Just like the first time I died, I felt only a momentary jolt, although this time there was no accompanying pain.
There was strange sensation of absolute freedom as the ties that bound my spirit to the Chakra were severed by whatever self-destruct mechanism he had implanted inside. My spirit self floated out of my body, which I could see blurrily beneath me. I could see Drake more clearly, for some strange reason, as he stood over my now empty body looking down at his handiwork.
I heard him call out to some unseen others, “Bring in the stretcher, it’s over.”
Dr. Geek and a couple of goons came in from a door in the back and made short work of rolling my hefty corpse onto the stretcher that the goons were carrying.
As I watched this take place, I thought back to some instructions that John Red Bear had given me in his instructional sessions on the Spirit Worlds:
“I don’t care what that man has told you, your Spirit cannot be contained by any device of human making. Your Spirit is tied to this body because you have been deceived into believing that you are trapped within it.
“A body can live without Spirit, but it will not move on its own because it is the Spirit that provides the Will. Your Spirit however, lives in its own way with or without a body. It is the Spirit that comes and goes as it will. When your Spirit leaves this body to journey forth into the Spirit Worlds, it may always return. But if the body no longer lives, then the Spirit will no longer be able to control things as it once did.
“You, I think, are unique. This body you have is no longer alive in a biological sense. However it has been made to function without being alive, allowing your Spirit to take control of things and move it without being alive.
“The choice of when your Spirit can come and go, I believe, is entirely up to you. As long as this body is capable of being made to function, your Spirit will be able to use it for such. When you tire of this however, your Spirit may resume its journey into lands beyond the veil of normal death.”
‘So, if the red man knew his shit,’ I thought to myself, ‘I should be able to back down there and kick some serious ass.’
I willed my Spirit to float back down towards my now moving corpse, following the goons as they left the same way they came in. It took some getting used to since, I had always relied upon that slight tug of theChakra to pull me back into place whenever I finished spiritwalking. Without that familiar pull, I had to consciously move back into place by Will alone.
As thhe goons passed fromthe room, I was floating above the body, trying to decide if I needed to go in the same way my body was facing, but that would be difficult, since it was lying on its back now, and I was staring down into my own lifeless lenses. Man, I am one ugly sunavabitch!
By the time I determined to go down face first, they goons had us out into the dreary morning light by a loading dock. They had that same damn truck that we had used to bring Greg’s body back from the West Coast all open and ready to receive me. That bastard Drake knew which choice I would make alright, he had all these plans laid well in advance!
I dove into my body as they trundled us into the nearly full trailer. They took little care in dropping my ass into an open silvered coffin that was nestled nicely next to what I could only presume at the time to be Greg’s coffin.
I was floating freely inside my body as they closed the lid and latched it shut. Total darkness descended as the lid closed, leaving me wondering as to the wisdom of this course of action.
I cannot tell you for sure how long my Spirit lay inside the coffin with my lifeless body as I tried to apply the abstract reasoning John had provided as to how this should work, without any real guidance on how to actually make it all work.
I tried to ‘feel’ for that familiar place inside my chest that used to be my Chakra, but I couldn’t feel anything to grab onto. As best I could, I tried to place my Spirit Self into the same position that I knew the body was lying in, hoping that by doing so I could just will myself into moving the body again.
For a while, every time I thought I had something going, I would think to try it by raising an arm, only to sense that my Spirit arm moved while my body lay still. So I stopped with that approach and went with a more meditative approach.
After what seemed like an eternity, I was able to let go of the idea of things being the way they had been before. shortly after that letting go, I just kind of melted back into my body, I could feel that when I Willed my arm to move, I moved physical arm and Spirit arm together, as one. Of course I quickly came up against my new constraint of being locked in a coffin, that I now could feel was moving in a truck trailer.
After making sure I wasn’t imagining things, I gathered my wits and felt for the first time the strength in this body. I was getting all sorts of feelings I never got when my Spirit was trapped within the Chakra and moved the body only through a sort of remote control. I could feel the pressure of laying upon my back, the jolts of the bouncing trailer.
I gathered my strength and pushed on the lid of the coffin. Even though it was latched on the outside, it wasn’t really desinged to keep someone from escaping per se. I was able to break the flimsy latches and sit up with little trouble. That left me sitting in the back of the semi-trailer that was moving a pretty good clip down a highway.
I debated just hanging out and giving those bastards one Hell of a surprise party when they stopped, but I deceided the wisest course was to get out of this trailer and get back to my apartment. I was going to need to gather my information and contact John Red Bear and see if he could use his contacts to get me a high-level meeting at the Bureau or Justice. I needed to rat this whole program out and use the System to nail Drake’s ass if I could.
Barring that, I could always track his ass down later and get vengeance for all of us that needed avenging.
But before I did anything else, I needed to look and see how careful Drake and Dr. Geek had been in storing their paperwork in this rig, maybe I could snag some files or computer disks to show to the authorities.
More on my escape in part 3 of this installment.
Monday, February 21, 2005
Sunday, February 20, 2005
Beyond the Veil, Part 1
I can remember a number of times when I was alive where I thought to myself, "If only I didn't need to sleep every night, imagine how much I could get done." Well, let me just say that there is both truth and falsehood in that thought.
I no longer need sleep, biologically anyway, but I do find myself taking some time nearly every evening to meditate and allow my spirit/mind time to process and catch up with the increased input and demands it is under with a nearly 24 hour a day operation. I am still learning various coping mechanisms to my new existence.
This blog is one such coping mechanism. I started this blog with the idea of helping both myself and my former team mates who had not yet faced the transition that I had. Now though, I find myself using it as a tool to help me come to terms with what has happened, and in at least one case recently, to steel myself to do what needed to be done.
I have found out exactly how important this entire process is in these last few days by actually failing to find the time to make my entries. I have been less focused, more anxious, and even depressed when I have failed to at least make some sort of entry. I don't know how many of you are out there reading this, but just imagining that there are living, breathing people reading my entries has helped me to carry on. This is especially true since I learned from John Red Bear how to let go of my Chakra, should I choose to do so. I taught that skill to Greg and was rewarded by watching him pass from the prison that we had chosen for ourselves. Seeing him pass on to the next world was a revelation, knowing that I too could take that path if I chose to.
But I have a mission now. Drake saw me in the lab when Greg took his final trip away from the Chakra that was going to make him a zombie like me. He may not have been able to see into the spiritworld and know exactly what happened, but he was astute enough to see that something strange and powerful had happened. The bastard seemed to KNOW that Greg's body would never be animated in the same way that mind has been, and ended the process that day, telling the lab staff to place the body in storage and to clean up the equipment.
The bastard didn't say shit to me all week until Friday.
That was quite a surprise however, I reported for work on Friday and found the office closed. I had worked late the previous night helping the Lab Geeks disassemble some of the larger pieces of equipment into more storable components, but I had no clue that they would actually be closing down the whole office.
When I showed up on Friday, the door was locked and the reception area seemed empty. My keycard didn't work on the door, so I 'unlocked' the door in a more traditional way, by putting my fist through the glass and turning the handle from the inside.
As it had appeared from the outside, the reception area was totally cleaned out. I made my way back past the interview rooms towards the Lab, only to find that I had to 'unlock' another door. Again, the lab was cleaned out. All of the equipment was gone, all of the files were gone, the only things left were some generic cleaning supplies and a few broken tubes and vials.
I went back to that conference room that Drake liked so much. This door was slightly ajar, so I stepped into the dimly lit room.
This room was unchanged. The prick was sitting right there at his table, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. There was only one other chair at the table, the one near my end that I had chosen before, in defiance of him.
"What the Hell is going on?"
He smiled, as usual and motioned for me to have a seat.
I sat down, but was ready to spring up in case things got nasty.
"My time here is over," he started, "and if you are wise, you will find that it is time for you to join me and end this charade."
"What do you mean?"
"Officer Smith," for the first time since I had died, he used my previous identity, "I have great plans for you, and others like you who choose to find immortality, who choose to become more than human!"
"What are you smoking? I didn't choose this...this existence. When you approached me for this damn project, I didn't think I even had a soul. I figured you were some weird quack with more money than brains. If I knew now, what I knew then, I would've never gotten mixed up with your crazy plans."
"But you do know better now, and yet you have chosen to stay. Why not leave, like you taught your friend to do?"
That brought me up short. I remained silent, staring into his vacant, black eyes.
"I think you remain here because you are afraid to move on. Even now, you doubt that you would be able to move on to that next phase. You fear death, as well you should!"
"I can you one thing, you bastard, I sure as Hell don't fear you anymore, and nothing you can say will make me join you in wherever it is you are and your cohorts are going. But, I will find you, wherever you go, and I will put an end to these fucking experiments you are conducting, if its the last thing I do!" With that I got up and was moving towards him. I had finally gathered up my resolve to extract a little revenge on his scrawny ass.
He smiled that bloodless smile of his, reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a small remote control device. He showed it to me with tantalizing slowness. I lunged towards his hand, not knowing what the heck that thing could do, only to find myself falling and unable to catch myself when he pressed one of the buttons on the device.
I lay on the floor, still able to hear and see what was going on, but unable to move even so much as a finger.
"Tsk, tsk," I heard in the ear that was pointed towards the ceiling, "you didn't think I would allow one of my creations to have the ability to bring me harm, do you? I know you can hear me and that you cannot respond. This device has totally paralyzed all of your movement functions, so you wil have to listen to what I have to say now.
"I know your type, boy. I have been around far longer than you can imagine. You have been useful. I have the evidence I need to show those who finance my work what can be done with the proper resources. It is time to begin the next phase of my work. I fear though that you will not be of further use to me. It is time for you to make your final journey beyond the veil. When I press this second button, the device that houses your spirit will dissolve and you will have no choice but to begin that journey you fear so much."
I tried again to move, but was unable to do so. I then shifted my attention to moving into the spirit world. I was feeling a lot pressure to do something though, so I was unable to immediately focus as I needed to.
"I can almost sense your struggle," he said, still close to my ear, "I can tell that you are not ready for that final passage. That is why you need me. With my help, you need not face that journey for a very long time. Join with me, you've seen what can be done. We have so much more to do and discover together.
"I will now active your speech center so tha tyou may respond to me. Will you join me, or must I discard you as I have the others before you who have failed me?"
I could 'feel' the speech center being activated. Still working on my concetration to move into the spirit world, I rasped out, "Never asshole. If you let me up, I'll send your ass on a journey!"
"Ah yes, that's what I thought you would say. Very well, you have given me everything I truly needed from you anyway..."
I interrupted him one last time, "I will hunt you down and finish you, you bastard!"
"I think not. Your time here and now is ended. I am sorry you've brought me to this point."
With that, he pressed the button that would have, should have, ended my second life, such as it is...
(continued tomorrow)
I no longer need sleep, biologically anyway, but I do find myself taking some time nearly every evening to meditate and allow my spirit/mind time to process and catch up with the increased input and demands it is under with a nearly 24 hour a day operation. I am still learning various coping mechanisms to my new existence.
This blog is one such coping mechanism. I started this blog with the idea of helping both myself and my former team mates who had not yet faced the transition that I had. Now though, I find myself using it as a tool to help me come to terms with what has happened, and in at least one case recently, to steel myself to do what needed to be done.
I have found out exactly how important this entire process is in these last few days by actually failing to find the time to make my entries. I have been less focused, more anxious, and even depressed when I have failed to at least make some sort of entry. I don't know how many of you are out there reading this, but just imagining that there are living, breathing people reading my entries has helped me to carry on. This is especially true since I learned from John Red Bear how to let go of my Chakra, should I choose to do so. I taught that skill to Greg and was rewarded by watching him pass from the prison that we had chosen for ourselves. Seeing him pass on to the next world was a revelation, knowing that I too could take that path if I chose to.
But I have a mission now. Drake saw me in the lab when Greg took his final trip away from the Chakra that was going to make him a zombie like me. He may not have been able to see into the spiritworld and know exactly what happened, but he was astute enough to see that something strange and powerful had happened. The bastard seemed to KNOW that Greg's body would never be animated in the same way that mind has been, and ended the process that day, telling the lab staff to place the body in storage and to clean up the equipment.
The bastard didn't say shit to me all week until Friday.
That was quite a surprise however, I reported for work on Friday and found the office closed. I had worked late the previous night helping the Lab Geeks disassemble some of the larger pieces of equipment into more storable components, but I had no clue that they would actually be closing down the whole office.
When I showed up on Friday, the door was locked and the reception area seemed empty. My keycard didn't work on the door, so I 'unlocked' the door in a more traditional way, by putting my fist through the glass and turning the handle from the inside.
As it had appeared from the outside, the reception area was totally cleaned out. I made my way back past the interview rooms towards the Lab, only to find that I had to 'unlock' another door. Again, the lab was cleaned out. All of the equipment was gone, all of the files were gone, the only things left were some generic cleaning supplies and a few broken tubes and vials.
I went back to that conference room that Drake liked so much. This door was slightly ajar, so I stepped into the dimly lit room.
This room was unchanged. The prick was sitting right there at his table, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. There was only one other chair at the table, the one near my end that I had chosen before, in defiance of him.
"What the Hell is going on?"
He smiled, as usual and motioned for me to have a seat.
I sat down, but was ready to spring up in case things got nasty.
"My time here is over," he started, "and if you are wise, you will find that it is time for you to join me and end this charade."
"What do you mean?"
"Officer Smith," for the first time since I had died, he used my previous identity, "I have great plans for you, and others like you who choose to find immortality, who choose to become more than human!"
"What are you smoking? I didn't choose this...this existence. When you approached me for this damn project, I didn't think I even had a soul. I figured you were some weird quack with more money than brains. If I knew now, what I knew then, I would've never gotten mixed up with your crazy plans."
"But you do know better now, and yet you have chosen to stay. Why not leave, like you taught your friend to do?"
That brought me up short. I remained silent, staring into his vacant, black eyes.
"I think you remain here because you are afraid to move on. Even now, you doubt that you would be able to move on to that next phase. You fear death, as well you should!"
"I can you one thing, you bastard, I sure as Hell don't fear you anymore, and nothing you can say will make me join you in wherever it is you are and your cohorts are going. But, I will find you, wherever you go, and I will put an end to these fucking experiments you are conducting, if its the last thing I do!" With that I got up and was moving towards him. I had finally gathered up my resolve to extract a little revenge on his scrawny ass.
He smiled that bloodless smile of his, reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a small remote control device. He showed it to me with tantalizing slowness. I lunged towards his hand, not knowing what the heck that thing could do, only to find myself falling and unable to catch myself when he pressed one of the buttons on the device.
I lay on the floor, still able to hear and see what was going on, but unable to move even so much as a finger.
"Tsk, tsk," I heard in the ear that was pointed towards the ceiling, "you didn't think I would allow one of my creations to have the ability to bring me harm, do you? I know you can hear me and that you cannot respond. This device has totally paralyzed all of your movement functions, so you wil have to listen to what I have to say now.
"I know your type, boy. I have been around far longer than you can imagine. You have been useful. I have the evidence I need to show those who finance my work what can be done with the proper resources. It is time to begin the next phase of my work. I fear though that you will not be of further use to me. It is time for you to make your final journey beyond the veil. When I press this second button, the device that houses your spirit will dissolve and you will have no choice but to begin that journey you fear so much."
