her just a few years ago. She had come a long way, learned a lot and made plenty of mistakes. But they were her mistakes, her doing, and they had been necessary — it led her to the right path.

She rubbed her eyes roughly, then brushed her fringe away in irritation as she padded to the bathroom.

A hot shower woke her for the day, one she planned on being very productive. Priorities first though, so before doing anything else she went down to the garden and picked a fresh lettuce for Constantine.

"Hello Mr. Sleepy Head, time to get up. I've got a nice treat for you. Guess what it is?" Constantine poked his head out from his shell, neck craning for the fresh greens. With ponderous clawed legs he got to his feet and moved closer to Letje, then munched on the lettuce leaf happily. Letje left him to it and went back to her studies. She was so close now that she found it hard to sleep, and when she did she mostly dreamed of what it would be like, so last night's restless dream of the past was a bit of an anomaly.

Letje turned on the computer, a battered relic of a thing that was so slow she nicknamed it Constantine IIII. It made her sleepy friend seem like a hare in comparison. When it finally booted up she connected to the scrap of The Web that was all there was left, no worldwide servers for her, no access to unlimited information, it was very much a limited and much more local source of information nowadays.

The machine creaked through the pages, Letje tapping her foot impatiently, muttering at the thing to get a move on. She hit the history button and loaded up the pages she had accessed the day before, the addresses were also written on the pad beside her, just in case. She had lost count of the number of times she had cleared the hard drive and reset the operating system — outdated even when it had been first bought.

Letje entered the forum, using the password she had taken a whole three months to uncover, although when she looked back on it now the work should have taken a day. It was partly because of her age: she didn't have the life experience yet to understand some of the clues that now seemed blindingly obvious. But never mind, the main thing was she was getting close, very close. The excitement was intoxicating.

Letje opened the book she had been instructed to find, a hunt that took her away from her home and comfort zone, taking her out into the dangers of the world. A young woman was an attractive prize to the lonely men that wandered the empty roads trying to find a mate and some warmth at night. She flicked through the pages of her reward, quickly coming to the one she had found yesterday, and with growing anticipation she read through the rules on the screen again — she really didn't want to get this wrong. Letje's tongue poked out the side of her mouth as she concentrated, she flicked her head to move her fringe, then with a slight tremor she tapped in the letters she was instructed to pick from each paragraph. With a knot in her belly she gently pressed down on the enter key.

The screen went blank, the computer turned off.

It died its final death.

~~~

Letje was beside herself, she really didn't know where to go to find another computer and wondered what she would do if she couldn't get one. Surely there must be another way to get an invitation?

Her confidence had been shattered, her search apparently for nothing. A dead end like all the others? There had been treasure hunts that petered out, clues no longer where they should be. Web pages that never loaded, and landmarks that had been obliterated, but she thought that finally, this time, she was on the right track.

She couldn't eat, she couldn't sleep — even if to have bad dreams, and she simply didn't know what to do next. Then the worst sensation she had ever felt came over her; she began to suffocate. She couldn't breathe, couldn't move. Something to do with her failed search? Was she being punished for her failure?

~~~

Letje awoke to find herself flying in the air, a stunning view laid out before her. The blades of the helicopter whirred and she sat back, tired but happy.

"Damn, could that have been any more confusing?"

"Sorry?" said Marcus, concentrating fiercely on the controls, trying to look like he knew what he was doing and not to worry about anything.

"Oh, nothing, just had a funny dream is all. I'm amazed I fell asleep, talk about exciting." She held on tightly to Constantine's bag, looking for something familiar — comforting.

"It's hardly surprising, you've had a long trip. And sorry it was so rushed, but, well, it just seemed the right thing to do. Now, if you don't mind I am afraid I'm going to have to ask you to wear a blindfold. It's there, beside you," pointed Marcus, and the rest of the journey was made without Letje knowing where she was going.

A Bedtime Story

"Really, he can have his own Room? Just like mine?"

"Well, not like yours, no. The Rooms are special. Limited. Unique. Very specific and unusual. There to give you something you can't get anywhere else. This Room," explained Marcus, "is The Constantine Alexander III Room, but really it's just a place where he can stay safe while you are away. I'm afraid it wouldn't be best for him to be with you. What do you think?"

"I love it, thank you very much." Letje lunged at Marcus and hugged him, something he was certainly not used to. He didn't know the last time such spontaneity was directed at him, normally everyone was either aloof, terrified, or too in awe to do much but bow, argue, call him a liar, or try to kill him.

"Um, you are welcome. Ahem."

"Oh, sorry." Letje let him go, her cheeks blushing as she realized what she had done. She thought maybe she had been alone too long now.

The Room was perfect for her tortoise although she knew it would be rather odd knowing he had a whole Room named after him. It was filled with nice things for him to do, plenty of food was growing, and the promise was made that he would be checked on daily. What more could she ask for?

A rest, that was what she needed. It had been an exceptionally long night and day so far, and it seemed like there was no end to the surprises in store for her now she was finally inside The Commorancy. Where that was exactly she had no idea. As soon as she had awoken in the helicopter she had been blindfolded and hadn't taken it off until they had arrived some hours later. When her blindfold was removed she found herself staring into the unnervingly intelligent hazel eyes of a goat she could swear was being disinterested on purpose. There was a tang to the air she couldn't place, yet somehow it seemed familiar.

Since then it had been wonder after small wonder. Things took on an escalating scale of confusion and bizarreness made all the more surreal as it was all apparently just another day for Marcus.

"What say we leave Constantine here for now? You can come back and see him later. Let's go and have ourselves a little bit of a rest, something to eat, and then we can get to your Orientation? Sound good. Yes?"

"Um, yes actually, that sounds great. I must admit, I am absolutely shattered. It took it out of me just getting to the top road at The Oak. I still can't believe it has grown so big. It's like something out of a fairytale. I used to read them when I was younger, one called Jack and the Beanstalk."

"Aha, haha, I remember it. It's been some time since I read it though. Do you know the story of The Oak?"

"That it was the first sign of The Lethargy taking hold? Yes, I was told it."

"No, not that, but how it actually grew so tall? How it dominates the skyline?" Letje shook her head, a puzzled look on her face. "Come, let's go to The Room For Guests To Sleep and I can tell you about it on the way." As they walked from Room to Room, through corridors and past countless wonders Letje was dying to ask Marcus about, he told the story.

"Back when I was probably about your age, when things seemed normal, reports of a small tree left to grow in the middle of the crazy mess of spiral roads that made up Spaghetti Junction first appeared. But you know this?"

"Yes, but please carry on." As soon as Marcus began his story she felt a calmness wash over her, a warmth and comfort that had been missing for much of her life. She felt like she was cocooned in a warm blanket smelling of her mother: safety. She was sent back to being a young girl being told stories of the past, lost in wonder at how things were before.

"Well, the protesters, known as Greens at the time, won a campaign to have the tree left as a symbol of respect for nature amid the crazed concrete. So roads were changed, made even more convoluted, and the tree remained. Back then there was no Lethargy, not by name anyway, but there was still little protest as the tree grew. Over the years the traffic on the roads lessened and nobody spoke of the tree. It was just there.

"It was an insignificant thing, something that was stunted, ringed by fencing long rusted and no longer maintained. The leaves were covered in dirt and grime but it lived. It breathed in the dirty air contaminated by the vehicles, yet it survived. Always striving to reach for the light to get away from the cars, the trucks, the smelly air. Litter covered the ground where it grew, and little rain could make it through the spirals of road to feed the tree, but it refused to die.

"By this time The Lethargy had a name, and things in the world were very different. Maybe an occasional vehicle went past, but hardly ever. By now people had mostly gone from the planet. The roads fell into disrepair around The Oak. It still survived. Just like the tree, some people survived too. The Whole, people that stayed as people had always been, but so few that they couldn't possibly worry about a little tree amid the crumbling infrastructure that surrounded them all. But there were also people like me, the first to come out of The Lethargy that realized they could become something more, something elevated. Awoken. And there were those that had the same gifts that wanted to put an end to humanity. To eradicate it using their newfound power. To push society out forever. Genocide if you will."

"That's The Eventuals, right?" mumbled a sleepy Letje, listening and walking as if in a dream, forgetting to wonder at her surroundings. "This story is different to the one I had been told about The Oak."

"Everyone has their own story Letje. Now, they — The Eventuals, hated that they themselves were gifted with powers that somehow seemed blasphemous, insights and information those like me have. Concluders, that's what people on my side of the fence are called I believe. But I digress, these are things you already know." Marcus paused, tugging at a curl of hair itching his neck.

"Anyway, as The Commorancy was built and those that could picked a faction of sorts — although it was not an organized thing you understand, too few people for that really — and everything was still so much in its infancy anyway, The Eventuals began to form their initiation rites. Their Leader created his religion: the cult of The Eventuals. Never did bother with building a religion myself, but there you go. And part of the initiation into The Eventuals was to show you had respect for nature, so there was a test. To see whether you were Whole, or something more. Ah, here we are, The Room For Guests To Sleep," said Marcus, interrupting himself. "Pick a bed, any one you like."

Letje stared around her, too tired and enveloped in the story and the hypnotizing sound of Marcus' voice to have been aware they were already at their destination. She saw countless beds before her. From huge to small, covered in anything from layers and layers of blankets to lightweight throws. From garish pink covers to silk and black, hard, soft, tall, short and everything in-between. She plumped a few, feeling the mattresses, then sat on the edge of the first that felt suitable. She could feel herself drifting, she felt like a baby unable to keep its eyes open in the middle of the day, no matter the surroundings or the strangeness of her new life.

Marcus sat beside her and continued his story. "The Oak was chosen as a test, the test was simple — make it grow. The Eventuals that are above and beyond merely Whole have to make the tree grow, an evaluation of their prowess, a way for The Leader to gage where they may best be used within the religion. And this has now been going on for generation after generation. Each year it grows less now, the time of prime growth gone. Parts have begun to rot, understandable for something that is an aberration. There are so few people born now that recruits are a rarity. It probably mostly lies dormant. But there are sometimes odd growth spurts signaling that somebody still has an interest in it. But back when more people delved into The Noise, then Awoke, those that could put some of their energy into helping The Oak to grow. It's a symbol of what they believe in: nature over man. That however hard you try nature will always have its way in the end."

Letje was almost asleep where she sat. "But that doesn't make sense. They are people and they are helping it to break through what man created, so it isn't doing it on its own is it?"

"No, it's getting help, help it never would have had before. It's an aberration, it's not natural at all. Trees don't grow that large on their own."

"So, um, how is it a symbol of nature outperforming man? Why do they do it and why do they want to get rid of us?"

"Well, that's the question isn't it? Nothing is ever as simple as it first appears. We're flawed aren't we? Nobody ever said we were perfect."

"Do you hate them?"

"The Eventuals?"

"Yes."

"No, not at all. I do kind of mind that they try to kill me now and then, no doubt about that. But it's part of the rich tapestry that makes me want us to survive and thrive. The diversity. Shame they don't see it that way though," said Marcus, shrugging.

"It is a beautiful tree though, isn't it?" mumbled Letje.

"Very beautiful Letje, and it goes to show the power that man has within. He can do marvelous things. But it's a losing battle. There are so few of us left. Unfortunately, those that are alive are often not very nice people. As I grow older I have little patience for such as those. If I ever really had," mused Marcus.

"I wonder how big it will get?" said Letje, before falling asleep where she sat.

"Let's hope there are always people here to witness that," muttered Marcus. He lifted her feet and lay them on the bed, tucked her in and turned out the light as he left the Room. As he closed the door he said, "See you tomorrow for Orientation. If all goes well you will then be in your Room."

"Mmm," came the reply from a comfortable bed in the dark.

Marcus knew it was a contradiction to have The Oak as a meeting place for those coming to The Commorancy, but he saw it as a defensive action. Also, he liked the excitement to be honest. He wanted to show that he felt the tree was important too. Not as a symbol of man breaking apart in the face of nature, but as a way of showing it was man's intervention that could make something great. He loved The Oak, saw it as a great thing, not something that proved a point for either side. Merely a beautiful piece of nature. Marcus loved nature more than The Eventuals, he was sure of that. He saw man as having a place within the ecosystem. A place not as dominant and destructive as it had once been.

~~~

Letje awoke to diffuse light and an urgent need to pee. With not a window in sight and no visible source of illumination it was an eerie way to greet what she could only assume was the morning.

How long had she been asleep? Where was she? And why did she feel like she had just come out of an enforced dream? She sat on the edge of the bed, trying to clear her head from a fog that insisted on lingering. It was hard to think straight. Slowly, her eyes focused so she checked her watch. It must be morning, it didn't feel like it could be anything but.

She stood upright fast, the sudden movement sending her dizzy as her blood fought against the abrupt shift in gravity. She had been dreaming of giant trees and flying in insects, of sleeping in a rabbit hole and being a tortoise. The dream fragments faded fast, she couldn't remember them a second later. At the foot of the bed were her things, with a note. She read it then looked to her left and padded over to relieve herself and take a shower.

Twenty minutes later, hair washed and drying, ablutions complete, she peeked out from the door to The Room For Guests To Sleep and saw George standing impatiently. He stared at her, obviously fed up of waiting so long, then turned and with a flick of the ear and a wobble of the bum walked away.

"Hey! Wait for me," shouted Letje, running after George, who just looked back at her icily before he rounded the corner.

As she jogged to catch up with George then take up his pace beside him, she took a proper look around her for the first time. Yesterday was like a half remembered fantasy, she felt like she had returned to being a child, too caught up in the story and the oddness of new surroundings to take much notice. Now she felt more alive than she ever had. Excitement bubbled under the surface, pressure building.

Much of what she saw made little sense.

Door after door. Dusty corridors and sparkling white ones. Ancient doors that she guessed were the height of modernity at one point. Stone arches that seemed purely decorative, pillars doing nothing, others towering up into lofty shadow, ancient vaulted ceilings made of brick and quasi-religious carvings that made her sure she was walking through sacred spaces.

It was completely disorientating.

She never knew if she would turn a corner and be in a small space, or find herself wondering at the architectural ingenuity of a huge Room that seemed to have been stolen from a medieval monastery. It was all the more overwhelming as she had no knowledge of old architecture, or had ever even seen any. There was nothing to compare it to, nowhere to slot it into the long line of history of construction that included Doric columns and Baroque influences. She had never been taught the value of a style for a particular space, how it influenced you and your emotions.

It was dizzying wandering through the many Rooms, repeatedly confronted with spaces that made her emotions uncontrollable. Up steps, around corners, through tiny archways and huge cathedrals, her footsteps echoing loudly as if violating the quiet, then swallowed up by plush carpets then grating on hard flagstones older than many religions.

And things, there were things everywhere. Not clutter though. Letje appreciated the objects and without consciously thinking about it understood that there was a deep sense of the aesthetic here. This was no pointless exercise in building and style, it was deliberate, considered, and it all fit together like a perfect jigsaw puzzle so complicated you would never figure it out however long you tried.

She almost walked into the back of George as she arrived at a relatively understated open space, all concrete and ambient lighting. A warm feeling Room with doors running along one side. From towering ancient portals to battered entrances she would have to duck to enter, she knew instinctively that this was The Anteroom Room.

"I've made it!" grinned Letje, as she patted George fondly then stroked his horns as he made a deep rumbling noise in his throat. "Thank you George, I don't think I would have found the way on my own." George looked at her, it wasn't exactly news he didn't already know. He trotted over to Room0 and flicked an ear. With a deep breath Letje walked over to The Orientation Room.

With a nervous gulp and the realization that she was finding it so hard to breathe it was threatening to take her leaden feet out from under her, she tentatively knocked on the door.

Or tried to. It whooshed open with a sound that somehow didn't fit and she found herself going for the one and only interview she had ever had in her life.

Letje wished she had Constantine with her, just for something familiar in such alien surroundings.

George the Goat

George was no ordinary goat. George was the result of generations of meticulous selective breeding; he was the most intelligent goat on Earth. More intelligent than a dog, surpassing the brains of the smartest pig, well in advance of much of the tattered remains of what was once a proud race that numbered in the billions: humanity.

No more.

Now George was amongst the most intelligent creatures on the planet. More advanced in his own goat-like way than some of the people that made it as far as The Commorancy. At least, that's what he liked to believe. Truth be told, George was just a very smart goat, but he couldn't do math or spell well.

George was Whole. George was Awoken. George was very old. George was Marcus' friend and Marcus was George's friend.

George was also extremely belligerent, felt himself superior to everyone he met apart from Marcus, and wasn't above the odd bit of toe nibbling if he felt like it or was instructed to by Marcus. He was also bred to very specific goals — far beyond merely being as intelligent and fine looking a goat as the world had ever seen.

And he knew it.

Nubian and Toggenburg were the original line that George descended from, each generation carefully selected and bred with various other strains to finally result in a pet that was as loving as the most amiable dog, as good looking as the shiniest Persian cat, and as intelligent as any animal could be without surgical or forced chemical intervention. George was one of many hobbies that became obsessions for Marcus over the years — he had to fill his time somehow. There seemed no end to the things he could accomplish now he didn't have to worry about rushing projects or never being able to see them through to their final conclusion.

George was the result.

A goat of medium build, standing about waist-high, the head on an elegant neck of just the right proportions. His face was long without being too long, and the beard under his chin made for the ideally proportioned countenance. His delicate ears, silky and perfectly shaped, stuck out sideways and swayed gently when he walked, pricking up instantly whenever he became alert. Just above the ears were horns that were compact and curled tight. Each spaced evenly — a perfect match. They were oiled weekly if Marcus remembered, buffed daily to a beautiful shine.

His coat was tan, fine and soft, always brushed regularly. His short tail would wag manically whenever he became excited, and his hooves were as shiny as his horns, polished at the same time. They made a sure-footed clatter as he walked or ran around The Commorancy. George was a billy goat without the usual pungent odor associated with the male of the species. Marcus made sure that part of his breeding program was directed at this issue. As it was, George smelled rather nice with his hair lightly perfumed from his shampoo, but in a manly goat way.

As with all goats George was highly inquisitive and terminally agile. He could be found on top of a table as easily as curled up on a comfortable chair or sofa. He took great delight in tasting and licking things new to him, so inevitably over the years there had been a few close calls when he inadvertently swallowed something he shouldn't have. George was intelligent but his basic goat nature still won out in the end.

One thing he was above all else was loyal. He loved Marcus and Marcus loved him. He was one of the few constants in his master's rather unique life.

George had come into the world in the usual way for a goat, but once his mother had licked him clean and he had learned how to stand on his own four feet Marcus knew that this was the best animal in the long line of breeding that had kept him occupied for an inordinate amount of time. He felt vibrations in The Noise that told of George's personality. Marcus didn't need to delve any deeper than that to get a very clear picture of the animal before him. There was no need to intrude further on such an as yet delicate and unformed personality.

When George opened his eyes there was an instant bond. A real friendship was born minutes after George himself.

The Dangerous Room

Sweat poured down Marcus' back, slick and shiny in the strong light pointed at the rockface from multiple angles. Light was always directed at the indoor mountain in The Room For Doing Dangerous Things, and for good reason. Marcus needed focus and concentration to stay alive, so required every handhold to be seen.

He hung by his fingertips at a height that would mean certain death if he lost his grip — something he had no intention of doing. Playing with near immortality may have seemed reckless, but it was one of the things that kept him centered, kept him going, and allowed him to meditate on what he had found within himself — a gift. The gift of controlling his own body, his breathing, his pulse, the myriad chemicals that governed the way the body worked in countless combinations. From tweaking the thyroid for perfect amounts of body fat, to testosterone levels, controlling hunger, food absorption and more, that was just the beginning. He still learned new things every day, with no end to it in sight.

It all came with a price of course. It took dedication to maintain, especially in the early years. Now he was a master he had to do little to keep himself in top condition internally. Physically and mentally was an entirely different matter. Marcus knew he was somewhat eccentric, it was a given living as he did. But he kept his brain busy, strong — grounded. He needed something similar for his physical self.

So when things got a little too much, or if he was merely bored, or needed a good workout, he often came to the most dangerous Room in The Commorancy to put himself through numerous deadly pursuits in the most basic ways possible — if with a touch of added whimsy.

He was rock climbing today — free soloing. The surge of chemicals pulsing through his body were all that kept him clinging to the rough outcrop high above the ground. He was naked apart from a pair of shorts and a leather bag slung across his body containing chalk dust. Marcus' legs were dangling in the air, his arms extended. He took a deep breath and pulled up with his left arm, raising his body up and to the right. He released his grip and grabbed for a small hold higher up. As he did so he swung out his right leg, far to the side, and got his toes jammed in a tiny crevice. Purchase made, he pulled again with his right hand and moved his left up and over, sharing the tiny space with his right hand now. His left foot came up, impossibly high, until he found a slight crack in the rock that took his toes.

Each move was considered yet perfectly natural. He was in tune with the rock and with his body — using The Flow. Hand, eye and foot co-ordination were perfect, each moving at exactly the right time to ensure his continued survival. Movements were fluid, never slow. There was no decision making, it was done without conscious thought. The eye sized up the possibilities and the body moved, not pausing, never hurrying, just climbing. It had taken a long time for Marcus to find the secret to being successful with such dangerous pursuits. There was a place within that allowed a connection, that melded mind, body and the rock. It was The Flow. What allowed such feats to be accomplished. It was being as one with the rock. Falling was impossible if you stayed in the right frame of mind and put your body where the rock told you to.

Marcus had been making his way around a huge outcrop he had never climbed. Even after all these years the face had plenty of surprises for him still. His muscles were aching, lactic acid building from the extreme nature of his movements. They never cramped however, they never let him down. He had incredible strength and endurance from so many years of practice. It showed in every part of his body.

Dressed, Marcus looked relatively typical with his slender frame and average height. Stripped down was a different matter — he was a human anatomy chart made real. As he climbed higher, navigating an awkward protrusion, once again hanging by his fingertips, his body revealed itself in stark relief against the dark veined strata. His upper body was a strong tapered V, the Alpha model for the male form. Well-defined shoulders curved to a thick back, fibers impressive and dense. His chest was not large, but tight and well developed. Legs were as if the skin had been flayed leaving not an ounce of fat, with calf muscles bunched tight, veins criss-crossing, hinting at an elastic strength straining to be unleashed.

But it was his arms that were where he truly became something extraordinary. His fingertips were thickly calloused, slender yet carrying enormous strength for their size. Forearms were packed tight near the elbow, thickly veined and an obvious sign of long periods of strength training. Slender wrists made them look even larger than they were, and as you followed up his arms the individual muscles came into stark relief. Thick horseshoe triceps bunched up to the shoulder gave great pressing power, needed for pushing out from difficult climbs. Biceps were a mess of veins and deep, thick muscle that had grown millimeter by millimeter over countless workouts. It was how he managed to pull himself up with ease over obstacles ordinary men would never surmount. The biceps, inner and outer, were two large orbs, again appearing larger than they were as the gaps from bone to muscle were relatively long, normal for the ectomorph. He may have had a slender frame, but his muscles had been trained to within a fraction of their natural genetic potential.

Marcus could have changed his body through chemical reactions if he so wished, but what you saw resulted from simple hard work. It showed. Muscle was extremely dense, solid and powerful, never showy. No puffed up muscle full of glycogen or pump from workouts, it was permanent, hard and functional.

As he lost the grip on his left hand when the rock crumbled, the hard work came into its own. Marcus hung there, death four fingertips away. Casually, he dipped his hand into the battered brown pouch and applied chalk to his left hand before pulling hard with his right and swinging to the side, gripping tightly in a new crack in the rock. He continued his upward climb to the summit.

Hours later, standing at the top of the huge rock face, a natural presence, the Room constructed around it, Marcus looked out across the space below, a simple poured concrete floor, to the small platform on the other side of the Room, lost in a haze due to the distance. This was his next goal, to progress across to the three-foot-square platform.

He steadied himself then stepped out into the air, nothing below but a reminder of human fragility. There was no fear, just a stillness of mind and body. An utter confidence verging on megalomania.

The suspension rope quivered as it took his weight, sending movement down the line — an almost imperceptible wobble that reverberated back and forth until it died down, kinetic energy finally spent.

Marcus waited it out with the patience of a snake, coiled but ready to strike at its prey. As he felt the stillness return he continued on his walk. One step at a time, balance perfect, he walked the tightrope into emptiness. The air was different up here, fresher, yet warmer, always warmer the higher you got. The silence was all encompassing. A quiet and freedom from the world not to be found when rooted to the ground. He let The Flow envelop him; became one with the rope, the air and his body.

He put one foot in front of the other. That's all there was to it.

As he approached the middle of the not-quite-taught line he breathed deeply, stuffing his lungs greedily with the warm moist air. Time for the second half of his walk. It would be easier, he was heading slightly uphill now. Past the center point the rope tightened imperceptibly with every footstep.

Marcus eventually stepped onto something solid, a clear piece of reinforced glass bolted to a pole impossibly high. He felt for the balance, found it. A few minutes later the platform was as still as his thoughts.

~~~

Marcus stirred, his body cold, the sweat evaporated, goosebumps rising. He felt back to being himself, centered and alive, fully in control of who and what he was once more — plutocratic dictator extraordinaire; keeper of humanity's future. It was a heavy burden, one that called for extreme action from its possessor.

Clap.

Marcus beat his hands together sharply and listened as the echo reverberated around the cavernous space. The break in the silence brought him back to conscious awareness, fully in the present, appreciative of his body — tingling all over.

He sat, feet dangling into nothing, then lowered himself until he was hanging by fingertips from the beveled edge of the glass.

He let go. And fell.

Thirty foot lower down he grabbed hold of a line. As momentum dissipated he moved hand over hand out into the open once again. Ten minutes later he felt the knot signaling the center of the line. He grabbed hold of the rope dangling all the way to the unseen floor below. Marcus climbed down, regular knots allowing for rest and acting as markers to judge his progress. The lower he got, the more the rope wanted to swing, so the descent became harder and harder the closer to safety he got. Arms became engorged with blood, biceps strained, forearms writhed like snakes in a bag and his upper back screamed for mercy. Marcus ignored it all and focused on counting. He kept his eyes shut the whole descent. It was a matter of trust — in himself.

"Three hundred," said Marcus breathlessly, letting go of the rope and dropping to the floor seven inches below. He put his feet together, spread his arms to the side and bowed to a non-existent audience. "Ta-da." There was nothing but silence. No applause, no score cards raised. Soaked once again from his exertions and with his upper body thanking him for the respite, Marcus clapped twice and it began to rain. Huge tanks built into the ceiling impossibly high above let loose their liquid magic. Droplets made their way down to the ground. Steam rose as the fine mist soaked his pumped up skin, cooling him instantly. Marcus lifted his face to the invisible sky, relishing in such a simple pleasure. But something was bothering him, his usual ritual after exertion not giving the pleasure it normally offered.

"Hmm, odd," mused Marcus, looking inward at the cause for his disquiet. It was the girl, the new arrival. Letje had something about her, something Marcus couldn't quite bring into focus. He knew there was something different about her, something similar to himself at that age, but not quite the same. Marcus understood these things took time, people changed and internal workings matured as the body did. He was simply left feeling somewhat ill at ease for a reason he couldn't yet define. Maybe it was the anticipation? The wish she could be The One? Or was it the gnawing doubt that often overcame him? The knowledge that humanity was fighting a losing battle. That there never would be a way out from the mess the few remaining creatures found themselves in?

Marcus turned off the rain and walked out from the Room silently, feeling better for the exercise yet not quite enjoying the high as he usually would.

That girl, maybe she really would amount to something after all?

Time to find out — Letje's Orientation.

Copycat

Varik had his own version of The Room For Doing Dangerous Things. He and Marcus were more alike than either cared to admit. They had diverged, unquestionably, yet each came from a similar time and grew up in somewhat similar circumstances. Even their philosophies often converged — both believed in the power and importance of the natural world.

The main difference being that Varik wanted Mother Nature to be the ruler without man getting in the way — at all. He wanted people expunged from the records of earth. No more messing with the natural order of things.

Varik studied himself in the pool, the rippling water making his shoulder appear even more disfigured than it was, yet this did not stab at his vanity, quite the opposite. Great beauty was found in the repeated injury his left side suffered, wearing it like a badge of honor. It was an honesty, a mark of his acceptance of his impermanence. Varik stroked the latest tear to his pale Scandinavian skin, following the welt from the middle of his chest up to the huge messy knot on his shoulder, meandering on up to just below his ear lobe. He must remember not to startle his friend in the future, it never ended well.

Kneeling, Varik cupped water in his hands, eliminating his reflection. He splashed his body, letting the cold water dampen the heat that had built up through his exertions. After a few minutes he felt ready to go again, so jumped up and caught hold of a low hanging branch. Swinging out, he released the grip with his left hand and grabbed a higher branch. The right followed. Using pure strength as well as simple swinging movements, he made his way up the slender but sturdy tree, impossibly tall and narrow. The bone-white branches had been manipulated to contrast with the dried blood color of the now rusting leaves. Soon they would be gone, fallen to the ground as he relinquished his grip on its essence.

What he christened The Inside Out Room was a crumbling remnant of a five story tower constructed some time in the 14th Century. The round Room had lost its roof and floors, until all that remained were splinters of joists jutting out from the walls. The stone was so weathered it was almost back to its natural state. In fact, the whole circular tower was more like a natural wonder than something crafted by the hand of man. The floor was grassy in places, pocked in others, and in the largest of the craters, made by falling debris he had long ago cleared, the pool was a welcome refreshment after hard exercise. Varik used the rough walls, the beams and a number of deeply embedded, taught wires, and the tree itself, to hone his body to his own ideal. He spent countless hours in the place some days and reveled in the punishment he put his body through. But he especially loved the tree. He always spent time focusing on it when he was here, pushing it that bit further. A slender spike poking out of the tip of the tower, calling out its presence to the surrounding sprawling constructions that made up Varik's Home.

He had business to attend to and it would mean leaving, but the tree would recover when he returned. He had total confidence in its longevity.

At the top, swaying on a slender branch, he looked down at the roof of his sprawling residence. It wasn't an infinite sea of rooftops, but it was rather extensive. He had appropriated a very large building for his abode, expanding it until the Room count was exactly 365 — more than enough to keep him busy over an extended lifespan. All around birds darted to and fro, their cries at being disturbed music to his ears. The sun was high, but the temperature relatively cool, and Varik delighted in the gentle breeze against his skin. He crouched in the branch, lost in thought, then came to a decision.

Varik's shoulder involuntarily twitched just before he heard the air vacate a large space to allow his friend to land. So familiar was the subtle movement of air that his body knew when his companion would arrive long before he was conscious of the fact.

"Hello my friend. Do you want to visit Under with me?"

A tensing of claws and a rivulet of blood on his shoulder gave him the answer he had expected.