I tried again to move, but was unable to do so. I then shifted my attention to moving into the spirit world. I was feeling a lot pressure to do something though, so I was unable to immediately focus as I needed to.
"I can almost sense your struggle," he said, still close to my ear, "I can tell that you are not ready for that final passage. That is why you need me. With my help, you need not face that journey for a very long time. Join with me, you've seen what can be done. We have so much more to do and discover together.
"I will now active your speech center so tha tyou may respond to me. Will you join me, or must I discard you as I have the others before you who have failed me?"
I could 'feel' the speech center being activated. Still working on my concetration to move into the spirit world, I rasped out, "Never asshole. If you let me up, I'll send your ass on a journey!"
"Ah yes, that's what I thought you would say. Very well, you have given me everything I truly needed from you anyway..."
I interrupted him one last time, "I will hunt you down and finish you, you bastard!"
"I think not. Your time here and now is ended. I am sorry you've brought me to this point."
With that, he pressed the button that would have, should have, ended my second life, such as it is...
(continued tomorrow)
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Q&A
This post will be dedicated solely to transcribing parts of a sworrn statement that was faxed to me from the detective working the case of Officer Greg Tasker’s murder. As usual, I have sanitized the names of those involved, for obvious legal reasons. I think you will find this very interesting reading:
Detective (D): You understand that you have the right to remain silent?
Suspect (S): Yeah.
D: You also understand that you can have an attorney present during your questioning, and that if you can’t afford one, an attorney will be provided to you at no cost?
S: I know my rights. Let’s get on with this shit.
D: Hey, you know I have to follow procedure. Just to be clear, this session is being filmed, and anything you say now can and will be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you? If you do, please state so for the record and initial this card right here. (Showed suspect the Miranda waiver card.)
S: Yeah. (Suspect signed card.)
D: So you’ve been arrested before, right?
S: You got my sheet in front of you, you know I have been.
D: Yes, I have your RAP sheet in front of me here. It says right here though that you were convicted of Assault on Peace Officer, and Narcotics Possession with Intent to Sell in December 1999, and that you were convicted to serve 10 years in the Big House. You shouldn’t be sitting here in this precint, why aren’t you in prison right now?
S: Hey man, what can I say, the System sucks sometimes, don’t it?
D: Seriously, you shouldn’t even be up for parole for another two years. Am I going to be getting an Alert on your escape from the penitentiary when we run your prints?
S: I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me? Maybe the governor wanted to ease that overcrowding problem.
D: Oh, I have already called up the Corrections Dept. I have requested your file to be delivered here by express courier. I should have it soon after we finish here.
S: So why you sweating me then? Read it your own damn self.
D: I need to know why you went after that police officer. I’ve got good statements from those two other thugs, they ratted you out man. Why did you wait outside that store?
S: Look man, its personal.
D: What do you mean, it’s personal? Did you know this officer?
S: Yeah, I knew Tasker.
D: How did you know him?
S: You’ll see when you read my file.
D: Can’t you help me out here? I need to understand this. You’re accused of killing a police officer, that’s a capital offense now.
S: I know. But it’s personal between me and him. Real personal.
D: How? What’s he ever done to you?
S: Man, that punk assed cop stopped me back in ‘99 when I was driving my brother’s car. I was on my way home from work, and it was late, I was in a hurry. Anyways, he profiled my ass. I was just minding my business when he stopped me and made up a pretext to search the car. How was I to know that my brother had some of his shit in the trunk. He didn‘t say anything ‘bout it when I asked to borrow the thing.
D: So you were caught with your brother’s drugs? You didn’t know he was dealing?
S: Naw man, it ain’t like that. I think he was just moving the stuff for a friend of his. But yeah, I had to get back and forth to work, and I didn’t have a car yet, I was just out of the joint from some petty theft charge. But see, he just saw another black man driving a nice car. He stopped me, found out that I was just out on probation, and used that to search the car. He was smiling, thought he’d caught himself a gangsta.
D: Ok, so he searched the car and found the drugs you say your brother was moving. What happened next?
S: He wouldn’t listen to me. I had to get home to pick up my baby girl. I didn’t have time to mess around explaining things to some racist cop.
D: So you tried to leave?
S: Yeah. I told him to keep the drugs and let my ass go. I tried to tell him I was trying to stay straight. I had a daughter, a job, I just needed a chance. But he wouldn’t listen. When I tried to walk away, he tackled my ass. We tussled a bit, but he was bigger and stronger. He cuffed me and took my ass to jail.
D: He was just doing his job, how was he to know that those drugs weren’t yours? You were a convicted felon.
S: Yeah. But later that week, when I was sitting in jail on those bogus charges, the guy who’s shit was taken came and shot up my brother’s house. (Suspect breaks down sobbing)
D: Here’s a tissue. So who got hurt in the driveby?
S: Oh this wasn’t any damn driveby man, these cats were serious. They busted in an shot everydamnbody...my brother, his shorty, my moms, and my baby girl. All dead! For what, 2 bags of shit and a bored assed cop profiling me! I got nobody now.
D: OK. I can see why you were angry, but why not take it out on the men who killed your family?
S: Oh, don’t worry about that, I got that bastard already. But Tasker was something I needed to do.
(Break in interview for soft drinks.)
D: So how did you get out of the Big House this soon?
S: Man, it was weird. I was approached in the joint by another prisoner, some aryan mother-fucker. He asked if I wanted to get back at the cop who put me in there. ‘Course I said yes. This was about 3 months ago. But I asked this guy, what could I do? I was locked up with no parole for another 2 years plus. He looks at me with his tattoed grill and just said “Don’t worry Darkie, soemobody wants him bad too. Just be ready when the warden calls you to his office.”
D: How soon did the warden contact you?
S: It was quick as hell man. I was brought in the next damn morning. There was the warden, and some pasty white, and I mean PASTY mf-er, stasnding there with him. The warden just walked out and left me this guy, he made my hair stand on end. He was freaky.
D: Did he give his name?
S: Naw, he said that wouldn’t be important. This guy, see he talks in this really low voice, and he smiles a lot, this cold kind of smile that made me sick. Anyways, he says he knows about my case and what happened to my family. He offers me this deal. He says he needs Tasker to be killed while on duty. He says he will get me a good conduct parole and give me all the tools and info I will need.
D: And you agreed to do this?
S: Man, what you think? I blamed Tasker for everything. If his fat ass had been eating donuts and not stopped me for mothing that night, I would’ve had my whole family still. Yeah, I took the deal. But only after he promised to track down that dealer and deliver him to me for me to deal with, alone.
D: How long did it take to get your parole?
S: Aw, I was out on the street in a week flat, faster’n you can say shit! It was good while it lasted too. Got my freak on, killed that dopehead. I lived fast and hard, cause I know I ain’t EVER gonna see the light of day again.
D: Did he promise you an\y more help?
S: Naw, he told me I’d probably get caught. But see, I ain’t got nothing and nobody now. I might as well live out what time I have on Death Row. I don’t need anythig else. I got Tasker and you can put it right there on paper and show your damn tapes to whoever you want. Fry my ass. I won’t be the first or the last. But my people are avenged now. I can die in peace.
D: So do you want to tell me about the dealer, and where I might his body too?
END TRANSCRIPTION
Detective (D): You understand that you have the right to remain silent?
Suspect (S): Yeah.
D: You also understand that you can have an attorney present during your questioning, and that if you can’t afford one, an attorney will be provided to you at no cost?
S: I know my rights. Let’s get on with this shit.
D: Hey, you know I have to follow procedure. Just to be clear, this session is being filmed, and anything you say now can and will be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you? If you do, please state so for the record and initial this card right here. (Showed suspect the Miranda waiver card.)
S: Yeah. (Suspect signed card.)
D: So you’ve been arrested before, right?
S: You got my sheet in front of you, you know I have been.
D: Yes, I have your RAP sheet in front of me here. It says right here though that you were convicted of Assault on Peace Officer, and Narcotics Possession with Intent to Sell in December 1999, and that you were convicted to serve 10 years in the Big House. You shouldn’t be sitting here in this precint, why aren’t you in prison right now?
S: Hey man, what can I say, the System sucks sometimes, don’t it?
D: Seriously, you shouldn’t even be up for parole for another two years. Am I going to be getting an Alert on your escape from the penitentiary when we run your prints?
S: I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me? Maybe the governor wanted to ease that overcrowding problem.
D: Oh, I have already called up the Corrections Dept. I have requested your file to be delivered here by express courier. I should have it soon after we finish here.
S: So why you sweating me then? Read it your own damn self.
D: I need to know why you went after that police officer. I’ve got good statements from those two other thugs, they ratted you out man. Why did you wait outside that store?
S: Look man, its personal.
D: What do you mean, it’s personal? Did you know this officer?
S: Yeah, I knew Tasker.
D: How did you know him?
S: You’ll see when you read my file.
D: Can’t you help me out here? I need to understand this. You’re accused of killing a police officer, that’s a capital offense now.
S: I know. But it’s personal between me and him. Real personal.
D: How? What’s he ever done to you?
S: Man, that punk assed cop stopped me back in ‘99 when I was driving my brother’s car. I was on my way home from work, and it was late, I was in a hurry. Anyways, he profiled my ass. I was just minding my business when he stopped me and made up a pretext to search the car. How was I to know that my brother had some of his shit in the trunk. He didn‘t say anything ‘bout it when I asked to borrow the thing.
D: So you were caught with your brother’s drugs? You didn’t know he was dealing?
S: Naw man, it ain’t like that. I think he was just moving the stuff for a friend of his. But yeah, I had to get back and forth to work, and I didn’t have a car yet, I was just out of the joint from some petty theft charge. But see, he just saw another black man driving a nice car. He stopped me, found out that I was just out on probation, and used that to search the car. He was smiling, thought he’d caught himself a gangsta.
D: Ok, so he searched the car and found the drugs you say your brother was moving. What happened next?
S: He wouldn’t listen to me. I had to get home to pick up my baby girl. I didn’t have time to mess around explaining things to some racist cop.
D: So you tried to leave?
S: Yeah. I told him to keep the drugs and let my ass go. I tried to tell him I was trying to stay straight. I had a daughter, a job, I just needed a chance. But he wouldn’t listen. When I tried to walk away, he tackled my ass. We tussled a bit, but he was bigger and stronger. He cuffed me and took my ass to jail.
D: He was just doing his job, how was he to know that those drugs weren’t yours? You were a convicted felon.
S: Yeah. But later that week, when I was sitting in jail on those bogus charges, the guy who’s shit was taken came and shot up my brother’s house. (Suspect breaks down sobbing)
D: Here’s a tissue. So who got hurt in the driveby?
S: Oh this wasn’t any damn driveby man, these cats were serious. They busted in an shot everydamnbody...my brother, his shorty, my moms, and my baby girl. All dead! For what, 2 bags of shit and a bored assed cop profiling me! I got nobody now.
D: OK. I can see why you were angry, but why not take it out on the men who killed your family?
S: Oh, don’t worry about that, I got that bastard already. But Tasker was something I needed to do.
(Break in interview for soft drinks.)
D: So how did you get out of the Big House this soon?
S: Man, it was weird. I was approached in the joint by another prisoner, some aryan mother-fucker. He asked if I wanted to get back at the cop who put me in there. ‘Course I said yes. This was about 3 months ago. But I asked this guy, what could I do? I was locked up with no parole for another 2 years plus. He looks at me with his tattoed grill and just said “Don’t worry Darkie, soemobody wants him bad too. Just be ready when the warden calls you to his office.”
D: How soon did the warden contact you?
S: It was quick as hell man. I was brought in the next damn morning. There was the warden, and some pasty white, and I mean PASTY mf-er, stasnding there with him. The warden just walked out and left me this guy, he made my hair stand on end. He was freaky.
D: Did he give his name?
S: Naw, he said that wouldn’t be important. This guy, see he talks in this really low voice, and he smiles a lot, this cold kind of smile that made me sick. Anyways, he says he knows about my case and what happened to my family. He offers me this deal. He says he needs Tasker to be killed while on duty. He says he will get me a good conduct parole and give me all the tools and info I will need.
D: And you agreed to do this?
S: Man, what you think? I blamed Tasker for everything. If his fat ass had been eating donuts and not stopped me for mothing that night, I would’ve had my whole family still. Yeah, I took the deal. But only after he promised to track down that dealer and deliver him to me for me to deal with, alone.
D: How long did it take to get your parole?
S: Aw, I was out on the street in a week flat, faster’n you can say shit! It was good while it lasted too. Got my freak on, killed that dopehead. I lived fast and hard, cause I know I ain’t EVER gonna see the light of day again.
D: Did he promise you an\y more help?
S: Naw, he told me I’d probably get caught. But see, I ain’t got nothing and nobody now. I might as well live out what time I have on Death Row. I don’t need anythig else. I got Tasker and you can put it right there on paper and show your damn tapes to whoever you want. Fry my ass. I won’t be the first or the last. But my people are avenged now. I can die in peace.
D: So do you want to tell me about the dealer, and where I might his body too?
END TRANSCRIPTION
Monday, February 14, 2005
Looking to the Light
I have a great deal of news to report, which I will go about doing over the next few days, but first, I need to give Greg his own final posting.
It was easier than I thought it would be, to teach Greg how to free himself from the spiritual prisons that we helped to build for ourselves. That's what El Diablito was doing with us on those occasions that we went to his little warehouse shop in Hialeah well after his normal closing hours.
It was a long, grueling and nasty process. There seemed to be an endless array of rituals, body fluids and other foul smelling ingredients brewing in the back room of that shop. I can recall at least three different occasions that I would be sitting there waiting for that little troll to finish some ritual or another and then feel a sharp prick on my back, or my arm. He would use these burned, nasty looking needles to prick us. His smile was wicked as he stared at the red drops of blood dribbling down the needle, as he pranced away to his crowded altars to finish the spell that would create the prison that is now my Chakra.
It was the same for all six of us really, we compared notes on a number of occasions afterwards, but we all went through the process alone. Oh, Drake was usually there as well since he brought each us down to see El Diablito personally, but he always drifted away once the rituals started. Even that cold fish seemed uncomfortable around El Diablito when he really got going in his full regalia.
I thought I was going to have to do something physical in order to free Greg from his Chakra-to-be, and I thought I was going to be doing it on Friday once I read the statement from the detective who had arrested the primary suspect in Greg's killing. Instead, Friday morning while I was in the meditative state that I slip into when I am 'flushing and gushing', I felt John Red Bear approach me from the Underworld. I concentrated and slipped out of my body and darted through the drain in my shower to emerge in our normal meeting place, a shadowy clearing in a darkly overgrown pine forest. He was in his usual form, that of a scarred black bear with a big splotch of red fur that resembled a man's head on his chest. I was in my own form, enjoying the feeling of touching, smelling, breathing once again.
"Brother Bones," he said, "you must meet me in real life, near the city in Ohio named for the Deathbringer, Colombus. There is a museum for the iron steeds you call motorcycles. Meet me there at dawn tomorrow."
"Why?" I asked. "I think Greg needs me now. I don't know how soon the Chakra will be sealed away from easy access."
He stood up on his rear legs, towering over me until he placed his front paws on my shoulders and brought his grizzled muzzle down to look me in the eyes. He snickered, as much as a bear can snicker anyway, and said "Do not worry, the prisons that hold you and your friend can be broken only from the inside. I will show you how tomorrow."