"Fine. I'll go alone then."

~~~

Minutes later he was getting dressed. Something simple, black and elegant. He took his time, adjusting his clothes so they looked just right, then picked up a small parcel from the table in the corner. He didn't need to worry about making an impression, his guest would not be in the least bit interested in such things. But he did it for himself, it was part of the ritual, just what he did.

Varik descended well-lit steps, feeling the entombed cool air rush up to greet him as he opened the door. He caught glimpses of the outside world from the first lower level, open as it was on one side to the cliff's edge. He walked across the Room slowly, feeling the apprehension build as it always did. At the far end, lost in shadow, he came to a pair of ancient steel doors, fading warning signs and instructions to wear hard hats and ear mufflers still just about visible. He took out a set of keys and unlocked the heavy doors, pulling them open noisily. An ancient elevator, carefully maintained, would take him down into the heart of the hill.

The elevator clanked at the bottom before he pulled the waist-high mesh gate open. After a short walk along rough ground he was greeted with another set of steps. He descended into the darkness, not wanting to break the mood by flipping the light switch, and entered The Tunnel. He knew his way without seeing, but gradually his sight adjusted so he could make out the rough walls, the struts and props that were still as strong now as the day they had been put in place. Down he went, deeper and deeper, until the man-made tunnel was replaced with natural rock; rock so old it made a mockery of his extended yet still totally insignificant life.

Cocooned in the damp warmth of the heart of the mountain, and at peace with the weight all around him, he entered a small chamber warmer by a few degrees than the surrounding caverns. A tiny pinprick of light could be seen far overhead, tiny tendrils of smoke making their way upward for their only chance at freedom. He stopped at a heavy wooden door and used the rusted knocker to announce his presence.

He waited for his father to open the door. There were things he wished to discuss, important things.

Almost There

"I knew him you know?" said Marcus, looking splendid in a pair of tight denim trousers, matching shirt with three buttons open, a dusty cowboy hat and scuffed cowboy boots.

"Who?"

"Your great, great, great, great... um, gosh, how many is it?" Marcus paused for a moment, thinking of how many generations there would have been since he first welcomed Letje's ancestor into his home. "Fifteen, that sounds about right. Did you know that generations have gotten faster and faster since The Lethargy? It used to be what, thirty years or so between a generation? Actually, before The Lethargy it was heading upward to forty. Not long after The Lethargy hit it went right down to fifteen if you can believe it? Then it went back up to around about twenty, and stayed just below that until recently.

"Now it's impossible to tell. So few babies, it's more luck than anything. Used to be that people tried to conceive and rear children as early as possible in case The Lethargy took hold, now its gone the other way. Even those that try from a young age cannot seem to have children, we are a dying breed. It will change though, things are slowly getting better, a few more babies, more of them being born Whole rather than never making it far from the crib before their bodies give up... Gosh, I rambled on there didn't I? Sorry." Marcus bowed his head in mock apology. This was important, and he wanted Letje to know things without it seeming like some boring lesson.

Letje just stared at him, mouth agape until she realized what she was doing and quickly shut it. It wasn't that she wasn't interested, it was just overwhelming. "No, sorry, it's me. I'm just not used to hearing other people speak, that's all. Please, carry on. Oh, sorry again, but thank you for the bed last night, and the story, I liked it. Made me feel like a child again." Letje bit down on the corner of her lip, something she often did when a little unsure about things.

"Well, yes, your Grandfather of fifteen generations ago, or maybe it was thirteen, was one of the first to visit me here just as it was nearing completion. Back then there was a lot of competition for Rooms, more so than now. Nowadays so few are Whole, and even those that are have no desire to become anything more, so don't have the get up and go to try to make it in. It has to be hard, otherwise what would be the point? Anyway, he did very well. Left after a few years." Marcus clicked his fingers, showing how little this meant in terms of time. "Here one minute, gone the next. He learned a lot, and from what I heard he passed on a lot of value."

"He did, he was around for a long time. And he passed on all he could to his family. It's only recently things seem to have reverted for our line. I'm the last, and my parents succumbed, not something that had happened before to many of us, and not normally until they were a lot older."

"I can see how that can happen. I must say, I am rather surprised no others from your family ever came here. Guess they didn't feel the need?"

"Um, well, from what I have been told I think a lot of them were scared to be honest. That or..."

"Please, go on."

"Well, I guess they didn't believe anymore. That there was something else? Beyond Whole? And I was told that they didn't like how you went about things. There are stories you know? About cruelties, bad things. So many stories. As The Lethargy took hold they seemed to side more and more with The Eventuals, talking about The End being a good thing, better that it would all be over." Letje was out of breath, talking so much was alien; about personal things too. It felt odd. Wrong. But exhilarating at the same time. Like she had conquered a mountain and stood atop it planting a flag, claiming companionship as her reward.

"Right, okay then. Down to business," said Marcus, suddenly serious. Maybe Letje's Orientation was about to begin? "I have a few things to do and then we can see you into your Room. How does that sound?"

Letje stared at him, not understanding. "Um, what about my Orientation? I thought I had to have an interview and... well, I'm not sure what I expected." She was totally confused, nothing about The Commorancy, or Marcus, made sense. It was as if she was playing a game where nobody had explained the rules.

"Letje, my dear, please don't be confused. Each person that comes here is treated differently. It depends on what I know about them, what I can see within them, even what mood I am in at the time if truth be told. But you are different, very different. I can see it as plain as the nose on your face. As plain as that fringe you should cut a little shorter."

Letje flicked it to the side automatically as Marcus continued.

"You are different, even if you don't know it yet. I don't want to scare you or anything so I won't dwell on this, and I need to have a think about things before we go to your Room. But trust me, you have a very interesting future ahead of you. You will be surprised what kind of young woman you will soon be. There is so much potential I can almost see it pouring out of your ears!" Marcus was getting rather excited, he hadn't met someone like Letje ever as far as he could recall. He could sense in The Noise she had so much within her waiting to be unlocked she made The Awoken look like they were nothing but a specter of humanity's potential as a race.

"Um, wow. Okay. Are you sure you have the right person?" Letje didn't know how to respond to talk like this. She had never thought of herself as special in any way. Just a girl trying to stay safe and make her way in the world she was born into.

"Sorry to go on like that. Let's just say you passed Orientation and in a few hours time I will take you to your Room. Please, follow me." Marcus stood and gestured to the door. "If you can wait out in The Anteroom Room for a few hours I need to get a few things straightened out before your Room is ready. I want to ensure it is perfect for you in every way."

"A Man's Work...

...is never done. It really isn't George. Sometimes I wish this place was a lot smaller. You know? Well, of course you don't. You don't think about it at all, do you? Now, where did I put The Rag?"

Marcus was in the habit of talking to George in a rather one-sided monotone whenever they were alone, which was most of the time. People came and went from The Commorancy, but it was infrequent, intermittent, and normally at odd times too. Over the years Marcus had found ways to keep a tight rein on himself to ensure he kept a semblance of structure to his day. Even though he often immersed himself in new passions for extended periods of time he tried his best to not become obsessive. He usually failed miserably — he always got consumed by his hobbies, to the detriment of much else.

So he was doing his utmost to stick to more regular hours and routines at the moment. Although he had lost count of how many times over the years he had tried to form the habit.

Marcus rummaged through a drawer in The Goat Room, finally he found what he was looking for. "Here it is boy, let's get them all sparkly shall we? Yes? We don't want you looking anything but your best for the new arrivals do we? Seems like we're having rather a busy time of it lately doesn't it? Bit tiring though, I must say." Marcus absentmindedly poured a drop of oil onto The Rag For Cleaning Horns and rubbed away while he continued his monologue. "I guess some of The Rooms have been empty for a little too long anyway, so it made sense to get them occupied again. It's just a shame I had to make the whole thing so damn easy. I think it's getting worse out there you know? Of course you don't you silly goat." Marcus inspected The Rag, then continued.

"There used to be huge numbers wanting to get into The Rooms. Okay, okay, more than we had Rooms for anyway. But always full. Now? Yeah, sometimes not even half occupied. The Garden? Different isn't it? You know people can stay as long as they want. As long as they need. Would you leave?" Marcus turned his gaze from the mid-distance to look at George. The well-coiffed goat seemed to shake his head. "Didn't think so. You like it in there, don't you, eh?" This time there was a definite nod of the head. "Well, that's you done, looking good there George, very sharp."

George shook himself, a tiny drop of oil not rubbed properly into his horns flew off and landed on Marcus' shirt. As he wandered over to the corner of The Goat Room and lay down in a fresh bed of straw Marcus shouted after him. "Look what you've done you silly goat, now I'll have to get changed again. Don't you know we have a guest coming later? Come on you, no time for sleeping now, things to do." George lifted a heavy lid and did his best to ignore Marcus.

On the one-sided banter went. It was some time later that Marcus and George left The Goat Room and made their way through numerous well intentioned spaces to The Room For Clothes, where he changed into something clean for Orientation later on that day. As long as the guest turned up on time that was, things didn't always go according to plan for those that managed to navigate the many dead ends that finally led to The Commorancy.

Marcus was looking forward to the latest arrival — Umeko promised to be an interesting guest.

~~~

Marcus stirred in his chair, breathing deeply as if coming up for air from the depths of the ocean. Why were all these thoughts of the past coming back to him all of a sudden, and in such detail? First his youth, now memories of guests, it meant something, he was sure of it.

Knowing himself only too well, Marcus relaxed into the plush leather and let his mind wander back over the years once more — there was more to remember, so much more. He wondered where such memories were leading, but didn't try to force it. He'd find out soon enough, he was certain.

"Now, where was I? Ah, Umeko. Such a beautiful woman."

~~~

The Room For Clothes was sectioned up in a bizarre and complex system. Marcus often stood at the entry to wonder at the sheer dogged determination of the mind that could organize in such a manner. His mind. He sometimes puzzled at the way he chose to organize thousands upon thousands of complete changes of clothes, but knew that it was merely the best approach his mind could come up with to keep the largest collection of its type in any kind of order. These were clothes he loved. Not just any clothes, but antiques each and every one of them.

Nobody had made such outfits, any outfits for that matter, for an age now. Marcus had slowly gathered all kinds of tasteful, sometimes downright bizarre items of clothing from throughout the ages and sourced from every corner of the globe. That was just the beginning, it went far beyond that. Marcus had taken to matching his outfits with Room0, better known as The Orientation Room, when he was expecting a guest. Sometimes even when alone.

Marcus was a man of impeccable taste, there was nobody to tell him otherwise, so took perverse delight in having absolutely no single individual style whatsoever. He changed his wardrobe more often than a catwalk model of days long gone and delighted in looking different each time he did so. Often, on a mere whim, or an influence from current reading matter or movie viewing, he dressed not according to the weather, temperature was constant inside so was of no consequence, but mood and flights of fancy.

He wouldn't admit it but what it came down to is that he often got extremely bored, so it amused him to change his clothes and to surprise himself when he looked in the mirror. A mirror, any mirror, of which there were numerous in The Room For Clothes.

The Room was accessed via an ornate Indian temple door, where multiple Gods fought a never ending battle for supremacy in lurid paint of many layers, peeled and repainted by generations of respectful worshipers, until it finally came into the hands of Marcus. Now re-homed to serve as entryway to a diva's idea of paradise. Hidden lighting cast shadows on the door highlighting it perfectly, the subtle effect continued throughout the Room.

Marcus owned thousands of pairs of socks in countless colors, textures and materials. From cool and summery to those suitable for a trip to the Arctic. His hats took up a whole section and the complex system of organization meant that some were necessarily duplicated so they could sit with the rest of the matching wardrobe that accompanied them and must be worn as an ensemble piece. But still the area was vast, each hat in its own individual glass case, a perfect light highlighting it against the darkness that was the echoing chamber of the enormous space.

Trousers hung on special hangers that kept them perfectly pressed.

Shirts, belts, ties, beach shorts, three piece suits.... all had their own unique way of being hung or stored, ready to be donned at a moment's notice. The whole system was like a tyrant's idea of modern art — where money and time was of no import. Which was close to being truer than Marcus would ever care to admit. Marcus' taste was not always quite as traditional as the styles of his youth, styles that quickly became condensed to a battle to stay warm. There had been no new fashions for so long there was no choice but to look to the past for new and exciting ways to make clothes more than just functional. Over time, he grew more and more eclectic in his tastes, delving deeper into the history of various forms of fashion, a hobby that consumed him for many months, and was still one of his main interests when he had the time.

There were whole sections for styles from Asia, the Middle East, Africa, every culture and continent on the planet. All organized by changes in fashion throughout the ages within their own sub-section, further classified and arranged in groupings of individual garments, often duplicated as complete outfits.

It even confused Marcus nowadays. He often found himself hunting around for something he assumed would be in the hat section of North Africa, only to find it had been classified as belonging to The Late 19th Century Complete Outfits With Moroccan Influence Section. As a result it often took him much longer than he set aside to gather his outfit for the day. Truth be told, he couldn't even remember when he had performed such detailed classifications. Such slips in memory were not uncommon.

Marcus hunted through a particular section, his mood having switched from what he had worn before George had caused the blemish. He finally found what he had been looking for. After dressing and checking himself in the mirror he made his way out of the rows and rows of haberdashery and into the darkness enveloping the edges of the Room. He chose a door that was nothing more than a flat slab of material matching that of the walls. Marcus made his way via countless twists and turns to The Orientation Room.

His guest should arrive soon.

Plum Blossom Child

Umeko's father called her his little plum blossom and often commented on her skin as she grew up. He became obsessed by it, checking her often for the slightest of blemishes, warning against sun exposure, always coming up with some new lotion he swore blind his ancestors used to have the clearest complexions in all of Tokyo. He would go away for days at a time, returning with beautiful hats for her to wear, clothes to contrast with her deep tone, and once he even found genuine plums he went into raptures over as he held the small juicy fruits up against her cheeks and showed her in a mirror how similar they were. It was true, her flawless, dark skin did almost perfectly match the deep richness of a ripe plum.

Her father had been a pale Japanese man, her mother a proud woman of Nigerian ancestry almost the color of the charcoal they used to heat their home. Umeko had landed somewhere between. High angular cheekbones with slightly oriental eyes sat angelically with a complexion as rich and deep as the most perfect of rare fruits. It was as if her face actually shone with light. As she grew older Umeko made it a point to highlight her cheeks with a touch of deep rouge; she painted her lips bright pink every day. The effect was startling in its simplicity and beauty.

The very day she was born her father had named her Umeko, literally translating as Plum Blossom Child. As she grew older, he explained that it was a name that also meant its owner craved freedom above all else. It fitted her perfectly.

Umeko often lamented that there was never anyone to see her efforts. She had been alone for decades now. Middle age was approaching and she hadn't spoken to a soul in years. She was under no illusions — if it continued she believed she would go slowly mad. What use was life if you had nobody to share it with, or a goal to accomplish? She grew bored of her hobbies, disinterested in the wreckage of humanity she once took pleasure in exploring. Now she mostly just sat and read books quietly. Books printed two and a half centuries previously.

It grew monotonous.

Umeko had stayed in her family home, a simple place that her parents had uncovered. In truth, her mother had already occupied the house — her father rather abruptly moved in the day he came across it, as he wandered the country looking for company, ideally someone to call his wife.

Her father had stayed somewhat traditional Japanese, at least that is what he told her, never mind he had never been to Japan in his life. Neither had anyone in his family for centuries. He grew up in a very rare place: a community. A group of Japanese descendants had managed to stay Whole all through the years, trying their best to keep bloodlines pure without allowing their children to partner with relatives.

After a few generations it all went very wrong.

Adults succumbed to The Lethargy at earlier and earlier ages, meaning the children were born to younger and younger parents as a result, and the children themselves often died in childhood. By the time her father was a young man the community had dwindled to him and a few others who faded slowly but surely. The Creeping Lethargy, the worst kind, had taken hold.

He told Umeko all this as she grew older, one of his favorite stories as it told of how he met her mother, his wife.

The story went, for Umeko was sure it was a grand exaggeration on the truth, although her mother never contradicted it, was that he had been walking through the woods one day as a young, strong and virile man and came across a large horse. He saw it as a sign of good omen, for it was indeed The Year Of The Horse, so he made friends with the animal. After they had spent some time together and become great companions the horse suddenly galloped off one morning and he never saw it again.

Sad to be all alone once more, he did his best to track the animal. As he followed the progress of his departed friend, for of course he was a mighty tracker, he came to a house in a large clearing, with smoke coming from the chimney. There was a woman outside hanging washing on a line, and he watched her, enraptured, as she went about her chores. He watched her feed the chickens, shout at the pigs, and draw water from a well. He fell in love in an instant. Her beauty and grace took his breath away. Without ever thinking she would refuse he made his presence known and offered to be her husband and life companion — her defender against danger.

They had lived together for the rest of their lives, bearing but one beautiful child.

When they died and left Umeko all alone, she stayed at the family home, caring for the animals and tending the gardens. Year after year she did this until she realized that if she had The Lethargy she would never know. So used to the mundane was she now that it would come over her and she would die without ever noticing things had changed.

She found herself thinking more and more of the past. Of her mother, the time they had together, and more often of her father too. Remembering his many quirks and obsessions with her skin, his stories and the love he showed her. Dwelling on the past, the good and sometimes bad of her childhood, became almost an obsession. It was doing her no good at all.

So one day, without even realizing she was doing it, she packed a bag and went walking. Umeko never returned home, her wandering taking her from one end of the country to the other.

She walked for ten years. She never once got bored.

Strong-willed since childhood, once a decision was made she followed it through.

This time she had decided that she would walk.

~~~

One day Umeko found a place to call home for a while. After so many years walking she felt that settling down for a few months would be a welcome rest. She was no longer young. Forty years of living were almost upon her. She was one of the oldest women alive.

She still felt young however, and when she looked in the mirror to do her make-up she was happy with what she saw. Inevitably, her complexion had darkened as sunscreen was not something she often had readily available. Her father would not have been happy with this at all. A stay in one place for a while would allow her to rest her muscles, let her sore feet and shins recover, and allow her the luxury of not having to worry about where to spend the night safely. She felt it time for such a holiday, so thought about where to go and decided that if it was to be a vacation then she must holiday traditionally.

Umeko decided to live on the coast.

Her choice of residence had once been called Blackpool, now unnamed as it was unoccupied by anyone who remembered. The town was mostly gone, fire had destroyed huge swathes of the center and the suburbs. The rest just slowly decayed. Many of the roads had long since succumbed to the sea, sucked down by encroaching tides, changing the coastline slowly but inevitably like the creeping of a cat after a mouse.

She found an exception to the mostly collapsed or dangerous buildings — a huge edifice built in the 1950's. An Art Deco concrete structure, all sweeping curves and glass, although the windows were mostly broken. It looked out to the ocean. Through the living room windows she could see the crumbling remains of a pier devoid of holiday makers, slowly being reclaimed by the sea. She later discovered it was one of three that had stood for centuries, but only the Central Pier, with ragged skeletal fingers of a huge Ferris wheel remained. What fun it must have been to ride on such a contraption, high in the sky looking down on the families walking the piers, children running around playing games, maybe looking out to sea where boats would be sailed just for the sheer joy of floating on the vast ocean.

Her travels all around the UK had meant she encountered several piers — they became a strange fascination for her. She found old books and postcards showing them in their former glory, packed with people eating ice-cream, something she had never tasted. Playing in the arcades, eating fish and chips and enjoying their brief vacation time. Most of these grand edifices from a bygone era had long since been washed away — a few wooden struts all that remained. But Blackpool's Central Pier was different. Every morning she would take the short walk to the pier and gingerly make her way to its ragged end.

She would sit there for hours, enjoying the sound of the waves lapping at the supports beneath her feet, sometimes glimpsing dolphins playing far out to sea. Seagulls were everywhere, cawing at the strange presence, screeching warnings. Some even guardedly landing and walking close by on the wooden boardwalk.

Umeko had never taken a husband although she had offers over the years from the few men she encountered. But something always held her back. She felt that there was something waiting for her, a destiny that would need her commitment, so a life partner was simply not what she was interested in. She enjoyed her freedom, the ability to pick up and leave a place in the time it took to pack her meager possessions and put on her walking boots.

The decision to stay alone was not one she had taken lightly. She had lived with a man once. For years they had spent their lives together. Clinging to each other in the night, keeping busy in the day growing vegetables, feeding the small collection of animals they bred to sustain them.

It slowly went sour.

There were no babies, something they both wanted more than anything in the whole world. Blame began, nothing vitriolic, but tensions built, each wondering if it was their fault or the others'. It was all about children. The world needed them and being Whole meant that if you could conceive then you were doubly blessed.

Umeko was cursed.

As she grew older she had glimpses of her inner self and she came to understand that there was something in her stopping them from having a child. She knew it with certainty and one day she got up and left. All that remained of her presence were a few possessions and a note. She didn't want to deny the man his chance at a family, slim as that was, and knowing that he wouldn't leave if she told of her inability to conceive she decided it was best to go. It was the right thing to do. They weren't how they used to be anyway. It would only get worse over the years, so best to make a clean break of it now.

Since then she stayed alone.

One bright spring morning, with the wind blowing in hard from the sea and the salty spray leaving a delicious tang on her glossy lips, a scrap of paper flew at her face and stuck there like glue. She peeled it off, about to let it flap away in the strong breeze, when something caught her eye. It was from an old newspaper somehow having survived all these years. Maybe it had been in a building that had just now crumbled? She never knew where it came from, but the headline had caught her eye: Tales From The Commorancy. A fable she had come across many times over the years, dismissed as nothing but wishful thinking from the few Whole remaining.

It fired something inside her, awakening her dreams about a destiny she assumed would now never amount to anything. She stood, clutching the paper tightly, looking around wildly as if for another sign of the whereabouts of the fabled place. A place where many believed the future of humanity lay. Controlled by a man that should have been dead long before she had first entered the world and her father had gasped, "Our little plum blossom," at the screaming baby that was her parent's most precious gift.

"Your little girl is going on an adventure Daddy, you would have been proud of me. I love you." She thought of her parents often these days, a sure sign she had come to the end of one journey; it was time to begin another.

~~~

Umeko had real hope for the first time in years.

The more she came to learn of the fabled Commorancy, the more she came to understand her own body, and The Noise. Her journey had led her to read about The Eventuals too, their sick religion flying in the face of all she believed. It made her doubly sure she deserved a place at The Commorancy. She even dared to dream that once there she would be given the one thing she wanted more than anything else.

To have a child.

With each scrap of evidence she uncovered, the more confident she was that it was a possibility. There was no doubt she could change herself, her body chemistry, her brain function. Others had abilities far beyond such things. If the rumors of Marcus, and the stories of those that had left his hospitality were true, then anything was possible. She wasn't interested in mind control or influencing others, but control over her own body, to allow her to have a child? She certainly wanted to unlock those secrets lying dormant within her.

So she found out how to gain access.

With fierce determination she got an invitation mere months later. Umeko was a woman of action. She got what she wanted.

She hoped.

Snick

The key made a soft snick as Marcus placed it carefully on the glass desk. He held it by the circular head then pointedly put it down right in front of Umeko. It was a rather ornate key, golden but worn, faint etchings still visible on the metal that had gone through hundreds of hands over the years.

"It's yours. Your key," said Marcus, smiling broadly. Today, or rather, tonight, for it was 3 a.m. Marcus was wearing skin tight jeans, flip-flops, and a cut off t-shirt. On his head he wore a Panama hat and sported a rakish neckerchief. The office was all metal and glass and having been inside for only ten seconds he was already hating it. Marcus never understood why he had gone for the dated industrial look. He scowled at the key as it was placed on the shiny surface. He wasn't happy with the outfit he had chosen either.

"Sorry, my mind was elsewhere. I do apologize. Please come with me, let's sit out in The Anteroom Room for a while, this Room is beginning to get on my nerves."

"Um, hi, yeah, okay," said a totally flummoxed Umeko, unsure whether to say hello, give it all up as a bad joke, or pick up the key and ask which Room was hers. She didn't think it was going to be that easy though. She was right.

Umeko went first at Marcus' signal, and he followed her out, the door whooshing closed with a strange sound that caught Umeko's attention. Marcus stared at it with an undertone of annoyance.

Marcus led her out to the foyer, all bright red chairs and beanbags. He tapped a small sofa as he sat down. "Come join me, it won't be long and we can go back in." He smiled and tipped his hat. "I'm Marcus by the way, and you are Umeko, yes?"

"Um, yes. Hi. Pleased to meet you Marcus. The key? Should I have picked it up? Is this a test?"

"Oh, haha. No, not a test. Don't worry, we'll get to the down and dirty soon enough. For now, just relax. The Orientation Room, it's wrong at the moment — it will be right soon enough. Just sit tight and enjoy the ambiance." He smiled at her again, tilting his head to one side, studying her quizzically. "You're an enigma. Normally I know everything before people get this far. But you..."

Umeko stared back at him, unsure what to say, settling on a simple, "Don't think there is much to say really. I'm just a normal woman, well, a woman that is abnormal I guess. I'm not dead inside like everyone else." She was at a loss what to say next, so she simply stared around the... what did he call it? Anteroom Room?

It was a strange place, no doubt about it. The experience so far, combined with Marcus, meant she was having serious doubts about the whole thing now. A sick joke? Too elaborate. A madman? A possibility. Or the rumors and promises were all real and she was finally here. Hopefully it was the latter. She decided it best to cling to the hope that had kept her sane of late.

Umeko's striking beauty was a rarity in this day and age where most people rotted in there homes well before they reached such lofty ages, and most that did somehow survive were things that looked like they should be dead anyway. She was different: radiant. Her skin was clear, her hair washed, her features bright and her life-force animated. It was impossible not to stare.

Marcus stared.

~~~

"Well," said Marcus, "that's about it I believe. It's been nice meeting you. Any questions?"

"Haha, about a million. But actually, if I can just ask one?"

Marcus raised an eyebrow. He was quite intrigued. A rare event these days. "Of course, ask away. Anything."

"Why seven? Why seven rooms? Why not eight? Fifty? Why any at all? Oops, sorry, guess that's more than one question. Okay, let me re-phrase. Why seven rooms?"

"Do you know, in all these years nobody has ever asked me that? Crazy, eh?"

"Too right, it's what the whole place is based on isn't it?"

"Sort of, yes. Well, yes and no to be honest. But back to the question. I can tell you if you have time? Of course you do, there's no hurry any longer is there? You have all the time in the world. It's quite a good story actually, and you will be the first person I have ever told it to. Apart from George, and obviously he doesn't count, do you George?" Marcus looked over to him. He was taking no notice and was just trying to eat the corner of an inordinately rare Sumatran rug that was older than The Commorancy by centuries.

"It all started a long time ago, a very long time ago. Back when The Commorancy was being constructed. No mean feat I can tell you, and not without tales of its own. So much was going on then, crazy times. Some of the things I did, the things I despair of... no matter, that's all part of another story." Marcus waved away that part of his history hurriedly. "So, when I was building this," Marcus gestured around, arms wide, indicating far more than the eye could see, "I had a lot of different options. Infinite really. It was just my imagination that was the deciding factor in how I went about things. There was no-one else, you understand? Nobody to discuss plans with, nobody to say 'Good idea,' or 'Don't be an idiot Marcus,' so I had to rely on what felt right. Most of what was built did, still does. But it took time for the real reason for The Commorancy to actually form. You know your history?" Marcus interrupted himself to ask.

"You mean about the early times? Before everything went wrong? Some, not a lot I suppose. Long before my time. And my father was prone to exaggerating when he did tell me stories." Umeko couldn't help but smile at the thought of her father's reaction if he could see her now.

"Well, at first I wanted a place where I could be safe, where I could try to figure things out. There have always been The Whole, people that weren't affected by The Lethargy, but I knew that wasn't enough. It didn't take long before things got a little crazy. Concluders, you know that word, right? Of course you do. People like me? People that went past being Whole, staying the same? I Awoke to the potential within. So did others. Most that managed to stay Whole, people like you, were amazed at their luck. But not all. And people like me, those that became substantially more? Well, some turned what I guess we would call bad. Sorry, I am probably just repeating things you already know?"

"I know most of it yes, but I'm still loving hearing it from someone that can confirm the truth. Please, carry on."

"So, we have The Concluders, and within this we have people that want to see humanity through to lofty heights, greatness. Like me. But just as strong if not more so because of their fanaticism are The Eventuals. They get their own special name it seems, for being evil, while the likes of me don't seem to have been given a name that has stuck — nobody ever uses the term Concluder anymore. The Eventuals, they began to systemically eradicate anyone they could find that was still Whole. Wild times. The stories I could tell. But you know this, it's still going on now, why you are here in part?"

"Yes, and the other thing."

"Of course, don't worry, I haven't forgotten."

She smiled at Marcus, glad of the reassurance.

"As The Eventuals became more of a problem while I was building The Commorancy, I knew I needed something special. Something that was a true sanctuary. It's what the whole place is in one regard, although primarily it is to keep me safe. And future caretakers. Selfish but there it is. I'm important, I know this. It weighs heavily at times. This isn't arrogance, I simply understand it now. The problem, of course, was how to convince people like you, The Whole, that there was something better? Something more than the scraps of humanity? More than the disease, death, rotting bodies, blocked roads and burning buildings? Then it hit me: a myth. Survivors needed something special — magical. Something above and beyond the norm. Something fantastical and something exclusive. Everyone wants to join the club that won't have them, right? Everyone wants to be in the best gang. Get the best food, the strongest powers, be a part of the biggest thing that ever was. This is what The Commorancy is." Marcus sat back as if his story had finished.

Umeko waited. Marcus waited.

It got uncomfortable.

"Um. The Rooms?"

"Oh, haha, sorry. I went off on a bit of a tangent there didn't I. The Rooms? The number seven. Well, I just like the number seven is all. It's my favorite."

"That's it? That's the reason there are seven Rooms? You like the number?" Umeko couldn't hide her disappointment, assuming it would be something much more meaningful than just because he liked it.

"Yup." There was a long silence as she took it in. "Haha, got you, didn't I? That's not true at all. Of course there is a reason, a real reason. As if I would build something as amazing as The Commorancy and all based around The Rooms just because of a favorite number. No, the truth is there are seven Rooms as I found doors I really liked. I had to save them so I built the Rooms. I have many thousands though. Doors. Loads of them. That reminds me, I haven't been to The Room For Doors for a long time, want to see?"

Umeko was confused as hell and about as bewildered as it was possible to be.

This man is the greatest human in history and he is absolutely bonkers.

But it was better than staring out of a broken window at the remains of a pier and wishing for things that may or may not be possible. At least now she was finding out.

~~~

"Well, what do you think? Nice doors aren't they?"

"Wow," exclaimed Umeko. "Have you got many Rooms like this one?" Umeko was conscious her mouth was wide open. She didn't quite know what to expect as she was led this way and that until finally being ushered into The Room For Doors. She found herself strangely capitalizing certain words in her head — she got the impression that was how Marcus named almost every Room in the building. If it was a building at all. "Is this a building at all?" she blurted, before Marcus had answered her previous question. She found the words coming out as she thought them.

"Gosh, you do ask a lot of questions. I thought we agreed there was to be one question?" Umeko looked worried. "Only joking, of course you can ask. I find most people so keen and focused on their Rooms that they don't ask what are very important questions. But first, let me ask you one. The same one again. What do you think of the doors?"

Umeko stared around her again, marveling at the sheer volume of what Marcus rather conservatively referred to as mere doors. Each one hung from chains attached to a frame that housed it. The chains varied from delicate strands that wouldn't look out of place around your neck to huge monsters that were thicker than your leg and looked like they should be holding anchors for the huge ships that once traversed the oceans.

"Oh, wait, wait... Ta-da." Marcus interrupted her to flip a switch and the whole place was illuminated with delicate light. Thousands of them, lights highlighting each door, the effect was mesmerizing. Umeko now got a better understanding of quite how many there were. It was impossible. Doors of all shapes, sizes and ages. From small portals that must have been for tiny people, to huge towering slabs of wood millennia old. More, maybe. There were shiny steel doors and others that seemed incapable of staying intact, so ancient and worm-eaten were they. Such items were housed within glass, better to preserve.

It was dizzying. The scale of effort collecting them unimaginable. And this was just a single Room?

"I like them. A lot. Um, wow, that's an understatement. This is one hell of a cool Room. Where do they all come from?"

"Follow me and I shall reveal all," beamed Marcus, pleased to find someone who liked his collection so much.

He gave Umeko the tour.

rqz
rqz tried not to wince — that would be weak — as he crawled through the last quarter mile of tunnel that led into... well, he wasn't sure what it would lead into. Just that it was definitely inside. Inside The Commorancy. His glorious gift to The Eventuals would be that he would break into The Commorancy and eliminate Marcus. He intended to succeed and claim his prize. Over the years there had been a few such attempts, none succeeded. Not even a whisper of their fate ever left The Commorancy — the only news was controlled absolutely by Marcus himself.

rqz was in a waste-tunnel that ran for over a mile and a half to the outer limits of The Commorancy and ended in a series of reed beds that filtered the sewage and other byproducts. He had waded through the reeds, naked and glorious with his new color, getting gradually covered in sewage and grease, until he made it to the opening to the tunnel itself. There he took out a portable propane torch from a small pack on his side and cut through the criss-cross of heavy gauge steel bars that guarded the entrance. Once through he flattened out the versatile pack and wrapped it tightly around his waist, first claiming a small leather pouch from within and activating the device he would use soon enough.

This was all he needed he was sure, and besides, anything larger would have to be pushed in front of him through the long tunnel. He looked back into the reeds, already his passing was hidden, the marsh birds and frogs had resumed their chatter.

With face set in grim determination, rqz, shaved down to the bone over his whole body, an incongruous and alien sight because of his color, put his arms out in front and slid into the foul-smelling tunnel that stretched before him into pitch black. His upper body was already weak with exhaustion, it had been a tough journey to get this far. The trip was incredibly convoluted so he could stay hidden.

He made slow but continual progress. He had a mission and he aimed to complete it.

His back still hurt from the recent innumerable needles. He ignored it best he could. He didn't want to think of the infections that would already be consuming him. Open cuts seeped as he caught himself on jagged pieces of the reinforced concrete. He dismissed the pain and carried on crawling.

It was mere days since the last of his tattooing, so every time he scraped the top of the tunnel the just-formed scabs over the whole of his right scapula wore away more. But it had been completed in time that was the important thing. He was now red all over. As red as the Devil himself, as red as Varik, Leader of The Eventuals.

From head to toe, from intimate parts to the tip of his nose. Face, head, even the inside of his lips, all as red as fresh blood — each pin prick a permanent scarlet tattoo marking him out as one of a very select group of individuals.

He was now a fully fledged Eventual. Bringer of death, destroyer of the dregs of humanity that clung to their belief than man should inherit the earth. Truth was man should have no such gift, rqz knew himself to be an abomination, an unwanted presence on the earth. A scourge that needed to be eradicated. He and his kind were there to see that His wishes were completed.

So he crawled through the waste; he ignored the pain, simply reveling in his completeness while it lasted.

His name had been stripped from him, he could remember it, of course, but since he was first taken in he had been newly christened as rqz, a randomly generated name of 17,576 possibilities. A name so unimportant nobody even cared if it was repeated at some point. Varik had simply carried on the tradition of a trinity in his religion. Belonging was what counted, even if it was to be but fleetingly. He had been taught that life was temporary, that to try to live for extended periods, even worse, to succeed, was blasphemy of the highest order. Man should accept his place in the world. The Lethargy had proved just what He thought of humanity and what it had become. Now it was time for it all to come to an end, and rqz was to be a part of that plan.

Marcus' promise of a chance of making it? This could not, under any circumstances, be allowed. So he crawled through effluent and shone in the darkness, tiny bugs highlighting his way as he crawled past them into the bowels of the last bastion of hope for humanity's future.

He had no power, unlike Varik. rqz was as normal a man as you could find, in the traditional sense at least. There was no Creeping Lethargy, he was Whole; he had chosen his side long ago.

In fact, he had never met The Leader. He was part of a group of those that were Whole that followed the religion, and like most religions, believers never knew the founder. Those that chose his side often took on the color red as a sign of respect — of their devotion. Burned horribly, his face a mass of livid scar tissue, or so the rumors told, those that sided with The Eventuals forever marked themselves as devotees to Varik by getting The Ink. Poor Varik, breaking the taboo of extended life just so he could bring about His will.

rqz wanted to revel in the chaos, to witness the end of things, to be a part in it. So he had devoted years of his life to learning what he could about The Eventuals. It was as shrouded in myth as The Commorancy and Marcus himself, Varik hardly ever receiving any of his followers personally. Yet followers there were, and they built their own mythology around the mysterious man.

Over intermittent connections to the tatters of The Web they spoke to each other, spoke and planned. Never knowing they were silently watched by The Leader himself. Influenced, goaded.

Yet rqz had told no-one of his find, the location to what he believed was a way into the Commorancy. Now here he was, almost there. When his work was done he would send out his message on The Web for others to know of his glorious death, his martyrdom to the cause.

He had never known real excitement until now. His heart hammered so fast he thought it might actually burst.