"Really? Are you sure?"
"I am. There is much to discuss, I have other important information for you as well. It is imperative that you meet me, our time will be short. Make sure you donothing out of the ordinary today. Go to work as you would normally, assist your keepers in any way they need you to, but leave tonight. Drive there, do not allow yourself to be followed."
Our conversation went on, but too keep it short and on point, I returned to my body and finished what business I needed to that day, and followed the instructions I was given, both by the Lab Geeks who still needed my help on a daily basis moving Greg's increasingly heavy body around to the different machines they used, and later those given to me by John Red Bear.
I met with him as planned the next morning. I got in his car in the parking lot and we went for a long, twisting drive through the suburbs of Colombus until we came to a large, open park that was pretty much abandoned on a cold Saturday morning in February.
We got out and crunched through the frozen, wet grass. While we walked, he talked for what seemed like hours. Many of the things he told me will be revealed in later posts and in the book that I am working on, but what's important here now is that he taught me how Greg and I could free ourselves from the Chakra devices that El Diablito had constructed. It was both incredibly hard, but maddeningly simple.
Essentially, what kept us trapped within the Chakras was a deep seated fear of that final death, that final passing into the unknown darkness that Drake and his henchmen had been subtly pushing on us since we first joined the program. John taught me that the cord that kept our spirits tied to this device was both as easy to snap as thin fishing line, or as tough as the strongest metal linked chain. We 'merely' had to unravel the chains of our own fears of moving forward into the unknown worlds beyond this one and seek out the Light that lit the way. Uh yeah...just that damn easy.
The reasons for the clandestine nature of our meeting will be revealed later, but I will let you know that there is far, far more to John than he had previously let on, and that I was enlisted fully by him to help in some ways that will soon become clearer.
In the end, I was finally convinced that the solution he had, for Greg anyway, was viable and I agreed to see if Greg would try it.
Early this morning, I went to the office before any of the regulars would be in, and found Greg where I had left him. I told him of the plan and showed him what I could of the techniques that John had taught me. He was eager to try it. He took to the exercises easily. He retreated briefly back into the Chakra, re-emerging moments later, brighter, fuller. He seemed to be smiling as he I watched him work. Soon, I could almost see the cord connecting his spirit to the Chakra grow fainter, weaker. There was one brief flicker, as doubt seemed to creep in, but that faded just as a shimmering tunnel seemed grow from the ceiling. The Light illuminated us both. His spirit seemed to grow in strength as he floated up to it. He looked down at me briefly, a look of pure joy and exhiliration as he cried out-"Mom!"
I can't tell you how much I wanted to follow him at that moment! But as the Light faded, I slipped back into my own body and glanced to my right to see Drake standing there in the doorway to the lab. His expression was that same, bloodless smile that he always had, but I could tell he knew something had happened.
Without a word, he turned and left, the door slamming behind him with a loud bang. Inside I felt a joy that was but a shadow of the joy that Greg felt. "Take that, you bastard." I mumbled.
I looked down at Greg's now truly lifeless body and knew that I had done good. He was at peace at last.
I, however, have a shitload more work to do before I can find such peace.
It was easier than I thought it would be, to teach Greg how to free himself from the spiritual prisons that we helped to build for ourselves. That's what El Diablito was doing with us on those occasions that we went to his little warehouse shop in Hialeah well after his normal closing hours.
It was a long, grueling and nasty process. There seemed to be an endless array of rituals, body fluids and other foul smelling ingredients brewing in the back room of that shop. I can recall at least three different occasions that I would be sitting there waiting for that little troll to finish some ritual or another and then feel a sharp prick on my back, or my arm. He would use these burned, nasty looking needles to prick us. His smile was wicked as he stared at the red drops of blood dribbling down the needle, as he pranced away to his crowded altars to finish the spell that would create the prison that is now my Chakra.
It was the same for all six of us really, we compared notes on a number of occasions afterwards, but we all went through the process alone. Oh, Drake was usually there as well since he brought each us down to see El Diablito personally, but he always drifted away once the rituals started. Even that cold fish seemed uncomfortable around El Diablito when he really got going in his full regalia.
I thought I was going to have to do something physical in order to free Greg from his Chakra-to-be, and I thought I was going to be doing it on Friday once I read the statement from the detective who had arrested the primary suspect in Greg's killing. Instead, Friday morning while I was in the meditative state that I slip into when I am 'flushing and gushing', I felt John Red Bear approach me from the Underworld. I concentrated and slipped out of my body and darted through the drain in my shower to emerge in our normal meeting place, a shadowy clearing in a darkly overgrown pine forest. He was in his usual form, that of a scarred black bear with a big splotch of red fur that resembled a man's head on his chest. I was in my own form, enjoying the feeling of touching, smelling, breathing once again.
"Brother Bones," he said, "you must meet me in real life, near the city in Ohio named for the Deathbringer, Colombus. There is a museum for the iron steeds you call motorcycles. Meet me there at dawn tomorrow."
"Why?" I asked. "I think Greg needs me now. I don't know how soon the Chakra will be sealed away from easy access."
He stood up on his rear legs, towering over me until he placed his front paws on my shoulders and brought his grizzled muzzle down to look me in the eyes. He snickered, as much as a bear can snicker anyway, and said "Do not worry, the prisons that hold you and your friend can be broken only from the inside. I will show you how tomorrow."
"Really? Are you sure?"
"I am. There is much to discuss, I have other important information for you as well. It is imperative that you meet me, our time will be short. Make sure you donothing out of the ordinary today. Go to work as you would normally, assist your keepers in any way they need you to, but leave tonight. Drive there, do not allow yourself to be followed."
Our conversation went on, but too keep it short and on point, I returned to my body and finished what business I needed to that day, and followed the instructions I was given, both by the Lab Geeks who still needed my help on a daily basis moving Greg's increasingly heavy body around to the different machines they used, and later those given to me by John Red Bear.
I met with him as planned the next morning. I got in his car in the parking lot and we went for a long, twisting drive through the suburbs of Colombus until we came to a large, open park that was pretty much abandoned on a cold Saturday morning in February.
We got out and crunched through the frozen, wet grass. While we walked, he talked for what seemed like hours. Many of the things he told me will be revealed in later posts and in the book that I am working on, but what's important here now is that he taught me how Greg and I could free ourselves from the Chakra devices that El Diablito had constructed. It was both incredibly hard, but maddeningly simple.
Essentially, what kept us trapped within the Chakras was a deep seated fear of that final death, that final passing into the unknown darkness that Drake and his henchmen had been subtly pushing on us since we first joined the program. John taught me that the cord that kept our spirits tied to this device was both as easy to snap as thin fishing line, or as tough as the strongest metal linked chain. We 'merely' had to unravel the chains of our own fears of moving forward into the unknown worlds beyond this one and seek out the Light that lit the way. Uh yeah...just that damn easy.
The reasons for the clandestine nature of our meeting will be revealed later, but I will let you know that there is far, far more to John than he had previously let on, and that I was enlisted fully by him to help in some ways that will soon become clearer.
In the end, I was finally convinced that the solution he had, for Greg anyway, was viable and I agreed to see if Greg would try it.
Early this morning, I went to the office before any of the regulars would be in, and found Greg where I had left him. I told him of the plan and showed him what I could of the techniques that John had taught me. He was eager to try it. He took to the exercises easily. He retreated briefly back into the Chakra, re-emerging moments later, brighter, fuller. He seemed to be smiling as he I watched him work. Soon, I could almost see the cord connecting his spirit to the Chakra grow fainter, weaker. There was one brief flicker, as doubt seemed to creep in, but that faded just as a shimmering tunnel seemed grow from the ceiling. The Light illuminated us both. His spirit seemed to grow in strength as he floated up to it. He looked down at me briefly, a look of pure joy and exhiliration as he cried out-"Mom!"
I can't tell you how much I wanted to follow him at that moment! But as the Light faded, I slipped back into my own body and glanced to my right to see Drake standing there in the doorway to the lab. His expression was that same, bloodless smile that he always had, but I could tell he knew something had happened.
Without a word, he turned and left, the door slamming behind him with a loud bang. Inside I felt a joy that was but a shadow of the joy that Greg felt. "Take that, you bastard." I mumbled.
I looked down at Greg's now truly lifeless body and knew that I had done good. He was at peace at last.
I, however, have a shitload more work to do before I can find such peace.
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Arresting Developments
A couple of quick notes tonight.
First of all, I have received a message from that detective. They have arrested the primary suspect in Greg's killing and are interrogating him now. I should have a full copy of his statement soon.
Second, my choice has been made in regards to the requests that Greg has made of me.
Third, I must be very careful at the moment, it appears some of my communications are being monitored.
Finally, I expect some big time changes in my situation in the very near future...look for more information sometime after Saturday evening. Until then, I will be unlikely to make further entries.
First of all, I have received a message from that detective. They have arrested the primary suspect in Greg's killing and are interrogating him now. I should have a full copy of his statement soon.
Second, my choice has been made in regards to the requests that Greg has made of me.
Third, I must be very careful at the moment, it appears some of my communications are being monitored.
Finally, I expect some big time changes in my situation in the very near future...look for more information sometime after Saturday evening. Until then, I will be unlikely to make further entries.
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Possible Lead
When I was at Greg's funeral, I met a number of fellow officers of his department. I made sure to take aside a detective who I knew to be one of his closest buddies and asked to be apprised of any meaningful developments in the hunt for his killer.
This morning I received a message on my home answering machine from this detective that the had a very good lead on who the killer is believed to be, but that the guy appears to have gone to ground and was making himself very scarce. It took all of my willpower not to get in my vehicle and start the long drive tonight when I got home and heard the message.
But I need to stick around here to keep an eye on Greg and his transition. Today, we laid out his body on this special metallic table that is very maneuverable--it can be moved relatively easily between the various large machines that are needed to complete the preparations of the body. They have started the chemical treatments on his skin and musculature. Later next week they will start on his bones. My window of opportunity to end this process is going to be short.
Today, I spent some more quiet time with communicating with Greg's spirit, trying to feel out how sure he is of his desire to end the process and move on to the next world. I tried to play Devil's Advocate with him to see if I could convince him to ride out these doubts. No dice. He desperately wants to move on and to be done with this whole process. The longer I spoke with him, the surer I became of the strength and depth of his feelings.
I want to help him. But something tells me that I need more info. I hope that detective can track down that killer and get some solid information from him. It would make my decision much easier.
Speaking of following up leads, I need to pick up my own case when I have a chance. After this situation with Greg plays out, I need to see about getting transferred back to Michigan so I can find my own killers and settle some debts that are way overdue.
I apologize for the disjointed nature of these last couple of entries...but with the decision about whether to help Greg in the way he wants me to weighing on my mind, I can't seem to focus properly.
This morning I received a message on my home answering machine from this detective that the had a very good lead on who the killer is believed to be, but that the guy appears to have gone to ground and was making himself very scarce. It took all of my willpower not to get in my vehicle and start the long drive tonight when I got home and heard the message.
But I need to stick around here to keep an eye on Greg and his transition. Today, we laid out his body on this special metallic table that is very maneuverable--it can be moved relatively easily between the various large machines that are needed to complete the preparations of the body. They have started the chemical treatments on his skin and musculature. Later next week they will start on his bones. My window of opportunity to end this process is going to be short.
Today, I spent some more quiet time with communicating with Greg's spirit, trying to feel out how sure he is of his desire to end the process and move on to the next world. I tried to play Devil's Advocate with him to see if I could convince him to ride out these doubts. No dice. He desperately wants to move on and to be done with this whole process. The longer I spoke with him, the surer I became of the strength and depth of his feelings.
I want to help him. But something tells me that I need more info. I hope that detective can track down that killer and get some solid information from him. It would make my decision much easier.
Speaking of following up leads, I need to pick up my own case when I have a chance. After this situation with Greg plays out, I need to see about getting transferred back to Michigan so I can find my own killers and settle some debts that are way overdue.
I apologize for the disjointed nature of these last couple of entries...but with the decision about whether to help Greg in the way he wants me to weighing on my mind, I can't seem to focus properly.
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
Dilemma
I have just returned from the office.
I went with Drake and his team (including Dr. Geek and some of his assistants) to the Dallas area, where the funeral took place. It was a long trip, we took a small corporate style jet on the way out--it's much easier for me to travel by air using such means, since there is no way any airport screener would allow me to pass through their checkpoints...even with a Bureau badge and credentials.
On the way back though, I accompanied Greg's body back in the back of a special semi-trailer.
The funeral was very surreal. Going through the ceremonies and seeing his body laying in the casket brought back memories of my own passing. I haven't written about that time yet in this forum, because it was intensely personal, and very difficult. I shall try to talk about it now, because it has important implications in my current dilemma.
When I was killed that night, there was almost no pain. I didn't feel my body after the initial impact. I also didn't see any special tunnel of lights like so many people describe from their near death experiences. One moment I was confronted by a group fo masked punks, the next moment I see a flash, hear a bang, and feel the explosion on my forehead. An instant of splitting pain, and then....nothing but blackness.
In what seemed a time period that stretched into eternity, I lay there in darkness. Hearing nothing, seeing nothing. I could only remember thinking that perhaps I had been right all along...that we humans had no souls. We were born, we lived as best we could, and when we died, nothing...but, as you know now, I was wrong.
Sometime after my body had been picked up and delivered to the morgue for processing, I felt a strange pulling sensation. In a strange, surreal moment, I realized I could sit up. Flexing what felt like muscles, I stretched and sat up from the slab in the morgue. The lights were bleary, blinking and inconsistent. Shadows played in strange ways. The color seemed washed out of everything. I looked down at my hand and saw through it to my flesh still laying lifeless on the table. The part of me that sat up was not my body, but my...spirit, I guess. I was able to get up completely from my body, feeling a strange pull to a box on another table.
I walked (floated?)(moved?) over to this box and saw my bloodsoaked uniform laying inside, with my other personal affects laying there. I felt pulled towards the necklace that I had worn since my last visit to El Diablito in Florida, when he had completed the rituals that had created it. (I now call the amulet that was attached to that necklace my Chakra.)
As I was contemplating all of this, I realized the strange shadows that seemed to keep moving about were actually people! They seemed to come in and out of focus, to disappear and reappear without rhyme or reason. I tried blinking, but it just wasn't the same, I had no real physical sensations anymore. I realized it was me who was the shadow and the shadows were the real people.
I tried calling out, screaming, but no one seemed to notice at first. There was this one woman, a morgue technician, I think, who seemed to pause a couple of times and look in my direction. But she seemed to shiver and shake it off, like she was dismissing a bad feeling or shaking herself from a momentary daydream. The voices of these people seemed garbled at times, and others time rang clear in sort of randomized bits, sort of like having water trapped in your ear, or trying to listen to the words someone is saying while they, or you, are underwater.
This weird transitional state lasted for days. I found that I mostly tied to the amulet, although I could move away for short periods. The farther I moved, and the longer I was away from it though, the harder the compulsion to return became. It also seemed like a slender, shadowy cord seemed to connect my spirit self to the amulet. The farther I moved, the thinner it became.
I have much more to say about this time, but that will be for other posts, or maybe for the book.