~~~

Not far to go now, almost there.

rqz was incredibly tired. He had no idea how long it had taken him to get this far, he had nothing but an inner belief he was nearing the end now. He felt like his muscles would give out on him at any moment. The arduous journey to the home of Marcus, the crawling on his belly, knees and feet, his chest and elbows rubbed raw from the slimy concrete, his back now red from blood rather than from his Ink, all conspired to stop him succeeding.

He was hot. Oh so hot.

Infection had set in with a vengeance. Seeping into the initial open wounds from the recent tattoos, now taking advantage of each new piece of raw flesh as it became available. He was running a high fever already, it would only get worse, but he didn't care. If he got inside then he could lie low and recover for a day or so and then complete his mission. All he had to do was keep on crawling. Martyrdom would be his. The Void would be waiting. The return to where there was no pain or suffering, where he came from — where he belonged. Where humanity should have stayed.

"Ow, ow, what the hell?" rqz kicked out his feet — something felt like it was touching them and he was sure it hurt. It was hard to tell, he was in such pain already, but there was something weird going on behind him and he couldn't see.

"Argh!" There was no doubt, it definitely hurt, a lot. Something was trying to eat his toes. Next came a sharp prod into the calf muscle on his right leg, something was trying to shunt him forward. Then his hamstrings were banged hard. He felt something pierce the skin, felt a warm trickle slide down toward his feet, strong enough to be felt through the covering of disgusting sludge that made him retch intermittently.

He came to an opening on his right, but was nudged hard from behind, sent past before he had a chance to try for freedom from his attacker. It kept on shoving, jabbing, gnawing at his feet. He couldn't see his attacker, didn't know what the damage was. The would-be-assassin had no idea if he even had all his toes any longer.

The side access tunnels became more frequent. He was shunted past them. He tried to move faster, to get away from the beast behind him, but it was no use — he was tired, ill and utterly spent. The little energy he could still muster was being consumed fast by fear and infection.

Again, again and again he passed side tunnels, no longer even trying to gain entry, just mindlessly moving forward in a state of terror and utter helplessness.

Then, without warning, he was pulled back with a sharp tug to his flesh. He tried to move forward but didn't have the strength. He was yanked harder and harder, finally understanding that he was to take the tunnel on his left.

With no other choice he took it.

It rapidly ended. Not soon enough, but it was over.

He found himself in an open space, a large waste holding pit that had freedom at the top, a ladder led upward and an access hatch was just visible in the gloom.

rqz rested as best he could, trying to get rid of the fear, to calm his nerves and to think about what to do. The thing that had attacked him was nowhere to be seen, but if it wanted him where he was then it wasn't a good idea to stay put. If he went upward? Surely it was some type of trap?

He decided he would go back the way he came, wait a while then see if he could face the creature head on, kill it and gain entry any way but the way he had been goaded.

Then everything went black as he heard a hiss and the air grew heavy. He collapsed into the shallow foulness beneath him before he had the chance to move a muscle.

Heavy Burdens

There was no chair.

Marcus stood in the center of The Room Of Responsibility.

He had equipped the Room in a way he'd thought appropriate, so although full of hi-tech equipment it was all hidden — apart from the heads of course, the heads needed to be there, spinning in perpetuity. All other traces of technology were minimized. Marcus had decided that as this was The Room For The Records, although uncharacteristically he called it something else, he would have the Room in the style of an American Homicide office space he remembered from re-runs of shows that had first aired in the 1980's. As a kid he had watched lots of shows where angry, overweight American men solved heinous crimes and they had not a computer between them. It was all handwritten notes and filing cabinets. And they typed on typewriters, impossible to imagine, especially after all these years.

The minimal furniture was of an era — genuine, of course. Even the lighting was overhead fluorescent, a buzzing annoyance he regretted every time he set foot in the Room. Filing cabinets were dotted around the floor, not against the walls, they were too far away to give the right effect. There was a whiteboard too. The space was even broken with low dividers, and glass and wood walls sectioned off the office where further mementos, that were sometimes needed to spark his memory, were stored.

To business.

This was not a Room for relaxation, this was a Room for remembering. The one thing he had learned quickly, at least as far as his lifespan so far meant, was that with age comes not only responsibility, if you take that path, but real issues when it comes to brain capacity. It wasn't something he had thought about for the first hundred years or so. But when he understood the very pressing issue, he had reluctantly taken control of what he liked to refer to as potential futures and created this most crucial of spaces.

A Room he had never actually entered since its construction, a folly he thought a great idea when built, was re-configured and put to a very specific purpose.

He needed to remember.

After so many years there were countless things he could no longer recall. Marcus may have unleashed astonishing powers within, but this didn't stretch to expanding by anywhere near enough the power of memory. There seemed to be a threshold, one he had surpassed long ago. He found ways to compartmentalize much of what was important within his memory, locking it up small and tight, obtainable when needed. But even so there were limits. He needed an external organizational method to ensure that what was of prime importance was always at hand when needed.

These things were important. It was why he was here.

Marcus understood all too well he had strayed far from the path of what was considered normal before events made the word meaningless. He was also well aware of his indulgences, and that they were extreme. But he also understood the necessity of it all — time stretching out before you as it did for him was more than enough to drive you mad. Without the many ways he had to center himself he knew he would have descended into sheer insanity long ago.

This Room was part of the equation.

It was impossible for him to remember all the people that had come through The Commorancy. He forgot faces, names, which Room they stayed in, even whether they left alive. Not to mention what they had achieved if they left as one of The Awoken. It was too much to keep straight in his head. The early years were often those he remembered best, that and the most recent visitors. Those in-between could easily become a blur. There was so much to classify. When they had come. How long they stayed. Their Room. When they left. How they left. What they achieved: Awoken or still just Whole. And where did they go afterward?

So Marcus re-appropriated The Room Of Glass, even though when he picked it as the one to be changed and went to visit it he almost broke down and changed his mind.

Marcus stared at the countless slowly rotating heads. 3D holograms recorded when people both arrived and left. Each person had a record, a head spinning above another, younger on top, older below. On a plain metal desk below the hi-tech wizardry was a simple paper dossier. Not hand written, it was a computer printout of the information he entered for each person, printed and compiled when their stay, one way or another, was over.

He stood at the center, surrounded by spinning heads, remarkably lifelike as always. He walked over to one in particular. One of the first people ever to enter The Commorancy. He read through the file. The paper was still in good order, the Room kept under strict conditions to ensure that records stayed pristine, although there was always a backup in any case. This was just another sign of Marcus' strict control over a life that could descend into chaos.

Satisfied, he wandered around the space, peering at the countless faces, trying to remember them all. His recall was good after the facial stimuli, but often he found himself surprised by a set of features he had no memory of whatsoever. Normally, it was those that had severely let either themselves or Marcus down. Some went insane in their Rooms, not up to the gift given to them. Others ignored The Rules and paid the price, while others simply never amounted to anything, even given the opportunity they so badly desired.

But of the many that made it, Marcus recalled plenty that left as something more than when they entered: one of The Awoken, just like him, but never quite the same. There was always something unique, something different in terms of what Awoke within once given the right set of circumstances. No two had ever been alike, and would certainly have grown in a number of different ways once they again made their way in the world.

Some of those that had left Awoken had records well after they left, although this was always an optional requirement, a request from Marcus that was often granted for sometimes extended periods of time. Waning as the years went by, a totally understandable consequence of living a life only dreamed of before The Commorancy for most that entered. Those that Awoke on their own, such as Marcus, had little need for such a place, yet the guidance was still invaluable and most passed through, even for just short stays, normally at the early stages of their natural Awakening.

The files were often depressing reading, yet he carried on his work and hoped for the best. Some were a joy, such as those where people had traveled and seen incredible sights still standing after all this time. Or those that had set up similar institutions in other parts of the world, learning incredible skills just to make the hazardous trip overseas. This was no longer a global traveler's paradise, you had to make it on your own — somehow.

There were lots of success stories and numerous failures. Marcus liked to focus on the positive outcomes of his efforts.

Small pockets of people growing up Whole, passing down generation after generation, keeping humanity alive. Some going further still: small communities living off the land they could enhance on a small scale. Awoken communities well hidden, telling no one of their existence, just trying to cling on and slowly bring balance to the planet, if they could survive long enough.

Marcus often wondered if it was a fool's errand. If he should just close The Rooms and indulge in his own private world without interruption. But regular visits to this Room kept him motivated to offer help. There was no leaving humanity to be hunted down by The Eventuals.

He would never let that happen.

Never.

Anechoic Hole

He had plenty of time, he always did, so Marcus was in The Room For The Hole. If his next guest arrived on time then he figured he had at least a full nine hours to enjoy one of the countless Rooms that made up his sprawling home, the greatest piece of construction for millennia. It would only take a short time to give Letje her Room before he dealt with the next arrival, but before he did anything else he had to center himself. He had to think about this young girl that was so unusual. He couldn't understand what it was. Maybe not thinking of her would allow realization to dawn?

And all these other memories, they had to signify something. They were coming thick and fast and Marcus found it hard to know what was the present and what was the past. It was getting jumbled, he needed to switch off, let the thoughts and memories dissipate and leave him to focus on whatever was going to happen. For if Marcus knew one thing it was that these ancient memories, both good and bad, were leading to something, and he had to be prepared.

Even after all this time Marcus still had much to explore, and he often found himself surprised that a Room he entered was one that came from his imagination. No wonder he forgot, the haze of the early years of understanding the gifts he had been given, combined with dealing with The Creeping Lethargy, were more than enough to make the past a blur of dreams mixed with realities too outlandish to seem real.

Marcus would enjoy many tens of lifetimes to uncover Rooms he had commissioned and forgotten about. The Commorancy itself was so large he never really knew the actual size, just that it often took a long time to get from place to place — there was never any point hurrying.

The whole thing still overwhelmed Marcus now and then, things had moved fast for him, the build completed in a short space of time once he had found out how to speed up the work. Things he tried not to think about now, things he regretted. The result was a never ending number of places to visit, chores to do. Plus old favorites he liked to visit as often as possible. They were his refuge, his peace, his entertainment and his lifeline to sanity.

The Room For The Hole was one place he visited frequently. He needed quiet. Peace. Solitude. This space offered all of that and more. It was small, a normal sized space amid the epic proportions of much of the rest of the sprawling mess. Although empty, it was far from plain. The floor, ceiling and walls were all covered in strange shapes, jutting out at peculiar angles, all perfectly aligned to make for the most advanced anechoic chamber ever devised. The Room was not only soundproof, it also had no echo — everything was deadened.

This was the quietest place on earth.

Once he found the plans, he entered The Noise eagerly. Delving deeply he uncovered small ways to perfect the techniques he had learned. The result was flawless.

The floor was covered in a simple walkway so the fiberglass wedges were never touched. Then whole Room was encased in three more outer rooms — a Russian doll on an epic scale. Finally, the inner sanctum was set on delicate springs to keep any vibration to an absolute minimum.

Not satisfied with the assurance of quiet, Marcus had designed a huge hole that went deep down into the earth, the same odd protrusions jutting from the circular walls all the way down into the bowels of Mother Nature. Designed into the soundproofing were handholds so that Marcus could climb in and out. They were set into the concrete that formed the first skin at incredible depth. If you got stuck in The Hole you could scream for a thousand years and guarantee you would always be alone.

Not that it would be so bad, at least it would be peaceful. A place to just be, no distractions — Marcus was often tempted.

The lighting cast angled, some would say creepy shadows across the walls, the strange protrusions appearing deeper than they actually were. Even the lighting had been designed to be quiet, this was a Room for just being.

Marcus climbed down the ladder in his bare feet, all clothes removed in the outer access chamber. He made his way to the bottom of The Hole as if time no longer had meaning, then sat on the ground. It was warm, very warm, the depth giving a constant temperature throughout the year. Outside fluctuations had no effect this deep down, the earth itself provided all he needed.

The Hole was not a place for strict meditation, Marcus didn't enter The Void or The Noise from the depths. It was a place to just be quiet, away from distractions. To put the rest of his normally quite occupied life behind him.

As he sat, he calmed. Bunched nerves relaxed, his shoulders dropped, and as he meticulously checked over his body from head to toe he felt each muscle and willed it to be still. Marcus then settled in to thinking about recent events and the increasing risk he seemed to be facing. Those that wished to do him harm were getting more and more brazen in their attempts; he knew his patience was wearing thin. Much as he wanted humanity to continue, he certainly didn't want to let people free that would try to do him harm, or that didn't want humanity to thrive. But it wasn't quite that either that was bothering him. He could feel something else. The girl Letje? One of the other recent arrivals? When was the last one before her? Not the impostor, a real resident? His thoughts drifted to Letje again.

That wasn't it. But he had a definite feeling of unease.

Something was going to happen.

A change.

No matter, time would tell. There was certainly no shortage of that for her, for him, for anyone that wished it within the walls of this epic piece of discombobulated architecture.

Marcus let everything drift away, let himself observe the eddies of consciousness. He watched himself, allowed thoughts to come and go, never stopping them, never allowing them to come into sharp focus either. He just enjoyed the dark, the silence, the complete lack of movement. Warmth enveloped him, a cocoon of earth all around him behind the walls. He felt unborn, still in the womb, not a care in the world. Marcus sat like that for hours. Time flowed without awareness of its passing. Just being, letting what would happen drift by.

He found himself observing himself thinking about one of the most recent guests before Letje, another person that had peaked his interest. It did seem like things were getting rather interesting lately. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a sign that life was about to take a turn for the busy.

It was such a shame what happened to that woman. Why could people not comply with even the simplest of requests?

Marcus corrected himself, breaking the silence. "Rules, not requests." The anechoic chamber sucked up the noise. Peace returned.

Back to Beardsley

Wow, this is the man that basically controls the whole country? thought Loretta, not quite believing that she had made it this far, dubious that the odd looking man before her was actually Marcus, the fabled oligarch of The Commorancy, the only real bastion of refuge left in the United Kingdom.

The myth of this place of temporary sanctuary, temporary being a slight incongruity for if the rumors were true you were welcome to stay beyond what would be many normal lifetimes, had finally become real — Loretta was having a hard time getting to grips with her new, and somewhat bizarre situation.

Marcus had suddenly just appeared in a Room she had been instructed to wait in. He popped up standing beside a blue 1960's Vespa scooter as if he had been there all along. If that wasn't disconcerting enough then the fact that she had been greeted at the entry to the building by a very well groomed, haughty yet inquisitive goat, definitely was enough to unsettle her almost completely.

Loretta was expecting something altogether different, she just didn't know what. A fog of mystery had surrounded the legend that was The Commorancy ever since it had first been whispered about. The myriad different tales of what to expect, what went on inside, and what it could do for you had led her to believe she would step through a door into a sci-fi wonderland — full of mind-bending machines and doors that went whoosh.

The reality was a little different.

After entering through an insignificant door almost hidden by overgrown foliage, set deep into a steep moss covered rocky bank where water trickled down and chilled the air, she found herself walking down a slight decline on highly polished concrete, walls clinical and white, recessed spotlights casting just the right amount of shadow to make it feel all futuristic and like you were in for the hi-tech surprise of your life.

The rest was a little disconcerting. After waiting inside the entryway for several minutes, the door opening when she approached, then closing behind her dramatically, the goat, proud and impatient, nudged her hand then turned and trotted daintily down the corridor. She shrugged her shoulders and followed; there wasn't a lot else she could do. Then through another door, this time a huge old wooden thing, layer after layer of paint peeling and revealing the color choices of numerous generations. She then found herself in what could only be described as some type of bunker, definite emphasis on Soviet era minimalism; heavy on the concrete with extra gray thrown in to make sure the point was made. Along one wall were doors, each unique, with a very distinctive style as well as dimensions that either sat well, or clashed dramatically with the height of the ceiling forty plus feet above her head.

The whole space was cast in dark shadow, the corners disappearing into the gloom. No windows, no wall decoration apart from the lines where the concrete had been originally cast. Yet it didn't feel cold. The highly polished teak floor, huge slabs of thick floorboards worn smooth by countless footsteps and daily polishing for lifetimes, made the space oddly welcoming. A cozy seating area with rugs, well-worn couches and chairs, added to the surprisingly comforting atmosphere.

She had little time to take too much of this in as the goat seemed rather insistent she follow.

With a whoosh a cool looking door opened. Although she was sure the door didn't make the noise — it sounded like someone was just saying whoosh in their best futuristic sounding voice.

She entered what she was to understand was Marcus' office, where newcomers to The Commorancy were greeted and their Orientation began.

Well, here goes nothing. I just hope I pass the interview. This has got to work out.

Marcus took off his helmet, revealing jet-black hair slicked back from a pale face with the strangest green eyes she had ever seen. They were unsettling in their intensity and all the more captivating as they told of countless stories that didn't match with such a youthful face and frame. This was the ruler of what remained of the United Kingdom of Great Britain?

He was dressed in black. Dark trousers, the crease as sharp as a razor. A crisp linen shirt, black waistcoat, and a thigh length jacket with shoes so shiny they reflected the pale blue of the scooter.

"Do you like badminton?"

"What? Um, yeah, sure. Well, I haven't played it for a long time, but it's cool I guess." Loretta was already feeling jittery, this was not making her feel any better.

This is mad, he wants me to play badminton!

Marcus replied as if she had spoken aloud. "Oh, sorry, I know it's all a bit overwhelming. I get so used to Orientation that I forget how new it is to you, let's start again shall we?"

"Okay, sure," said Loretta, relaxing a little, but worried about her thoughts and if this man could see inside her head.

"Not quite, but don't worry, I don't bite," he said, grinning amiably. "Now, before we get to your Orientation, and I go over The Rules, let's go have us some fun, yes? It will help you relax, and I feel like playing badminton today. It's been years, years and years," he said wistfully, lost in reverie for a few moments. "This is George by the way," said Marcus, ruffling his head and buffing a horn with his sleeve.

"Hello George," said Loretta, at a loss as to what else to say.

George turned his head to look at her for a second, then ignored her and went trotting off towards the door.

As they passed through the door, Marcus grinned. "The door that goes whoosh," he said, pointing out the obvious. "Cool eh? Silly, but I do love a unique door. Gotta keep things interesting, otherwise it can get a little monotonous."

Loretta kept quiet, the last five minutes held more experience than she had probably had... well, ever. Now she was off for a game of badminton. Crazy.

They walked down the side of the open-plan Room, past seven doors of distinct personality. At the end was what appeared to be a blank wall at first inspection. As they got close, Loretta could discern the faint lines of a door. Marcus placed his hand against the wall at shoulder height and then pushed gently. It swung away smoothly.

Through the door they entered a different space entirely, a huge open area full of potted plants and random pieces of furniture from all eras, in myriad styles, colors and degrees of upkeep. The large space seemed to go on and on, but before she had time to take it all in Marcus was striding down the Room, heels clicking loudly. Loretta followed hurriedly. Their footsteps echoing then silent as they went over first bare floors then areas deep with expensive looking rugs.

"It's down here somewhere, promise. It's been so long since I played I can't remember which Room it is. Ah! Rather obvious, right?" he said, pointing at the bench to the left of the traditional Victorian door, piled up with rackets and strewn with shuttlecocks. "Grab one and let's play." Marcus grinned like a child as he swung the racket back and forth.

She picked one, too dazed and confused to do anything else. Before she knew it she found herself through yet another door and in what she imagined must be The Badminton Torture Room. In a Room lost to shadows was a full court with pristine net, clear markings on the floor, strong light focused on the center. The rest of the Room fell into darkness. The echoes of their footsteps and the trotting of George hinted at a huge space, a roof somewhere high above, but it was impossible to tell.

~~~

They played badminton.

She lost.

~~~

Back in the office, with a sheen of sweat cooling on them both, Loretta was invited to sit. The Room was dressed in a style similar to Marcus as always. A definite baroque feel permeated the space. Blood-red drapes hung on a wall, closed and hinting at a window that may or may not have been present behind them. A beautiful Grandfather clock stood tall and elegant against a wall, pendulum swinging loudly, heralding the quarter hours with impeccable precision.

Animal skulls looked down, eyeless sockets watching the occupants impassively. Beardsley originals hung on the walls, Art Nouveau oddities arranged seemingly at random around the room on the few well placed sideboards and pieces of less obviously functional furniture. A deep lush green rug took up a large part of the floor.

When they entered, George wandered over to a spot of special interest and lay down for a snooze. Loretta relaxed somewhat. Marcus had been right, the exercise had helped, the endorphins bringing confidence, allowing her muscles to unwind after functional use.

"So, The Rules. Let's get them out of the way first shall we? Then I can tell you a little about what to expect, let you ask any questions, and then if all goes well you can have your key. How does that sound, hmm? Good?"

"Oh yes, very good. So it's true then, there really are The Rooms, and the keys?" asked Loretta eagerly, enthusiasm bursting out now it seemed that this wasn't just the crazed fantasy of a madman.

A look of confusion crossed Marcus' face. "Of course it's true. Well, about The Rooms and the keys anyway. The rest of it? Well, that depends on what you know, or what you think you know. Trust me, what you believe is far from the reality. I know, as most of the lies and rumors were spread by me anyway." He smiled sheepishly, then got down to business.

No Going Back

Loretta got her key and was shown into her very own Room. Now she was inside.

She was seriously wondering if she had made the right decision.

It was beyond anything she had expected, beyond her wildest dreams, but she was afraid. Maybe this wasn't real? A dream? Was she drugged? She didn't feel drugged, but then would you?

Looking around her Room, it was impossibly perfect. It felt like her very soul had been analyzed, her every desire laid out before her. Marcus had told her that each Room was unique, different for each occupant, that her Room would give her what she needed now, and then what she needed in the future. That would depend on how long she stayed, what she learned, and what was the right thing along the way. He hadn't been lying. It was all of that and more.

She went cold, yet sweat beaded her brow at the same time. Her palms were wet and her temple throbbed. She didn't know that she deserved this; it was too great a gift to be given.

This wasn't real, it was a cruel joke. A test of some sort. She was definitely drugged, her head buzzed, her ears felt like they were vibrating, and she knew she was being made a fool of. There was no other answer for this, apart from it being real.

Loretta was overwhelmed. She couldn't stand it. She decided to test out the reality of her situation in the only way she knew how.

Loretta moved back to the door and with a moment's pause she placed her hand on the handle then turned it slowly — the one thing she had specifically been told not to do.

Nothing happened. "Damn, I knew this wasn't for real. It must be dru—"

Loretta's heart exploded in her chest. She dropped down dead at the foot of the door. Behind her in her Room, brightly lit and full of countless surprises, lay an impossibly beautiful future. Now lost forever.

All she had to do was obey one simple Rule.

She broke it and paid the price.

Marcus was not one to joke about The Rules. They were there for a reason.

They were to be obeyed.

~~~

"Shame," said Marcus, as he poked at the keyboard, sending out a message to the next candidate.

She arrived a few days later.

The Room For Bombs

Marcus sat in The Room For Bombs — unhappy.

He waited.

As he waited his anger rose. Anger he could banish if he so wished — he let it build and build, never quite reaching a crescendo.

It made him feel alive.

How long had it been since he had these feelings? Probably decades. Back when the last incursion was attempted — thwarted. Another red-faced idiot thinking they had nothing to lose and everything to gain. It had gone about as well for that unfortunate as it would for the one lying on the meter-thick concrete slab right now.

Marcus was in Oligarch mode, dressed accordingly. Sleeveless tunic, gold patterns swirling abstractly over deep tan cloth. Tight trousers with matching tan boots. He sat in a chair one might call a throne if one awoke lying on a cold floor realizing you were at the foot of the man that not only built The Commorancy but had just foiled your attempt to blow up at least a portion of it. And him.

rqz awoke to this realization, right after he pressed down on the plunger connected to the sophisticated bomb strapped to his waist, as thin as cloth, deadly for miles. Not only did it carry explosives but also germs deadly enough to wipe out anyone that came into contact with them once released. This was what rqz had been told, still believed to be true. Only problem being it was no longer attached to his body — the cable went nowhere.

"What the...?"

"It doesn't work," said Marcus matter-of-factly, anger somewhat stilled but his countenance raging. "I took it while you were out cold. You should try to come up with a better plan you know. All this crawling around in drains and the like, it's a bit outdated if I'm honest."

A less than impressed George had been cajoled by Marcus into the section of sewer containing rqz about three hours ago now, and while he slept he had brought him to The Room For Bombs where the device was examined remotely and dealt with. It was now disposed of, down The Hole For Dangerous Things where countless items had been dumped over the years. Yet he was a cautious man, so rqz had been kept in the Room to ensure that the rest of The Commorancy was safe if Marcus had missed something. He didn't believe he had, yet it was just as easy to be cautious as it was to be reckless, so why take the chance?

"Still painting your face red and thinking you are all grown up then are you? You lot really need a new look, it's a bit old now don't you think?" Marcus waited for a reply, the young man lying on the floor scowled at him, trying to move into a sitting position. "Answer me, I asked you a question."

"I don't have to tell you anything. You think you have won just because you have caught me? You know nothing."

"Not yet, no. But I will soon enough," said Marcus with a grin, his eyes darkening as he penetrated rqz's soul, his very being.

rqz gnashed his teeth together repeatedly, fear spreading across his face, a startled rabbit caught in the light of a lamp. Realization dawned.

"Of course it's gone, do you take me for an idiot? Stick your tongue in it, I don't know how stupid you are but if it wasn't there the first time it isn't going to magically reappear, now is it?" Marcus shook his head sadly, wondering exactly where they were getting their new recruits from. Maybe they had to resort to those with the beginnings of The Lethargy to do their dirty work? Or The Creeping maybe?

rqz poked his tongue around his mouth, finally confirming to himself that his escape route if captured, the tooth that would release a poison when clamped down on hard, really was missing.

"I told you. Right, down to business. What's your name?"

"rqz is my name, and you are an abomination."

Marcus' eyes glinted as anger rose, overwhelming anger consciously let loose. "Me? I'm the abomination?" spat Marcus. "You, you lie there, your name forsaken, your body tattooed, your life a failure, your religion one of death and destruction, and you dare call me an abomination?"

The screaming started.

Marcus was in no mood to deal with such juvenile antics, he had spent hours cleaning up the mess that rqz had caused. He entered the already warped mind of the child he discovered was named Paul and gave him a taste of what abomination really meant. It was something he was loath to do, had only done regularly when he was himself young and inexperienced with what lay under the surface of all things. As The Lethargy took hold so Marcus' powers developed. Now he could wipe out the brain of this child in a second and leave him a gibbering wreck if he so choose. He couldn't recall the last time he had inflicted permanent damage on another human in that way, but there was no escaping his past. He had a pit of certainty deep in his stomach that this child would not be the end of the attempted Contamination of The Commorancy.

Why were there so many interruptions lately? What was at the heart of all this turmoil? It couldn't have come at a worse time, Marcus knew he wasn't at his best — he was too caught up in events from the past to focus properly.

With a tic of the head he released his hold on rqz and left him shivering and crying for mercy on the floor of The Room for Bombs.

~~~

rqz awoke from a nightmare two days later to find himself amid a bleak landscape. The air so foggy he found it impossible to see his own hands. Then he realized it was fast drying tears and he got glimpses of his surroundings. The sweat caused by his dreams cooled the second he awoke, evaporating in the frigid air. Wind tugged at his body, the sensation pulling him to reality like jumping into a freezing lake. He was wedged into a crevice on an escarpment high in the hills. He had no idea where he was, there was nothing that he recognized, no reference points.

He was freezing and noted with dismay that he could hardly feel his toes or fingers.

Peeking out once he found the will, he looked around at rock strewn scree, scraggly plants creeping back to claim what had been mined for everything it was worth. Terraces were still visible although most had collapsed long ago.

He knew he was up high as he watched thick patches of cloud drift by, a fine drizzle leaving dark rock behind as it passed rapidly on the swirling breeze. A failure, that's what he was. There would be no silent afterlife for such as him. He had failed The Eventuals; failed himself. He quivered, pathetic tears welled unbidden, further shaming him as he was unable to control the flow. His body was not quite his own again, his whole frame shook like a child's rattle. Bowels evacuated and his eyesight kept blurring with the salty tears of shame.

How had he been captured so easily? How had he failed so miserably? And why did nobody tell him of the power of the man that controlled The Commorancy? A man who was not half as eccentric and charming as he had been led to believe.

rqz was naked. The cool weather sent shivers across his skin, adding to the uncontrollable mess his nerves were in. The heated infection seemed to be gone, leaving him nothing but cold and alone.

How he hated Marcus — unforgiving and unapologetic despot that he was. How rqz hated him so. Hated him for trying to keep alive the dregs of humanity, trying to lead people forward, rather than letting what was left of the human race fade away with an inglorious whimper.

It was all a bad dream. How could he have failed so utterly after so much planning? Years of it. Years to find The Commorancy, the pain of his tattoos, the belief he would make a difference.

What a nightmare.

Realization dawned across his gaunt face. Even knowing it was futile he shook his head hard to dispel the vision. It remained. What had already been a nightmare suddenly worsened into deepest humiliation.

The change hadn't registered through the fog of pain that devoured his whole body. Through the cold, tears and shame.

He waved his arms about wildly, stared at his belly, at his tattered feet, every part of him he could see.

His body. His skin. His beautiful red skin! The sign of the promise and commitment he had made to The Eventuals.

It was black, raven black. As dark as the surrounding damp rock; as pitch as the heart of Marcus. How he hated him more now than ever.

He rubbed at his scrawny legs. Scratched. Then clawed.

New tattoos. Black.

His beautiful red, his commitment, gone. He clawed until his shins were a bloody mess, he howled insanely at the bleak horizon, cursing Marcus a million times over.

Trying to stand, grabbing the slick rock that surrounded him to help him move, he clenched his teeth against the pain. A tiny click made his eyes widen and pupils dilate as understanding flooded through him. Before he died he sobbed pathetically, cursing himself for not realizing the tooth was firmly back in place.

He died in the cold a second after the poison entered his bloodstream, naked and blacker than the dirt that gradually buried him over the years, as the land slowly slid down the hillside.

It was of little consequence. Within minutes of his death he was ripped apart by dogs that caught his scent on eddying winds, wild and ferocious after generations of being trapped on all sides by an insurmountable obstacle.

He was lucky, they had his scent well before his death, Marcus had done him a favor by giving him a full set of teeth before banishing him from the confines of his home.

Time to Think

Over the years Marcus had countless opportunities to ponder how it was he appeared to others, and long ago concluded that he didn't care. A long life was bound to bring out the character quirks everyone had, so it was natural his would be extensive. He grew used to spending long periods of time with no human company but his own. In a world where so few even had the life-force to put on a pair of socks in the morning he instead reveled in his unique situation, and as he got older he found he enjoyed life more and more.

Mostly.

One thing he never really thought of himself as was a ruler, even though he was The Commorancy if truth be told. He ran it, built it, lived in it and protected it, although he could hardly remember the last time protection was something he had to think about. He knew what he was, and understood the responsibility it entailed — able to offer what he did. Marcus accepted the burden, the flaws and eccentricities that made him a genuine human being.

Sometimes he wept.

He wept for the things he had done, the lives he had ended, the opportunistic side of his nature that had run rampant for many years when he was a much younger man and The Commorancy was being built. Some things were best left buried in the past, and the dark truth behind such huge endeavors as The Commorancy were not tales to tell children before bedtime.

It served its purpose: it helped humanity to survive. Although the cost had been high and Marcus often felt like a casualty himself. But people had to have a choice. That was what he strove for, so there had to be Rules. If you accepted the challenge then he firmly believed that those that lost their way once given a key had nobody to blame but themselves.

Age had given wisdom of sorts, but also a deep understanding of what it took to keep humanity from being snuffed out in its entirety.

He was not the only one.

There were other such places, on other continents, where the Masters were not as forgiving, where things were much darker, where motives were very different to his own. There were groups that would do anything to eradicate what was left of energized humanity.

Marcus had chosen his side long ago: life. He chose a way back to how things were, even if his methods were somewhat unconventional by anyone's standards. He wanted people to survive as a whole, for the human race to get back its drive. For society to function again.

It hadn't happened yet, even now the struggle was constant. But what else could he do but try?

Yet he was in no doubt about the double standard, the abuse of power he had wielded for so long, the foibles and wasted resources, both human and other. He accepted that the way he acted marked him out as a true oligarch in the greatest of traditions. He paid the price along with countless others. But it gave hope and it had to be as it was. Humanity needed something to cling to, there was nothing else left. So for it to work there had to be a safe refuge where people could be opened up to the future potentials that permeated everything and were endless in their possibilities.

Plus, deep down he found it fascinating that he could accomplish something as ultimately odd as The Commorancy. It wasn't a job for the faint-hearted, that was for sure.

Sometimes he marveled at the life he had lived. He watched it from a distance and wondered just how mad he really was. He knew for sure that time was becoming more and more jumbled the older he got.

Marcus had a dark side, one born of his unique position in the world, the skills he had honed over the years, and the power that came with the opening of The Noise and the ability to gain mastery over his own body. And that of others.

It was obscene. Yet somehow always justified.

He didn't discover lost science, didn't stumble upon some mad mix of drugs that could awaken you to your true potential. No, he simply found out that the human body contained all it needed within to transform into something more, something above the normal standard before the sickness took hold: Awoken.

He understood that humanity could never rise again while there were those out to destroy his work. Sooner or later they would have to be dealt with once and for all.

The Eventuals. Those that felt the winding down of the populace and eventual death was inevitable. The fools that wanted to eliminate anyone that showed signs of resistance to the coming end, then kill themselves and let the planet rest once again.

Well, not on his watch, and he planned on being around for a very long time to come.

What are The Odds?

"You think it's easy, easy to do what I do? To keep on after all this time, trying to avoid people like you getting control? Wiping out the rest of us? For your stupid belief? Propaganda that leads you to looking like a goddamn tomato?" Marcus spat his words at fpk, incensed at the attempted break in, yet also angry at the religion that had turned what could have been a decent man into the mockery of humanity before him. Most of all he was angry that these people seemed intent on ruining his days at the moment. There was no doubt as far as Marcus was concerned that a concerted effort was being made to destroy him. This wasn't a few fools acting on their own accord, it was planned, even if they themselves didn't know it.

The problem was that Marcus found it all so ineffectual. He had serious doubts that the person behind it, which he assumed was Varik, would be so crass and blundersome if he wanted to seriously threaten Marcus' existence.

Something else was coming, but what?

"To... toma... tomato!" blurted fpk. "How dare you mock my commitment to The Eventuals. This is a sign of my belief, my trust in The Leader, showing respect for his sacrifice, his burnt face, his willingness to go through the pain of fire to help us on the true path."

"Let me tell you something about your Master. He has no scars, at least not in the way you think anyway. He never went through any fire, he's actually a very good looking man. You want to know about real suffering, real commitment to a cause? Let me show you. You people make me sick. What is wrong with you? How can you be so stupid? C'mon, you want to know what it takes, real commitment? I said let's go!" Marcus was getting angrier by the minute, it had been a bad day so far and it wasn't getting any better. It wasn't anything he couldn't handle, but still, he found it an extreme waste of his time and a real interruption to the ordered, if seemingly outwardly erratic structure of his days and nights. Marcus thought of The Room For Evening Drinking wistfully, wishing he had built a morning, afternoon and any time of the day version too. Which was exactly why he had done no such thing.

He grabbed fpk by the collar and dragged him to the door. It opened as Marcus pressed his hand just off center at naval height. Silence enveloped them in a small ante-room. The door closed behind them.

fpk felt like he was moving although in which direction he had no idea. Some sort of elevator, a moving platform? What? He was disorientated and couldn't tell up from down. Then his stomach told him he was still again.

"Move," said Marcus, pushing him forward. He stumbled to the floor so Marcus grabbed him and pulled, scraping his body against a hard floor. He was dragged onward, his body raw, unable to resist with the tight bonds securing his arms by his side, his feet together. Marcus paused, then fpk felt himself pulled by the cord tying his feet. He was spun around and Marcus continued his journey. He heard a door open, then close to a chill that instantly set his teeth chattering. Wind sped past his face fast. Was he outside? Another door, now warmth, no wind, and down a passage where echoes were muffled and footsteps non-existent. It went on and on, he lost count of the number of doors, different sounds, sensations and surfaces, let alone temperatures. What was this place? He wished he could see it.

Then they stopped. All was still. He was pulled to his feet by incredibly strong arms. He tried not to scream with the pain.

"You want to know what real commitment to a cause is? Want to know what a real Master is capable of? I'm talking to you, open your eyes and look."

fpk opened his eyes and was confronted with a cavernous space that stretched on into infinity. Thousands of beds in lines, running up and down, side to side — never ending.

"This, this is what it takes. You don't know the truth. You don't even come close to understanding what is involved in being responsible. You think having a tattoo and just claiming you are right actually makes it so? You are a child. A baby. You know nothing."

Marcus slammed the door shut on the tens of thousands of Lethargic in The Room For Hope. Kept alive just in case. Maybe one day they could be brought back to health. The Room had seen countless incarnations as each unfortunate died so they were replaced with another of the fewer and fewer survivors. The numbers dwindled rapidly over the years.

~~~

Varik's lips turned up in a smile of devious satisfaction.

Finally, he had what he was looking for. He knew there would be a real weak spot — he had found it at last. Marcus, lover of humanity, had just made his first major mistake. It was one Varik intended to exploit to the maximum — with Marcus' life, with the lives of his guests, and certainly with the lives of the thousands of Lethargic he had stored away in the bowels of that damn Commorancy.

He released his hold, gentle yet firm, on the poor creature known as fpk and slowly he came back to his own surroundings. Bird was asleep on his shoulder, a sliver of blood trickling down Varik's pectoral reminding him to feed his friend well this evening. His grip was always firmer when he was hungry. He didn't mind, his old companion was part of his family after all.

Varik moved slightly. Bird stirred irritably, opened one intelligent eye and peered quizzically at Varik.

"Not yet my old friend, you go back to sleep." Bird continued his dreaming before Master had the chance to finish his sentence.

Bird was having the loveliest of dreams.

Strobe Effect

Neon screamed pink on the checkered floor.

The disco ball spun languidly.

Beats pulsed through Marcus' entire body as techno from the last decade of music ever recorded played at an insanely high volume in The Disco Room.

Marcus wasn't a dancer, but he liked to sit and listen, to enjoy the vibrations running from head to toe, to soak up the strange ambiance that only an empty nightclub, devoid of anything but sound and strobing light effects can produce. Sometimes the overwhelming weight of his situation, his past and the future laid out in front of him, simply got too much.

Madness was always beckoning. He was a freak of nature, a delusion, a being so opposite to what remained of the dregs of humanity. Being Marcus often almost overwhelmed his sanity.

Tonight he was on the brink. The intrusions, the deaths he had to take responsibility for, and the whole damn premise of what he was doing tried to crush him. He knew that there was a lot more to come, and soon. He could feel the stirrings in The Noise, the whispers on the wind of a disruption to his life, to those he promised to keep safe — the risk it posed for the future of humanity.

Marcus needed distractions from his responsibilities, it was enough to drive a man to extremes of all kinds.

He sucked down his fifth cigarette of the night, a rarity for him but a vice he indulged in maybe once a decade. Tonight, he felt that he deserved it. He moved back and forth from The Room For Evening Drinking to The Disco Room, a rather outdated moniker for a Room that never played actual disco music. Marcus favored heavy guitar and screaming vocals, but was in the mood for something a little more dance-worthy.

He looked up at the DJ booth, an empty space with nothing but turntables and more advanced technology that was currently running on auto. The backdrop was a huge wall scroll, ruby red with a black silhouette of a stylized dancer, all abandon and frenzy. Freedom. The walls of the room were painted black with neon tubes running around in abstract patterns, blacklight paint splattered on the walls and ceiling adding to the manic effect.

There were stools running along a counter, yet no barman to serve the non-existent guests. Various more comfortable booths lined the walls, tables empty — forever polished.

The Room had been a mistake, he shouldn't have come. Sometimes he did the wrong thing, ignored his emotions and let his guard down, pursuing activities that would darken not lighten his mood.

Marcus had never felt more alone in his entire life.

What was he doing? Sitting alone in a Room that people would laugh at if there were enough left to care?

There weren't.

So he wept quietly as the pink neon highlighted his tears and his chest racked with the burden of a long life and no idea what to do with it when the darkness fell and the thoughts spun around his head at a mile a minute.

He lit another cigarette, puffed the smoke out fast. It sparkled in the flickering lights as the music blared, drowning out his screams.

His tears fell, unseen, to the floor.

He cried, he choked, he coughed and he couldn't stop. He stood, grinding the cigarette under foot on the clean floor, then spun, and spun again. Faster and faster. He was a whirling dervish, a crazed thing revolving manically, the blood rushing to his head, his body a rag doll.

His grief overwhelmed him.

Alone, all alone, the Room could have been packed with people, he would still have felt alone. A life that was not meant to be had dangerous repercussions. Emotions built, brain activity went haywire occasionally and tight control was sometimes lost. Tonight was one of those nights, so Marcus spun yet faster still as he screamed louder and louder, voice raw from the smoke.

Spittle and tears spun in all directions.

He finally fell to the floor, the pulse of the music vibrating his bones, his body shaking, his face sopping from the tears, his clothes soaked with alcohol tinged sweat.

There was nobody there to watch — to care.

Marcus' mind became jumbled, days lost meaning and he wondered if he would ever find himself back in the true present, if such a thing even existed for the likes of him.

I Can Cure You

More memories. They were coming thick and fast now, leading up to something, Marcus had no doubt. He let the past envelop him, knowing he had little choice in the matter. He felt his mind split in half, as if he experienced two lives at once, his and his guest's. How many more to go? Silly question, Marcus knew the answer to that. Eyelids grew heavy and Marcus was once again flung into the past...

~~~

Marcus' office was purple. He wore an immaculate three-piece suit in deepest black, accent tie to match the walls. His felt hat had a matching puggaree — to complete the effect. He was feeling gentile this morning, so had the Room reflect his mood. A fire blazed in the hearth, the richly paneled walls exuded age and comfort. Bookshelves were lined with solemn tomes and the rugs were ancient Afghani of the best possible quality. The whole Room oozed Old Money with overriding odors of wax, smoke from the hearth and expensive, no longer manufactured cigars.

Marcus' hair was slicked back, his complexion darkened with a light covering of bronzer. He was tired and it hid the bags under his eyes, although the main reason was he simply felt like dressing up today.

"Take a seat please," said Marcus, gesturing to the green leather wingback.

"Thank you Sir, um... Marcus. bunnies, sugar, dirty teabag." Astolat put her hand to her mouth, trying to pull back in the words she had spoken.

"Why do you worry about the words?" asked Marcus, getting straight to the point.

"Why? bugger, donkey, glass of milk and a biscuit. Because they ruin my life, that's why. Well, what little there is of it anyway. I want it gone. I want it gone for good. honky, beefcake, baby bunny feet."

"It's why you are here yes? To get a key? A Room? To have your wish granted? To become what you want to be? You want me to give you that?"

Astolat nodded her head vigorously.

"Well, I can do that right now for you, no need for a Room. Just say you don't want it — the Tourette's syndrome, and I can take it from you. Like that." He clicked his fingers, the sound sucked up by the rich rugs and paneled walls.

"What do you mean, take it away? furry feet, have a banana, monkey bum, fluffy ears."

"How do you think? You know where you are? Well, to some degree at least, yes? You know that you are eligible for a Room and there are Rules, which I will go into soon. But you also know I am a Concluder — Awoken. More? I am not like you, even as you are not like most of the dregs that are left. And my gift? I can show you the way to get what you want, or, in this case I can take it from you. See." He closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again.

"But if you take it away from me, have I learned how to control it myself? Have I changed? Am I still me if I let you take this thing off me without me doing it through some form of conscious action?" Astolat realized she hadn't burst out with anything inappropriate. She let out a quiet, "Oh."

"Well, therein lies the quandary does it not? I can take it from you, but are you still you? What else has been taken for you to eliminate the TS, which is what they call it still, yes?"

"Yes. sparkly donkey, dirty rabbit, nice jelly cake." Her eyes widened as she realized it was back.

"A complex issue, and one I have spent a long time debating with myself. You decide. I can give you a Room... for as long as you need. Company even, if you want it. Anything you want to feel happy. And I can show you the way to control it. Techniques. More than that. You want more, I know. The Tourette's is not the reason why you came. If it was you would not have gone through so much, and I would not have admitted you anyway. But think about it. If I take it from you like I just did, you must be comfortable that what is left has not changed the rest of you. Excuse me. I am feeling overdressed, I will be back shortly." Marcus rose and strode from the Room without another word. It was an excuse to leave the woman alone for a while with her thoughts. But now he came to think about it he did feel somewhat confined in his formal-wear.

Marcus returned some time later, hair hanging limp, a checkered shirt on and a pair of Bermuda shorts, sunglasses sitting high on his head, a pair of table tennis bats in hand.

"Do you play? I so seldom get to play games any longer. Fancy a game before you decide? There is a lot to go over if you are staying. I find exercise helps to clear the mind and prepare you for a better understanding. And besides, it's one of The Rules. Well, for today anyway." Marcus smiled, hoping she understood he was joking — about The Rules, not about table tennis.

Astolat's head was spinning. Who was this guy? Was it even the same man as earlier? He looked so different. And how the hell had he got all this when he was so young? She was beginning to wonder if all the trials and tribulations over the last few years to get here had really been worth it.

Could The Noise lie? Had she been cheated somehow? He might just be a Whole living out his days in Daddy's mansion rather than one of the few Concluders on the planet — as was the mythology around Marcus Wolfe.

~~~

Astolat Boria had struggled to find out much at all about The Commorancy in her search — she didn't know where to begin.

She was tenth generation Whole; the beginnings of The Lethargy some two hundred years ago were lost to her apart from tiny scraps of information she had managed to scrape together. Her parents had been tight-lipped people, sad, uncommunicative — not very loving at all. She lost her father first, then her mother to an accident rather than The Lethargy, and by the time she was barely a teenager she was alone in the world.

Astolat had never seen a computer, never heard of the Internet. There were never more than a handful of books in the house. She had been taught rudimentary reading and writing skills but little more. Her parents told her next to nothing of the history of humanity and became extremely uncommunicative when she tried to ask questions. All she really knew was that once upon a time there was a world full of people and there was no such thing as being Whole or having The Lethargy — everyone was just the same. She never believed that people were all like her parents though, she knew from a young age she wasn't.

Her parents were far from unique for people still Whole. A little knowledge could be a bad thing. Knowing of past glories for the human race sent many spiraling down into manic depression as they grew to adulthood, lamenting the world they were born into, everything they had lost. So they decided not to tell Astolat of what might have been, thinking it would shield her from a condition they were both aware they had, but did their best to fight. She knew nothing of this at the time, it wasn't until much later on when she found a diary of her mother's that she finally understood why they had been the way they were.

It was too late by then. Self-taught, she was well read, well educated, and had traveled the UK extensively, but she still had TS and it drove her crazy.

It wasn't as if she had people to talk to as such, but on her travels she had encountered a few, some past caring whether she spoke or not, others understanding but bemused by her way of speaking. No, it was more that she annoyed the damn hell out of herself when she was trying to just get on with her life — talking out loud just to break the silence shouldn't be a struggle. What could be more annoying than talking alone, for company, when you kept interrupting yourself with mindless inanities about teapots and donkey bums?

One day it all got too much and she decided to try to get a Room in The Commorancy. She had picked up whispers of it on her travels, had found mention of it in old magazines and newspapers in the various libraries she discovered — that hadn't been burned to the ground or ransacked for books for fuel to keep warm.

But she had no idea how to use a computer, or how you went about generating your own electricity to power one. She did the next best thing she could think of: lived in the woods and learned how to enter The Noise. She had seen and heard enough to know it was a real thing. That if she was Whole then she should be able to one day at least enter and effect things, herself. Unlock powers she didn't even know existed. There were numerous old books on the topic, some even written by Marcus if they were to be believed. Not everyone had any kind of crazy special power lying dormant within them, but many people would at least be able to exert influence over their own bodies. To live longer, stay young, feel good.

Astolat felt she was destined for something and getting rid of the speech impediment along the way would be a welcome bonus.

So if she couldn't gain entry to Marcus' lair via clues in the virtual world, then she would find him in The Noise and let herself be known that way.

It took a while.

Arriving

Astolat wasn't unique in the way she gained an invitation to occupy a Room, but she was unique in how she was introduced to The Commorancy.

Marcus had helped spread the rumor that there were countless numbers of hoops to go through to gain entry, that the way was convoluted, full of dead ends, lies, false clues and more. This was all true, but people's paths into The Commorancy were ultimately decided by one overriding factor: Marcus.

He made it a point of following up on nearly every single person alive in the UK at any one time. He did this on a regular, if somewhat erratic basis. So although many people followed paths that took years to complete, until finally receiving an invitation which was often as frustrating as their initial search, it was all an orchestration to ensure that people really wanted their place, and to give Marcus time to investigate the applicant.

Marcus had found it easier to monitor people as the years slipped by like a dream — the less there were, the easier it was to keep track of them. The growing concern was the rise of Whole that turned to The Eventuals.

It was perfectly understandable. Although he had little patience for those that would harm others, at the same time he understood their choice to at least end their own lives. What he couldn't, and wouldn't put up with was people taking it upon themselves to destroy the lives of others. There was scant enough humanity left as it was, and they were precious, so each year he grew more and more exasperated with the growing number of Whole turning to a pseudo-religion he knew to be a lie. He was well aware, even if they weren't, that it was based on a mythology built and spread by Varik — a philosophy that was a lie.

If it was a competition then Marcus was still winning. More Whole either lived quietly, not getting involved in the affairs of man in any way, or sought out The Commorancy rather than join The Eventuals. But it was still a major concern. As the years passed attempts at infiltration, and on his life, had grown in number.

Because of this, the way people were now accepted into the bosom of his home had changed. What began only via computer technology had morphed as humanity crawled back into the dark ages. As solar panels failed, batteries no longer held their charge, and knowledge of technology faded with the generations, Marcus adapted as he always had.

So after Astolat had her rather unique invitation, Marcus thought it would be fun to introduce her to her temporary residence in a rather exciting way: he met her in a hot air balloon well away from The Commorancy and took her back via the clear blue sky of unpolluted England.

~~~

"You understood the message then?" shouted Marcus, as he descended from above, trying not to scare Astolat too much. He closed off the propane burner fully and pulled on a rope, opening the vent wider at the apex of the envelope — a nylon balloon that was apple green, with a stylized skull and crossbones emblazoned around its circumference. He was glad he had decided not to bring George along after all. What had he been thinking?

Astolat was standing in the middle of a field surrounded by huge towering stones in a rough circle. Some had toppled but many still stood proud, with horizontal slabs balanced on top. Her invitation had led her to a few such landmarks until she had gotten the distinct impression she was being played with.

As she looked up at the sudden sound she found that she couldn't speak. The sight of a man hanging over the side of a huge basket, with a noisy fire throwing flames upward into an enormous balloon, was sufficient for her to lose her power of speech.

"Are you, wonky wotsits, fluffy bum bum, Spanish mustache, Marcus?" she finally managed to shout. "Damn," she added, now absolutely not being the time for her condition to get worse than normal.

"Ta-da!" shouted down Marcus, battling with the cumbersome flying machine, hoping he hit none of the rocks. "Grab a rope will you, and tie it to something sturdy," he quipped, hand to eyes, scouring the countryside for a suitable tether.

Astolat was dreaming, she must be. Nonetheless, she tied one of the long hanging ropes to the base of a huge rock, then grabbed another from the other side and balanced out the tethers. Marcus, she assumed it was he, adjusted things up in the basket and soon enough the whole huge bizarre flying machine sort of crash landed to the ground, dragging the basket along sideways with Marcus hanging on for dear life. He scrambled out and pinned short ropes firmly into the ground. He swept his hair back from his face, smoothed down his clothing, rubbed at the grass stains on his knees and walked over to Astolat.

"It's a hot air balloon. Hi, I'm Marcus. Fancy a lift."

"Hello Sir, I'm Astolat. Thank, piggy wiggy, curly tail, balloon bum. Damn. Thank you. Um, is it safe?" Astolat thought that maybe now would be a good time for a little lie down and a cry. This was not what she had expected.

"Please, call me Marcus. And safe, well, I'm here aren't I?" Marcus tried to sound confident, so squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest. It had been a somewhat adventurous journey and he had decided almost as soon as he took to the sky that he would only use the crazy contraption for part of the trip back to The Commorancy.

Pleasantries continued for a few minutes, then the pair were soaring above the ground making a rather wobbly and mostly very unnerving flight back towards the home of one of the most influential men history had ever known.

The irony was not lost on Marcus.

Astolat just thought she must be dreaming, so tried to ignore the whole thing. It was hard to do though as Marcus kept pointing out landmarks from the past, now reclaimed by forests and spreading plant life.

Holiday... Celebrate

Marcus was in The Fighting Room (Simulated Meat). How had he got there? One minute he was lost to the past and the next he was firmly in the present, energy waning. How long had he been in this Room?

Every muscle on his body screamed, lit by unflattering, stark light. Sweat sprang from open pores like miniature geysers. Veins wriggled around his arms, trying to escape the punishment he was putting his body through. He slammed his fists into the spookily realistic replica of a human foe for the hundredth time and winced at the slick thud his calloused knuckles made as they hit the pseudo-meat. He despised such training, but it was necessary. You could never rely on weapons of any but the human kind, it was a motto of his, one of many. More than he could remember.

The full-sized mannequin was state of the art training equipment for defense forces back in the early 21st century. Marcus had numerous similar, very intelligent training tools. It was the next best thing to actually punching and kicking a real person, not something he had ever had to do on more than a handful of occasions. Marcus relied mostly on his intelligence and mental powers to defend himself and his environment, but inevitably sometimes physical fitness and strength had come in very handy. So he made a point of not only exercising hard, but of training for hand to hand combat regularly too.

The naked body jabbed out punches at Marcus. He ducked, weaved and rallied in return. Sometimes it even landed a punch on him when he was overly tired — it had resulted in quite a few lost teeth, black eyes, and several broken noses over the years. Made of flexible plastics, it had endured centuries of regular beatings and showed no sign of wearing out any time soon. The makers really knew what they were doing back then.

He jabbed with his left, twice to the face, then slammed out at lighting speed with his right hand into the area where the kidneys would be. A dull thud echoed around the room, the blunt force pushing back the mannequin. Marcus followed through with a kick to the head that sent it crashing to the side, only to be righted by the strong pneumatics.

He was tired, worn out from exertion — more. Running such a place as The Commorancy was mentally taxing — there was always something that needed his attention. He often thought back to the early days of his home, and wondered whether he should return to activating the assistance that had made life an awful lot easier, but left a very bad taste in his mouth.

That had been so long ago, he was different now. Wiser, more compassionate. Not so keen to manipulate. But he really was very tired.

Sometimes he felt old beyond his years, older than he should be, older than was natural. Lost, like swimming uphill against a strong tide.

Marcus hadn't taken a vacation for almost half of his entire life. Back when people were Whole many would go once or twice a year. Marcus hadn't had a break for almost a hundred and fifty years.

He sat on a bench, toweling down, catching his breath, thinking back to his vacation, a memory he didn't need a dossier to remember. It was glorious, he had lost himself in relaxation, drink, and the wonders of the planet for almost an entire decade. But most of all there was love — and sadness. Such grief. He never thought it possible.

The vacation?

Like a dream. Venice, Paris, Athens, the Pyramids, the Grand Canyon and so much more. Many of the buildings they had seen would be nothing but crumbling relics now, he wondered what they would look like if he took the time to send cameras to witness what would surely be nothing but a disappointment — a slow demise into just a few more ancient remnants of what was once the peak of human achievement. He knew Venice had sunk, much of Paris, including the Eiffel Tower, decimated by raging fires, then perversely the flooding of the Seine.

It wasn't the tourist attractions themselves that had appealed, it was the company.

His second love, his second intimate encounter and his escape from an increasingly heavy burden he was glad to unshackle himself from, if only for a while.

She had never been a guest however, never had a Room. She was an incredibly intelligent woman, short, somewhat stocky, unerringly optimistic and unstoppable when it came to wanting to experience the world.

Marcus had loved and loathed every minute. Loved the intimacy, the chance to lose himself in another person. A real live person that cared for him and wanted to know his deepest darkest secrets, ones he could never share with her, for fear she would turn from him in disgust, leave him to return to his isolation, his work. But these were not normal circumstances; now he had human contact. A connection that was surely something that should be a part of everyone's life, sadly missing since he was but a mere sapling of a young man.

She loved him, made fun of his obsession with clothes, smiled at his lame attempts at jokes, and never asked of his past — something he would be eternally grateful for.

She got horrendously drunk and made him do likewise. They danced beside the fallen Tower of Pisa and they shouted to the heavens atop the heights of the only remaining wonder of the ancient world: the Khufu pyramid at Giza. Together they lamented the loss of the whole of Yellowstone National Park to the huge thermal eruption that had been overdue for centuries, and they marveled at the northern lights, shaking their heads as if the spectacle was nothing but a fantastical mirage.

But more than anything, Marcus forgot.

Was he really the oligarch of what remained of humanity? The last resort? The only chance of salvation? It seemed impossible. The Rooms? Really? That was his life? The convoluted maze that made up his home? For a decade it seemed like a century and a half was nothing but a dream. An alternate reality that was nothing to do with him. He felt young again, like a newborn experiencing the world. He was no longer a rather eccentric man that ran the last bastion of salvation for humanity.

Then it all ended, as he knew it would. It was inevitable.

Again.

He had seen it from the start, of course. She was a failed applicant, one that had not passed the countless tests to ensure suitability. She would have been an ideal candidate if not for one thing: Lethargy. Even so, Marcus put himself through the torment of loving a woman for the second, and last time in his life — knowing with certainty what the outcome would be.

Everybody died.

If you stopped loving because one day they would pass from your life then what would that say about you as a human being? So he loved fiercely, knowing his love would be taken from him and he would be alone again.

The last time he saw her they had been in Peru, at Machu Picchu. He walked down the ages worn steps to thicker air and left her atop the hill, watched over by a coven of ancient women he knew would care for her until she passed back into The Void, as everything did — as even he would one day.

Still, it was one of the happiest periods of his life. What a decade! No point lamenting the death of a loved one — it happened to everyone eventually. Almost everyone anyway.

He wondered about that; came to a decision.

Marcus threw the damp towel over his shoulder, picked up his things, and went to take a shower, wondering how long his love had survived at the ancient Inca site as she slowly turned into nothing but a shell of a woman. All knowledge of him and their time together forgotten forever, lost into The Void like everything else.

No longer even a dream.