My present dilemma comes from the fact that I know that Greg's spirit is near his body and the amulet that was made for him as well. I can SEE and HEAR him like I never could sense such things before. I am torn. I used some of the skills that John Red Bear has taught me to step more fully into the spirit world and talk to him. It was a long ride back from Seattle and we had much to talk about. I need to keep our conversation confidential at this point, but let me just say he wants me to find a way to release him before they finish the project and bring him back fully like they have done to me. He is completely miserable. He also thinks that Drake had something to do with his murder and doesn't want to participate any further.
I think I might know how I could do this, but obviously if I help him like this, I jeopardize much. I don't think I can do it quietly or in a way that won't be figured out pretty easily. I also don't know if he has fully thought out the implications of my acting on his current wish. I don't know if he will feel this way once the process is completed, or if he will change his mind.
So my choices are: 1) let things continue to progress unimpeded and try to comfort Greg as best I can, 2) do something to stop his transition, or 3) let Drake know that Greg can communicate with me now and see what he has to say about this development.
I am leaning towards helping Greg to end his experiment, but I am stll wrestling with these possibilities and seemingly endless combinations.
The Bureau (and Drake) don't know about his blog yet, so what I say here is pretty safe for the moment, but it will one day be discovered as well. When that happens, I don't know how Drake will react, but I don't think it be pleasant!
I will post more on this problem as I can.
I went with Drake and his team (including Dr. Geek and some of his assistants) to the Dallas area, where the funeral took place. It was a long trip, we took a small corporate style jet on the way out--it's much easier for me to travel by air using such means, since there is no way any airport screener would allow me to pass through their checkpoints...even with a Bureau badge and credentials.
On the way back though, I accompanied Greg's body back in the back of a special semi-trailer.
The funeral was very surreal. Going through the ceremonies and seeing his body laying in the casket brought back memories of my own passing. I haven't written about that time yet in this forum, because it was intensely personal, and very difficult. I shall try to talk about it now, because it has important implications in my current dilemma.
When I was killed that night, there was almost no pain. I didn't feel my body after the initial impact. I also didn't see any special tunnel of lights like so many people describe from their near death experiences. One moment I was confronted by a group fo masked punks, the next moment I see a flash, hear a bang, and feel the explosion on my forehead. An instant of splitting pain, and then....nothing but blackness.
In what seemed a time period that stretched into eternity, I lay there in darkness. Hearing nothing, seeing nothing. I could only remember thinking that perhaps I had been right all along...that we humans had no souls. We were born, we lived as best we could, and when we died, nothing...but, as you know now, I was wrong.
Sometime after my body had been picked up and delivered to the morgue for processing, I felt a strange pulling sensation. In a strange, surreal moment, I realized I could sit up. Flexing what felt like muscles, I stretched and sat up from the slab in the morgue. The lights were bleary, blinking and inconsistent. Shadows played in strange ways. The color seemed washed out of everything. I looked down at my hand and saw through it to my flesh still laying lifeless on the table. The part of me that sat up was not my body, but my...spirit, I guess. I was able to get up completely from my body, feeling a strange pull to a box on another table.
I walked (floated?)(moved?) over to this box and saw my bloodsoaked uniform laying inside, with my other personal affects laying there. I felt pulled towards the necklace that I had worn since my last visit to El Diablito in Florida, when he had completed the rituals that had created it. (I now call the amulet that was attached to that necklace my Chakra.)
As I was contemplating all of this, I realized the strange shadows that seemed to keep moving about were actually people! They seemed to come in and out of focus, to disappear and reappear without rhyme or reason. I tried blinking, but it just wasn't the same, I had no real physical sensations anymore. I realized it was me who was the shadow and the shadows were the real people.
I tried calling out, screaming, but no one seemed to notice at first. There was this one woman, a morgue technician, I think, who seemed to pause a couple of times and look in my direction. But she seemed to shiver and shake it off, like she was dismissing a bad feeling or shaking herself from a momentary daydream. The voices of these people seemed garbled at times, and others time rang clear in sort of randomized bits, sort of like having water trapped in your ear, or trying to listen to the words someone is saying while they, or you, are underwater.
This weird transitional state lasted for days. I found that I mostly tied to the amulet, although I could move away for short periods. The farther I moved, and the longer I was away from it though, the harder the compulsion to return became. It also seemed like a slender, shadowy cord seemed to connect my spirit self to the amulet. The farther I moved, the thinner it became.
I have much more to say about this time, but that will be for other posts, or maybe for the book.
My present dilemma comes from the fact that I know that Greg's spirit is near his body and the amulet that was made for him as well. I can SEE and HEAR him like I never could sense such things before. I am torn. I used some of the skills that John Red Bear has taught me to step more fully into the spirit world and talk to him. It was a long ride back from Seattle and we had much to talk about. I need to keep our conversation confidential at this point, but let me just say he wants me to find a way to release him before they finish the project and bring him back fully like they have done to me. He is completely miserable. He also thinks that Drake had something to do with his murder and doesn't want to participate any further.
I think I might know how I could do this, but obviously if I help him like this, I jeopardize much. I don't think I can do it quietly or in a way that won't be figured out pretty easily. I also don't know if he has fully thought out the implications of my acting on his current wish. I don't know if he will feel this way once the process is completed, or if he will change his mind.
So my choices are: 1) let things continue to progress unimpeded and try to comfort Greg as best I can, 2) do something to stop his transition, or 3) let Drake know that Greg can communicate with me now and see what he has to say about this development.
I am leaning towards helping Greg to end his experiment, but I am stll wrestling with these possibilities and seemingly endless combinations.
The Bureau (and Drake) don't know about his blog yet, so what I say here is pretty safe for the moment, but it will one day be discovered as well. When that happens, I don't know how Drake will react, but I don't think it be pleasant!
I will post more on this problem as I can.
Friday, February 04, 2005
Confronting Drake
I have just returned home from a 24 hour plus workday. Doesn’t feel nearly as tiring as it would have been before...but this is not new to most of you. I have just finished ‘flushing and gushing’ a new supply of calories...Dr. Pepper tonight.
The meeting took place as planned, Thursday afternoon. I reported to the conference room where Drake likes to hold his meetings.
As I entered the building and made my way back to the conference room, I noticed that people were on edge. Betty barely wanted to glance my way, just buzzing me back through without so much as a hello. In the hallways, there was none of the usual traffick of agents and support personnel hustling back and forth as might happen on a ‘normal’ day at this time. I took the way back that avoided the entrance to the NecroLab. I figured those guys would want to see me even less than Betty would.
Back at the door to the conference room, the door clicked open as I approached, perfectly timed with my arrival.
Drake was in his normal position at the far end of the expansive table. He seemed small, yet still dangerous in his large, leather chair. My place had apparently been chosen ahead of time as a chair just to his left was pulled out, with a pad of paper and a pen sitting atop of it waiting for me.
Instead, I pulled out the similarly large chair at the other end of the conference table, about 15 feet away from Drake, and sat down, defiant.
We sat silently gauging each other, neither one of us rushing to break the silence, engaging in a little brinksmanship.
Finally, he smiled that bloodless, tight smile of his. “I see. So the Student wishes to break from the Master.”
“I don’t know what you are referring to, but I am not going to be treated like a possession any more. I am not some damn circus animal performing tricks for you or anyone else.”
“You are unique, Agent Bones. No one knows exactly what you are capable of, and because of that, we are curious. We need to know if there are improvements we can make for...”
“For those who follow behind me...yeah, I know. I’ve heard the company line too many times to count.”
He waited, silent, for me to continue with the unspoken questions.
“Dammit, I want to know what happened to Greg.”
“He was killed in the line of duty...”
Impatient, I brought my hand down on the table with an audible smack, silencing him. “Goddamit, I know he was killed on duty. I read the reports and talked to his department. I know the gloss you want others to believe, you fucking leach, but I KNOW you had something to do with his death, with my death, and with Brian’s death too. You are going to come straight with me or so help me...”
“Agent Bones, it will not be good for your career, or for anyone here for you to be threatening me, or to be engaging in baseless speculation. I can assure you that I have had nothing to do with the deaths of you or anyone else who has participated in this program.”
“I don’t believe you. I may not be able to prove it yet, but I am not going to stop searching for the clues that you or your henchman have left behind.”
He sneered at me. “You may be a fine investigator, Agent Bones, but you will not find what does not exist. You and your fellow team members were all chosen because you were fine officers. But you were also chosen because you worked in a very dangerous field. It is very unfortunate that now four out of the first six we have chosen have passed away so soon and in such tragic circumstances. But I assure you, neither I nor any of my associates and partners have had anything to do with your deaths.
“As a matter of fact,” he continued, “we were not fully prepared to handle the passing of so many of you within such a short period of time. That is one of the reasons that you were the first one to be brought back successfully. Now don’t get me wrong, we did our best to make each transition successful, but it just wasn’t possible before you.
“Indeed, if I had my druthers, I would not be going to Officer Tasker’s funeral on Saturday. We will make every effort to fulfill our obligation to bring Officer Tasker back and give him the same support in this process that you have received. But it will be challenging, we will be straining all of our resources to accomplish that task and to keep working with you.”
I glared at him, not allowing myself to believe his fake sympathy. “You knew that Greg was going to quit the program didn’t you?”
His expression didn’t change. Either he knew, or he had the best damnpoker face besides, well...me.
“How could I know what his intentions were Agent Bones? He has never communicated a desire to quit to me or anyone on my staff.”
“Not yet. He told me on Saturday that he was gonna quit and try to save his marriage.”
“Unfortunately, he never expressed such a sentiment to me. However, if everything goes as well as I expect it to, he will be able to communicate with us within two weeks. If he tells us to discontinue our efforts, we will do so, no further questions asked.”
I stared at him, trying to gauge the truth to his words. “After all of the investment you and the Bureau have made in us, you expect me to believe that you would let his spirit go if he wanted you to?”
He opened his clasped hands, showing his bare palms in that universal gesture of someone showing they have peaceful intentions. “Yes, I do. We have no interest in unwilling subjects. Which brings me back to you. Your recent outbursts and your hostile attitudes towards myself and the heroes in that Lab who have worked day and night to make you functional over the last fifteen months are simply unacceptable. Do you wish to continue with this project?”
That caught me off-guard! “Do you mean that I have options?”
“Yes, of course. I thought I had made that clear previously. If you do not wish to continue in this program, we can de-activate the device that contains your spirit and you will be free to pursue whatever afterlife you have earned for yourself.”
‘What if I don’t want to continue working for you, but want to keep myself, as I am now, intact?”
“That would be more problematic. There are certain obligations that need to be fulfilled, contractually, as well as morally.”
I was curious at this. “What do you mean about moral obligations?”
“Well, as you demonstrated so well in your previous assignments, and unfortunately on poor Dr. Bernstein, you are rather dangerous when you choose to be. I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to leave this program and my supervision as you are now if you are going to be a menace to society.”
I thought about that for a minute. Damn, he had a point. How did he change my focus so easily from my outrage at his alleged guilt (that I had no proof of, yet) to my own rather questionable behavior?
“OK, I admit I haven’t been the best behaved little zombie. I want to be around to talk to Greg when he is able to communicate, and will do what I can to help, if you wish.”
Drake smiled. This time it seemed more genuine. “Yes, I would like that very much. Now, we have a great deal of work to do in order to prepare for Officer Tasker’s arrival after the funeral. Dr. Bernstein could use your assistance in the Lab with some very heavy equipment.”
He stood up, seeming pretty smug about things.
I stood up as well. “Yeah, I probably owe the Geek an apology as well. Look, I’ll try to be better about this whole thing. This process isn’t easy. I don’t have the comfort of my past addictions to fall back into.” I looked down at my boots, shuffling a little. “I want to go to Greg’s funeral. I want to be there when he comes through the process and can speak again.”
He held out his bony hand. “Yes. I think that would be very good. He knows you and trusts you. I would like you to be there as well. But first, there is much to get ready.”
After that, I sheepishly followed him back into the NecroLab. I made my apologies to Dr. Geek and his staff. I helped them late into the night moving heavy lab tables and strange looking machines that I remembered only fuzzily from my own transition. The menial work seemed to help keep my mind after those troubling thoughts that kept creeping back in.
I don’t trust Drake, or Bernstein for that matter, but I don’t have anything solid against them other than a seemingly long list of strange coincidences and conjecture. Being a cop was dangerous. But was it as dangerous as it has proved to be for the team? I’m not sure of anything at the moment.
So, until I know for sure, I need to stick around and see what these folks are really up to. What is the true agenda of this whole program? Is it truly to preserve the knowledge and experience of good cops? Or perhaps something more sinister? Time and patience will tell, and I appear to have more of the first than I do the second. I need to find that patience of the dead and allow things to play out a little longer.
Meanwhile, I ask you to help me in this.
Please note: I will be travelling for the funeral and will not have the opportuntiy to do any blogging until after the weekend is over and Greg is safely ensconsed in the NecroLab. I promise to provide what details I can afterwards.
The meeting took place as planned, Thursday afternoon. I reported to the conference room where Drake likes to hold his meetings.
As I entered the building and made my way back to the conference room, I noticed that people were on edge. Betty barely wanted to glance my way, just buzzing me back through without so much as a hello. In the hallways, there was none of the usual traffick of agents and support personnel hustling back and forth as might happen on a ‘normal’ day at this time. I took the way back that avoided the entrance to the NecroLab. I figured those guys would want to see me even less than Betty would.
Back at the door to the conference room, the door clicked open as I approached, perfectly timed with my arrival.
Drake was in his normal position at the far end of the expansive table. He seemed small, yet still dangerous in his large, leather chair. My place had apparently been chosen ahead of time as a chair just to his left was pulled out, with a pad of paper and a pen sitting atop of it waiting for me.
Instead, I pulled out the similarly large chair at the other end of the conference table, about 15 feet away from Drake, and sat down, defiant.
We sat silently gauging each other, neither one of us rushing to break the silence, engaging in a little brinksmanship.
Finally, he smiled that bloodless, tight smile of his. “I see. So the Student wishes to break from the Master.”
“I don’t know what you are referring to, but I am not going to be treated like a possession any more. I am not some damn circus animal performing tricks for you or anyone else.”
“You are unique, Agent Bones. No one knows exactly what you are capable of, and because of that, we are curious. We need to know if there are improvements we can make for...”
“For those who follow behind me...yeah, I know. I’ve heard the company line too many times to count.”
He waited, silent, for me to continue with the unspoken questions.
“Dammit, I want to know what happened to Greg.”
“He was killed in the line of duty...”
Impatient, I brought my hand down on the table with an audible smack, silencing him. “Goddamit, I know he was killed on duty. I read the reports and talked to his department. I know the gloss you want others to believe, you fucking leach, but I KNOW you had something to do with his death, with my death, and with Brian’s death too. You are going to come straight with me or so help me...”
“Agent Bones, it will not be good for your career, or for anyone here for you to be threatening me, or to be engaging in baseless speculation. I can assure you that I have had nothing to do with the deaths of you or anyone else who has participated in this program.”
“I don’t believe you. I may not be able to prove it yet, but I am not going to stop searching for the clues that you or your henchman have left behind.”
He sneered at me. “You may be a fine investigator, Agent Bones, but you will not find what does not exist. You and your fellow team members were all chosen because you were fine officers. But you were also chosen because you worked in a very dangerous field. It is very unfortunate that now four out of the first six we have chosen have passed away so soon and in such tragic circumstances. But I assure you, neither I nor any of my associates and partners have had anything to do with your deaths.