Just nothingness.

~~~

When he was looking at her failed progress in The Room For Doing Things With Computers, Marcus was struck by her beauty. Something clicked for him and he did the most unusual of things: he went and found her. Actually ventured outside and traveled to the edge of the country, to the coast, to do... well, he didn't really know what. All he knew was that he was drawn to this woman and had to meet her in the flesh.

He walked up a well maintained drive surrounded by flowers in deep borders. Actually feeling nervous, Marcus knocked on a door weathered by the ocean air, pieces of bone-white driftwood and shells dotted artistically on either side.

It had felt strange performing such a simple task as knocking on a door. He never knocked on doors. He was used to being the owner of the doors.

The woman had answered after a few minutes, not really knowing how to react. Nobody came visiting, there wasn't anybody.

"Hello, I'm Marcus. Sorry about the intrusion, but may I come in? It's been a long trip and I could do with sitting down."

The woman stared at him wide-eyed, mouth agape. After what felt like a lifetime to Marcus she slowly smiled and invited him into her home.

They sat together in a spartan but clean kitchen, drinking a pleasant mint tea from plants she grew, and slowly got to know each other. She hadn't spoken to anybody for a year or more, was still reeling from the rejection from The Commorancy. From Marcus. He talked her through it all, through the reasons why. She understood. He had vowed to hold nothing back, so politely explained that her time was limited. It would be no sudden Consuming Lethargy, she would have years, more probably, until she would forget things. Names. Places. People.

Memories would all fade.

"And then?"

"And then you just shut down, bit by bit, until you have no interest in anything, no memories at all. No knowledge of what you were, what you did."

"Better make the most of the time I have left then, hadn't I? No point wasting this life, it's the only one I will ever have. Right?"

"As far as I'm aware," said Marcus, smiling. "But you never know. Hey, how about a little trip?"

They stayed together for ten years.

The best time in his life since he was a genuine young man.

Now it was all gone. Such a long time ago. There had been no other long trips, no loves, no sightseeing.

Marcus was institutionalized and didn't even know it. Or if he did he refused to acknowledge it.

Alphabetti Spaghwetti

Here we go again, thought Marcus. Today was a bad day for such things. He wanted to get back to the girl at some point, but had been rudely interrupted. He wasn't in the mood for this, but he had to deal with it the right way.

The latest group of would-be-assassins were pretty pathetic as far as Marcus was concerned. In the past at least they had tried harder. The futility of their attempts at destruction always struck Marcus as childish. He detested the indoctrination much more than he did the philosophy of the religion behind their devoted actions.

Nature worship was a fine thing, the last society was surely warning enough that you ignored the natural order of things at your peril. But he strove for a balance in all things: man and nature, not one or the other. He had often pondered the fervent belief of The Eventuals that man should be no more. He understood the sentiment and the belief, but genocide didn't sit well, and besides, man had been punished more than enough. He wanted a return to higher population numbers where babies could come kicking and screaming into the world then grow up to appreciate the myriad wonders such a tiny planet in the infinite Universe could offer.

Yet there was always somebody out to spoil it. Why did people want to ruin anything that they saw as an abomination when they themselves went against nature to create abominations of the human kind? He never could tie the philosophies together.

Never mind, it was not his place to bring salvation to those that had already chosen their path. It was the beauty but also the curse of free will — something he had interfered with in the past with less than satisfying results. He was certainly no Saint, as those before him would soon find out, but he at least had respect for his species and wished for its continuation.

Yet Marcus was not above dealing out punishment of the foulest kind when he felt it was called for. He wasn't one of the most influential human beings on the planet without reason.

Marcus could be ruthless when the need arose — according to him.

Now was one such occasion.

He sat upon a throne in The Room For Punishment, dressed in his most serious outfit for the occasion. There was no whimsy, no jaunty angle of a hat upon his head, no nod to styles long dead.

Punishment Clothes were the order of the day. The death of human beings called for suitable attire.

Marcus wore The White Outfit.

The only color on Marcus was the red of his cheeks as he fought hard to still anger and cruelty that could well up and consume him. Hundreds of years of pursuing the most important task in the entire history of humanity — saving it — meant that he had to be ruthless when the time came. It had come.

On a raised platform of crimson red Marcus waited for the men below to wake from their enforced slumber. Each of them was dressed in nothing but their skin. Skin that was now bright blue. Sores covered their bodies where the ink had penetrated, stained them forever once again. Gone was the red. The blue mocked their death color and shamed them with its light pastel tint. Marcus shifted.

The men stirred.

He smiled, not out of delight for what was to come, but more at the folly of humanity when so few were left. Maybe The Eventuals were right after all. When this is what man did to man, maybe they should be gone from the world? The irony was not lost on him. Here he was, about to kill those that would kill him, and before they died they were to be shamed. What did that say about him? Them? The tattered remains of humanity and those fresh to The Lethargy slowly losing their grip on their own reality?

Sometimes life got very complicated indeed.

Marcus watched as they awoke to a living nightmare.

Below the raised platform, on a heavy wooden floor silver with age, reclaimed from an outdoor Japanese chaseki (place for tea), three men sat in low wooden Shaker-style chairs, inexorably elegant in their simplicity. The same could not be said for the men. In front of each of them was a small mirror, sat on an obsidian black cloth. Other items were present — all arranged perfectly. There was to be a ritual for these men, a mockery of a Tea ceremony: Seppuku — Commorancy style.

"Death is what you wanted, so death is what you shall be given," said Marcus, a whisper echoing around the chamber as if he stood in front of each man. "You may have wished for some kind of imagined martyrdom, but that won't happen. Or maybe it will," mused Marcus. "I guess that still comes down to your state of mind and your seeming lack of intelligent reasoning. What a waste though, with all you have been given, you squander it trying to.... Oh, I don't know, I'm tired of thinking about it." He finished with a sigh. Life was better when he kept to his routines. He liked them. His hobbies, the occasional visitor to the Rooms, news of improvements by ex-guests, out there in the world at large helping to make things right again.

The three men sat spellbound by Marcus elevated before them, their indoctrination gave him a distinct advantage for creating an impressive presence in front of fanatics. When you believe you are doing His work, and are eager to martyr yourself, then a vision in white on high is rather impressive. Something Marcus was well aware of.

He mocked them with his pantomime. In part. He also had a sense for the theatrical, and knew that deep in his heart he enjoyed the spectacle. He was not afraid to both pass his verdict and carry out the sentence as needed.

The men were in a line facing the dais, the high wicker backed chairs holding them fast via razor sharp wire around their necks. One of them screamed out as a trickle of blood ran down the center of his chest.

"Please don't wriggle about, if you move your head about too much it is liable to come clean off, and we wouldn't want that, now would we? Hmm?" The men stared at him, wide-eyed and afraid, anger vying for dominance, fear overriding all. "Please look to your right. No! Don't turn your heads, just swivel your eyes. You will see before you a mirror and other items we will get to late—"

"You won't get away with this, we are doing His work. The Master knows all about you, you Devil." The man blurted out his accusation, righteous indignation overcoming his dread.

"As I was saying," said Marcus, casting a dark look at his interrupter. "Please pick up the mirror and hold it to your faces." Marcus waited until each man had seen what had been done to them.

The hysterics began and continued for some time.

Once the shouting, the crying, the name calling and the begging waned, Marcus continued his Death Ceremony. "For your crimes I have found you guilty on all counts, and the punishment is death. I haven't got time to deal with you all individually, I have a guest waiting after all, so let's get this over with. On the cloth beside you is a knife, be careful, it's very sharp," quipped Marcus. "I will allow you to take the knife and to end your own life. If you choose to do this please pick up the knife now. Be aware there is no possibility of you ever leaving here alive, so it is your choice how you go."

Marcus looked at the men and sighed. "Gosh, not that again? Really? No, your stupid suicide teeth don't work. It's very obvious you know?" He watched the men bite down repeatedly, not believing him. What was wrong with them? "In many cultures it was an honor to be allowed to end your own life even after the shame you had brought upon yourself and others. You have shamed all parties involved. Yourselves, for allowing such ridiculous notions to take up space in perfectly normal, Whole brains. Your Leader, for failing to accomplish a task you were given. But most importantly you have shamed me, for thinking I would be so easy to eliminate. Don't you know who I am?" Marcus roared his question at the top of his lungs, spittle flying from his mouth, all restraint gone.

"I can see into your very souls, reach inside and turn you into The Lethargic in an instant. I can make you gibber in a corner for the rest of your lives, begging for an end to it all. I can make you so much more besides." Marcus sat back, tired from the outburst and exasperated with humanity as a whole. It really was depressing when all you wanted to do was to help those less fortunate. Now there would be fewer precious people left on the planet. It made him so angry he forgot himself.

"Have some dignity please. Take my gift and leave this world. I won't offer again, and there is no easier way out." Marcus dozed off on the throne. Anger and the frenzy of recent activity taking its toll on him as it always did. He came to with a start, moving his head a fraction to the side just before the knife was even thrown. He knew where it would go, he knew the hate of the man who would throw it. As it clattered harmlessly to the floor behind him Marcus shouted, "George."

George had been standing deep in shadow, part of the architecture, as still as the masonry. He moved forward to stand by Marcus' side, tail swishing, ears twitching, his eyes gleaming brighter than his freshly polished horns.

"Attack," whispered Marcus, and dread crept through the heart of the man as the words resonated in the deepest parts of his brain, forcing to the fore primal emotions that tingled up his spine and sent him into a freezing cold sweat in an instant.

George, product of countless selective breeding processes, switched from haughty perfumed companion to death-giver in an instant. Marcus knew the value of such a companion — he had saved his life once before, and his ancestors had done so on numerous occasions. His ace-in-the-hole performed flawlessly. Much as Marcus hated to do it he gave George a slight helping hand, gently entering his small brain and directing the course of actions yet to play out. It was an intrusion, one he had performed on grand scales in the past without a second thought, but now he understood and respected the sacredness of free will, even for animals. Selective breeding was one thing, outright mastery via forced action another. Thankfully, George was more than willing. He just needed steering in the right direction.

Marcus flicked the switch in his head. The visual of a hand turning the power off triggered an instant reaction through The Noise. He neither wanted to, nor would, witness the death of the human beings before him.

~~~

George chewed languidly from side to side, his protein rich meal an unusual arrival for his stomach. The screams didn't bother him, neither did the kicking. Or the blood. He spat a nail out onto the floor and took his next bite, adding to the small pile that grew in front of him as he bent to his meal once again.

As the movements diminished shock set in, sending his prey into a state of mind-bending disbelief as he was gradually ripped from his reality. George slowed, then stopped his ruminating. As the life-force ebbed so did the power of his order to attack. He was no sadist, just a goat with a penchant for the macabre, and like Marcus, for the theatrical.

~~~

Marcus returned to reality to be greeted by the sight of George asleep beside him, a man with much of his lower body chewed off, death coming from the deep gouge in his throat, his head lolled back, a twisted vision of a mouth wide open caused by the huge dark gaping slit at his throat.

The other two intruders had used their knives in the fashion intended. Open wounds spilled out their guts like Alphabetti Spaghwetti, the treat he had always pronounced wrong when he was but a little boy and such things were still put on the table regularly.

Marcus rose from his throne and as George awoke he patted him on the head. He went to go change into something suitable for the remaining part of his day.

"I really need to have a lie down though. I am getting too old for such a busy life. Makes me wonder why I didn't just decide to live in a cave and grow a beard. Know what I mean George?" asked Marcus, rubbing George's head as they wandered out of the Room and to The Room For Clothes. "You know something? Just once it would be nice if you could answer me. Just once."

Testudo Graeca

"It doesn't do much, does it?" said Letje, poking the bizarre creature, turning to get an answer from her father.

"Well, what would you want it to do? Tricks? Sing a song? It is what it is Letje, it's a tortoise and this is what tortoises do. They move around a bit, eat, and mostly just sleep."

"Does it have The Lethargy? It seems like it does. It's so slow," Letje whined, pushing the small creature from behind to see if it would speed up, maybe start running on its funny little legs. Six-year-olds are rather impatient when it comes to pets.

"Haha. No sweetie, it doesn't have The Lethargy, it's just naturally slow. Kind of like a thoughtful rock," mused her father, staring down at the creature as it poked its head out to say hello and take in its new surroundings. He had found it on his most recent excursion. This time he had been gone for almost a week. When he arrived home Letje was jumping up and down with excitement as he had told her he had a great surprise waiting. She was feeling somewhat deflated, thinking it might have been a new dress, or a rare piece of fruit.

They were sat just outside the kitchen, her mother inside preparing a meal that smelled delicious, from some of the goods her father had brought home. She was stood over the tortoise, her father sat next to her on a weathered cedar chair. He smiled down at his daughter, glad to be home. Back to safety and his family.

All around them were plants and vegetables. Growing in pots, in the soil, in old wheelbarrows and random containers. Her mother grew a wide variety of herbs and the smells were almost overpowering as the breeze carried their scent and the bees buzzed happily at the news of fresh nectar.

Letje pulled another lettuce leaf from the nearest plant and pushed it close to the strange creature. It took hold of it with its beak-like mouth, chewed, then released it and pulled its head back into its shell.

Her father plucked a ripe tomato from a vine and as he bit into it sweet juice squirted down his shirt. "Damn," he said, smiling at his daughter and the new addition to their family.

~~~

It was an odd memory to recall and Letje wondered how much of it had actually happened. She saw the scene as if hovering above the ground, watching herself poke the tortoise, seeing the happy smile on her father's face. She watched the events happening, saw herself, an impossibility as she could only really experience things from her own point of view. This was a common trick the brain liked to play on people, mixing memories in impossible ways, yet always based on true events — the perspective simply somehow skewed.

"What's his name Daddy? Does he have one?"

"His name is Constantine Alexander III," replied her father grandly.

"Why? Why is that his name Daddy?"

"Because that is what he is called."

Letje frowned, thinking about it for a few seconds, then replied as only young children can. "Okay Daddy. Hello Constantine Alexander III, how are you today?" Constantine blinked a heavy lid then continued munching on his lettuce leaf.

"Now Letje, I want to be serious for a minute. Letje, are you listening?"

"Yes, I'm listening." Letje didn't take her eyes of Constantine. The funny creature was walking and she wanted to see what it did.

"Look at me then. You can play with Constantine again in a minute. Good. Now, little Constantine here is a tortoise, and they need to be looked after properly. I will teach you all about that later, but first you must tell me if you want him as your friend or not."

"Of course I do, he's funny."

"I know, but you must understand that he will live for a very long time. He will probably live longer than me and Mummy, and he may well live longer than you. Tortoises can live for many years if they are looked after properly. Do you want to have that responsibility? He will be with you forever. A friend that won't go away as long as you care for him in the right way. You must always make sure he has food and water and stays nice and warm." Letje's father looked down at her seriously, making sure she understood that this was a real commitment, but also that it would mean she would always have company. Letje didn't know it, but her father was trying to ensure that she was never truly alone if something should happen to him or her mother.

"Daddy, I will love him and I will take care of him. And he will be my friend forever. I promise," said Letje, standing up straight, clicking her heels and saluting her vow.

"Great. Now, let me tell you how to look after our little friend here..."

~~~

The memory had been sparked by the sudden appearance of George in The Anteroom Room. He was an odd thing but Letje kind of liked him. Letje had finished her Orientation, and seemingly she had passed with flying colors. Marcus had excused himself, asking her to wait while he attended to something he felt couldn't wait. So she had been left to her thoughts, which drifted

It was the knowledge they would be apart — that hadn't happened for a long time. Sure, he hibernated, but she could never resist peeking in on him most days while he slept for months at a time, shutting down so completely he was on the fringes of death.

She smiled at the thought of her little companion, so glad her father had brought him home all those years ago. She never knew where he found the tortoise. Now she would never know.

"Thank you Daddy. I miss you. And Mummy too. You wouldn't believe where I am now. It's—"

"Sorry about the wait. Hey, are you all right?" asked Marcus, as he entered with a flourish.

"I'm fine," said Letje, wiping away a tear and smiling at Marcus.

They talked for a while before Marcus disappeared yet again, promising he would return soon, saying that he had fish to feed. Letje asked questions, Marcus sometimes answering, sometimes going off at total tangents. He even gave her a bit of a tour before he dashed off, leaving her yet again in The Anteroom Room.

What a strange man. What a strange place.

Letje would never forget the vision of countless virtual heads spinning for eternity as long as she lived. It was just one of countless wonders she experienced that day, shown to her by Marcus who seemed inured to the craziness going on all around him — that he himself had created.

Annoying Klaxon Sound

Annoying Klaxon Sound, Annoying Klaxon Sound!

A high-pitched computer generated female voice screamed its warning, ripping Marcus from his peace; destroying the tranquil space — an infinite dry ocean of perfectly raked gravel, spread out until lost in a shimmering haze on the horizon.

I knew it, this is what all the madness has been about.

Marcus was in The Zen Garden (But Indoors) Room feeding the Koi. The huge natural looking pond was filled with numerous breeds, from huge fish as large as a child to tiny specimens as delicate as a seahorse. The fish had been bred over many generations in special tanks and were perfect specimens if ever a fish fan were to inspect them. They were tame enough to feed from the hand — mouths agape sucking at the treats — and Marcus had been sat on the edge of the pond idly feeding them for some time now. After numerous interruptions lately he was enjoying the quiet, the peace, being alone. It was his natural state now, so he found it tiring to deal with people without months or years between encounters. He often wished for distractions when the months bled into years alone, yet when activity came calling he usually wondered what all the fuss was about. Why would he want such complications?

Annoying Klaxon Sound, Annoying Klaxon Sound! continued the voice from hidden speakers, not showing any sign of getting less brain crunching. It drilled into Marcus' skull, yanking him out of his peaceful meditation with a jolt like a spike to the eardrum.

"Damn. I really have to get that changed," grouched Marcus, for not even close to the first time. Over the years it had gone off whenever danger peaked to a certain level. Sometimes it was intruders he had missed, more often than not the sensitive surveillance equipment picked up on animals that had found a way to where they weren't supposed to be. Each time Marcus lamented the wit that had amused him for so long when he devised the systems for The Commorancy. He was infinitely glad that the fire alarm had never once gone off — he was dreading hearing what he had thought the height of drollery all those years ago.

Slipping his flip-flops back on, Marcus stood then checked his bermuda shorts for creases, and tugged at the neck of his white vest. The incongruous nature of his choice of clothes for such a space was not lost on him. Marcus drifted from the world for some time as he stood at the edge of the water, the tinkling of the moss covered waterfall slowly fading away. The islands of rock amid the endless gravel faded to mist and the swirls around the perfect boulders shimmered and rippled as if truly come alive as the waves they represented.

He looked inward, searching for the cause of the annoying klaxon sound, and found something not quite right. This was no animal intrusion, or foolish would-be assassin. This was something altogether more serious.

The warning sound screeched and hammered through the whole of The Commorancy bar certain Rooms. In those Rooms the temporary guests were oblivious to the danger the warning signaled. At least now Marcus knew why he was recalling meeting his guests, they were the ones he would have to disturb — the thought sent a shudder through his entire body.

Marcus tapped at a small tablet he had strung around his neck by a simple leather cord — something that never left his side now as losing it could mean weeks of searching. The noise stopped and he frowned at the ceiling. "Stupid idea, really stupid idea." He threw a handful of food to the fish and made his way out of the massive space.

This was serious.

For the first time in the history of The Commorancy guests would have their stays cut short.

Marcus' face darkened. His fists clenched as veins pulsed at his temple.

He didn't like interrupting people. It was the height of bad manners.

The cause of The Contamination would pay dearly for making Marcus look like a bad host.

After a lengthy walk Marcus came to the exit, lost in thought, planning what to do next. Then he halted, came to a decision, and turned back to the garden.

No point letting such a nice day go to waste.

~~~

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

Marcus made his way deep into the heart of the garden, passing through sections containing Bonsai specimens over a thousand years old, others mere years, with lifetimes of training ahead of them. He passed the waterfall, the ionized air making his skin tingle, energy sparkling in The Noise, waiting to be turned to use by anyone with The Knowledge. The ground sparkled with tiny droplets. Marcus kept on walking.

He crossed a field of moss, sinking ankle deep in the lush vegetation, until he was on the gravel. He headed out into the sea of perfection, trying not to disturb the perfect contours so painstakingly raked around a large rock jutting out of the ocean like a beacon of tranquility on a stormy day.

Emotions dissolved as Marcus sat on a simple bench and stared.

How could a rock be so beautiful?

Apocalypse? What Apocalypse?

The apocalypse came as quite a surprise to Calvin. He missed it by almost two years.

When he did finally realize that society no longer functioned, that people were little more than mindless skin and bone, and that his mum couldn't be bothered to move from her chair, his first concern was whether there would be a third installment of Death Givers — the game he had spent the last few months playing — almost mastering.

It had been the disruption of the game that awoke him to the state of the world he lived in. There came a creeping realization that it was the end of life as he knew it.

Calvin was a young man with pale skin, hair that needed a wash, and eyes red-rimmed from constant gameplay. When the power went out just as he was about to deal the winning blow to the Lord of Chtorm, after sixteen hours of deeply focused concentration, he nearly had a heart attack. Once he had calmed down enough to walk, and with stress-sweat beading his oily brow, he left his room for the first time in days with pixels dancing around his retinas.

Calvin went to see why the power company had ruined his life. Then maybe try to get some food while he was up and about. He had no idea when he last ate, or what it might have been.

He shuffled to the door wearing dirty white socks stretched out of shape. Clothes, plates, cups, bits and pieces of equipment in various states of disassembly and all manner of accumulated detritus littered his way. Cables waited to trip the unwary, soggy packs of forgotten food squelched underfoot, and stacks of game cases lay strewn about as if they didn't each cost almost a days wages for the average citizen.

At this time in his life Calvin was deeply entrenched in life as an Otaku.

Ever since he finished his schooling, making good grades and with a bright if depressingly commonplace future ahead of him, he had barely been out of the house. He spent almost every hour of his life locked away in his room, playing games remotely with others around the world — many of whom were just as caught up in a similar existence. His mother brought most meals directly to his room; he ordered whatever else he needed online.

It was not that unusual an existence at all. What had begun as a way of life for many Japanese youths, resigned to being social outcasts for obsessive interests, had quickly spread. The extreme isolation and refusal to leave their bedrooms taken up by countless disaffected youths around the globe. It became a badge of honor with virtual acquaintances to brag about how long you had cut yourself off from what was becoming a less and less appealing reality of enforced conformity.

Why leave? Everything you needed was available at the push of a button or the touch of a screen.

Things began to change for Calvin. As he passed through his late teens and into his early twenties he found that it was harder to order games and books online. Disconcertingly, the number of new releases dwindled. Social media sites became quieter, the conversations and memes less interesting. He was unsure whether this was because he was getting older so such things were losing their attraction, or because people were getting more boring and the huge wave of interest in self publishing and game design was just naturally fizzling out. He didn't pay it that much thought, there were still more than enough books to read and games to play to last a lifetime.

Over the days, months and years, many of the social media sites ceased to function. They closed down through lack of interest, finance issues, or, if the rumors were to be believed, a scarcity of available, or more importantly, capable staff. Virtual stores went the same way. There was less choice, ordering issues often arose, and it could sometimes take months of frustrated waiting for packages to arrive. Packages that would have once been delivered within days.

It all happened so slowly, and he led such a sheltered life, that it never really registered as anything out of the ordinary.

Never a high energy type guy or particularly interested in the opposite sex, he wasn't really aware of the slowing down of the people he encountered. Virtual friendships waned and disappeared as was inevitable — he took it all in his stride. Conversations grew excruciatingly boring even by his standards. Soon his favorite gaming chatrooms became virtual deserts. No new hacks or shortcuts, no animated discussions about the latest cheats, or virtual high-fives for levels completed and devilishly complex games beaten. His family grew less concerned about his lack of social inclination, which he took as resignation on their part as to how he lived his life. The few family members that visited seemed less full of life, then their visits became sporadic at best, before stopping.

One day he woke up and realized he was alone in the world.

He dressed in days old socks, a clean pair of underwear, something he had always been fastidious about, a crumpled t-shirt and a pair of months unwashed Levis. With no power in his room he scowled at the large monitor, no longer the latest model, and went out to investigate and see if he could rustle up something to eat while he waited for the outage to get fixed.

He found his mother stood at the kitchen sink. He noted just how scrawny and unkempt she was. What had happened to her? How long had she looked like this?

She stood there, a chipped mug in hand, staring vacantly at the back garden of waist-high grass — once a lawn that was her pride and joy. The tap was on, just a trickle of dirty brown water dripping into a bowl full to the brim with dishes covered in rancid grease. The overflowing bowl was covered in drowning or deceased flies.

The whole place stank.

Linoleum on the floor was sticky even through his socks, the walls weren't much better. The refrigerator door was ajar, revealing the extent of his ignorance to what had been going on all around him. Inside was a furry carrot, a carton of milk on its side that had leaked, the spill now thick and green, and half of something that looked suspiciously like corned beef from a tin emptied onto a plate. He shut the door quietly, grossed out by the stickiness of the handle as he did so. Something fell to the floor as the door closed and he stooped to pick it up. An old photo, when he was still in school, smiling like a fool and glad to make his parents proud of his academic achievements. Now it was covered in goop and must have been stained even before it hit the ground.

All the while his mother, who had loved that photo, just stood there, staring vacantly through the broken blind at the window over the kitchen sink, unmoving and seemingly unaware he was even there.

"Mum? Mum, you okay?" Nothing. She didn't move or blink, just carried on standing there. He put an arm to her shoulder, confused by the feel of bone where once there would have been a plentiful layer of fat — she never was the healthiest of eaters. He put his other arm on the opposite shoulder and spun her around to face him. It was then he realized something was very wrong. Her eyes were sunk deep into her skull, the parchment-thin skin the color of the rancid milk in the fridge. Waving his hand in front of her face she blinked and smiled at him vacantly. A trickle of drool fell from the left corner of her mouth, her rictus of a smile exposing teeth obviously not cleaned in many months. The smell almost overpowered the other odors that permeated the kitchen, and the rest of the house now that he came to think about it.

When did he last clean his own teeth? Have a wash? How long had the water been funny?

He let go of the skeletal shoulders and tried the tap, just to be sure. He turned the hot and cold both ways, holding his breath against the rancid grease smells emanating from the sink bowl, and all he got was the same brown trickle that splashed into the bowl when he first walked in.

What the Full Metal Panic! was going on?

It wasn't the best of mornings.

~~~

Later that day, after trying to rouse his mother from her narcosis to no avail, and finally managing to walk her in her sleep-stupor to the living room and sit her on the once immaculate sofa, he began to pay proper attention to the house he had lived in his entire life.

How had he missed the degradation of his home to such a degree of unhygienic disarray?

How could he not notice the dark stains on the usually pristine carpet and upholstery, the dirty marks all over the walls? And why the hell were there stinky clothes and unwashed plates all over the living room? His mum hated mess, only allowing him to have an untidy room as she wasn't ever allowed inside. Once he looked, it was enlightening how filthy the house had become without him noticing. Taking stock of things as if for the first time it was incredible just how much it had gone to the dogs. He went to look around the rest of the small three bedroom terraced house. A modest home yet still out of reach financially for anyone that hadn't had a very well paying job for a long time. So why bother even trying?

He thought the kitchen was bad, the living room a disgrace, but it got worse. The main family bathroom, one he never used as he had his own small en-suite, was the stuff of nightmares. A once gleaming toilet bowl was black with stains — feces and urine covered it both inside and out, even spilling over to the floor. The flush mechanism had obviously broken long ago and either his mother simply didn't notice or didn't care, neither of which helped explain what the hell was going on. The basin was covered in long strands of her hair, gobs of toothpaste stuck to the bowl. There was even a toothbrush abandoned on top of a piece of soap that was disintegrating slowly in its little dish, now full with water and covered in things he couldn't even begin to explain.

Did she shave? Where the hell were all these little bits of hair from? What's that!?

He couldn't imagine what had happened in this small room that smelled like it could kill you if you remained too long.

The shower was no better. The dark stains around the plughole and massive build-up of limescale on the shower head suggested it had not been used for months and months. Spiders, alive and dead, filled the bath, along with countless other insects, some of which he had never seen before in his life.

Where did they all come from? This place hasn't been cleaned for months and months.

All across the floor were sodden towels festering and damp, mold growing happily. Used toilet paper was stuck to not only the floor but also the lower parts of the wood-clad walls. Once painted a turquoise blue, they were now turning black due to a lack of ventilation in the closed room.

It was the same in his mum's bedroom, the hallway, the dining room, and even in the small office his mother used to "go on the inter webs," as she called it when she went online a few times a week.

By now he was seriously spooked out and in need of food and a drink. He banged around in cupboards and searched the usually well stocked pantry, but found the provisions consisted of hundreds of bottles of water and tins of meat and fruit. He had no idea how long this had been going on for. Thinking back to when he last ate, and what it was, he realized that for months now when his mother had brought him food it was usually some odd concoction dumped on a plate of a disconcertingly random size. But more and more often he had found himself realizing he was very hungry and grabbing whatever was left in the fridge, or just some cereal, eaten dry from the box.

When was the last time he saw her on a regular basis? Actually looked up from the screen and had a conversation? Looked her in the eye and talked? He had no idea.

Come to think of it, when was the last time he looked at himself in the mirror? Was he in a similar state? Did his room and bathroom look like the rest of the house? He went to find out.

Wiping his bathroom mirror with a towel to clear a patch, he stared hard at his reflection. Okay, his eyes were somewhat sunken, his oriental complexion, thanks to some great grandparent or other who hailed from Mongolia, was very pale and had not a hint of the usual dark skin tone his ancestors had bestowed upon him. Epicanthic fold eyes stared back at him through unwashed black hair, flakes of skin screaming like a beacon that he had not taken care of his limp locks for at least a few weeks.

His teeth? When did he last brush them? Shower? Shave? Not that he could ever grow much of a beard.

He stripped naked and took a long hard look at his body from head to toe.

It wasn't a particularly pretty sight, but then it never had been. He had always been a skinny kid and his ramped up metabolism had followed him into adulthood. He never ate a great deal, even when food was readily available. But since his voluntary incarceration in his room however many years ago it was now, his diet had degenerated in proportion to his lack of social interaction. He knew all of this — he looked no worse than he expected if he was honest. His ablutions had always been hit and miss as he often got caught up in games for days on end and forgot to eat, let alone wash, or brush his hair and teeth.

He studied his room, concluding it was about as much of a state as you would expect from any self-respecting Otaku. It certainly wasn't akin to the rest of the house. He hoped not at any rate.

Next came the important stuff.

What the hell was he supposed to do? His mobile phone didn't work, the house landline didn't work. Power was out so the Web was down, and he had no idea what any of the neighbors were called, or what they even looked like.

Checking on his mum, who hadn't moved, he put on his black Converse then grabbed his keys and wallet. After a final shake of his head, and with a million questions still rattling around in his skull, he reluctantly went out the front door to get help of some sort. From who, and what help, he wasn't sure, but there was obviously something wrong at home. He had no idea how long it had been going on, or what to do about it alone.

Outside, on that Thursday morning, he realized, a few years too late, that the apocalypse had descended and he had missed it.

How?

He had been busy playing computer games, or talking crap on social platforms with people he neither knew nor cared about.

He had plenty of time to think about it now, there was nobody left to talk to that he could see. Odd, as they lived on a busy street that normally teemed with foot and vehicular traffic — they were only ten minutes walk from the busy town center.

There wasn't a soul about. Nobody walking. Nobody driving. Nothing.

What the hell was going on?

~~~

A week later Calvin found himself in a large, roughly converted warehouse space lined with close to a hundred mismatched tables, desks, chairs and computer consoles. Ranging from the last models ever manufactured to battered laptops clocked to run faster than intended, cooled by fans as diverse as the machines themselves.

He was one of a number of people — kids and adults alike — who had found sanctuary in the only environment they could understand: a virtual one.

He was lucky to have gotten in, after all he had missed the apocalypse by a few years. When he told people he hadn't realized, he was surprised to find out that many others hadn't noticed either. Heck, there were still plenty of people that didn't know now, he was assured. How would you? Nobody talked to their neighbors, had real friends, or went anywhere anymore anyway. It was the way things were now, wasn't it?

Row after row of people sat at desks, immersed in their games, mostly now playing solo as the Web was down or sporadic. He had found the place when the lights suddenly came back on at home and he powered up the laptop to see if the Web connection was live too. Actually delving around online, checking almost forgotten acquaintances, most of whom had not been online for months, on old, mostly defunct social media accounts, he came to realize that his situation was nowhere near unique. The apocalypse had passed him by as he hadn't bothered to take any notice.

Trying to find the start of it all, the reason for it all, led nowhere. Nobody knew, things fell apart with a whimper. Nobody could explain it. What was very apparent was that more and more people were succumbing every day to a condition known as The Lethargy. It wasn't instant, this alone made it absolutely terrifying. People just gave up. They didn't care. It was as sickeningly simple as that. Those suffering lost the incentive to do anything. Infected became gradually more listless until they finally just stopped doing anything at all.

It was as freaky as hell and those still able to act normally were few and far between. Billions had already died, humanity had ground to a halt in the space of just a few years.

Delving deeper, he uncovered small groups of people that banded together to survive; he ended up traveling to a local town where he became a part of the ever decreasing populace that still had anything like their wits about them.

What did they do with this gift?

They played games on their computers and went online, sometimes to try to find a solution, more often than not to carry on talking to the few people around the world that could be bothered, or able to power-up.

Day by day the rows of faces highlighted by the flickering visuals on their screens grew less and less animated. The faces dulled, just like the screens dimmed, until they finally just sat there in their rows in a stupor, staring at a black screen and unmoving.

All apart from Calvin.

Once again he found himself alone, the only difference being he was now alone in a room full of people.

Then he heard of The Commorancy.

~~~

Calvin sat alone in the large open space, the monitors around him staring back blankly, powered down so he could run his own machine longer without stressing about the rigged batteries running out of charge.

Rumors of The Commorancy surfaced soon after the build had begun. Unknown to Calvin, most, if not all information concerning the place was orchestrated by Marcus, the already mythical man at the heart of the endeavor. By the time Calvin looked into it properly it had been five years since The Lethargy became known to him, seven since it had first taken hold of humanity.

It had taken Calvin this long to get an invitation. As The Commorancy ascended to dominance it was a route full of countless twists and turns that led to the offer of a Room.

But he had made it; he had one more thing to do before he left.

Calvin went home and shot his mother.

Otaku Blues

Calvin was in his Room, and what a Room it was. A geek's wet dream come real. Shelf after shelf after shelf lined with every computer game there had ever been.

Every. Single. One.

Lines of cool looking cupboards and bookcases stacked with movies, graphic novels, and even original games consoles not seen for generations. Mint condition, working perfectly.

As the door closed behind him with a parting, "Tap away," from Marcus, Calvin stared around in astonishment. His Otaku nature gloried in the gift he had been given. Here was the stuff dreams were made of for his kind. He rubbed his heavy-lidded dark eyes and tried to take in all he could see. It was impossible to count the number of things he wanted to get his hands on straight away. He could spend a lifetime here.

He did.

Then one day he realized one very important thing: it got boring.

Over the years, that stretched into decades, more and more often his mind would wander. He would find himself lost in reverie, the console hanging by the wire near the floor, forgotten, his grip relaxed. The game over, the passion to complete it gone. He thought more and more of the past, of what had happened to everybody. He often thought of his mother, of her slowly wasting away, of the state he first found her in when he awoke from his Otaku dreams to find her half dead, the house in months long disarray. The world as he had known it at a standstill.

He pondered yet again how he had missed such a catastrophic event, how he didn't notice the degradation of society down to almost nothing. The cessation of human activity that was the glue of a functioning society.

What had he done since?

The same as he had done before. Locked himself away and tried to forget about the rest of the world.

Damn.

Calvin learned an important lesson. He wasn't here just to waste his time doing what he had done before, this was his Room. He was here for a reason.

Time to find out what it was.

~~~

Calvin responded to Marcus' interruption with a wry smile. It was what he needed: to be asked to leave his Room. He had the feeling he could stay forever otherwise, and that wasn't what he wanted deep down. He was old and wise enough now to understand at least that much. Marcus had sent a simple message via one of the computers, a brief explanation flashing up on the screen with a smiley face at the end.

He felt a bit nervous. After all, he was re-entering society — of a sorts.

Calvin showered, then quickly shaved the wisps from his chin. There was a smile on his face as he walked to the end of his expansive Room, turned the handle and went through his exit. He had come a long way since his Awakening — he understood more than he thought humanly possible. Calvin had searched deep within until he uncovered what had been seen in him, what led Marcus to give him his own place within The Commorancy.

It had begun simply enough.

After the understanding that he had wasted years doing what amounted to nothing, just playing games and wishing for the past, he began to feel the connection. It wasn't an instant enlightenment or a sudden Awakening. It was slow, painful, always just out of reach, but gradually something clicked. Now it was a part of him.

Calvin could see the heart of computers.

He felt them buzzing, could feel the electrical impulses running through the wall, understand how they worked, how they really worked. Calvin could close his eyes and see the binary code running all around him. He could play a game and see the work of the coder behind the pixels, read it like it was written in English. He had learned basic code early in his life, but this was different. This was knowing.

He understood it.

There was no mystery to the workings of digital equipment. From the pulse of electricity that powered devices, to the inner computing power of the smallest micro-chip, he could see it. He could read the life of a battery, tell you the history of the copper cable, see in his mind's eye the knowledge contained within the voltage all around him.

It was dizzying and he had multiple instances of information overload as he absorbed his new knowledge. It was a slow and painful learning experience, one that he had to take in a little at a time lest it rip him from reality altogether. He knew it would be easy to give in to the data, to become absorbed in a digital reality that had consumed his life for all those years. But he took things slow, steady, growing along with his powers.

When he emerged from his Room he was a changed man. A man with infinite knowledge, of abilities beyond his understanding. All waiting for him wherever there was technology or electrical currents — he could see the truth of it all. Follow paths, read the intent, manipulate the flux like it was putty in his virtual hands.

Calvin was no longer a young twenty-something with no interest in life. He was centuries old with multiple lifetimes spent exploring The Noise, following the history of the things all around him, at one with the electrical pulses as clear as day to his reconfigured brain. A man. That's what he had become.

A man.

He just wished he could grow a proper beard. You would think that after all that time it would be a simple thing to do, but Calvin would forever be a young looking man with Asian skin, heavy eyelids and a youthful frame that belied the adult watching with eyes that saw the tiny electrical impulses firing in your brain.

If he wanted he could read those impulses.

He could see what you thought.

~~~

"Welcome to a new beginning," said Marcus, all smiles and hugs.

"Um, thanks," said Calvin, smiling himself, feeling like he had stepped out of a dream into a reality endless with possibilities.

"It is you know... endless. For those that realize it there is no end to what can be achieved, what can be dreamed, what we could do. It's always a matter of choice though. Always a decision to be made alone. You can't rush these things, no point. Best thing? Get it out of your system. Yes? Be who you should be, deep down. When the rest is done with and you are left with what you know for sure you really want. So, let's get started then shall we?"

Calvin was confused, not just a little.

He tried to think back to the time he had spent in his Room, to count the days or even months or years. Then something obvious struck him. How he looked in the mirror, how Marcus looked now. He paled, no mean feat, and staggered to a chair.

"How long was I in there?" gasped Calvin, dizziness threatening to bring a blessed unconsciousness.

"You knew the rewards, right? The rumors too? Not all is as you would see it. No, often they are different. It has been a long time, to answer your question."

"Trickery then? A drug? False memories? If I try to think of it then it must have been a lifetime. I must have been in that Room for years, decades? How do I look the same? How do you?"

Marcus told him.

"You know, I imagined it was going to be a dream, a drug, or something like that. Every day I would wake up and think it couldn't be happening. But it was. And the years, they just passed, as if time had sped up."

"It sort of did," said Marcus. "Once you began to enter The Noise, to learn about your body, about the computers? Well, things change, you change, time isn't as important as it once was. It becomes more fluid. You pass through it at the speed you need to, the speed you need to understand what is going on. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow."

"Well, that makes absolutely no sense. But it doesn't matter, it took as long as it took, right? As long as I needed to take to become Awoken?"

"That's the spirit. No point dwelling on all the details, it's the wider picture that is the main thing. And sorry for cutting your stay a little short, but you were ready to leave anyway. My fault really, there were just a few things left for you to learn, to better understand, then you would have been heading for the exit. But things are changing so I felt it best that everyone stays together. Just in case, you know, you are needed."

"Marcus, that's fine. I can't thank you enough for this. Why don't you tell me what has been happening, what I can do to help?"

"I will, I promise. Later. But first we need to go get the rest of the occupants and make certain we know everyone is all right. And I'm afraid I have left a young girl with infinite potential alone for too long. The poor thing hasn't even had the chance to enter her Room yet. We will see her first, she's in The Anteroom Room."

As they talked, Calvin looked about him in surprise. The doors, the walls, floor and ceiling, all were lit up like a Christmas tree to him. The level of technology embedded all around him was staggering. It pulsed with power as he watched it within The Noise — invisible to others, he could see it as plain as the jaunty hat on Marcus' head.

He turned to Marcus to ask his questions. Marcus smiled back at him before he had the chance to speak, and said, "Later, all right?"

"Definitely."

That's Ages

Snick.

"Hello Stanley, sorry to disturb you, we have a slight issue I'm afraid," said Marcus, waving his hand dismissively. "But I think it's time anyway, don't you? You've been getting ready to leave for a while now, haven't you? Did you get what you wanted? What you came here for?"

Stanley rubbed his eyes unhurriedly, as if caressing a genie out of a bottle.

"I think so, yeah. Just been... um, getting ready to leave, you're right. It's just so nice here, seemed a shame to rush things."

"You certainly didn't rush things, I can tell you that, yes? Been a long time, almost since the start of The Commorancy actually. You're practically an original." Marcus smiled, keeping the rusty metal door ajar with his foot, wondering if it would spark some interest in his long-term guest. He had to admit it though, it was very nice in Room5, very nice indeed.

"You look the same," noted Stanley matter-of-factly.

"So do you."

"How long's it been? I gave up trying to keep track of time... well, I don't know when." Stanley smiled sheepishly.

"Exactly? It's quite a big number you know, don't want you to get all freaky on me or anything."

"Hit me," said Stanley, the first sign of animation crossing his face in years.

"Okay. Two hundred and ninety-seven years, one hundred and eighty-nine days, five hours and," Marcus consulted his watch, "ten minutes or so now." Marcus watched for a reaction. If Stanley had got what he wanted out of Room5 then he should be able to cope with the answer. If not, well, it had been a waste of a long occupancy. Marcus had complete faith. Even back then in the beginning the selection process was extremely accurate.

"That's ages," noted Stanley, more interested than amazed. Such things no longer came as a surprise to him.

"Mm, mm," agreed Marcus, noting how relaxed Stanley was at such news. "So, did you get what you wanted? Have I disturbed you too soon? This isn't exactly my normal protocol, as you know. I'm breaking my own Rules here by opening the door." It was the first time Marcus disturbed his guests in such a manner — it went against the whole purpose of The Commorancy.

"I got what I wanted, and I can't thank you enough for such hospitality. For such a gift as the one you have given me. But it was time for me to go anyway, so don't feel bad about opening the door. I can go out of the other one if you want? If that will keep things as they should be?" Stanley looked off into the distance, at the exit, the only way out of the Room, or so he had been told by Marcus all those years ago.

"No, that won't be necessary now. Something is about to happen."

"What's the problem?"

"Well, we have a slight potential Contamination problem if truth be told. We need to make the place more secure. It's been so long since anyone tried anything like this I may have gotten a little lax on the old security if I am honest. It's easy to let these things pass you by when there's not really anyone left to worry about."

"So it got worse? Out there? In the world?"

"Oh yes, a lot worse. But you knew that, right? Of course you did. It's why you came. Let's just say we are now very much in the minority."

"What, people with any motivation you mean?"

"No. People. Not many left now I believe. It all just withered and died: society. Just like the people did, as we knew they would. You and me both. It was inevitable. Nobody did anything and it all drifted away. Like it was all just a dream and had never happened. Poof, and gone." Marcus blew a speck of dust from his finger as if to illustrate his point.

"All just a fleeting dream of a butterfly enjoying its glory in the sunshine then back to dreaming of the planet it imagined and brought to life for a day. All gone now, just us and a few others, but enough for there to be a problem. Quite a bit of a problem actually. Let's get you ready shall we? I may need a little help I'm afraid. Not sure yet, I'm just thinking worst-case scenario. Sorry to impose and all that."

Stanley nodded, not surprised in the slightest about the current state of the remains of humanity. All those years ago, back when it all began, it seemed a foregone conclusion. What other way was there for a civilization that had lost its mojo and gradually given up on even the most basic of daily activities? The energy that made society as a whole function, and humanity reach for the stars? All gone now.

Marcus could see Stanley touching The Noise, pulling back the past to the present. Although there were matters to be dealt with he thought it only fair to allow Stanley a few minutes to contemplate what had been and what now was. "You take a minute, gather the past and bring it up to date, then we'll be on our way. Okay?"

"Thanks Marcus, it feels like the last bit of unfinished business, you know?"

"I know. Better than anyone, I know."

~~~

Stanley let the past envelop him. Hug him with its familiarity as if a long neglected friendship took off again right where it left off — the intervening years seeming little more than a brief interlude.

He thought back to what he now called his first life. A life when society was as it had always been. When people were busy, when they got things done, when he went to work every day and so did everybody else.

His life had never been glamorous, just comfortable. Stanley worked for the local council as a glorified groundsman, taking care of communal spaces, mowing, weeding, moving around his local town daily, watering hanging baskets in popular locations, planting thousands of summer flowering bedding plants that helped the town look pretty and win numerous awards every year he worked there. He enjoyed the outdoor work and liked the banter with the other guys — they usually worked in teams. The others laughed, but he even enjoyed the rain and the wind, but the summer months were always especially joyous — when the plants came alive, sucking up moisture greedily, basking in the ever unpredictable British sunshine when it fleetingly peeked out from behind the clouds.

There was no particular day when things changed. Looking back on it now with so much distance between events it was still impossible to give a date. A gradual process of diminishing activity in every aspect of society went mostly unnoticed for some time. More and more often he found himself staring about the parks and the sides of roads as he mowed and planted, wondering where all the people were. It used to be a thriving town, now it seemed as if fewer people ever ventured out of doors. All at home on their computers, is what he assumed. To a degree he was right.

In the large parks there were only a handful of people walking their dogs, but plenty of dogs roaming without owners, then in packs. Finally, it became a real danger to perform his duties.

Often, the water he needed to keep the planted displays healthy was not forthcoming — the local water company were having issues with staff apparently. Soon enough this impacted the simple turning on of a tap at home, until water had to be hoarded whenever it became sporadically available. It had to always be boiled as he got very ill otherwise if he drank it.

Fewer people turned up for work; often he worked alone. Occasionally they would be at nearly full capacity, but the banter between the guys lessened until they worked without a word from anyone but him. Once good mates seemed distant, half dead and listless.

Soon enough, he worked alone most days, and when he reported in at the office the women there were often missing or half asleep — sometimes impossible to communicate with. Vehicles became run down and dirty. He regularly had to get fuel himself, until the council pumps and garage stayed unmanned.

It wasn't a unique situation, and it wasn't any one thing that suddenly changed. Things just became different.

Slower. And slower.

Things stopped working. People stopped working.

Life just fell apart, the batteries run low.

It was depressing as hell. There wasn't a thing he could do about it, or anyone left for him to talk to. It was hard making sense of it all. He woke up one day and felt like he was the last man left alive on the planet. The phone didn't work, the shops weren't open, the taps dripped poison. The power was down and he hadn't been paid in months. Not that there was much to spend money on anyway. The roads were empty, nobody made deliveries so the food in the stores was tinned or rancid. What there was he picked up and just walked out with. All that was left were automated checkouts anyway, it had been that way for years. Nobody delivered the mail and nobody answered the phone when he got a signal and tried to call somebody to find out why his Internet connection was sporadic, then dead.

Cash points failed, the banks didn't have any staff, the town was empty and the traffic lights stopped working.

Flowers died so weeds and grass took over. The roads began to be covered in layers of leaves and native plants monopolized this new growing surface. Buildings were abandoned, offices burned lights but nobody was there working. He sometimes saw people shuffling around the streets but they were almost always unresponsive — it got worse and worse.

The life was sucked out of everything. Society just slowly crumbled away with apathy.

But it was all so slow, over years probably, although he couldn't be sure. Things had changed suddenly in society anyway as the Web grew and took hold. Kids stayed indoors; adults worked from home rather than traveling and interacting with others.

Shopping was done online.

Books became digital and soon you couldn't find a high street bookstore. The same with music. Then nobody paid for anything recreational, just downloaded it for free.

Stores closed. His beautiful town was a shadow of its former self. But Stanley didn't know if that was the beginning of the end or just a readjustment in how a healthy society functioned. It was certainly true that nothing disastrous happened instantly, just over time those he knew became more distant, withdrawn, then disappeared from his life. They stayed at home, unable to find the energy or will to do anything much at all.

With no manufacturing and nobody to deliver it nothing new got produced. Nobody farmed the fields or tended to the cattle. He noticed the gradual change to the surrounding countryside. Cows and sheep dead in fields became a common sight. Crops were left to rot and broken farm equipment was abandoned in lanes and fields. The land wasn't plowed, crops were less and less often planted, or picked. The original nature of the British countryside crept back as if just waiting for a chance to eradicate what man had presumed to impose upon it. Once open fields were eventually full of young saplings, others returned to grassland. Hedges grew massively tall before toppling and blocking the way.

You never even thought about it when it ran smoothly, but something as simple as a hedge needing to be cut twice-yearly was all that stood between access via road to anywhere in the UK or near total isolation. You simply cannot clear miles of fallen overgrown hedges that block a road yourself. It took just a few abandoned vehicles after a crash to halt hundreds of miles of traffic. Huge swathes of the country via road became lost in a matter of days.

And all because nobody could be bothered to come cut the hedges or come tow the broken down truck that delivered food to the local supermarket.

Every single aspect of society may have functioned separately but it was all part of the larger picture. It was all connected and the slightest hiccup led to disaster. It happened to everything, but nobody did anything, or cared.

One day Stanley found himself alone.

He found that he liked it.

He thought back to the first day he had been truly happy, a day that was forever imprinted on his memory.

Stanley had taken his old bicycle and gone to work as normal. He did this as he simply didn't know what else to do. He was late, he had a puncture on the way and forgot how to repair it — it had been so long since he had done such things. Finally, he figured it out and pedaled fast to make up time. Stanley was a punctual man. When he arrived at the staff car park he noted that today there was not a single vehicle: no motorbikes, no bicycles, no cars.

Wheeling around to the rear where the works vehicles were kept he hopped off his bike and lay it on the ground. No need to worry about locking it any longer. He fished out his keys and jumped into his usual van. Out of fuel. He got out and went to the side of the vehicle and checked the gauge on the water level for the tank — nothing. It too was empty. He couldn't water the plants if there was no water, now could he?

He looked over at the small council forecourt, noting it was locked up. The pumps wouldn't work without somebody to man them — he would have to break the glass and push the switch himself if he wanted fuel. All assuming the power was working today.

So Stanley went home instead.

A day off, that was what he needed. It ended up being the best day of his life. He cycled the empty streets home, seeing a few people shuffling around outside their houses, nothing more. When he got home the power was out again, and checking the cupboards resulted in nothing more than a small foil-packed cube for making gravy plus a jar of pickles. He loathed pickles.

He went out to the garage and rummaged around for a while, eventually coming up with his old fishing rod and tackle box. It had been years since he last went fishing, but as he wouldn't be missed at work any longer he decided that he should take advantage of the glorious weather and go see if he could catch something for his lunch. He was sorely in need of nourishment, his once overweight frame was now lean, the skin sagging. His pallor was waxy, verging on yellow due to the lack of vitamins. Some sunlight would at least give him vitamin D, and maybe he could forage for something to accompany the hoped for fish.

Tackle box checked over, fishing rod wiped clean, and a rather dusty reel cleaned off then attached, he loaded the panniers on his bike with a blanket and various odds and ends and made his way out of town to a lake he had often fished at when a much younger man. It was different to how he remembered it: smaller, although still beautiful. A natural paradise for those that enjoyed their nature unspoilt by human intervention.

Stanley set himself up in a nice spot midway down the side of the lake, where a natural rock outcrop gave him not only a warm place to sit but also a vantage for casting off. He settled himself at the edge, feet dangling in the cold water, his trousers rolled up easily over his calves. He sat and listened, concentrating on birdsong. He lifted his face to soak up the warmth the sun offered for free. Content like he had never been, Stanley stayed like that for a long time, until he felt a tug on the line which he slowly reeled in. His first catch of the day! Later, after more peace and more fish, he lit a small fire and as the evening crept forward and the lake gave off cool air he snuggled up in a thick jumper and drank rum from the bottle as the fish crisped in the flames. He smoked a cigarette as he drank. With nobody to tell him otherwise he ate the fish piping hot with his bare hands.

It was the most beautiful day of his life, although it wasn't until the next day he realized just how perfect it had been. He was enjoying the end of the world, if that was what it was.

He spent many more days in a similar fashion, enjoying the peace, the lack of responsibility in his life. Over the months he became adept at hunting, fishing, and scavenging for food and drink. He grew tough, lean and sinewy, sagging skin now taught around newly built muscle. He roamed around on foot or even sometimes by car if he passed one he took a shine too. But most of all he liked to use his bike. He loved the outdoors and he loved the freedom it gave him. Plus it meant he was not as confined in his travels. So many roads were blocked and impassable by car, his trusty bicycle was a different matter entirely.

Then things changed.

Things took on a sinister edge. The beauty began to go out of life; fear gradually crept up to replace it. Stanley didn't like it one bit. Being the last man on earth was enjoyable, the peace was an almost constant euphoria, now it was getting spoiled.

It took years, but things turned dark and the joy left his life.

Rumors started; people came. Not all of them seemed like they would be nice people. So he followed up on the hints and snippets of information he could uncover about what was going on in the wider world. It seemed like he had missed a lot — he was nowhere near the last person on earth with the ability to fend for himself. Far from it. There were those that ruled him without him even knowing it. There were those that wanted to destroy everything and bring about The End. Then there were those in the majority — those that just didn't care one way or the other, slowly fading away.

He cared, he really did. He actually liked the planet he was born on, plus he liked the peace it now offered him, so he decided that he would very much like to visit The Commorancy. He wanted what it had to offer, if the tales were true.

If only he knew.

Which One?

Sy couldn't believe it. All this time, all this energy, energy that was damn hard to come by these days, and this was all he got for his troubles?

The words burned his retinas. It hurt to look at them now. Three days, three whole terrible days he had been turning the piece of paper over in his hands, trying to find a secret that would tell him more.

Nothing.

It was just a scrap of paper, nothing special — white notepaper, seemingly just torn out of a pad at random, the words printed with style; mocking him.

Sy had racked his brains, thinking back over the countless dead-ends and clues he had picked up on, followed, steps retraced, whispers chased, and it came to this: a cryptic note that meant nothing. England had countless goddamn trees, it was about all it did have these days. Nature was the ruler now, the rain free of acid, the waterways clean, the earth teeming with healthy microbes. Chemicals leeching into the soil now a thing of the past. Sy didn't even know such things had existed, his world held no farming, no pesticides, no growing of commercial crops, no water treatment, sewage or manufacturing.

Those that had enough life in them to realize The Lethargy was not how things should be sought out one of the few places that would welcome them. More than that, a place that could make your dreams come true.

The Commorancy.

And the only clue he had as to its whereabouts was a piece of cheap paper with some daft message on it about a bloody tree. He could weep if it didn't mean he risked washing away the ink on the paper — it was all he had left.

Sy was born well after The Lethargy crawled over humanity. The world he was born into knew little of what came before as there was nobody left to school the children. His parents were slow to fade away and it wasn't until he was knocking at the door of his teenage years that he became truly alone in the world — part of him thankful for the release. Ever since he could remember he had cared for his parents as they drifted further and further away, slowing down, caring less and less about themselves — about him.

It was all he knew, and the release was a blessing when the time came. It was his mother that went first, followed shortly after by his father. Tending to them had gotten increasingly difficult over the years, and when he looked back at it he was amazed he kept them alive for so long. Spoon feeding, wiping their backsides, bathing them best he could, all of this and so much more had been carried out daily for years. No job for a young child. He didn't even want to think about the extra difficulty of grubbing around for food, everything stunted and just as slow as his parents.

When he finally had his freedom from burdens he both loved and loathed at the same time, he found himself alone in a world well past caring.

There were no neighbors; his street was deserted. Most people had succumbed to The Lethargy within the first year or two of it becoming a worldwide epidemic. Others lasted longer, some drifting into coma-like states imperceptibly, day after day, year after excruciating year. And this is how his parents had been. It was a curse more than a blessing. Nobody should have to see their parents eaten away in such a way. Creeping Lethargy was what the few people he had encountered called it. Those people were long gone now. By the time he was a teenager he was alone.

The street he had lived in his whole life was as if waiting for inhabitants to take up residence. But they had already been and gone, fading as they gave up any interest in the world around them. At the time it had all seemed so normal — the lack of people, the unending sadness. A heavy weight that bore down on you, threatening to take you with it deep into blissful ignorance. Why not simply allow yourself to wither on the vine, joyless and stinking? What else was there now anyway?

But Sy had not succumbed to The Lethargy, Creeping or otherwise. As the planet was cleansed and modern life as it had once been known became nothing but the stuff of legend, Sy stayed fully aware of himself and the cesspit that was the world he had been born into. Whole, that's what he was. He remained one of The Whole, a rarity just a short generation after billions died because they could no longer muster enough energy to feed themselves or take a sip of water.

Sy was somewhat of a miracle: a birth that matured into adulthood, with no sign of dying a pitiful and premature death. He stayed alert, actually grew as a person once the shackles of parental responsibility were shaken off.

Yet loneliness threatened to take away his gift of life. It was soul crushing in its intensity. He had wandered the towns, cities and tiny villages of the United Kingdom looking for something, anything that would break the unending misery and monotony of nothing but his own company. His travels made his head hurt. So much of the previous world he had been born at the tail-end of relied on social structures and rules so complex it was impossible to believe they were true.

There had been constant streams of traffic — road, air and sea — making the economy function. Hospitals cared for the ill and had regular medicines delivered. Schools taught every child in the country, for free. Everyone had a car and everyone had enough money to buy food and shelter. Now things were different. His world was one of desolation. Nature claimed back what used to be hers, slowly and methodically what was built by man was returning to green. Much like The Lethargy slowly chipping away at what was once a Whole person, so the plants and vegetation took back what was once theirs.

The animals came out of hiding.

Sy saw it all as he traveled the motorways where possible, the small roads, the lanes and the tunnels and bridges which he loved so much. Roads were mostly impassable, blocked by traffic rusting where it stood. There were small cars, huge trucks, motorbikes and lorries with tons of food, now all rotten or long gone. Once he even came across a huge airplane, the biggest thing he had ever seen, just sat there across a six lane road. He dared not go inside for fear of what he might find.

Towns were nothing more than piles of debris and a reminder that man once dominated all. Now the trees grew inside shopping malls, and the animals made their homes in once glorious palaces.

Yet he continued roaming. He picked up hints here and there of something hidden. Of an escape, a promise of salvation. He caught whispers in ages old books, scraps of ancient newspaper talking of a man, a person more than just Whole. Someone who went beyond what it was to be a normal human in the traditional sense. Someone who had power. That person had built The Commorancy.

He found graffiti hinting at such a place, talk in the papers and magazines that littered the floors in tiny shops, signs hanging on their doors saying "OPEN" — still welcoming paying customers. The owners long dead, too far gone into The Lethargy to even close up shop.

Then he found The Web.

Sy discovered that he wasn't alone. There were others: good people. Bad people too. There were more like him. There were people that were Whole, people that wanted to rebuild. To take back what had once been humanity's and build it again, but to do it right this time.

They all tried to make their way to The Commorancy.

Myth and legend abounded, the hints he found scattered across the UK were nothing more than a tease to someone who dreamed of having a genuine conversation with another human being.

So when Sy discovered there was a virtual world inside computers that contained more information than he ever knew existed he thought he was in a dream. Why had nobody told him such a thing was even possible? How could he have gone so long without such knowledge?

It was simple — his parents never knew there used to be a thing named The Web. Let alone that Marcus, the leader and absolute ruler what remained of the United Kingdom, had resurrected it soon after it had gone dark, years before Sy had even been born.

Now there was nobody left to use it apart from a handful of hopefuls that had followed the convoluted path that weaved back and forth, finally leading you to a salvation of sorts. Marcus' home.

There was a dark side too. This was not the only path. But Sy was of a positive nature and could see what had once been. He wanted a part in what was to come, not to speed up what The Lethargy had begun. That was the vision of The Eventuals, with their permanent head to toe red tattoos and their unbending belief He had wanted an end to humanity and they had been chosen to speed things up any way they could.

Now it had all been for naught.

Was this really how it ended? With a scrap of paper that told him nothing, nothing at all about what to do next? It was enough to make you give up, crawl into a hole and let the world creep over you and take you down into The Void.

~~~

Years ago, too many for Sy to comfortably think about, he began his quest to find The Commorancy in earnest. The more he delved, the more fascinated he became. Ruled by Marcus, self-styled oligarch, absolute autocrat of what he himself had built over who knew how many years. The building, if it could be called that, had been born of whispers and as The Lethargy spread it passed in and out of myth and legend until nobody quite knew whether it existed or not. Was Marcus still alive? How old would he be now if he still was? Did somebody else run it now? It was a long time ago that such rumors had begun, Sy was sixth generation after all.

He made it his business to find out.

Travel was abandoned and Sy settled down to uncover best he could what he had to do to gain access.

It took years.

He read books in all forms: digital — which had been coming into its own before nobody could be bothered to write anymore — magazines, newspapers, periodicals, novels with obscure references, fact, fiction, and more. He became consumed. He had to find the tyrant's lair and become a part of the only thing worth a damn anymore.

Sy scoured The Web for days, then weeks, then months. Coming to dead-ends, having false hopes, following downright misleading paths. He gave up time after time. The Web was nothing like it had been, as he discovered the more he delved. It used to be all-encompassing. A Worldwide Web is what it had been called. Now he had a UK only version, run, he suspected, from right within The Commorancy itself. How else could it be up and offering information, if of a somewhat limited nature compared to the original Web used by those lucky enough to have lived long before Sy was even conceived?

Marcus the despot was playing with him, this he became convinced of. If not him then one of his descendants, or his acolytes.

He grew resentful, spent days in tears, days angry, ranting at the fascist ruler of a secret he seemed unwilling to share with those in need. Yet he always returned to his studies eventually.

Then he found it, what he was looking for. A way in if the information was to be believed. So he followed the leads given, paid the dues asked, and completed mind-bending tasks then questionnaire after questionnaire, designed to peer into his very being, or so it seemed.

Now here he was, staring yet again at a cheap scrap of paper delivered somehow to his pillow while he slept. He didn't have a clue what to do next.

Thwack.

Sy smacked his head with the flat of his hand. How could he have been so stupid? It was obvious. He quickly searched The Web for what he was looking for, the answer so clear he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it straight away.

No Need to Panic

"Okay, no need to panic, I've got plenty of time," grouched Sy to himself as he made preparations to follow his invitation. He felt sick to his stomach that he had wasted so much time staring at that damn piece of paper, but no matter, it was done. He was sure he was on the right track. At least he hoped he was. There was always a little nagging doubt that he was totally wrong.

The problem was that trees had become a symbol early on once The Lethargy had been given a name. There was that weird Oak growing in Birmingham, a twisted symbol of the rising factions that wanted humanity gone, but he never could get his head around how that tied in with forcing something to grow in such an unsuitable environment. But other trees had featured too, and Sy was born just soon enough to still remember talk from his parents about other aberrations that had appeared almost immediately after The Lethargy contaminated the planet.

In his stressed-out state, once he had received his rather cryptic invitation, Sy had forgotten a tale told to him as a young child about the rise of Marcus.

But the story, he finally recalled the story. Good job too. He would never find the answer to the riddle on his invitation otherwise.

Sat in the place he had called home for years now, although it never felt like it, he thought back to when he was a young boy. Now a man of twenty-one it wasn't so easy to look back to his youth — his memory had never been good — but he remembered enough to recall the story with vivid detail.

He was about eleven he guessed, maybe a bit older. His parents had him at a relatively young age, but were confident they would remain some of the lucky ones. They showed no signs of Lethargy when they tried to conceive, feeling it their duty to have children, hoping they too would remain Whole.

But by the time he was eleven Creeping Lethargy had taken a hold of his parents, particularly his mother. She was little use by now, a ghost, a sickly shadow haunting their home, always making him jump as he came across her in random places, normally unwashed, unkempt, often naked. His father did his best, but he too was beginning to show signs of the most horrible of ways to lose yourself — he knew what was happening and had to try to look after his wife and son while he faded into nothing.

Sy fidgeted with his hair that was always a mess, he brushed it to the side away from his eyes, across a heavy brow that somehow suited his swarthy frame. He lost himself in thought as he recalled the time his father had told him the story falteringly. This was right before the shell of a man before him was lost completely. Sy ached for such companionship but knew he would never have it again.

"But why Daddy, why did it fall?" asked Sy, sat cross-legged on the floor at his father's feet, wide-eyed and engrossed in the story of a time hard to imagine, yet a very real part of his heritage.

"Well, as more and more people worked from home, as everything got more automated, or people had no jobs at all, then a lot of technical work was carried out by computers. The whole world was connected. Everybody had a device that allowed them to talk to any other person on the planet instantly. Even Daddy had one."

"Really? What was it like?" Sy played along, knowing his father was getting confused, but trying to keep him alert enough to finish the tale.

"Oh, just a little thing, nothing special. I never kept up with the latest models or anything. Anyway, where was I? Ah, yes. So, lots of things were automated, and it meant that there were lots of satellites in the sky. Thousands of them. Some as small as your hand, some as large as big houses like the house on the corner that I know you go to play in even though I told you not to." Sy's father looked at him sternly, but then smiled as best he could.

"Sorry Daddy, I won't do it again."

"Don't tell lies Sy, it's one of the worst traits people have. Now, all of these things flying around the earth were for making phones work, for other communication, watching the weather so we knew if it would be sunny or not, and... oh, countless other things. Lots of countries had them, many owned by governments, others by the big businesses that controlled most of the jobs and the money.

"The thing is Sy, everything else was getting automated too, so when you went to do things you used machines, you never really saw many people anymore. In lots of stores you did your shopping, paid a machine, and left without ever being served by a person. It all stopped.

"I'm not saying it was bad but it was different. You won't have experienced any of it, neither did I, but it was like the world was locking itself away, and I guess maybe that was our punishment: The Lethargy. Maybe that was it beginning and we didn't even notice? Nobody knows."

"Daddy," moaned Sy. "The story, carry on with the story." Sy's father had a tendency to drift now, recalling things he himself had been told by parents and grandparents. Sy wanted to hear about The Tree.

"Sorry. Well, lots of satellites fell. They were abandoned out above the earth. When nobody monitored the computers they broke, or people lost track of what was where and the satellites collided out in space. Most are still up there you know, just orbiting the planet, and they will forever. But some lost their courses, others crashed and changed direction. Some just inexplicably headed back to earth."

"Did they get The Lethargy too?" asked Sy, wondering if machines could have what Mummy and Daddy now had.

"I don't know, maybe," said his father, waving away the question with a skeletal hand. "England was lucky, nothing hit us at first. We are so small we are easy to miss. But eventually an old thing from who knows when hit the south of England causing total chaos. It flattened a whole village and killed everyone. It left the houses in ruins and the countryside black. There were just enough TV stations left for people to see it on the news, but you know what the worst thing was?"

"Nobody did anything?" Sy was all too familiar with how people acted by now to guess any other way.

"That's right, why would they? Damn, sorry, they should have is what I meant. I'm sorry Son, and please don't remember me like this, or when I get worse. Remember me when I would run around with you and we would go do things and see things together. The crater was huge, but nobody did anything. People were trapped, dying, and all they got was a poor haggard woman on the television telling that this village was ruined."

"And then Marcus saved the day didn't he Daddy? He saved everyone."

"That's not entirely true, Son, not quite what happened. Now, you have to understand that at this time the power was not reliable anymore, although I know you find it hard to believe they used to have such things all the time. It would come and go but it was weeks later when we got it back for a while and all there was on the television was a repeat message from Marcus telling how we shouldn't give up hope, and that he would find a way to make it better, or at least help people."

"But..."

"Yes, Son?"

"Nothing Daddy, carry on please." Sy knew his father was getting confused again, telling the story as if he had been there, rather than re-telling what he had been told. He understood it was best not to correct him, he wanted to hear about The Tree, and Marcus.

"He was too late to save most people, they died immediately. But he got some people out of the buildings alive, and he did plant the tree. But it isn't in the way you think. It was a dark time and Marcus may be what we have, but he isn't a Saint by any means. He enslaved people."

"He made people slaves? How?"

"Well, this is it isn't it? Nobody knows how he did it, and you must bear in mind that he was very young too. He was one of the few that were known as Whole, but he was more as well. Awoken is what I think they call it now. He had powers, or he found powers inside himself. I was Whole once too, and for a long time, just like your mother. Marcus was different. This was before he disappeared, never to be seen again, although there are rumors about him so I have heard.

"He did something to The Lethargic, sending them to dig up the bodies. It was on the news, he showed clips, and it wasn't pretty. These poor people were blank-faced, lost to The Lethargy, almost dead. He controlled them and they did what he wanted. They dug out the bodies and then they died."

"Who died Daddy? The Lethargic?"

"Everyone. Those that dug and those that were dug out. They were all gone to The Lethargy like nearly everyone else. But it was a sign, and Marcus didn't stop there. Huge numbers of people filled in the massive crater, they filled it until it was gone. Then they cleaned up the debris and they cleared the countryside. Marcus planted a nice tree right there on top of the broken village at the center of the deserted countryside. Then he made a promise.

"He promised that the tree would grow to be a great tree. That it was a symbol of man working with nature, not against it. It was a symbol of man's ability to do right, to respect nature and make something beautiful. It was just a simple thing, not like The Oak, that freak of nature. This was just a simple tree planted amid the carnage man had caused to himself and to the earth. I think Marcus wanted to make a point, that his way wasn't one that needed more destruction, unlike the followers of The Eventuals."

"Was he a bad man then Daddy?"

"You mean is he still a bad man? He is still alive you know? Although I find it hard to believe, he says he will be for a long time to come. Who knows? Was he bad? Well, there is no easy answer to that. There is never a simple answer. We all do bad things, maybe even sometimes when we think we are being good. He had noble intentions that is for sure. And he gave people hope. Hope that people could rebuild, do things better. Mainly, he showed that not everyone was going to simply give up. Most had. Whether or not they had The Lethargy the days of a community were pretty much over. Marcus controlled people against their will, that isn't right. At least I don't think so. But then, if he used me to do something good once I didn't know? Well, maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Marcus disappeared not long after The Tree grew, there were some who didn't like what he did. I think it was just the beginning. There are a lot of rumors about him now. People seek him out. Maybe it's all myth, I don't know. I'm too tired these days to think about it to be honest. Sy? Sy? What's the matter?" Sy was in tears at his father's feet, his dirty face a mess, sniffing and trying to stop the flood.

"I don't want you to die Daddy, I don't want Mummy to either. But I can't stand seeing her like she is, or you. And it doesn't seem like anyone is good, not even Marcus."

"Welcome to the world Sy, it's not going to get any easier."

"Daddy? Daddy? DADDY!"

His father never said another word. He faded away until he died from starvation many months later. He never left his chair.