“As a matter of fact,” he continued, “we were not fully prepared to handle the passing of so many of you within such a short period of time. That is one of the reasons that you were the first one to be brought back successfully. Now don’t get me wrong, we did our best to make each transition successful, but it just wasn’t possible before you.
“Indeed, if I had my druthers, I would not be going to Officer Tasker’s funeral on Saturday. We will make every effort to fulfill our obligation to bring Officer Tasker back and give him the same support in this process that you have received. But it will be challenging, we will be straining all of our resources to accomplish that task and to keep working with you.”
I glared at him, not allowing myself to believe his fake sympathy. “You knew that Greg was going to quit the program didn’t you?”
His expression didn’t change. Either he knew, or he had the best damnpoker face besides, well...me.
“How could I know what his intentions were Agent Bones? He has never communicated a desire to quit to me or anyone on my staff.”
“Not yet. He told me on Saturday that he was gonna quit and try to save his marriage.”
“Unfortunately, he never expressed such a sentiment to me. However, if everything goes as well as I expect it to, he will be able to communicate with us within two weeks. If he tells us to discontinue our efforts, we will do so, no further questions asked.”
I stared at him, trying to gauge the truth to his words. “After all of the investment you and the Bureau have made in us, you expect me to believe that you would let his spirit go if he wanted you to?”
He opened his clasped hands, showing his bare palms in that universal gesture of someone showing they have peaceful intentions. “Yes, I do. We have no interest in unwilling subjects. Which brings me back to you. Your recent outbursts and your hostile attitudes towards myself and the heroes in that Lab who have worked day and night to make you functional over the last fifteen months are simply unacceptable. Do you wish to continue with this project?”
That caught me off-guard! “Do you mean that I have options?”
“Yes, of course. I thought I had made that clear previously. If you do not wish to continue in this program, we can de-activate the device that contains your spirit and you will be free to pursue whatever afterlife you have earned for yourself.”
‘What if I don’t want to continue working for you, but want to keep myself, as I am now, intact?”
“That would be more problematic. There are certain obligations that need to be fulfilled, contractually, as well as morally.”
I was curious at this. “What do you mean about moral obligations?”
“Well, as you demonstrated so well in your previous assignments, and unfortunately on poor Dr. Bernstein, you are rather dangerous when you choose to be. I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to leave this program and my supervision as you are now if you are going to be a menace to society.”
I thought about that for a minute. Damn, he had a point. How did he change my focus so easily from my outrage at his alleged guilt (that I had no proof of, yet) to my own rather questionable behavior?
“OK, I admit I haven’t been the best behaved little zombie. I want to be around to talk to Greg when he is able to communicate, and will do what I can to help, if you wish.”
Drake smiled. This time it seemed more genuine. “Yes, I would like that very much. Now, we have a great deal of work to do in order to prepare for Officer Tasker’s arrival after the funeral. Dr. Bernstein could use your assistance in the Lab with some very heavy equipment.”
He stood up, seeming pretty smug about things.
I stood up as well. “Yeah, I probably owe the Geek an apology as well. Look, I’ll try to be better about this whole thing. This process isn’t easy. I don’t have the comfort of my past addictions to fall back into.” I looked down at my boots, shuffling a little. “I want to go to Greg’s funeral. I want to be there when he comes through the process and can speak again.”
He held out his bony hand. “Yes. I think that would be very good. He knows you and trusts you. I would like you to be there as well. But first, there is much to get ready.”
After that, I sheepishly followed him back into the NecroLab. I made my apologies to Dr. Geek and his staff. I helped them late into the night moving heavy lab tables and strange looking machines that I remembered only fuzzily from my own transition. The menial work seemed to help keep my mind after those troubling thoughts that kept creeping back in.
I don’t trust Drake, or Bernstein for that matter, but I don’t have anything solid against them other than a seemingly long list of strange coincidences and conjecture. Being a cop was dangerous. But was it as dangerous as it has proved to be for the team? I’m not sure of anything at the moment.
So, until I know for sure, I need to stick around and see what these folks are really up to. What is the true agenda of this whole program? Is it truly to preserve the knowledge and experience of good cops? Or perhaps something more sinister? Time and patience will tell, and I appear to have more of the first than I do the second. I need to find that patience of the dead and allow things to play out a little longer.
Meanwhile, I ask you to help me in this.
Please note: I will be travelling for the funeral and will not have the opportuntiy to do any blogging until after the weekend is over and Greg is safely ensconsed in the NecroLab. I promise to provide what details I can afterwards.
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
Mirror, Mirror...
I am not sure what to expect with the meeting with Drake scheduled for tomorrow, so I thought I would go a little bit lighter tonight and give you a little view of what I see when I look into a mirror. I know a number of you are curious as to what is so different about me, what I look like and what requirements I have to remain functional.
First, let me start with my outward appearance: I am bald, all of the hair was shaved from my head, and every other part of my body as well. I am fairly short and stockily built, I stand about 5'9" in my boots (that I never take off in public), and tip the scales at 320 pounds+, although that number is deceiving. My bones are much heavier than when I was alive, so I look more like a linebacker than a couch potato in general. I have wide shoulders, and very thick legs. My abdomen is not athletic thin, but I don't overhang the belt either, if you know what I mean. What's left of my skin is very tough and leathery looking--I've been told I am rough to the touch as well by the NecroLab geeks who worked on me. My abdomen is riddled with scars, one large one from the embalming where they removed all of my internal organs and remade me inside, and dozens of smaller scars that have been patched up from various bullet wounds, and more recently, the grenade blast in the Rocky Mountain raid.
My face is nothing pretty to look at either, it seems rougher boned, almost edgier than when I was alive, perhaps something to do with what they did to my bones in the first place. I have single scar on my forehead, which is unmistakably a sewn-up bullet wound, which I have to cover with a hat or a headband if I don't want to be answering questions or scaring the piss out of people. My eyes were brown when I was alive, but since they had to replace the eyeballs with something more durable and the technology wasn't the best, they now almost bulge from my sockets and seem to glow subtly red in most light. In darkness, they definitely glow red, as I benefit from having infra-red vision. My eyes also double as webcams that can be tied into certain Bureau surveilance systems, although I have the final control on what and when they actually record and transmit data. Needless to say, I wear wrap-around, reflective sun-glasses when I need to pass for 'normal'.
The skin on my hands has pretty much been stripped away, revealing a very robotic looking contrapition for hands, although most of it is my own bones, only modified with metals for strength, and wired together by many flexible little wires. My range of motion in my hands is not as fine as I would like it to be, but they are incredbily strong. I usually wear some very fine, and expensive, gloves to cover up that mess.
My feet are pretty much the same, very little in the way of actual skin left down there, so I tend to keep hard soled boots on most of the time. I do have some sock-like leather sleeves I can wear on my feet, but I prefer not to if I can avoid it.
On the inside, my bones are almost all modified...those that had marrow in them, have been filled with some sort of very heavy liquid metals that tend to fill in any cracks that develop and harden. The outside of most of my bones have also been coated wtih some fine metal sheathing. Most of my musculature remains intact, but has been altered chemically so as not to decompose, the muscles are activated somehow (I didn't understand it when they explained it to me) by my artifical neural network. Instead of a biological nervous system, I have been rewired with a series of very fine, almost invisible (inside my skin, of course) wires that connect the muscles and bones to the unit that serves as the home for my spirit and also serves as my brain (let's call this my Chakra--yes I've been doing some reading on this stuff now). That unit is buried deeply in my torso, and is shielded by multiple layers of kevlar, special steel, and other new fangled ceramic materials.
Where my brain used to be, I have been told, are the optical and aural systems that allow me to see and hear. As I mentioned above, I can see in the infra-red spectrum as well as normal light. My infra-red system is much like modern night vision equipment which lacks proper depth perception, but it is better than being blind in the dark. My hearing is very sharp as well, I have been told that it is almost as good as many dogs, allowing me to hear in higher and lower frequencies than humans can. This can be distracting, as I am still learning to adjust to that.
I have absolutely no senses of smell or taste--apparently these were not given a very high priority by the Lab Geeks or the Necromancers who came up with this design. Probably just as well, because it would be Hell on me if I could taste or smell food, and then not be able to drink or eat it.
Touch is a little different. I don't have any true senstivity, and cannot feel pain, heat, or cold, but I can 'feel' contact in a disconnected sort of way. I am still learning not too mash down on my keyboard too much, and have difficulty when opening doors or other fine motor skills based on touch. I am learning to adjust, and have avoided shaking hands much or touching others outside of combat in fear of actually hurting them by accident.
My speech is made possible by drawing in air into some mini-lungs they installed in the upper part of my chest, and then exhaling through my modified vocal chords. My voice does sound duller and lacks the rane Iused to have, but I also don't need to breathe in order to function, only to speak relatively normally. I do have a backup speech system that is a computer generated voice if my lungs don't functions for some reason.
As you saw with the lab incident, I am very strong physically, and can easily lift two or three times what even very strong human weightlifters of my size can. I can do it repeatedly, without tiring as well, as long as I stock up on fuel ahead of time.
So how do I fuel my body? Well everyone who knew me before I died wondered how I could drink as much Coca-Cola as I did, and many often joked about affixing an IV to my arm to avoid having to actually drink the stuff. Well, now I pretty much get to do that. It doesn't have to be Coke per se, but can be any soda or juice product that is not diet. The fluid goes into what is left of my circulatory system, and the calories are burned up by special chemical processes within my body to fuel it. I generally hook up a two liter bottle to a special IV rig that flushes some of the old out and infuses me with the new each morning before heading out. I have found though, that I can actually go several days without replenishing this, but have been advised that I should 'flush and gush' once every 24 hours for optimal performance. Pretty amazing huh? I still need my caffeine (at least psychologically-since I don't actually need caffeine-just calories) each morning. There is a small pump near my Chakra that moves this fluid around, but it is very small and slow, I don't think the beat is discernible, it is a steady rate of slightly less than one squish per minute, whether I am active or not.
Because of the fluid going through my body, I do actually 'bleed' now when I am shot (or blown up), but its really only the leftover liquid from whatever I shot into my system earlier...I think the total capacity to fill me up is around 8 liters...that's a lot of caffeine, but its pretty damn cheap energy to keep me going!
Well, that's about it for tonight, I have some further research to do before the big meeting tomorrow. I also need to get in touch with the guys who haven't died yet, and apprise them of some of the danger they may be in, if they haven't figured it out for themselves yet.
Hopefully, I will be able to give a decent accounting of that meeting tomorrow evening. Wish me luck!
First, let me start with my outward appearance: I am bald, all of the hair was shaved from my head, and every other part of my body as well. I am fairly short and stockily built, I stand about 5'9" in my boots (that I never take off in public), and tip the scales at 320 pounds+, although that number is deceiving. My bones are much heavier than when I was alive, so I look more like a linebacker than a couch potato in general. I have wide shoulders, and very thick legs. My abdomen is not athletic thin, but I don't overhang the belt either, if you know what I mean. What's left of my skin is very tough and leathery looking--I've been told I am rough to the touch as well by the NecroLab geeks who worked on me. My abdomen is riddled with scars, one large one from the embalming where they removed all of my internal organs and remade me inside, and dozens of smaller scars that have been patched up from various bullet wounds, and more recently, the grenade blast in the Rocky Mountain raid.
My face is nothing pretty to look at either, it seems rougher boned, almost edgier than when I was alive, perhaps something to do with what they did to my bones in the first place. I have single scar on my forehead, which is unmistakably a sewn-up bullet wound, which I have to cover with a hat or a headband if I don't want to be answering questions or scaring the piss out of people. My eyes were brown when I was alive, but since they had to replace the eyeballs with something more durable and the technology wasn't the best, they now almost bulge from my sockets and seem to glow subtly red in most light. In darkness, they definitely glow red, as I benefit from having infra-red vision. My eyes also double as webcams that can be tied into certain Bureau surveilance systems, although I have the final control on what and when they actually record and transmit data. Needless to say, I wear wrap-around, reflective sun-glasses when I need to pass for 'normal'.
The skin on my hands has pretty much been stripped away, revealing a very robotic looking contrapition for hands, although most of it is my own bones, only modified with metals for strength, and wired together by many flexible little wires. My range of motion in my hands is not as fine as I would like it to be, but they are incredbily strong. I usually wear some very fine, and expensive, gloves to cover up that mess.
My feet are pretty much the same, very little in the way of actual skin left down there, so I tend to keep hard soled boots on most of the time. I do have some sock-like leather sleeves I can wear on my feet, but I prefer not to if I can avoid it.
On the inside, my bones are almost all modified...those that had marrow in them, have been filled with some sort of very heavy liquid metals that tend to fill in any cracks that develop and harden. The outside of most of my bones have also been coated wtih some fine metal sheathing. Most of my musculature remains intact, but has been altered chemically so as not to decompose, the muscles are activated somehow (I didn't understand it when they explained it to me) by my artifical neural network. Instead of a biological nervous system, I have been rewired with a series of very fine, almost invisible (inside my skin, of course) wires that connect the muscles and bones to the unit that serves as the home for my spirit and also serves as my brain (let's call this my Chakra--yes I've been doing some reading on this stuff now). That unit is buried deeply in my torso, and is shielded by multiple layers of kevlar, special steel, and other new fangled ceramic materials.
Where my brain used to be, I have been told, are the optical and aural systems that allow me to see and hear. As I mentioned above, I can see in the infra-red spectrum as well as normal light. My infra-red system is much like modern night vision equipment which lacks proper depth perception, but it is better than being blind in the dark. My hearing is very sharp as well, I have been told that it is almost as good as many dogs, allowing me to hear in higher and lower frequencies than humans can. This can be distracting, as I am still learning to adjust to that.
I have absolutely no senses of smell or taste--apparently these were not given a very high priority by the Lab Geeks or the Necromancers who came up with this design. Probably just as well, because it would be Hell on me if I could taste or smell food, and then not be able to drink or eat it.
Touch is a little different. I don't have any true senstivity, and cannot feel pain, heat, or cold, but I can 'feel' contact in a disconnected sort of way. I am still learning not too mash down on my keyboard too much, and have difficulty when opening doors or other fine motor skills based on touch. I am learning to adjust, and have avoided shaking hands much or touching others outside of combat in fear of actually hurting them by accident.
My speech is made possible by drawing in air into some mini-lungs they installed in the upper part of my chest, and then exhaling through my modified vocal chords. My voice does sound duller and lacks the rane Iused to have, but I also don't need to breathe in order to function, only to speak relatively normally. I do have a backup speech system that is a computer generated voice if my lungs don't functions for some reason.
As you saw with the lab incident, I am very strong physically, and can easily lift two or three times what even very strong human weightlifters of my size can. I can do it repeatedly, without tiring as well, as long as I stock up on fuel ahead of time.
So how do I fuel my body? Well everyone who knew me before I died wondered how I could drink as much Coca-Cola as I did, and many often joked about affixing an IV to my arm to avoid having to actually drink the stuff. Well, now I pretty much get to do that. It doesn't have to be Coke per se, but can be any soda or juice product that is not diet. The fluid goes into what is left of my circulatory system, and the calories are burned up by special chemical processes within my body to fuel it. I generally hook up a two liter bottle to a special IV rig that flushes some of the old out and infuses me with the new each morning before heading out. I have found though, that I can actually go several days without replenishing this, but have been advised that I should 'flush and gush' once every 24 hours for optimal performance. Pretty amazing huh? I still need my caffeine (at least psychologically-since I don't actually need caffeine-just calories) each morning. There is a small pump near my Chakra that moves this fluid around, but it is very small and slow, I don't think the beat is discernible, it is a steady rate of slightly less than one squish per minute, whether I am active or not.