~~~

Sy dried his eyes just as he had all those years ago. He tried not to think about the passing of his family — he had mourned enough, more than enough. He packed his few belongings — he had nothing he cared about anyway — and set off on a bicycle to find The Tree that his father told him about as if the events had happened to him.

The burning question was how did Marcus know that Sy knew the story? Had he left a trace of his knowledge somewhere? He didn't think so. There was an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had the distinct feeling he had been violated in ways he knew nothing of. It made him feel dirty. Yet he completed his journey, making it to a beautiful understated tree sat alone in a field, on the remains of a once picturesque village in rural England. Above him the sky promised a future alive with potential. Cluttered as it was with unseen satellites making their cold, repetitive journey around the earth once more.

Below? Just an insignificant burial ground for a small population that nobody but Sy and Marcus even remembered existed.

~~~

Three days later he was being led down a corridor by what can only be described as a rather petulant goat. At least he was in. Sy was the latest in what was to become a long line of visitors to The Commorancy, last bastion of hope for humanity in a world where The End didn't come with a bang, it just fizzled out with barely a whisper.

Grab a Spade

Welcome to the garden, read the little wooden sign, paint peeling, letters barely legible. It was staked into the grass a stone's throw from the entrance. Marcus and Kirstie were standing just inside the door to Room7. Marcus wasted no time — he already had bare feet so he could enjoy the delight of the soft blades tickling his soles. Near to the welcome sign was a twee collection of other small signs: Keep off the Grass, Clean up After Your Dog, and even a garden gnome or two with fishing rods — ever hopeful, but never likely to catch a thing. Marcus had thought it funny, a great antithesis to what you experienced when you allowed your eyes to wander around the delights Room7 had to offer.

"You can stay if you like, others have. Some a long time, others not so much. Ah, the grass feels delightful," said Marcus, wiggling his toes deeper into the lushness. He looked at Kirstie with concern. "What? You don't like it?"

"Like it? Are you serious? How is this possible? Is this real, I mean really here? Things like this don't exist, not in this world, not now, not for me." It was too much, she knelt in the grass, the impossibly lush green grass. Kirstie wept.

Marcus stood there, concern on his face, but mixed with happiness. You couldn't be unhappy when confronted with the view of The Garden when you walked through the door. Or from any other vantage point, of which there were inestimable.

"This is beautiful, beyond beautiful," said Kirstie, tears drying, better to appreciate the glory before her.

"As I said, you can stay if you like. This is your Room. You wanted something, I am trying to give it to you. Many have stayed. Well, some. But I think this is truly your Room, you fit here. If you choose to leave, then the door is at the far end." Marcus pointed off into the distance, the exit impossible to see from such a range. "If you feel a little funny then don't worry, you will get used to it."

Kirstie was too stunned to take in even a small part of what lay before her, so she tried to focus on Marcus, for now. "Why would anyone leave? It's... it's... exquisite. So beautiful."

"You know. Stuff," he said dismissively. "Things. Expectations. Wanting something different. My fault really. Giving people the wrong door maybe, not what they truly wanted. I've got it wrong a couple of times, learning, refining the selection process, understanding what is needed. Not anymore. Now everyone gets the door they should. Everyone. You too. This is what you want?" Not a question, he knew. But still, it was polite to ask.

"I don't understand," said an awed Kirstie. "How can this be here, through one of the doors? It makes no sense. I mean, I thought the building was an old bunker or something, you know, like a nuclear shelter, an army thing, something like that."

"Whatever gave you that idea?" smirked Marcus. "Ah, the concrete. Yes?"

"Well, yeah. That, and it all seemed so utilitarian, and, you know, kind of like what you would expect when you go somewhere that has Rooms you get locked into until the time is right. Like The Rules say."

"The Rules are mine. Not all the same. Rules for people, lots of them. Your Rules. The ones I give to you, are for you. Others have different ones. Only one Rule is the same. Once the door closes, and I lock it, you are never to try to leave by the door, you must not touch the door. You must not try to leave by the door. Nobody leaves that way. Ever." Marcus made sure he emphasized how important it was. He had measures in place, ways to keep the Rooms secure, to make it impossible for uninvited to ever get in. It meant those inside could only ever leave the way they came in if he allowed it.

"I won't, I promise."

"Good. When you can leave by the door I will open it. When you fulfill your part of the promise. Yes? Then the door opens. Not before. But for you? Another door. That way," he said, pointing. "This is a good Room, no doubt. I'm actually still surprised by it. Really puts things in perspective, right? And you may leave, via the other door, any time. Not this one though." He pointed to the open door, the old lock oxidized, the bolts and hinges appearing to be hanging in place by rust that would disintegrate at a touch.

"Doesn't look solid, secure. No?"

Kirstie shook her head. The lure of Room7 overpowering her with its sheer impossible beauty.

"No matter. Appearances are deceiving. I like my doors. The texture, the history. But The Rules stand. Leave the door alone. Now, there are a few things to go over, I know you are a hard worker, that you love nature. But this," said Marcus, waving his hand around, spinning 360 degrees, "is just a bit special. The maintenance is not for the lazy. You up to it?"

"You betcha. Where's the spade?"

~~~

Kirstie was third generation Whole. Born into a world where The Lethargy was all there was for the majority remaining. By the time she was a teenager worldwide news traveling around the globe in seconds was a thing of myth — you couldn't imagine such complexities in the world she was born into. She was told of the power of technology, how it had worked, how information had been so readily available.

It often seemed her parents marveled at such wonders more than she did — she was happiest just playing in the dirt, climbing trees. She wasn't concerned with rebuilding what had once been, it sounded horrible — people rushing around all over the place, roads clogged with smelly vehicles, buildings blocking out the sunlight and everyone so stressed out about making money they died young and ate things made in factories that would kill them.

To Kirstie it sounded like The Lethargy had begun long before it had actually been labeled.

Since she was a child Kirstie was all bubbling energy and thick dark curls, constantly up to mischief, obsessed with growing things. The perfect candidate for her Room many years later.

She was happy as a child. She played, she explored, and she had enough to eat. The random way people are born in one place or another, to parents not of their choosing, in a period of history that is entirely arbitrary meant Kirstie happened to be born to strong-willed parents that taught her as much about the world that was, and the world she now lived in, as they possibly could. She was taught of how humanity once thrived, then what it had been reduced to.

Much of it she thought of as fairy tales told to young children to keep them amused, but as she developed into a young woman and things took a turn for the worse in her life, she came to understand that what she had been told was, for the most part, entirely true.

As she hit her teenage years her family fell apart before her eyes. Depressingly slowly. Up until then she had the good fortune to live with not only her mother and father, but an aunt and her grandfather on her mother's side. The rest had passed from natural causes before she was born, or when she was very young. Since The Lethargy descended on humanity only a few from her family tree had succumbed, those that did passed quickly, often confused with mere old age. It was a strong line she came from on both sides, and rare indeed for so few to perish. But few children were born from either line — there were no other relations left after three generations.

A once happy life fell apart as her grandfather passed — going from a strong, huge gnarled bulk of a man, to a frail, decrepit, haggard shell of a human being within less than a year. It took over quickly, ravaging his body. For much of his final time on earth he was nothing more than a vegetable. Eyes unseeing, all motivation dried up like a grape left in the sun too long. Dessicated and ashen-faced, he died without ever knowing it was his time.

Her parents went in a similar fashion. Her mother passed first, in a similar way to her grandfather, but the responsibility was Kirstie's, and it tore her apart. It took away her joy at the world, almost breaking her entirely.

Then it was her father's turn. The day it became apparent filled her with a dread she had never experienced since.

"Kill me Kirstie, you have to do it."

Kirstie just sobbed. Her father had asked before when he roused from The Creeping Lethargy that taunted him and his daughter. He could be vacant for days, unable to fend for himself, then have a burst of normality for a few hours, coming to as if from a dream of a half life. The horrors of what he had become crowding his awareness.

"Dad, I can't. I'm sorry, but I can't." Kirstie held back the tears — there had already been too many. She didn't have any left for the husk that was her father.

"Then let me do it. Get me the gun, I can do it now. I'm okay at the moment, but I can feel this damn curse inside of me, ready to take me again. It's horrible Kirstie, it's like being a fish, swimming around in a little bowl, all hazy and clouded like you need to breach the surface and take a deep breath of life. Except you don't know it's happening, not really. You just feel like a wisp of what you are... oh, I don't know, it's just horrible is all." He looked at her with imploring eyes, begging to be allowed a final release from his living hell.

In the end she just left.

As he became lost to The Lethargy, never resurfacing for a last taste of life, Kirstie settled him in his favorite chair out in the garden, set up the parasol so he was in the shade, and walked away from her life — from what remained of his.

It's Been a While

Ugh, at least this is the last one for now. Marcus felt terrible, he'd never had to disturb a guest before in his long life, now he was about to do it again. It was odd, but seeing people he hadn't spoken to in the flesh for so long was kind of nice; maybe he was getting lonely in his old age? No time to dwell on personal matters though, there were things to do, and this was just the start. Ah, that's why I'm almost happy, adventure awaits!

Marcus made his way to Room7: The Room For The Garden. His favorite, yet least visited Room for way too long. The Room was unique, the only one in the long history of The Commorancy occupied by more than one person simultaneously. Marcus now enforced a single person per Room rule after allowing it right back near the beginning. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but he thought it may lead to complications so never repeated the experiment. Kirstie had been inside for two and a half centuries now, and things had changed significantly since her arrival. Sadly, he had to interrupt her life to warn her that things may become a little out of the norm fairly soon.

"Hello Kirstie," said Marcus. "It's been a while." He beamed, happy to see her again.

"Oh no, I knew it was too good to be true." Kirstie's world collapsed around her in a heartbeat, happiness replaced with dread that her suspicions were true.

"What? You are happy, yes? You have led a good life now? I gave you that?"

"I thought so, yeah. But look at you. You look the same as before. What did you do? This some type of virtual reality? You've just been tricking me and messing with me?" She stood, putting down her pruning shears, rising from the mat. Still youthful, she felt like she was aging by the second as her world disintegrated into a lie. "So, none of it's real, right? I should have known. This place, a husband, a baby? Too good to be true."

"I don't understand. It's all real, it's what you wanted." Marcus was playing, he understood her concerns, it had happened before, many times. It was impossible for people to truly believe what happened in The Rooms, even when their own senses told them it was true.

Too many obsessions with technology, he mused. People think virtual reality and nanobots are real.

"Look at you, you haven't aged a day. Same clothes, same hair. Same bloody face. How did you do it? What's it been, like a day in some messed up virtual world or a weird memory implant or something?"

"Kirstie, you give me too much credit. I couldn't do any of that even if I wanted to. There isn't that kind of technology left. Well, we never got that far to begin with. No, this is all real. It's just that there has been an, um, interruption, and it's only fair to warn you... to come get you. Sorry. And me? Well, I'm just feeling nostalgic today, going through a punk phase I guess. I didn't realize it was what I had on before when you first came here. You have my apologies, sincere ones," he said, tugging at a Ramones t-shirt, his favorite.

"And let's just say I have some very good moisturizer and leave it at that for now. Maybe one day I will tell you more, but now isn't the time. Your husband, I am sorry about the loss. But you had a long and happy life together here? The baby? Where is he? And anyway, what about you? You haven't exactly aged like you should have, have you? I told you this at the start, so why is it so odd that I look the same?"

"Well, haha, okay, I'll give you that. But have you seen the lines? Look at my eyes." Kirstie got up close to Marcus, turning her head so he could see the fine crows feet at the corners of her eyes.

Marcus recoiled in mock horror. "My god woman, you let yourself go didn't you. You look positively ancient!" said Marcus, holding his hands to his face, peeking through fingers at the haggard old crone before him.

"Okay, fair point, I guess it's not bad for all this time is it? I did the daily exercises, we both did. I guess we convinced ourselves something weird was going on and it hadn't really been so long. How long has it been, really? No funny business mister, I've got your number."

"How about a round two-fifty give or take a bit? Sound okay?"

"Years? Damn, that's pretty cool."

"Of course years, it wouldn't be days now would it. You have the honor of not only being one of the longest staying guests, but also having the best Room by far. Only a few were here before you, and they... never mind."

"Not bad is it? I can't thank you enough Marcus, all of us." Kirstie wondered what happened to those that came before her. There were a few generations so it could have been quite a few people she guessed.

Marcus and Kirstie both stopped to look upon Room7, by far the most labor-intensive part of the whole of The Commorancy. It was a legacy, a "just in case" as far as Marcus was concerned.

When he first realized what he could do entering The Noise, he made it his mission to avoid the extinction of humanity, yet he made an awful lot of mistakes along the way. He was manipulative, oppressive and downright wrong in those early years. The one thing he got right was building a sanctuary. A place of learning, a place to hold onto humanity. To teach, or to simply offer an escape. For the right people their future was guaranteed for a rather long time if they managed to get an invitation. Just like The Eventuals that slowly came into existence, Marcus had a deep love for the natural world, he merely wanted man and woman to be a part of it. With The Lethargy being a brand new phenomena, and nobody knowing what would happen in a few generations, Marcus not only built the place as a whole but he built The Garden too. A Room like no other.

It was vast, mile upon mile of incredibly beautiful landscape that felt like it was occupied by magical beings — perfect, all shimmering and full of beauty. There was no magic here though, just the most perfect piece of landscape that had ever been created by man. Marcus built it to ensure that if something obscene happened to the world then at least there would be a tiny slice of it left.

He never imagined how hard it would be to build.

Marcus was pulled from his reverie by Kirstie beaming at him, a tiny bundle in her arms. "He was sleeping. Say hello to Uncle Marcus then. Dale? Dale? Ah, he's tired, very hard being a baby you know, all that sleeping and pooping to do." Kirstie beamed down at her three-month-old baby, joy spilling out into The Noise, making it almost a physical object to Marcus.

A tear trickled from Marcus' eye. He wiped it away, happiness making him forget why he was here in the first place. "He's beautiful Kirstie, gorgeous. And about time too, I thought you would never get around to it."

"Hey, we had lots of practice I'll have you know. The little man just took his time deciding to make an entrance. Better late than never though, eh? It's just a shame his daddy never got a chance to see him. How I wish he did. Are there many left Marcus? Many babies? Many people?" Happiness turned to sadness in an instant as Kirstie thought about the state of things when she first left the outside world all those years ago. It was so sad out there back then, hopefully it would have gotten better by now. It couldn't have got any worse.

"It's worse."

"Damn. That's not what I wanted to hear."

"But look on the bright side, you have a baby! How amazing is that? Nobody has them anymore. They are so rare. Most that are born have The Lethargy... sorry, not what you want to hear."

"No, I need to know it Marcus. He is all right though isn't he? I think he is, he likes to kick I know that." It was the one thing Kirstie had been dreading more than anything else — finding out that her precious son would be unable to fend for himself, that he would succumb to The Lethargy, eat away at himself, never be bothered to go out and explore the world, do things. Her Awoken mind told her he was Whole, that he would never succumb. She could see it running through him — a strong life-force.

Marcus smiled widely, pleased to be the bearer of good news. "He's perfect, don't you worry about that. More than perfect. He won't succumb, he is entirely Whole, more so, just like you. Unlike your husband. Sorry, but it's best to be honest. Your family line has great promise Kirstie, infinite potentials, myriad futures are out there you know, infinite futures lived by infinite yous. You just have to pick which one you want, and the little man can do the same too. He can become anything he wants to be. Anything."

"Oh, wow. Not sure I was wanting more than for you to say he was healthy and Whole, but thanks... I think. If Mike could see us now. But we had a long life together, and I will always thank you for that Marcus." Kirstie smiled quizzically, really not sure about Marcus' words. All of a sudden the responsibility had grown tenfold. If there were hardly any Whole being born, or any babies at all, and hers could be something grand, then it gave a whole new meaning to parental responsibility.

"Ahem."

"What? Sorry, miles away."

"I was saying, I would love to stay and chat longer but can you please come with me? We need to have a meeting, a communal powwow. Sorry, I am very embarrassed to have to ask you to leave your Room, this is entirely a unique and most ungratifying situation I find myself in. I need your help I'm afraid. We need to go."

Uncomfortable Grouping

"Well, hmm, this is a little awkward," said Marcus, dressed for the occasion in leather trousers, a bright red sweater and a rather large, battered felt hat. "Gosh, it's been a while since I had the pleasure of being in such a large group of people... sorry, just trying to remember when it was... long time ago. Anyway, no matter, to business I am afraid." A dark frown crossed his face fleetingly, thick veins pulsing at his neck, before he calmed himself and the blood pumped slower. He shook his head as if making space for something.

The disturbed guests were crowded in The Very Comfortable Room. Marcus had led them there after rousing each from their own private dream-life and collecting Letje, who had waited so long she began to get a little bored.

The furniture and surroundings may have been plush and aesthetically pleasing, but the guests were somewhat quiet and uncomfortable. There were murmured conversations, a few hesitant introductions, the only real sounds being Umeko cooing over Kirstie's beautiful baby. The minute Umeko had seen the child she had gone up to Kirstie and introduced herself, then asked to hold the baby. Kirstie knew that it was the right thing to do, that this was a good woman, a woman ready to have a baby of her own, so handed over her precious bundle gladly. Dale was more than happy to meet somebody new. He smiled up at the plum colored face that beamed down at him making soothing sounds. It was obvious Umeko was born to be a mother.

Letje shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, aware that she was very much younger than the people present, yet not knowing by quite how many years. Others, such as Stanley and Calvin, were quiet yet content to do as Marcus wished. Calvin was especially silent, still reeling from the information overload going on all around him. Astolat murmured with Sy, but most of all everyone was wondering what would happen now.

"Please make yourselves comfortable. I know this isn't ideal but I will be back shortly, I just have a few things to attend to. There is no need to panic, I am sure everything will be dealt with in due course. Make yourselves at home, get to know each other a little, although I know new social situations can be awkward. Please, don't worry." With a flourish and a fast departure, the guests were left alone.

"Oh," said Marcus, his head popping back around the door, his hat almost falling off his head. "Letje, to you most of all I apologize. This must be very disappointing for you my dear. Here I am promising you a Room and all you do is hang around then get moved with little explanation. I'm sorry, I will make it up to you. I promise."

With that, Marcus was gone.

Letje sat on her seat and tried not to blush at the undue attention this had drawn her way.

Slaughterhouse Aesthetic

Marcus needed time to think — to formulate plans and go through potential scenarios as The Contamination loomed ever closer.

He had on a crisp white jacket, utilitarian, not for evening wear. White shirt and trousers, even white rubber boots. Finishing off the look was a matching hat along with a pair of long rubber gloves that reached up to his elbows.

The only thing that ruined the pristine outfit were the splashes of blood that spattered the ensemble — he looked like a butcher with a penchant for abstract art.

There was nothing like some good old fashioned butchery to take your mind off being rude to your guests. Although he intended to make up for it.

Marcus was in The Slaughter Room. Located conveniently next to The Room For Future Meals. Unsurprisingly, it was to be goat on the menu for his guests, although he found that he had been somewhat lax in keeping stocks topped up in the freezers. Sometimes things just got away from him, there was always so much to do — to remember. The selective breeding programs Marcus was engaged in, which were numerous, meant there were always plenty of animals dotted about The Commorancy in various appropriately named Rooms. Rooms he made sure were as close to natural conditions as he could muster but still cope with. Every so often the animals needed to be culled, either to keep bloodlines pure or as sustenance.

It always struck Marcus as somewhat incongruous that in the past people would eat animals yet squirm at the thought of having to have anything to do with their death. It was an important lesson he felt: if he was unprepared to deal with what was involved in the killing, dressing, and caring for the animals then he didn't feel he had the right to consume their flesh. So an awful lot of the meat he ate was prepared by his own hands. Not all, but enough to keep his conscience clear. The animals led good lives, he was never cruel to them, they were treated humanely.

Bending to his task, Marcus was lost in thought and ever so slightly distracted, yet he still dealt with the carcass like a professional butcher.

A goat lay before him on the stainless steel work bench — he had already slit its throat and bled it out, then expertly taken off the skin. Now he set to butchering the young carcass with a grace fascinating to watch. The knives were large, razor sharp. Marcus moved sparingly. He cut through the body as if it were butter, so sure was he of where to slice to show maximum respect — to make cuts of meat that resulted in as little waste as possible. In a few minutes the goat, a relative of George's that had not exactly been friendly in life, lay before him in numerous perfect joints. From legs, ribs, to more delicate morsels he would serve his guests, Marcus chopped, snipped, split, shaped, sawed and diced his way through everything edible — it would all be consumed.

It was about respect. That meant doing justice to the meat he butchered with pride and consideration.

He paused, running his favorite knife up and down the honing steel three times, then resumed his work. With a few final flourishes he was done. He then methodically packaged what would not be eaten immediately and stored it in a huge walk-in freezer, full of various animals all similarly well treated yet not what he thought his guests would appreciate for their supper. Certain things took a while to get accustomed to.

Marcus had left his guests to get better acquainted alone, thinking they might relax a little if he wasn't there to be the center of attention. He also disliked that very thing — he was not a man used to large groups of people. The butchery allowed him to gather his thoughts, make plans, and to enter The Noise whilst he worked, feeling for what he knew was coming. It was still some distance away but gaining every hour.

Not to panic though. He was confident the defenses installed would be more than sufficient to deal with the intended incursion. If the old installations worked as they should then The Eventuals shouldn't get within a quarter mile of his fortress. Even if they did, there were plenty more surprises waiting for them.

"Right," said Marcus, clapping his hands together. "Now it's time to make a culinary masterpiece with you." The goat, understandably, did not reply.

George was nowhere to be seen. Marcus wouldn't be so crass as to invite his friend into such a Room.

~~~

While Marcus cooked he finalized his plans. He thought about contingencies first then compiled a list of likely outcomes for what would inevitably be a situation that could not be foreseen with total accuracy. He was unconcerned about immediate threats, those he felt he could deal with easily. But he knew there would come a time when things would be somewhat challenging, so he ran through various likely scenarios in his head, all the while moving around his expansive kitchen, stirring pots, searching for herbs and spices, occasionally just standing in front of the large fire he often used to roast the meats.

On a large spit, one of the freshly butchered joints turned slowly, aromas tickling his nose gloriously. It promised to taste as good as it smelt. Marcus clanked about the huge space making quite a mess, stirring pots, banging pans, and trying to devise something special for his guests. It wasn't often that he cooked for other people, usually it was for only a single guest at a time. It was just a shame that it wasn't a better timed evening meal.

Marcus could feel the approach in The Noise so he went deeper, the cooking forgotten. A small contingent of The Eventuals were coming. He knew from where. What he couldn't fathom was why on earth the man that had obviously sent them, Varik, thought they would succeed. It made no sense. This was why he felt so uneasy and had gone to such extreme measures with his guests.

Marcus dismissed the buzz for now, turning his attentions to himself, his own well-being. He slowed his heart, expanded his veins, allowed more oxygen to hit his brain — just enough to create a slight euphoria without it being a genuine high. He instructed other small tweaks to take place, from ever so slightly speeding testosterone production and release, to flushing through his liver and kidneys, eliminating any remaining toxins from alcohol.

He sped up his thrombin, then adjusted insulin sensitivity just enough so that what he was about to eat would be shuttled to the muscles rather than to fat around the waistline. This and a number of other processes occurred under his instruction, so much of it second nature now that it was little more than abstract thinking on his part. No meticulous control needed. It was certainly nothing like in the beginning when he would have to spend days at a time to change his body chemistry even an infinitesimally small amount.

What Marcus did not do was to touch the minds of those approaching, even though he could sense them there in The Noise. He was keen to find out exactly what would happen, and there was a part of him that was excited.

Sometimes a break from routine was welcome.

"Well, I think I will go and get changed for the occasion. Supper should be ready by then."

Time for Supper

Marcus re-appeared wearing yet another outfit, perplexing his guests with his obsession with new garb, quizzical faces obviously wondering why he felt it so important — how he got the time. "Please, follow me." Marcus walked to the end of the Room. George trotted along beside him, somehow managing to look as if he was in charge, with Marcus tagging along. Marcus frowned as he looked at George, noting that he needed to continue the breeding program. George had some serious flaws that he was just now becoming aware of.

Maybe it's his age? thought Marcus. Getting a little haughty the more comfortable he gets with his home?

His guests looked at each other rather shyly, then back to Marcus and his odd companion. With no other choice, the whole thing too overwhelming to know what else to do, they followed along quietly. Marcus led them around a corner where they all bunched up at a door. He placed his hand just to the left of a small scratch, only his palm and his second and fourth fingertips touching the wood. There was a faint whirrrffttt, muffled by the ancient wood. Marcus turned and smiled at the worried faces. "Now, I don't know about you, but I could do with something to eat?" He looked at the assembled guests hopefully, eyebrows raised quizzically. "Anyone?"

"Well," said Calvin, "I could certainly eat. But, um, I thought there was some sort of emergency? Shouldn't we be doing something?"

"Oh, not to worry, there will be a lot to do, yes. But I always find I can deal with problems better on a full stomach. So, food then?"

There were mumbled agreements, a few "Don't minds," and a lot of shuffling of feet coupled with confused looks.

"Right, let's make our way to The Dining Room then shall we?" The door opened, so the group followed Marcus into a cavernous space which to all intents and purposes looked like a medieval church.

"Hey! Wait, this isn't what was behind this door when we—" blurted out Astolat. She had been left in The Very Comfortable Room during part of her Orientation, thinking back it was probably when he went to get changed — again. He did like to pop in and out a lot that was for sure.

"Yes?" interrupted Marcus. "You were saying?" Marcus stared at her innocently, yet obviously not wanting to have the conversation at the moment.

"Nothing. randy pot boiler." said Astolat, looking around at the huge space, a million and one thoughts going through her head.

"Okay, follow me please. It's not far."

The Room had an impressive rib-vault ceiling lost in shadow high above, large stone columns extending up into the dark. Small ante-chambers led off in numerous directions, the vast Room echoing loudly as they followed. George clattered along in front, never deigning to check if he was being followed. He seemed to know where he was going better than anyone.

The walk was one of confusion. From the lofty heights of the stone built cathedral-esque Room they found themselves in a simple wood lined corridor, then in a plain white Room, then in another large vaulted Room. Marcus would often stop at doors for a few seconds, chatting away, trying to keep everyone from getting too overwhelmed.

~~~

Annoying Klaxon Sound! Annoying Klaxon Sound!

"Damn, I thought I had turned that off. Please excuse me for one second, I don't want to be rude but I must have peace while we eat." Marcus pushed back his heavy, high back chair then left the table. He tapped away on a small device then resumed his place. "Sorry about that, height of bad manners I know, but we don't want that racket going on while we eat, now do we? No?"

"What was that?" asked Letje, a smirk on her face, trying to keep it together with so much lunacy going on all around her.

"It's... The Annoying Klaxon Sound. I thought it was funny at the time, now it really is just a... well, you get the idea." Marcus frowned up at the ceiling.

"Thought it might be," said Letje, then burst out laughing. "Sorry, couldn't help myself. That's just the best, I love it."

The ice broken, everyone around the long dining table relaxed a little. The polished surface was almost totally covered in all kinds of food, each setting laid out perfectly with numerous pieces of cutlery. There was even a napkin folded into the shape of a swan at each setting.

"Wow, this is some spread," said Letje, wondering where it all came from, how Marcus could get hold of so much real food.

"It's from the gardens," said Sy. "Pretty amazing, huh?" He was sat next to Letje and hoped he could calm her nerves with chit-chat. "When I first came here I thought it must be some kind of dream you know, I'd never seen so much real food in all my life. It's easy to forget and take things for granted in here. But I try not to."

"How long ago did you come here," asked Letje hesitantly, unsure if such questions were bad manners or not.

"Oh, let's just say a long time ago."

Slowly, as they helped themselves to food, trying their best to use the right cutlery for the right course, conversations arose amongst the group of strangers. It was slow, stilted and not at all comfortable, but they all at least tried to make polite small talk. Most guests had never been in the presence of so many other people at one time. Many had not seen another living soul for numerous normal lifespans, so it was awkward and unusual to say the least.

Marcus joined in politely, trying to steer the conversations when he could, although he found the whole thing rather overwhelming himself. He was not used to dealing with so many people at once either. Not for centuries had he been in a Room with more than two people, as far as he could remember.

"Marcus? Marcus?"

"Oh, sorry, I was just thinking about something. Yes Letje?"

"What about Constantine Alexander III? Will he be okay?" Letje became aware that her simple question had been heard by all. There was silence around the table. She shifted uncomfortably, not liking the unwanted attention.

"He will be fine Letje. I will do my utmost to keep him as safe as us."

"Who's... what was it? Constantine?" asked Kirstie.

All heads turned to Letje and she flushed deeply. It was too much for her to take — she felt a million miles away from being in a comfortable situation.

Marcus saved her from more attention. "Constantine Alexander III is Letje's friend, a tortoise. I named a Room after him and promised he could stay here just as long as Letje herself did. He's actually a very interesting fellow. Did you know that he is older than most people, present company excluded for the most part, of course."

There were faint smiles from many guests, still in awe of the gift of extended life they had been given. Or if not given, then shown how to uncover for themselves.

"Cool," said Calvin. "I always wanted one myself, they are such interesting things."

"Really?" exclaimed Letje, calming somewhat and trying to get a grip on just how old all the people were. It was enough to make her head spin.

Talk continued as the tension eased. The food and the huge roaring fire created a pleasant atmosphere. The crackling gave comfort to what was otherwise a rather stark and unforgiving space. It was easy to forget that there was a reason for their presence in The Dining Room beyond simply having a nice supper.

~~~

Ding Ding. Marcus tapped the side of his fluted glass with a knife and stood.

"Ahem. Well, I assume that this is all very unusual for you, I know it is for me. I am sure we will get used to it however. If I may be allowed to explain the reason for disturbing so many of you, and for the reason why Letje didn't even get the chance to be given the key to her Room. Oh, sorry." Marcus realized he had been waving the knife around, not the best way to put company at their ease. He placed it gently on the table and continued.

"We have an intruder problem, so I thought it best to ensure we all stay together. As you know, The Rooms are somewhat special places and it is not so easy to ensure your safety when you are so spread out. Obviously, you don't know what other people's Rooms were like, but trust me when I tell you that you weren't quite as next door to each other as it appeared from The Anteroom Room.

"Recently, there have been several rather rude intrusions by The Eventuals. Totally ineffective of course. But I suspected that something else was coming, and now I think it best we all stay together as a group.

"You will not know, but each one of you is here for a purpose, not just personal to you. At all times I try to ensure that when all seven Rooms are occupied there is a reason for each person chosen above and beyond simply ensuring humanity has a fighting chance. It is to give those of us here in The Commorancy the best chance of survival should a real attack ever occur. And I feel that something very bad is coming soon, so we should stay alert."

"I'm not quite sure what you mean by all this, Marcus. Care to explain?" said Stanley, in his usual laconic style.

"Absolutely, sorry. Well, each of you was chosen to complement the group as a whole. To bring about the best vibration within the building, if it can be called such, and to give us the best chance together. So we have our technical expert, and so much more: Calvin. We have our practical person that sees the truth of things, that's you Stanley. We have people in tune with the natural world: Kirstie. Then we have... you know what, I don't want to spoil it, and I don't want you to think that you are only worthy of one kind of action, so I won't continue with the classifications. Suffice to say, we each and every one of us complement the others. Making a very fine group capable of anything."

"Except me," sulked Letje. "I haven't even been in a Room yet. What use am I?"

"You, my dear, may just be the most important person in the whole of The Commorancy. So don't you worry about that."

"Me! What use could I be?"

"You have infinite potential Letje, we can all see that," said Calvin. "Right?"

There were nods and murmured agreements, everyone knowing there was certainly something there, but unsure quite what waited to be Awoken within Letje.

"Now," said Marcus, "I'm afraid I have to leave you for some time. I need to check on numerous things and I need to be sure that the defenses are working properly. I may, um, have been a little lax with keeping things as they should be of late. It's no easy task running The Commorancy you know? I think it best that everybody wait in The Room For The Garden, if that is all right with Kirstie?" Marcus turned in her direction.

"Of course," said Kirstie. "Hey, it's your Room, we just stayed a little longer than we first anticipated. Quite a bit longer."

"You have been most welcome Kirstie. Now, would anyone like anything else to eat before we go? Also, I have something to show you before you get to see how well Kirstie has cared for The Garden."

Pretty Boy

A pair of cold blue eyes stared down from high in the corner of the huge Room. Ancient eyes. Intelligent eyes. The eyes of a huge eagle. Its beak was curved like its talons and just as deadly. Bird, for that was his name, contemplated the scene below, knowing that soon it would be feeding time.

As Bird waited, Master stirred. Subtle changes in the drafts in the room enough to tell Bird that Varik was returning from his daily meditation.

Varik sat cross-legged and naked in the middle of the Room, straight on the cold stone. Such things could be ignored easily enough. As he came back from his own special version of The Noise he let the present wash over and center him. Pasts and futures countless in their number faded, a path followed to the present reality swallowing him up, placing him at the center of his own timeline, the one he had chosen.

He was a master of the motes, the forces present in everything, passing through everything, and he bent them to his will as he had been granted. Varik did this the only way anyone could: by controlling his own body and the minds of others.

He stayed handsome. Part of his daily meditation always dedicated to ensuring he never aged a day. His metabolism stayed working perfectly.

Varik was an attractive man from a young age. He preserved this vanity, recognizing it for what it was. When dressed, he was immaculately turned out, yet even naked he seemed to wear his skin as if he was born to royalty. The truth was entirely different. He bore but one significant desecration to his skin, had not a single tattoo, and wouldn't dream of befouling his body. Like Marcus, Varik kept a rather boyish frame, slight yet well-muscled — a reminder of the deprivations of childhood. Yet he understood just as well as Marcus the power of myth, and in a similar vein created much of his own propaganda and mythology to further his own infamy. Part of that depended on looking the part, and he did so to perfection.

The Whole that turned to him needed something to dream of, to look up to, to idolize and believe unattainable. The religion he had forged around The Eventuals was deep, engrossing and very potent.

He felt sorry for the children he had sent to their deaths.

Their martyrdom would be remembered, even if by nobody but himself. The lies he told them were for their own good — if they knew they would not make an impact on The Commorancy then why would they have gone? If they believed they could bring down Marcus however... It was a necessary evil, although he certainly didn't consider himself an evil man.

The unfortunate truth was that there had to be sacrifices. If The End was to come then there had to be a price. With people like Marcus ruining The Plan then Varik had to do what he could to ensure what He wished would come to fruition.

His was no easy path.

His religion was simple, yet incredibly complex at the same time. Time passed quickly as he built his virtual church, then later the physical Sacellum, and much as he loved his flock they meant nothing compared to the greater good. Varik couldn't wait for The End, the real End, not the shadow that was currently the state of humanity. Apart from Marcus and his kind, of course. Varik was very much like Marcus in one regard: they were two of the oldest people on the planet by quite a large margin. Yet he saw it as a necessary curse, not a blessing. He saw it as the price he was paying for following through on His word. Humanity shouldn't be here anymore. There were just a few loose ends to tie up and then they would be gone from existence forever. He wouldn't mind dying, he looked forward to his own death, to accomplishing His Plan.

But until the day came when humanity fell into The Lethargy completely he had to stay around and see it through.

Here the contradictions began, ones he was all too well aware of. Welcoming his own death, he also reveled in his temporary existence — a life that had gone on for so long.

His church began not as a physical place of worship, rather an ideology he had spread. Those that found their way into the virtual sanctum of The Eventuals had access to all the trappings of the great religions of the past. Namely, a deep well of hope, not for this life, but for the next. His Word had been passed. The Decalogue repeatedly broken, humanity was no longer welcome, and Varik would see this judgment through to the end.

With only a few people now alive it was down to him, and others like him, to see that humanity withered, died. Most had gone within a few years of The Lethargy taking hold, but it had been generations before babies were as miraculous as manna from heaven and the planet was truly decimated. From billions it had been down to hundreds of thousands within less than a decade, the birth rate dropping almost to zero. If people couldn't be bothered to eat they certainly had no interest in procreation.

Varik had limited success, even at the height of The Lethargy, with his virtual Word — the online world was simply too unreliable. So The Sacellum was constructed, an addition to his Home, an immense church that dominated the surrounding skyline. Faith through the power of architecture at its absolute finest. A building that conveyed His Word so well through the strength of its walls and its overwhelming interior, both visual and acoustic. Such a thing had never before been built. It was so successful those of the right mindset were captured forever the second they stood within its walls and understood how completely insignificant they were in the world.

He had watched it all happen, cursed or blessed with being more than most survivors, those that stayed Whole. He was one that had been given a gift, the gift of insight into the human body on an intuitive level, as had Marcus. So he maintained his body, his physical temple, and he stayed slim, muscular and mostly unblemished. Unlike the acolytes. Theirs was a path of following, not leading. There could never be such confusion. Yet he created the myth, built upon it until it was more than merely faith. It was true belief. Even Marcus believed much of what was whispered or written in the virtual world about Varik, yet the two had never met.

Soon, that would all change.

~~~

Hours later, dressed and washed, Varik walked through the halls of Home, modest compared to The Commorancy, yet still a marvel of engineering and dedication to detail — if anyone were to be given the tour. This had never happened, those few that entered his Home, his less ostentatious name for his seat of power, were only ever permitted to enter a limited number of Rooms.

Varik too had used his newfound powers for less than savory acts when he was young — preying on the inflicted, manipulating and bending them to his own will. As Varik grew to maturity he became more and more cynical, using and abusing his gifts with abandon to further his own ends.

He believed The End always justified the means.

Much as he was against unnecessary cruelty, he felt it was part of the natural world for the strong to prey on the weak. It was how it had always been.

Now Varik was ready to take all of his work to the next stage: to eliminate the competition — to destroy what stood in his way. Deep into The Noise he followed fleeting strands of hope and despair almost daily, counting up the numbers, manipulating where he could. Over the years, it had become harder and harder to get a grasp on just how many Whole were left alive, but the numbers had certainly dwindled dramatically. All well and good, apart from the fact that most of them ended up with at least a brief visit to The Commorancy, if not an extended stay. How was he supposed to bring about The End when Marcus showed people how to Awaken?

It really grated.

Varik pondered it all as he walked, Bird flapping noisily overhead, perching in the shadows, catching rodents and insects as he liked. He made it to The Room For Plots, and... plotted.

So far so good. Marcus had been distracted by the incursions, a sad sacrifice as they could have helped in other ways to bring about The End, but no matter, things were moving along nicely. Varik's only concern was whether he could control enough people to bring his plan to fruition. Not only were Whole now near miraculous, but those with The Lethargy were few and far between. Varik knew that without the influence of Marcus there would be nothing but a handful left on the planet by now, instead of the thousands there currently were.

"Damn that man, why can't he just leave things alone and let us all die off?" Varik returned to his plotting, praying everything would go according to plan. As he bent over the huge table, a vast piece of hardwood easily able to seat fifty, his pale hair fell forward covering his eyes. For a moment all was black and Varik started with a shock, sweat beading his brow, unbidden and out of his control. He had a vision of the young girl, genuinely young, not long born. Her life fast-forwarded. She was at The Oak, smiling, grown. Powerful. He spread his slender hands out on the table, fingers turning white as he pressed down hard unconsciously. He went in deeper, trying to catch more of the timeline — he didn't like what he saw.

"This could be a real problem, Bird, we will need to be sure to deal with her. If she is in there too long then Marcus will fill her head with all kinds of nonsense, and we know that he can change people. If there is the slightest chance of people moving past Whole then he will find a way to release the power in them. It mustn't happen with her. Dear Lord, why can't people just die," he shouted, disturbing Bird who flapped into the rafters, dust streaming down into the room like the death of a galaxy.

"That damn man and his interfering. You know if it wasn't for him then there would be no more people by now, don't you? He's the one that has allowed them to cling to life like leeches. He. Needs. To. Be. Stopped." A fist slammed into the table, hair-line cracks spreading out from such brutal contact.

Varik's eyes clouded over, rolling up into his head. He went deep, then deeper still into The Noise. From the presence left at The Oak he picked up the signal of her very being and followed it. He found her name and her true self, much of which she would not yet know or understand. "Letje is it? Well, young lady, don't get too used to anything, there is no way you are going to ever leave The Commorancy alive. Goddamn these people, is there no end to them?"

Bird drifted down lazily, settling on his shoulder, claws digging deep. Varik didn't mind, the huge build-up of scar tissue over the years meant his right shoulder was numb. The lumps and lacerations a reminder that all was temporary, a dream; none of it was real. None of it meant anything at all. The frequent clutches of Bird meant that he stayed grounded. Sometimes new sensations came, as the lacerations built and criss-crossed upward, the side of his neck often bleeding as the claws snicked when Bird took to the wing. No matter. Life, pain, reality itself, all was just a game played in The Noise. Nothing but impossibly tiny collections of matter amusing themselves before they returned to Nothing, to The Void.

Everything made its way back in the blink of His eye.

Varik drifted for a while in The Void, neither enjoying nor not enjoying, neither being nor not being. This was the natural state of man, to be neither aware of The Empty, or not aware, just nothing. As he came to, he once again wondered just why Marcus would want to stand in the way of the perfect Nothing. Humans had their time, it seemed to go against all of His wishes to try to prolong something that was obviously meant to be over by now. Varik also wondered how many other people were left in The Commorancy. He knew that it would never be like in the early days when there were still more than enough Whole vying for entry. Like Marcus, he had also slightly lost touch with the number of survivors out in the world. Unnatural living gets wearisome. Distractions become consuming.

No matter, things were about to get interesting. And though he wouldn't admit it, Varik was quite looking forward to having something to do for a change.

With his plan already in motion, Varik finished going over the finer points of his Plot then went to prepare himself for leaving Home — something he hadn't done for so long he didn't have a clue what the weather was like, or what year it was. It was inconsequential. It wasn't like it would make any difference to anything.

He simply fancied some fresh air.

Is it a Bee?

"Is it a bee?" squealed Letje, jumping up and down excitedly, then getting on her hands and knees, forgetting her clean clothes as she peered closely at the insect. She squinted against the strong sunlight, brushed her fringe away, irritated it was interfering with her getting as near as possible to the buzzing creature.

"It is," said her father. "Not something you see so much of these days, but they are becoming more common again I think. That's a good sign you know. It means that things might just slowly be returning to how they were."

"What do you mean Daddy? Can I touch it?"

"Oh no, don't touch it darling. They are mostly friendly creatures but if you try to interfere with them going about their business then they might just sting you. And it hurts, a lot."

"I won't. Promise," said Letje, peering searchingly at the insect, her face mere inches away. She sneezed violently, the pollen from the bright purple flower tickling her sinuses, sending the insect buzzing off to the next flower to collect nectar without an audience. Letje tried to chase after it, but it soon decided it would be better off further down the garden, away from the dangerous young hands of an excited six-year-old girl.

"Come and sit beside me, let me tell you about the bees. It's important, not just for you, but for everybody."

Letje stared after the exciting and unusual insect wistfully, then said, "Okay Daddy," and sat down beside her father on the ancient wooden bench, silver and as worn as a piece of driftwood.

"Bees are such an important insect you know, and they were one of the first signs of The Lethargy. It was just that at the time nobody really understood the significance of their decline."

"How do you know this? Who told you?"

"Well, this is why it's important that you listen. I was told this story by my father, who was told it by his, and back it goes right to when everything was still busy and everyone did things. It's part of your history. The stories I tell you are there for you to learn by, and maybe, just maybe, you will tell them to your own child one day. Maybe not, but we can hope. Now, bees are not only lovely fun insects, but they play a very important role in the world. They go from flower to flower and they take nectar, the tasty stuff in the plants, and they go back to their hive, where all the other bees are, and they make honey. You know what honey is, right?" queried her father, smiling as Letje licked her lips.

"I had it once, didn't I? It was very sweet."

"That's right, very sweet."

Letje recalled the conversation she had with her father like it was yesterday, not the nine years it had been. She remembered the warm sunshine, the haze of the garden, the insects buzzing, the feel of the wood of the bench and the sound of her father's voice. And she recalled the story of the bees. Her father had told her how when the world was Whole the bees had gone into decline. Nobody knew why, it was just one of those things. The bees were needed to pollinate the plants and flowers, and as they became a rarity so crop production worldwide, as well as growth of plants in what was left of the countryside, began to slide.

The bees got lazy. There were countless speculations. Chemicals, the weather, the rise of genetically modified crops, industrialized farming techniques and the loss of the natural landscape. All of this and more was given as reason for their depopulation, but the truth was nobody really knew why the bees stopped doing what they had always done.

It was only in hindsight that the bees were connected to The Lethargy itself. Looking back a generation or two after populations were decimated it was obvious that humanity went into decline right about the same time that the bees did.

~~~

"And do you see why The Noise is so important now?" asked Marcus of Letje, as she opened her eyes from the memory of the story told long ago.

"Kind of... I think," answered Letje cautiously, all too aware she was being told something very important by who she still thought of as the most incredibly brilliant — mad, but brilliant — man she had ever heard of, let alone met. Letje was still finding it hard talking to people, especially men apart from her father. He was the only man she had ever known, and the presence of others was still something unnatural.

"The Noise," continued Marcus, "isn't just one thing. Well, it is, but it isn't. It's everything, everywhere and infinite. It's the thing that makes everything possible."

"Like The Void?"

"Not quite. The Void is the source, where everything comes from, where it goes. But The Void is empty, it's The Quiet I suppose, the opposite of The Noise."

"But how can it be empty if it's where everything goes and comes from?" Letje's head was hurting and she got the distinct impression that her tutoring hadn't even started yet.

"Gosh, this will be difficult. Normally, you would be in your Room so this would all come together and make more sense. You would have time. Let's forget about The Void for now and focus on The Noise. That story you just recalled? That I asked you to think of? It's The Noise. Where everything is. You, me, our memories, our futures, everything. And within that are all the connections. The hivemind of the bees, The Quiet, the ancient presence of the earth itself, the trees, the fish, and people. Humans have their own connections, just like the bees do. Except they're different, and there are lots more of them. Most are broken for the remaining people. No, not broken, just people can't connect. Most can't see The Noise, or won't. Although everyone can learn to some degree, there are just a few of us who are special. Whole and more. It was rare even when I was young — I was a freak then. Being Whole made you very different, finding out that you could access The Noise was just, well, it didn't happen. The main thing for you to always bear in mind is that the connections are there, between people, animals, everything. Just like the story of the bees, they have their hivemind, and humans have theirs, of sorts, it's just a lot more complex. Ah, here we are."

"How do you know about the bees?"

"Sorry, it just spilled out, strong feelings often do. My apologies, I don't want to intrude."

The group stopped as Marcus halted before a huge door, easily twenty feet high and appearing for all intents and purposes like something you would find in the home of a giant. It wasn't far from the truth, but that was a story for another day. Marcus had things to do but the snippets of conversation he managed to have with Letje were preying on his mind. He needed the girl to have her own Room, but that didn't seem like it would be possible for some time yet. Marcus grabbed a huge iron ring and pulled, nothing happened. "Can I have some assistance here please? Ah, thank you Stanley."

Together, they pulled on the huge ring and the door creaked open slowly. Stale air greeted them as it rushed out from its lengthy confine within. Light streamed out from the Room along with the air. It was almost blinding in its intensity.

"The Room For Weapons," said Marcus dramatically, as they stepped inside the largest and brightest Room most of the guests had ever encountered. "Please, do come in."

~~~

"Okay, I'm gonna say it," said Kirstie. "Wowee!" She whistled, the sound captured and deadened by the exotic Room. Windows cut out of one side of the ancient stone walls gave glimpses of the outside world. The first time any of the guests had gotten even a hint of where they were in relation to anything else.

"Where are we?" said Letje, bluntly asking what everyone else had been wondering.

"We're on a floating island about three thousand meters up in the air over Antarctica," said Marcus.

"What?"

"No way!"

"How can an island float?"

"I knew it was magic."

"Okay, okay," smiled Marcus. "Before anyone else has a breakdown I was only kidding. No, we are on Vectis, more recently known as The Isle of Wight. Actually, it's a lot larger than it used to be — I did some renovations. This Room was once upon a time part of the original castle, one of the few Rooms on the outer skin of The Commorancy.

"Oh," said Calvin. "No castle floating in the sky then? Aw, I was getting excited about flying."

"Sorry to disappoint you Calvin, but I think we all know there is no such thing as magic."

"Says the three-hundred-year-old man who has a Room for just about everything and can access the minds of others," quipped Sy. Like Calvin, he didn't want to give up the miracle Marcus had joked about.

"Yeah, well, I guess you have a point."

"Never mind all that, what's this?" asked Letje, hefting a huge, and very dangerous looking, dull black object into the air.

"That, and do please point it at the ground rather than at us Letje, is the most cutting-edge laser weapon ever constructed. And it is very deadly," said Marcus hurriedly, emphasizing the risk of just holding it.

"Oh, okay. Sorry," Letje flushed, gingerly lowered the weapon, then put it back on the felt cloth she had taken it from.

"If you thought this Room was impressive up to now, just wait until you see this." Marcus went over to a simple wooden desk and pulled something from the drawer. He pressed a button and the entire wall overlooking the ocean turned transparent. He clicked it again and it went black, then again and it went back to looking like a stone wall with small windows.

"And once more," he said, allowing the reinforced glass to remain clear. It ran from floor to ceiling along the entire length of the Room, giving the most stunning views out to the ocean — glimpses of the mainland could be seen in the distance. Birds had set up home on the ledges below the window, so were somewhat surprised to find themselves being stared at open-mouthed by a group of people. They flew into the air, their screeches unheard by those within.

"Now, that," said Stanley, "is a view worth bragging about. Somehow, I always thought we would be somewhere like this. I think it was the tang when I first arrived. I never could quite recall what the air tasted of, now I know. It's the salt."

"Me too," said Letje. "I thought it seemed familiar as well."

"If you would be so kind as to follow me, I will give you what I am afraid will have to be a somewhat rushed tour of The Room For Weapons. You can admire the view later, we need to go over a few important things before anyone accidentally shoots themselves, or somebody else." Marcus was looking at Letje.

"Hey, I will have you know I am a superb shot. I've practiced for years with all kinds of things." Letje stood defiant, not wanting to be seen to be a weakness within the group of mostly strangers.

"Um, Marcus, juicy watermelon, floppy rabbit bum, are there supposed to be boats out there?" asked Astolat, staring out of the window on tip-toes, shielding her eyes against the glare of the fading sun, the ocean orange with its burnt reflection.

"Well, I would rather there weren't, but I'm afraid that this is the beginning of the arrival of our unwanted guests. I thought they would have been slower than this, but it seems like now is the time for us to batten down the hatches and hope that the defenses are up to standard. All the salt plays havoc with a lot of the equipment you know." Marcus scratched at his head absently, forgetting he was wearing a hat. He took it off and resumed his idle rasping.

The rest of the group gathered around the windows, looking out onto the pure water, the land lost in the distance, purposely cut back hundreds of years ago so that The Commorancy could be better defended. It was a shame to despoil the coastline, but as so much had already been eroded by increasing tidal levels, Marcus actually did a good job of safeguarding it for future generations. The fortifications he put in place ensured the coast would degrade no deeper.

"Does anybody fancy an evening tipple? I know I could do with one before the pirates get here. And before you all go to The Garden. Anyone?"

There were shrugs of shoulders, looks of confusion, even a few unbelieving stares as Marcus looked around hopefully.

Pirates, thought Letje. This kind of thing doesn't happen in my world. I mean, gosh, a few days ago I'd hardly seen another person in five years. Now I'm in a magical castle or something, and pirates are about to attack.

"Um, am I allowed a drink too?" asked Letje, hopefully.

"I don't see why not Letje, it's not like we have anyone who wants to check your I.D. here."

"What's an idee?" asked a confused Letje.

"Never mind, just showing my age I'm afraid."

Marcus smiled and the group of people, ranging from many hundreds of years down to a blink of an eye at fifteen, turned to head for The Room For Evening Drinking before the night got very interesting.

"Splice the mainbrace," cried Marcus, and as they left the Room he couldn't help himself. "Aarr me hearties, there be booty to be had." He smiled to himself, knowing there wasn't a chance of the ships getting anywhere near The Commorancy. His main concern was how they were being sailed.

"What was that?" asked Letje, hearing Marcus muttering under his breath.

"Oh, nothing, a bit before your time I'm afraid. This old salt just be doin' a smidge of Pirate talk. Yo ho ho," he said, and winked at his young protégé.

It was then that Letje realized that Marcus, never one to miss an opportunity to wear appropriate, and sometimes entirely inappropriate attire, was wearing a black-and-white striped long sleeve t-shirt and three quarter length black trousers, complete with slightly pointed canvas shoes. "May as well dress for the occasion," he said, and winked again. "Just wish I had a cutlass. There is probably one in here somewhere." He gestured at the piles of equipment neatly arranged by period in history, deadliness, and whether it needed any formal training.

He closed the door gently and led the way, muttering Pirate catch-phrases about walking the plank and feeding the crew to the fishes as he went. George trotted along beside him, wondering if he would be nibbling on anything meaty in the near future. He suspected he would.

A Slight Oversight

"Uh-oh," said Marcus. "I do believe there may have been a slight oversight." All eyes turned to him.

He was already deep in The Noise.

~~~

Through tangled corridors, cavernous halls, and Room after countless Room, rose a sound that had never before been heard in The Commorancy. It echoed in the vast Room For Shouting Loud and rattled the contents of The Room For Doors. The rising crescendo reached out, filling the silence, sending dust undisturbed for centuries spiraling upward into darkness to dance with spiders.

It was the sound of ten thousand people plucked abruptly from The Lethargy, animated by a man who had every intention of sending them to The Void once they had ripped out the heart of Marcus and razed The Commorancy to the ground.

The door to The Room For Hope began to vibrate...

A Bird's Work...

Bird was tired.

Bird was happy.

Bird was dreaming — of the daring display he made when he found his mate, a dazzlingly beautiful female Wedge-tail with a distinctive white stripe right across the top of her head. He dreamed of the time they soared high together, him swooping down at breakneck speed, plummeting toward the earth to show how brave and agile he was. Her coming to meet him as he scraped the ground with his huge wings then rose back into The Blue.

She had flown upside down, mesmerizing him with her movements, him knowing she was his mate.

His head shook slightly as he fell deeper into his dream, talons clenching. Even through his deep sleep he felt the reaction from Master: a tightening of the shoulders, an involuntary flinch, even after all this time.

Bird carried on dreaming of the countless times he soared high with his chosen mate, staring down at the land, reveling in the freedom. He dreamed of the young ones in the nest, a massive conglomeration of twigs and moss that even as he slept was being guarded by his mate, high in the crenelated rooftops of The Sacellum.

~~~

Bird was a father for the first time. Two young eagles, already of enormous size, waited impatiently in the nest for their next meal. They were well over a month old now, no longer needing constant attention, but they would remain there for some time to come — until the next breeding season. Bird was very much looking forward to being able to eat all he caught himself.

Bird was as old as Varik. Older.

A youngster when the Lethargy swept across the planet, it Awoke him to sentience and saved his life.

His family had been escapees from a cruel life, nothing more than showpieces in a so-called Sanctuary. Bird should have been living in his natural environment of Australia but his parents had been illegally imported to the UK, later seized. They had escaped and lived free in the woods, where he was born, where he had lived for six months, growing strong and large.

The "accident" awoke him as he plummeted to his death. He had left home that very day and as he soared high in the air he felt a voice call out to him from far below.

It was Master.

Master sat on a rocky ledge, naked, flawless and pale against a darkening sky, the wind flapping at his hair. Bird had descended, his vast new intelligence, for he was Awoken, telling him that here was a companion for him in a world full of mysteries. Bird let his mind open, let Master in. In return? Master let his mind open too, and Bird reeled at the information shared with him.

He glided down on the rising thermals as the day cooled, and he came to land on the shoulder of the man. He flinched as blood spurted from his shoulder and neck, but Bird knew he didn't mind.

"Hello my friend, we'll get used to that, don't you worry." The man poked his finger in the blood, licked it off and smiled at Bird. Bird cocked his head to one side and took a close look at the man he now called Master.

Bird decided to stay.

He knew a lengthy future lay ahead of him, and as long as the company suited him he would stay. Bird understood the importance of the man, was happy to call him Master.

For now.

What's Your Tipple?

"Well, what will it be then Letje? Nothing too strong mind you, and just the one."

"I don't know. What's good?"

"Try this," said Kirstie, lifting a glass of vintage wine as she licked her lips with appreciation.

Marcus had hurried them to The Evening Drinking Room. Coming out of The Noise he understood that the threat was nothing like what he had expected. He was surprised he had made such a huge oversight, such a large mistake.

Thinking that he would awaken only those on the periphery of The Commorancy, those located nearest to the outer walls, just in case the attack somehow could succeed, he now knew that he would be forced to disturb all of his guests. It would take a while.

Still not as concerned as many would assume he should be, Marcus did the polite thing and informed his guests of the situation, in his own rather secretive way.

He could hear the dull thrum of countless risen Lethargic vibrating through the fabric of The Commorancy, breaking a silence hundreds of years strong.

"Now, I'm sorry to do this to you again, but you will have to excuse me for a few hours. I have somewhat underestimated our foe, so will have to let everyone else out of their Rooms too. I thought it would just have to be you, but that doesn't seem to be the case at all. There won't be any nice sit down meals for the other guests, I'm afraid. It will be a little more of a rush job."

There was silence in the Room for a few seconds before the questions began — Marcus' words taking time to sink in. It was Stanley's question that was addressed by Marcus. "I thought that there were seven Rooms? Although, obviously things may have changed since I arrived, but it seemed the way you were talking, and what it was like when I came here, that there are seven doors and only seven guests at a time? Not correct?" Stanley spoke unhurriedly, enjoying the deep calm and sense of belonging now he was interacting with people again.

"Well, I may have kept certain things a bit of a secret," said Marcus sheepishly. "It's all about the exclusivity you know. But the truth is The Commorancy was always designed to help as many people as possible. To allow those that could become more than Whole, or if not to simply keep them safe. There are a lot of different Rooms. Many hundreds. More."

"How many?" blurted Sy. "Where the hell are they all? I thought The Anteroom Room is where the doors are?"

"Oh yes, it is. The Orientation Room is always Room0, and the doors are always the same doors. Well, usually. It just, um, kind of changes as to what is behind them is all. It's a little difficult to explain. Let's just say that this place may be bigger than you can imagine."

"How big is it Marcus?" asked Letje keenly, unable to contain her wonder.

"Big. But not unrealistic, let's leave it at that for now. Anything else I may say would merely be confusing. One day I will tell you all about the building of The Commorancy, just not today."

"So there are countless Rooms, but they only have seven doors?" asked Umeko, trying to understand how it could work. "Why?"

"Saves on time. I have to do a lot of walking as it is. So it seemed to make sense to have the Rooms come to me. And, well, I got a little carried away when I built the place, I was only young. Not all are occupied, just most of them. It certainly keeps me on my toes. But your Rooms? Room1 through to Room7? They are the Rooms most at risk from outside forces so I wanted to ensure your safety. Just a precaution, but I would rather err on the side of caution. You are all so very precious. Some of you are the longest staying guests. But you must remember that although most people died from The Lethargy, and those remaining continue to do so, there are still quite a number of people left Whole. Some who Awaken without coming here, but want to do so to learn afterward. It all adds up over the years. Plenty of guests stay a long time, others not so muc—"

"Do the Rooms all move then?" blurted out Letje, unable to stop herself interrupting.

A scowl crossed Marcus' face, then he allowed himself to answer calmly. "Letje, please don't interrupt. But I understand your excitement." Letje mouthed a silent "Sorry," and Marcus continued. "The Rooms don't move, The Anteroom Room moves. You were located nearest to the outside, and although very secure I didn't want to risk anything happening. I have many people to see, so I better get busy. Please excuse me. Stanley, if you would be so kind as to ensure that everyone has a drink when they need one? Letje?"

"Yes, Marcus?"

"Just the one for you, then it's back to soft drinks only. Okay?"

"Um, Marcus, sorry to ask..."

"Don't worry, I'll pick Constantine up on my way back. Promise."

Letje ran over to Marcus and hugged him again, trying not to cry and look like a little girl. Adults didn't cry about tortoises did they? "Thank you Marcus. Thank you."

~~~

Marcus made his way back to The Anteroom Room, lost in thought, somewhat surprised that things were moving as fast as they were, although you wouldn't know it by looking at him. He had expected it to have been a while longer yet before he had to deal with his countless other guests.

Now, all he had to do was make sure he visited each Room in order and worked his way through them in batches. That way he should get everyone out and safe before ten thousand roused Lethargic began to tear the place to bits.

Marcus knew he needed help. He couldn't counter-control that many minds and bodies on his own.

Thankfully, help wasn't in short supply in The Commorancy — there were more than enough strong Awoken to help control the situation.

George trotted along beside Marcus moodily. There had been too much activity of late and he was not the happiest of goats without plenty of sleep and rest.

Marcus patted his head as they made their way back to the rest of his guests.

"Maybe a slight detour on the way George? What do you think? I should change, something green maybe? Calming? How about that suit from the 1960's with the drainpipe legs, and those shoes with the pointy..."

George kept his head down and tried not to look annoyed. He knew what they had for supper and was feeling a little wary of Marcus this evening.

Would You?

"Did you tell them?"

"Would you?"

"No way! Things are disrupted enough without having to explain this to them as well."

"Well then, why did you ask?"

"Habit I guess. You'd think we would be used to it by now, wouldn't you?"

"Absolutely. But it's human nature. Talking to a different person, that's the kind of thing you say."

"That's the point though, isn't it? We aren't different people, we are me. We are you."

"Exactly. Try explaining that there are two of us but we are only one person. It would get confusing. C'mon, we have to get the rest of the guests. Interesting times are ahead. It's quite exciting."

"I know, I'm excited too. Very interesting times."

"I know you are excited, I just said so. I really wonder about me at times, I say some stupid things."

Marcus smiled. "I do, don't I?"

Marcus went about their duties. They discovered a long time ago that things got done a lot quicker when there were two of you.

The End

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Book 2 in the series is Contamination. Find a full list of titles at the author's Website.

From The Author

Thank you ever so much for reading the first in this series. It's been a challenge building such a complex world, and I can't tell you how attached I have become to so many of the characters. I hope that you will keep on reading to learn more about their lives.

I know that this first book is a little different to what many people are used to reading, and you certainly have to stay focused to cope with the list of characters and the jumps in time. But I hope that you are one of the people that enjoyed something a little unexpected, and got that the way the book is presented is a reflection on Marcus' state of mind as much as anything else.

If you feel my humble writing in this book is worthy, or any of the others in the series, then I would love it if you could take just a minute to leave me a quick review. Just a line or two letting me know how you felt about what you have read can really make a difference in terms of how the book is perceived by others browsing the product page.

This series has kind of taken over my life for a long time now, and hearing feedback is always invaluable.

If you would like to get in touch with me personally then I always love to hear from readers, so drop me a line at al@alkline.co.uk.

Hopefully it's on to the next book for you now, and rest assured there will be plenty of surprises and more glimpses into the workings of a place I really would like to visit, and I hope you do to: The Commorancy.

Stay jiggy

Al