Because of the fluid going through my body, I do actually 'bleed' now when I am shot (or blown up), but its really only the leftover liquid from whatever I shot into my system earlier...I think the total capacity to fill me up is around 8 liters...that's a lot of caffeine, but its pretty damn cheap energy to keep me going!
Well, that's about it for tonight, I have some further research to do before the big meeting tomorrow. I also need to get in touch with the guys who haven't died yet, and apprise them of some of the danger they may be in, if they haven't figured it out for themselves yet.
Hopefully, I will be able to give a decent accounting of that meeting tomorrow evening. Wish me luck!
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Suspicions
It took me awhile to collect myself after yesterdays news that another member of my original team had passed away. After the initial training, there were eight of us. Only six of chose to go forward after our individual meetings with Drake, referenced below in the posts labeled 'The Conversation'.
I was not the first of that final six to be killed. I was the third. The first two, Jerry Roberts and Brian Alderson, passed before me, but for reasons that have never been fully disclosed to me, never reached the stage of being successfully brought back in the same way I was. I believe that Jerry was too badly damaged in the explosion that killed him, he had served in his departments Bomb Disposal Unit. Brian was killed in an off-duty robbery, where the perp appeared to be going after his badge and weapon.
After me, three others were left. Once they learned that my transformation had been successful, they each contacted me e-mail and phone, seeking to find out what the process actually was. I think they each wanted to confirm that this process actually worked. One of my main reasons for starting and maintaining this blog was to give them an inside scoop as to what it was like to be dead and be brought back, I think that was just as important as maintaining my own sanity.
So it came as a pretty big blow to learn that another one of us had fallen. It almost seems like we are cursed, not that I would have believed that to even be a possibility before my own recent experiences with magick. I had a deep suspicion, however, as to which of my three remaining buddies had fallen.
About a week ago, I had gotten a very brief e-mail from Greg Tasker, perhaps my best friend of the remaining three. He had sent me a note indicating that he was considering quitting the program, since his marriage and his relationship with his children was suffering big time with all of the requirements and added stresses of staying in the program. I called him that night, but had to leave a message, since he wasn't picking up his home phone or his cell. I finally got ahold of him on Saturday, he was despondent, saying that his wife Ellen had been suspecting him of having an affair and had left with his two young sons to join her parents over a hundred miles from his home. He had decided that he needed to quit the program, and was going to draft his resignation letter on Monday, after his shift. He had wanted to consult his union attorney on the language he wanted to use, so that there would be no confusion or possible entanglements.
So, after I returned from office, and after I had posted here about what had happened, I did a quick Google search, using his name. Sure enough, he had been killed while reponding to a Party Store robbery. Apparently he was the first officer on scene, and was not aware of a third assailant outside the store when he was exiting his car. According to the news reports about the incident, an outside camera caught the shooting, the third assailant came up from behind him and used a small caliber bullet behind his ear from very close range. Strange thing is, the next officers to respond were able to nab the two knuckleheads as they were coming out of the store, but Greg's killer was nowhere to be found. Allegedly, the two in the store claim they had been approached by the third guy to do the robbery, with the third guy offering to stand as a lookout for the cops. When they heard the shooting, they panicked and hid in the store. By the time they gathered what wits they had, they were surrounded by responding cars from all over the town. Strange. Not that the two mopes in the store got caught, that happens all the time, but things just aren't adding up.
Four out of six dead within four years. That's some pretty strange shit. This appears to be more than mere coincidence of all of us working in a fairly dangerous profession. All cops know that they risk serious injury or death everytime they leave the for work, but they are trained to manage such risks. The six of us were all GOOD cops. I had to do some more digging, so I Googled for stories on the passing of each of who had died (yes, including myself).
My quick search yielded some interesting results. Jerry (the first to go) died three months (late April of 2001) after his meeting with Drake. There was never a claim of responsibility made by any group for the bomb itself, and the crime remains unsolved to this day. He was the only one of the four of us who was single with no dependents.
The next one to get killed, Brian, in the middle of a rather bitter divorce from his wife when he got killed in June of 2002. Again, his killing is unsolved, despite his department throwing all of its resources into tracking down his killer. His badge and weapon have yet to be found.
I was killed on Halloween of 2003. Again, I was recently divorced, although I had felt that I was to blame for the break-up of my marriage, I am beginning to have my doubts there too, but my marriage and what happened in it will be left for another day.
Now Greg too had marital problems, which he blamed at least in part on this program, and just as he was about to tender his resignation and fight for his marriage, he dies in another currently unsolved shooting.
I am seeing some patterns here that I don't like at all.
I was prepared to confront Drake with some of these suspicions this morning at the time he indicated, however, I received a call at 8AM today informing me that he was attending to other matters, and that our meeting was to be postponed until Thursday afternoon. Since he was not going to be around, I was asked to stay home until then, since there was apparently some concern as to my 'anger problems'. Fine by me. That gives me time to do some more research, its about time I applied some of my investigative skills to the patterns I am seeing in these deaths.
It is going to be an interesting meeting on Thursday.
I was not the first of that final six to be killed. I was the third. The first two, Jerry Roberts and Brian Alderson, passed before me, but for reasons that have never been fully disclosed to me, never reached the stage of being successfully brought back in the same way I was. I believe that Jerry was too badly damaged in the explosion that killed him, he had served in his departments Bomb Disposal Unit. Brian was killed in an off-duty robbery, where the perp appeared to be going after his badge and weapon.
After me, three others were left. Once they learned that my transformation had been successful, they each contacted me e-mail and phone, seeking to find out what the process actually was. I think they each wanted to confirm that this process actually worked. One of my main reasons for starting and maintaining this blog was to give them an inside scoop as to what it was like to be dead and be brought back, I think that was just as important as maintaining my own sanity.
So it came as a pretty big blow to learn that another one of us had fallen. It almost seems like we are cursed, not that I would have believed that to even be a possibility before my own recent experiences with magick. I had a deep suspicion, however, as to which of my three remaining buddies had fallen.
About a week ago, I had gotten a very brief e-mail from Greg Tasker, perhaps my best friend of the remaining three. He had sent me a note indicating that he was considering quitting the program, since his marriage and his relationship with his children was suffering big time with all of the requirements and added stresses of staying in the program. I called him that night, but had to leave a message, since he wasn't picking up his home phone or his cell. I finally got ahold of him on Saturday, he was despondent, saying that his wife Ellen had been suspecting him of having an affair and had left with his two young sons to join her parents over a hundred miles from his home. He had decided that he needed to quit the program, and was going to draft his resignation letter on Monday, after his shift. He had wanted to consult his union attorney on the language he wanted to use, so that there would be no confusion or possible entanglements.
So, after I returned from office, and after I had posted here about what had happened, I did a quick Google search, using his name. Sure enough, he had been killed while reponding to a Party Store robbery. Apparently he was the first officer on scene, and was not aware of a third assailant outside the store when he was exiting his car. According to the news reports about the incident, an outside camera caught the shooting, the third assailant came up from behind him and used a small caliber bullet behind his ear from very close range. Strange thing is, the next officers to respond were able to nab the two knuckleheads as they were coming out of the store, but Greg's killer was nowhere to be found. Allegedly, the two in the store claim they had been approached by the third guy to do the robbery, with the third guy offering to stand as a lookout for the cops. When they heard the shooting, they panicked and hid in the store. By the time they gathered what wits they had, they were surrounded by responding cars from all over the town. Strange. Not that the two mopes in the store got caught, that happens all the time, but things just aren't adding up.
Four out of six dead within four years. That's some pretty strange shit. This appears to be more than mere coincidence of all of us working in a fairly dangerous profession. All cops know that they risk serious injury or death everytime they leave the for work, but they are trained to manage such risks. The six of us were all GOOD cops. I had to do some more digging, so I Googled for stories on the passing of each of who had died (yes, including myself).
My quick search yielded some interesting results. Jerry (the first to go) died three months (late April of 2001) after his meeting with Drake. There was never a claim of responsibility made by any group for the bomb itself, and the crime remains unsolved to this day. He was the only one of the four of us who was single with no dependents.
The next one to get killed, Brian, in the middle of a rather bitter divorce from his wife when he got killed in June of 2002. Again, his killing is unsolved, despite his department throwing all of its resources into tracking down his killer. His badge and weapon have yet to be found.
I was killed on Halloween of 2003. Again, I was recently divorced, although I had felt that I was to blame for the break-up of my marriage, I am beginning to have my doubts there too, but my marriage and what happened in it will be left for another day.
Now Greg too had marital problems, which he blamed at least in part on this program, and just as he was about to tender his resignation and fight for his marriage, he dies in another currently unsolved shooting.
I am seeing some patterns here that I don't like at all.
I was prepared to confront Drake with some of these suspicions this morning at the time he indicated, however, I received a call at 8AM today informing me that he was attending to other matters, and that our meeting was to be postponed until Thursday afternoon. Since he was not going to be around, I was asked to stay home until then, since there was apparently some concern as to my 'anger problems'. Fine by me. That gives me time to do some more research, its about time I applied some of my investigative skills to the patterns I am seeing in these deaths.
It is going to be an interesting meeting on Thursday.
Monday, January 31, 2005
New Assignments
It was a very interesting day at the office today.
First of all, I had to report to the NecroLab (as I call it) to show the Lab Geeks that I have familiarized myself with the new equipment they installed on my body after the Rocky Mountain grenade incident. I apparently satisfied them with my movements and response times, since I was given a release to return to duty. The Head Geek, Dr. Daniel Bernstein--the complete package of Geekdom, from the pencil case in his dressshirt pocket, to the rat-like mannerisms, mussed up hair, and the semi-distracted look whenever he is talking to you--wanted to see about installing some additional 'hardware'.
Basically, they wanted to install weaponry on my body like I am some sort of fricking combat machine. Apparently my success in the mountain raid, and in the incident with the armored car, convinced the bastard Kampmann and his little buddy Dr. Bernstein, that I would make one Hell of a Terminator-type killer. They had these strange little contraptions they wanted to 'install' on my arms with all sorts of wires and other assorted crap that would have given me an 'integrated firing system' and would have allowed me to target with my eyes.
My response to this was rather simple. I found out that I am exactly strong enough to wrap a little mini-gun around the neck of that smug little prick Bernstein! You should have seen the look on his face when I broke the first of the pair of guns in half, and then again when he tried to stop me on the second one--I took that one and wrapped it around his neck! All six of his assistants were trying to pull us apart, which they failed to do, until I was satisfied as his face went from a ghost white of fear, to a satisfying purplish hue.
I wasn't quiet either as I was doing this, but I don't think I said a single word that would be publishable here--I try to write the way I speak normally, but this incident went beyond the pale of what I am comfortable repeating here.
I did however state a new credo of mine, one that I didn't know that I had at the time. I have determined that I will not, under any circumstance, use a firearm. The risk of causing dire injury or death to innocent bystanders or even the risk of killing a suspected perpetrator who may be innocent is just too great. I will NOT end anyone else's life the way mine was ended. I made the decision right there and then, that I would not carry a firearm of any sort, especially not one linked to my nervous system in any way, but that I would stick to non-lethal force when I got into confrontations.
I am not exactly sure why this choice became so clear to me in that instant when Bernstein was beaming with such pride and obvious glee at what I would now be able to do, but it just became clear in that moment of rage and perhaps fear at the thought of what they were trying to make me into. Maybe I watched too many cartoons of superheroes when I was young, or perhaps it was the fact that I had seen and loved such movies as Robo-Cop and the Terminator series, but I just could not allow those last shreds of humanity that I do have left become lost inside this killing machine they wanted to make me into.
As his assistants were trying to untangle their gun contraption from his neck, I left the NecroLab and went looking for Drake.
I found the bastard in the hallway, flanked by a couple of what were probably meant to be impressive looking Goons with Guns (GWG's), heading towards the lab. He stopped dead when he saw me. I pointed towards a nearby interview room and followed him inside. Wisely the GWG's stayed outside.
We had it out pretty damn good in that room. The walls were shaking as I thundered my outrage at his ass. One of the GWG's made the mistake of peeking his head in the room, but quickly closed the door when he saw the newly disconnected telepnhone headed his way. Drake kept to his normal voice, showing no emotion, other than that smugness of his, but he tried to convince me of the error of my ways, and of how important it is that I continue to participate in 'The Program' so they can fully assess what my capabilities are. I came as close as I have yet to seeing exactly how badly he needs air to breathe, but restrained myself in the end.
Eventually, I calmed down enough to point out that I had more than fulfilled any requirement of his amoral, and probably illegal, program, and that I wanted to be reassigned and be treated as a real agent.
He narrowed his beady eyes at that, and said merely, "I see. Well I am very disappointed in you. But if that is the way you feel, I'll see what I can find for you. Luckily, another one of your previous team members appears to be now available for his next step."
I stood there stunned into silence and reflection at what he had just said, and with the way he had just said it as he turned on his heel calmly and walked out. As he closed the door behind him, he looked back and said, "You can go home for now Agent Bones, report to me tomorrow at 9 AM, and I will let you where you will be reassigned to. You have provided extremely valuable information and insight."
With that he left. I felt hollow and empty as I realized another one of my former team mates had been killed.
I also wondered how much of a surprise it was to Drake that another test subject just became available.
First of all, I had to report to the NecroLab (as I call it) to show the Lab Geeks that I have familiarized myself with the new equipment they installed on my body after the Rocky Mountain grenade incident. I apparently satisfied them with my movements and response times, since I was given a release to return to duty. The Head Geek, Dr. Daniel Bernstein--the complete package of Geekdom, from the pencil case in his dressshirt pocket, to the rat-like mannerisms, mussed up hair, and the semi-distracted look whenever he is talking to you--wanted to see about installing some additional 'hardware'.
Basically, they wanted to install weaponry on my body like I am some sort of fricking combat machine. Apparently my success in the mountain raid, and in the incident with the armored car, convinced the bastard Kampmann and his little buddy Dr. Bernstein, that I would make one Hell of a Terminator-type killer. They had these strange little contraptions they wanted to 'install' on my arms with all sorts of wires and other assorted crap that would have given me an 'integrated firing system' and would have allowed me to target with my eyes.
My response to this was rather simple. I found out that I am exactly strong enough to wrap a little mini-gun around the neck of that smug little prick Bernstein! You should have seen the look on his face when I broke the first of the pair of guns in half, and then again when he tried to stop me on the second one--I took that one and wrapped it around his neck! All six of his assistants were trying to pull us apart, which they failed to do, until I was satisfied as his face went from a ghost white of fear, to a satisfying purplish hue.
I wasn't quiet either as I was doing this, but I don't think I said a single word that would be publishable here--I try to write the way I speak normally, but this incident went beyond the pale of what I am comfortable repeating here.
I did however state a new credo of mine, one that I didn't know that I had at the time. I have determined that I will not, under any circumstance, use a firearm. The risk of causing dire injury or death to innocent bystanders or even the risk of killing a suspected perpetrator who may be innocent is just too great. I will NOT end anyone else's life the way mine was ended. I made the decision right there and then, that I would not carry a firearm of any sort, especially not one linked to my nervous system in any way, but that I would stick to non-lethal force when I got into confrontations.
I am not exactly sure why this choice became so clear to me in that instant when Bernstein was beaming with such pride and obvious glee at what I would now be able to do, but it just became clear in that moment of rage and perhaps fear at the thought of what they were trying to make me into. Maybe I watched too many cartoons of superheroes when I was young, or perhaps it was the fact that I had seen and loved such movies as Robo-Cop and the Terminator series, but I just could not allow those last shreds of humanity that I do have left become lost inside this killing machine they wanted to make me into.
As his assistants were trying to untangle their gun contraption from his neck, I left the NecroLab and went looking for Drake.
I found the bastard in the hallway, flanked by a couple of what were probably meant to be impressive looking Goons with Guns (GWG's), heading towards the lab. He stopped dead when he saw me. I pointed towards a nearby interview room and followed him inside. Wisely the GWG's stayed outside.
We had it out pretty damn good in that room. The walls were shaking as I thundered my outrage at his ass. One of the GWG's made the mistake of peeking his head in the room, but quickly closed the door when he saw the newly disconnected telepnhone headed his way. Drake kept to his normal voice, showing no emotion, other than that smugness of his, but he tried to convince me of the error of my ways, and of how important it is that I continue to participate in 'The Program' so they can fully assess what my capabilities are. I came as close as I have yet to seeing exactly how badly he needs air to breathe, but restrained myself in the end.
Eventually, I calmed down enough to point out that I had more than fulfilled any requirement of his amoral, and probably illegal, program, and that I wanted to be reassigned and be treated as a real agent.
He narrowed his beady eyes at that, and said merely, "I see. Well I am very disappointed in you. But if that is the way you feel, I'll see what I can find for you. Luckily, another one of your previous team members appears to be now available for his next step."
I stood there stunned into silence and reflection at what he had just said, and with the way he had just said it as he turned on his heel calmly and walked out. As he closed the door behind him, he looked back and said, "You can go home for now Agent Bones, report to me tomorrow at 9 AM, and I will let you where you will be reassigned to. You have provided extremely valuable information and insight."
With that he left. I felt hollow and empty as I realized another one of my former team mates had been killed.
I also wondered how much of a surprise it was to Drake that another test subject just became available.
Sunday, January 30, 2005
The Conversation-Epilogue
Once I reached the decision to play along with the Director and take the money he was offering, the rest of that meeting was fairly unremarkable in the content of our conversation. It was, however, very revealing in terms of the documents I was given to review and in some cases sign.
The first revelation came when he gave me a thick memo to review that discussed the training regimen that we had participated in up to that moment, including all of the nutrient supplements that we had been given. These supplements were apparently designed to make certain chemical changes in our bone structures as well as our muscle and nervous systems. I had noticed that over the course of the previous year or two, that I had gained about 20 pounds. Strangely though, my clothes seemed to fit, with only slight adjustments needed in a couple of my smaller suit coats and dress shirts. My shoulders were bigger and my muscles did seem denser. I noticed that the regimen would become noticeably stricter in the coming months, which didn't sit well with me at all.
The next surprise came when he presented me with a schedule, showing the tentative dates for me to make certain trips to a location in Hialeah, Florida, a small suburb of Miami in Dade County that is home to perhaps the largest proportion of non-native born people in the United States, mostly Cuban ex-pats. When I questioned him on the reason for that location, the Director just smiled that evil grin of his and said that one of the experts needed for the spiritual preparations lived there and that he didn't like to travel much.
(I can tell you, that THAT guy was even scarier than Drake...even if he did appear to be a spry little old man more likely to be doting on grandchildren at first. He earned his nick-name, El Diablito-the Little Devil, when he put on his magickal personna. He wasn't Hispanic, but he did have an almost imperceptible accent when he got excited. He ran a small, rather specialized shop in a warehouse district of Hialeah that sold magickal supplies and implements catering to Santeria and Voudoun practictioners in the area. I don't know what the name of the store is now, since he has since sold it and moved away, but when he owned it, it was called NextWorld, Inc.)
Finally, the Driector presented all sorts of forms that appeared to be the actual contract, only it was about twenty pages long with extremely small type. The legalese on this form could choke a lawyer, be I read through the entire thing, making his ass wait while I asked questions to clarify points. He smiled with each answer and that little glow in his eyes growing just a little brighter as I flipped each page after initialling off on it.
Turns out that the deal seemed awfully good when I read it, and who knows, how can I really complain when here I am, over a year after I was killed, telling you all about it?
Well, we'll answer that question together over time as I grow into this new existence and share with you my experiences. So far the results are mixed at best.
I think that just about wraps up this crucial conversation with Drake. This was my first hint at the darkness that lies beneath that cold, evil smile of his, but it wasn't until fairly recently that I have really soured on the bastard, seeing him for the evil little prick that he is. Somehow, I wouldn't put it past him to have had a hand in my death....but if he did, he has hidden it well.
I can tell you, however, that I will never stop looking into what happened that night, and if I find out that he, or anyone else in this program had a hand in that, they had better watch out!
The first revelation came when he gave me a thick memo to review that discussed the training regimen that we had participated in up to that moment, including all of the nutrient supplements that we had been given. These supplements were apparently designed to make certain chemical changes in our bone structures as well as our muscle and nervous systems. I had noticed that over the course of the previous year or two, that I had gained about 20 pounds. Strangely though, my clothes seemed to fit, with only slight adjustments needed in a couple of my smaller suit coats and dress shirts. My shoulders were bigger and my muscles did seem denser. I noticed that the regimen would become noticeably stricter in the coming months, which didn't sit well with me at all.
The next surprise came when he presented me with a schedule, showing the tentative dates for me to make certain trips to a location in Hialeah, Florida, a small suburb of Miami in Dade County that is home to perhaps the largest proportion of non-native born people in the United States, mostly Cuban ex-pats. When I questioned him on the reason for that location, the Director just smiled that evil grin of his and said that one of the experts needed for the spiritual preparations lived there and that he didn't like to travel much.
(I can tell you, that THAT guy was even scarier than Drake...even if he did appear to be a spry little old man more likely to be doting on grandchildren at first. He earned his nick-name, El Diablito-the Little Devil, when he put on his magickal personna. He wasn't Hispanic, but he did have an almost imperceptible accent when he got excited. He ran a small, rather specialized shop in a warehouse district of Hialeah that sold magickal supplies and implements catering to Santeria and Voudoun practictioners in the area. I don't know what the name of the store is now, since he has since sold it and moved away, but when he owned it, it was called NextWorld, Inc.)
Finally, the Driector presented all sorts of forms that appeared to be the actual contract, only it was about twenty pages long with extremely small type. The legalese on this form could choke a lawyer, be I read through the entire thing, making his ass wait while I asked questions to clarify points. He smiled with each answer and that little glow in his eyes growing just a little brighter as I flipped each page after initialling off on it.
Turns out that the deal seemed awfully good when I read it, and who knows, how can I really complain when here I am, over a year after I was killed, telling you all about it?
Well, we'll answer that question together over time as I grow into this new existence and share with you my experiences. So far the results are mixed at best.
I think that just about wraps up this crucial conversation with Drake. This was my first hint at the darkness that lies beneath that cold, evil smile of his, but it wasn't until fairly recently that I have really soured on the bastard, seeing him for the evil little prick that he is. Somehow, I wouldn't put it past him to have had a hand in my death....but if he did, he has hidden it well.
I can tell you, however, that I will never stop looking into what happened that night, and if I find out that he, or anyone else in this program had a hand in that, they had better watch out!
The Conversation-Part 2
I sat there stunned for a moment, trying to comprehend how a high ranking official of the fricking FBI could be sitting there trying to talk me into taking part in some sort of impossible, asinine experiment that seemed to be part science fiction, part fantasy. I just couldn’t wrap my mind around the concepts this dude was talking about.
“I...I...just don’t see how you can expect me to take this shit seriously,” I stammered. “I mean, you did just say magick, didn’t you?”
The bastard leaned forward, his black, beady eyes seemed to glow for a second with an infernal glare (not that I believed in such things, mind you). “Yes. Yes, I did mention magick. Matter of fact, the particular kind of magick that makes this all possible is actually called Necromancy....”
“Jeezus Christ...” I blurted out, “This is sounding more and more like some very bad B-movie.” I was starting to get up to put an end this whole interview.
“Officer Smith, sit down and hear me out. I happen to know how badly you need your bonus this year, but if you leave this interview before I release you, your participation in this program will be terminated, as will your scheduled bonus payments.”
That caught me off guard. I did need that damn money, badly. My wife’s car was on its last legs, and she was looking wistfully at a minivan that cost damn near $20,000. I slipped back down in the chair, and decided to hear the man out.
“Yes, I thought that might jolt you back to reality. I understand that the things we have talked about today are outside of your normal experience, but you will come to understand enough of what I speak of today to realize that there is a whole world of secrets that once revealed, will truly change how you see things.
“The information I am about to reveal to you is highly classified, and will not be discussed outside of this room at any time, with any person not similarly authorized to receive such information, including your wife, or any other members of your family. Failure to follow this admonition will lead to some very serious consequences, do you understand, Officer Smith?”
I nodded, wondering who the Hell would believe me if I started discussing Necromancy, magick, and any of the rest of this shit. “I understand, sir.”
“Good.” With that, he whipped out a typed memorandum and placed it in front of me so fast that it would make a Vegas blackjack dealer proud. “Then I will need you to look over this memorandum and sign it there at the bottom. This merely spells out some of your responsibilities regarding the information you are about to receive, and the rather dire consequences for failing to take the proper safeguards with it.”
I scanned through the document, saw that he was indeed very serious. It pretty much spelled out that the entire content of this meeting was considered Secret, and that serious jail time and hefty fines were involved for any unauthorized disclosure. (Of course, you might wonder why I am writing about this now, since this information is still considered Secret--I will discuss that later. You may rest assured that I am in no danger from this disclosure--I cannot, however, vouch for you, Gentle Reader, so read on at your own discretion.)
After taking the moment offered to read through the document, I signed it and handed it back to him, only to see it snatched from my hand and shuffled back into my file faster than I could blink. Something about this dude just wasn’t right. From this moment on, I decided to pay more attention to this guys’ mannerisms and see if maybe he was a product of his own experiments.
He looked back up at me, smiled in his unnerving way, and continued, “This government, and probably the former Soviet Union as well, stumbled upon some rather amazing, and very secretive, research that had been conducted by the Third Reich at the end of World War II. That research included a number of test subjects and a number of practitioners of certain, let’s just call them, ‘Dark Arts’. At first no one could believe that the Germans had actually made any efforts in this direction, but it quickly became evident that not only had they tried their hand at some things, they had actually made some remarkable progress.
“Once that realization set in, it became a sort of scramble through the ruins of the Third Reich to collect evidence, test subjects, and the few practitioners that could still be located using the SS files that had been recovered in the last days of the war. It is believed that a number of practitioners escaped in the chaos at the end of the war before their importance became known. A number of those individuals fled Europe to South America and other remote regions of the world, but a good number of them were captured and secretly transported to London and Washington D.C. for further study by the American and British governments.”
“Wait a minute sir, are you telling me that the Nazi’s were working on this stuff first, and that the US and the Brits actually continued their work?”
That damn smile again. “Yes, Officer Smith, the US and British governments did continue with some of, but not all of, the experiments that the Nazi’s started. But as you will find out in time, if you continue in this program, the things they were working on were just too important to ignore. Of course these governments went about their studies in a more humane manner than the Nazi’s did, using mostly volunteers.”
“Mostly volunteers?” I asked.
“Yes, of course. The original captives from Germany wouldn’t be considered volunteers, at first, but after they were debriefed and their participation and talents were reviewed, most of them were allowed the choice to continue or not in their research.”
“But not all of them, eh?”
His eyes seemed to light up again at this point. “No, not all of them were given the choice. In any event, some of that research has been developed to the point now that we have the ability to preserve the spirit of a person who has been specially prepared ahead of time. We also believe that we can now tie that specially preserved spirit back into a body that has also been prepared for the procedure, allowing that person to live again, in a limited manner.”
“So let me get this straight.” I just had to interrupt. “You are saying that you can hold a person’s soul after they die, and that you now think you can use that soul to re-animate their body? Pardon me, but this sounds like an attempt to make a real Frankenstein. What the Hell happens to this soul if your plan doesn’t work?”
“Yes, we can and have been able to preserve the souls of particular volunteers. We have not succeeded in re-animating any bodies with these souls just yet, but we have been able to communicate with those individuals and released those who wished to be released. As strange as it sounds, we have tried the Frankenstein approach of building a body out of parts, but that has not succeeded. Our research seems to show that the soul needs to have a tangible connection to the body it animates. In our previous attempts, this just hasn’t been possible, for various reasons. This is where you and your fellow teammates come in.”
I sat there stunned, struck by the irony of having played D&D throughout my youth, having grown out of such fantasies by the time I was eighteen, and now being briefed by a senior government official on their intent to raise me from the dead!
“Look,” I said, “I don’t have any intention of dying anytime soon. So if this plan of your involves that kind of volunteering, you can shove it, and your damn money, up your cold, stiff ass!”
He raised a hand to calm me down. “I understand your concerns. We do not have any intention of causing your untimely demise. But, as I have just mentioned, it appears that we must prepare both the spirit and the body of any candidates. You and I both know that being a police officer is a very dangerous line of work. Every officer lost in the line of duty is a tremendous loss to our nation and a tragedy. What we are offering you is the opportunity to be the beneficiary of an extremely valuable life insurance policy. If something were to happen to you in the line of duty or otherwise, this project would allow us to save the spirit you really don’t believe that you have in the first place and bring you back from the dead. If you choose to continue with this program, and you live to a ripe old age and retire from police work, you will have the option of quitting at any time, and you will continue to receive these payments, tax-free, for the time you remain in the program.
“However, if something dire does happen, and you are killed or die in some unfortunate accident later this year, or the year after that, or any time while you are still in the program, you will have a second opportunity at life to be there again for your family. That is what this program is all about!”
I didn’t believe much of what this guy was saying, but the idea of being able to collect an extra pay check and never really have to work all that hard for it again appealed to me.
“So, sir, you are saying that I could continue in the program, collect these bonuses each year, and then quit the program anytime I wanted to? Will you put that in writing?”
“Yes, that is exactly what I am saying. Yes, there are contracts that you will be able to review here in this office for as long as you like before signing. If you agree to partake in this program past today, your participation will remain strictly voluntary. As long as you participate as directed by myself and the other managers in this program, you will continue to receive inflation adjusted, tax-free payments that will help you and your family take care of the little extras that make life enjoyable.
“And really, what do you have to lose? I can see that you really believe that this can actually work, and you even doubt the existence of your own soul. You have no faith that prohibits any of this, and if it doesn’t work, as you suspect it won’t, you will have lost nothing and gained a little extra renumeration for your time. You are a very reasonable man, Officer Smith. I am sure that you can see the benefits of your further participation, and just imagine your surprise if the worst happens and we are actually called upon to show you that this works, and you wake up to a new life with a chance to set things right again!”
I had to agree with his logic. Besides, I seriously doubted that anything like this could ever actually work.What harm could come if I just played along, took the money they were obviously willing to give away, and went about watching my ass so I didn’t have to find out if they could actually do it?
Well, I surely learned the answers to most of those questions. Too bad I had to learn the hard damn way!
Next, I will provide more detail on the processes that I had to undertake in order to continue participating in the program.
“I...I...just don’t see how you can expect me to take this shit seriously,” I stammered. “I mean, you did just say magick, didn’t you?”
The bastard leaned forward, his black, beady eyes seemed to glow for a second with an infernal glare (not that I believed in such things, mind you). “Yes. Yes, I did mention magick. Matter of fact, the particular kind of magick that makes this all possible is actually called Necromancy....”
“Jeezus Christ...” I blurted out, “This is sounding more and more like some very bad B-movie.” I was starting to get up to put an end this whole interview.
“Officer Smith, sit down and hear me out. I happen to know how badly you need your bonus this year, but if you leave this interview before I release you, your participation in this program will be terminated, as will your scheduled bonus payments.”
That caught me off guard. I did need that damn money, badly. My wife’s car was on its last legs, and she was looking wistfully at a minivan that cost damn near $20,000. I slipped back down in the chair, and decided to hear the man out.
“Yes, I thought that might jolt you back to reality. I understand that the things we have talked about today are outside of your normal experience, but you will come to understand enough of what I speak of today to realize that there is a whole world of secrets that once revealed, will truly change how you see things.
“The information I am about to reveal to you is highly classified, and will not be discussed outside of this room at any time, with any person not similarly authorized to receive such information, including your wife, or any other members of your family. Failure to follow this admonition will lead to some very serious consequences, do you understand, Officer Smith?”
I nodded, wondering who the Hell would believe me if I started discussing Necromancy, magick, and any of the rest of this shit. “I understand, sir.”
“Good.” With that, he whipped out a typed memorandum and placed it in front of me so fast that it would make a Vegas blackjack dealer proud. “Then I will need you to look over this memorandum and sign it there at the bottom. This merely spells out some of your responsibilities regarding the information you are about to receive, and the rather dire consequences for failing to take the proper safeguards with it.”
I scanned through the document, saw that he was indeed very serious. It pretty much spelled out that the entire content of this meeting was considered Secret, and that serious jail time and hefty fines were involved for any unauthorized disclosure. (Of course, you might wonder why I am writing about this now, since this information is still considered Secret--I will discuss that later. You may rest assured that I am in no danger from this disclosure--I cannot, however, vouch for you, Gentle Reader, so read on at your own discretion.)
After taking the moment offered to read through the document, I signed it and handed it back to him, only to see it snatched from my hand and shuffled back into my file faster than I could blink. Something about this dude just wasn’t right. From this moment on, I decided to pay more attention to this guys’ mannerisms and see if maybe he was a product of his own experiments.
He looked back up at me, smiled in his unnerving way, and continued, “This government, and probably the former Soviet Union as well, stumbled upon some rather amazing, and very secretive, research that had been conducted by the Third Reich at the end of World War II. That research included a number of test subjects and a number of practitioners of certain, let’s just call them, ‘Dark Arts’. At first no one could believe that the Germans had actually made any efforts in this direction, but it quickly became evident that not only had they tried their hand at some things, they had actually made some remarkable progress.
“Once that realization set in, it became a sort of scramble through the ruins of the Third Reich to collect evidence, test subjects, and the few practitioners that could still be located using the SS files that had been recovered in the last days of the war. It is believed that a number of practitioners escaped in the chaos at the end of the war before their importance became known. A number of those individuals fled Europe to South America and other remote regions of the world, but a good number of them were captured and secretly transported to London and Washington D.C. for further study by the American and British governments.”
“Wait a minute sir, are you telling me that the Nazi’s were working on this stuff first, and that the US and the Brits actually continued their work?”
That damn smile again. “Yes, Officer Smith, the US and British governments did continue with some of, but not all of, the experiments that the Nazi’s started. But as you will find out in time, if you continue in this program, the things they were working on were just too important to ignore. Of course these governments went about their studies in a more humane manner than the Nazi’s did, using mostly volunteers.”
“Mostly volunteers?” I asked.
“Yes, of course. The original captives from Germany wouldn’t be considered volunteers, at first, but after they were debriefed and their participation and talents were reviewed, most of them were allowed the choice to continue or not in their research.”
“But not all of them, eh?”
His eyes seemed to light up again at this point. “No, not all of them were given the choice. In any event, some of that research has been developed to the point now that we have the ability to preserve the spirit of a person who has been specially prepared ahead of time. We also believe that we can now tie that specially preserved spirit back into a body that has also been prepared for the procedure, allowing that person to live again, in a limited manner.”
“So let me get this straight.” I just had to interrupt. “You are saying that you can hold a person’s soul after they die, and that you now think you can use that soul to re-animate their body? Pardon me, but this sounds like an attempt to make a real Frankenstein. What the Hell happens to this soul if your plan doesn’t work?”
“Yes, we can and have been able to preserve the souls of particular volunteers. We have not succeeded in re-animating any bodies with these souls just yet, but we have been able to communicate with those individuals and released those who wished to be released. As strange as it sounds, we have tried the Frankenstein approach of building a body out of parts, but that has not succeeded. Our research seems to show that the soul needs to have a tangible connection to the body it animates. In our previous attempts, this just hasn’t been possible, for various reasons. This is where you and your fellow teammates come in.”
I sat there stunned, struck by the irony of having played D&D throughout my youth, having grown out of such fantasies by the time I was eighteen, and now being briefed by a senior government official on their intent to raise me from the dead!
“Look,” I said, “I don’t have any intention of dying anytime soon. So if this plan of your involves that kind of volunteering, you can shove it, and your damn money, up your cold, stiff ass!”
He raised a hand to calm me down. “I understand your concerns. We do not have any intention of causing your untimely demise. But, as I have just mentioned, it appears that we must prepare both the spirit and the body of any candidates. You and I both know that being a police officer is a very dangerous line of work. Every officer lost in the line of duty is a tremendous loss to our nation and a tragedy. What we are offering you is the opportunity to be the beneficiary of an extremely valuable life insurance policy. If something were to happen to you in the line of duty or otherwise, this project would allow us to save the spirit you really don’t believe that you have in the first place and bring you back from the dead. If you choose to continue with this program, and you live to a ripe old age and retire from police work, you will have the option of quitting at any time, and you will continue to receive these payments, tax-free, for the time you remain in the program.
“However, if something dire does happen, and you are killed or die in some unfortunate accident later this year, or the year after that, or any time while you are still in the program, you will have a second opportunity at life to be there again for your family. That is what this program is all about!”
I didn’t believe much of what this guy was saying, but the idea of being able to collect an extra pay check and never really have to work all that hard for it again appealed to me.
“So, sir, you are saying that I could continue in the program, collect these bonuses each year, and then quit the program anytime I wanted to? Will you put that in writing?”
“Yes, that is exactly what I am saying. Yes, there are contracts that you will be able to review here in this office for as long as you like before signing. If you agree to partake in this program past today, your participation will remain strictly voluntary. As long as you participate as directed by myself and the other managers in this program, you will continue to receive inflation adjusted, tax-free payments that will help you and your family take care of the little extras that make life enjoyable.
“And really, what do you have to lose? I can see that you really believe that this can actually work, and you even doubt the existence of your own soul. You have no faith that prohibits any of this, and if it doesn’t work, as you suspect it won’t, you will have lost nothing and gained a little extra renumeration for your time. You are a very reasonable man, Officer Smith. I am sure that you can see the benefits of your further participation, and just imagine your surprise if the worst happens and we are actually called upon to show you that this works, and you wake up to a new life with a chance to set things right again!”
I had to agree with his logic. Besides, I seriously doubted that anything like this could ever actually work.What harm could come if I just played along, took the money they were obviously willing to give away, and went about watching my ass so I didn’t have to find out if they could actually do it?
Well, I surely learned the answers to most of those questions. Too bad I had to learn the hard damn way!
Next, I will provide more detail on the processes that I had to undertake in order to continue participating in the program.
Saturday, January 29, 2005
Interlude
I have just returned from a very exciting, and unexpected trip to go see my new friend, John Red Bear. I will detail the things I have learned on this trip at a later time, I don't want to compromise a personal investigation that I am pursuing until I have further information.
Instead, I will complete The Conversation, and post additional information about the process by which I came to be this way, since I think this will be of most interest to my readers.
I should also note, that I have begun work on my first book, which will fully reveal my entire history and tell the tale of how I came to be. As the book progresses, I may post excerpts from it, and of course, if I find a publisher, I will post the details of how to get the book. I am in the very beginning of this process, though.
Do not worry, I shall keep posting, hopefully on a more frequent basis as I adjust to my new schedule as an active agent.
Instead, I will complete The Conversation, and post additional information about the process by which I came to be this way, since I think this will be of most interest to my readers.
I should also note, that I have begun work on my first book, which will fully reveal my entire history and tell the tale of how I came to be. As the book progresses, I may post excerpts from it, and of course, if I find a publisher, I will post the details of how to get the book. I am in the very beginning of this process, though.
Do not worry, I shall keep posting, hopefully on a more frequent basis as I adjust to my new schedule as an active agent.
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
The Conversation-Part 1
The Director was seated at the head of the conference table with a rather thick looking file laying open in front of him. I could glimpse enough of the file as I approached to see that it was mine.
He nodded almost imperceptibly to a chair to his right, so I sat down without further ado. I was nervous and a little anxious, and I know that bastard was enjoying every moment of it, even if he didn’t show it.
I tried to get comfortable as he resumed examining the contents of the file, flipping from one page to the next as if I weren’t sitting right there next to him.
After about a minute of unnerving silence, I cleared my throat and sat up, determined not to be intimidated, in case he was trying to test me in some way.
“I see that you have passed all of the required tests,” he started without notice, “and that you have not had any trouble meeting the requirements of the program up to now. So tell me, is this what you expected?”
I was a little shocked that he actually asked me a question, but I was cautious, “Sir, to be honest, I think the program has been pretty well run, but I’m not sure I understand everything up to this point.”
His eyes seemed to light up at this, “So Officer Smith, what is it that you don’t understand about the program?”
“Well, sir, to be honest, I can’t understand why you have chosen us in the way that you did. I know that I am damn good cop, and so are my fellow team members, but when all is said and done, we are all still local cops, we’re not federal agents. Heck many of the guys don’t even have a college degree, and I know that most of your FBI agents have master’s degrees. So why do you want a bunch of locals, even high-speed locals, running a special response unit of the FBI?”
He let my words trail off for a moment before answering in that slow, deliberate manner that I now find so annoying, “That, Officer Smith, is perhaps the best question I have heard from anyone on the team. The answers to that question, are in large part the reason for these meetings and for this evaluation.
“I have received permission from my superiors,” he said with a sneer at that last word, “to move on to the next phase of this program. You and your remaining team members have gone as far as you can in this program with the knowledge that you have been given. It is now my turn to share some additional goals of this program with you, and it is time for you to make a choice as to whether to continue forward past this point.”
I shifted in my seat, sat up a little straighter, waiting for him to continue.
“Everyone on the team was recruited on the basis of several criteria. The first of which, is that you had to be a person who professed no particular faith in any religion. The second of which was that you had to be good officers, between the ages of 30 and 50 years old, Third, you had to be willing and able to complete the rather rigorous training program we had in mind.
“You have met all of these requirements, and done very well indeed. But the next step requires a further commitment to a rather radical idea. One that you may, or may not be prepared to accept and embrace.”
My curiousity was aroused now, “What is this idea, sir?”
“I am prepared to offer you an opportunity to become immortal.”
“Say again, sir, ...immortal...what exactly do you mean by that?”
“If you accept this agreement, and sign the contracts and consent forms that I have for you here, you will have an opportunity to become immortal. By that, I mean that your consciousness will be able to continue to exist past your natural death, and that you will have an unprecedented opportunity to interact with, and continue to take an active role in, this world as you now know it. Your soul, if you will accept the religious term for it for a moment, will be preseved and contained within a vessel that will allow this agency to give you a new, or enhanced body, to operate with.”
“Hold on,” I interrupted, “is this some sort of sick joke? You did select us because we didn’t believe in any of this stuff, didn’t you? What do you mean by preserving my soul? I don’t even accept the fact that I have a soul...”
He held up a very bony looking hand, silencing me for the moment, “Yes, yes, I understand your shock and even your disbelief. But I can assure you that you do indeed have a soul, of sorts, and that we now have the means to quantify that and to actually contain that spirit within a special device.
“The reason that only men of no professed faith were selected for this project, is that you and others like you would have no pre-conceived objection to undertaking this project. Since you have not yet been concerned with your soul and where it would, or wouldn’t go after your death, it was felt that you and the other team members selected would be more open to the possibilities of this project.”
“Now,” I spoke up again, “wait a minute.. Are you saying that you picked me because I was some sort of heathen who is consigned to Hell because I don’t believe in any of that shit in the first place?”
“Well, that is a very crass, and blunt way of putting it, but yes, that was part of the decision process on who got selected for this program.”
“Well, I’ll be damned...”
“Precisely. Since you have no vested interest in any afterlife beyond this world, why face that possibility when you don’t have to?”
I was pretty stunned at this point, but I wasn’t quite speechless yet, “OK, I’ll play along with this crap for a moment,” I was quickly losing any respect I had for the man at this point. “Why the Hell would the Federal Government want to get involved with my spiritual immortality, and what does that have to do with this program. I thought we were about stopping religious terrorists and protecting this country!”
“Yes, well, to be honest, the government’s interest in your spirit is puely practical. The government has seen a potential use for intelligent, creative beings who have no fear of being injured or of getting killed in the face of highly dangerous missions. But this is not something that the government can allow just anyone to attempt. We feel that it should be limited to men of strong principles and proven character. Additionally, if your spirit can kept from passing to the next world, whatever that may be, when you die and kept available for use in a new body, then all of the expenses the government has gone to train and educate highly skilled officers can be made to pay off for generations to come.
“Think of it, man, all of the knowledge, the skills you have attained up to now as an officer of the law, can be preserved in a body that will not hunger, tha twill not need to sleep, that will not grow old, that cannot be killed, and that can be repaired if it is injured or damaged. Everything that you have learned up to now, and in the future, will be available to you in a new body that is stronger, faster, more capable than you are now. You could truly become immortal!”
His eyes seemed to be glowing as he spoke, getting more and more intense as his voice grew louder. He appeared almost fanatical in his belief that this project, whatever the Hell it really was, would work.
“You’re talking about making me, and these other guys some sort of robots. Sir, I think you’ve been watching too many movies. Robo-Cop was a movie man, the best damn robots I’ve seen are those stupid furry toys my kids wanted so bad for Christmas. How are you gonna pull this shit off?”
“That’s just it, we are not creating a robot, per se, you won’t be a machine subject to any sort of programming, but a freely thinking person, who happens to be in a body that is modified. This is more than technology run amuck, this is a fusion of magick and technology that will be unprecedented in human history!”
Part 2 to follow tomorrow, time permitting.
He nodded almost imperceptibly to a chair to his right, so I sat down without further ado. I was nervous and a little anxious, and I know that bastard was enjoying every moment of it, even if he didn’t show it.
I tried to get comfortable as he resumed examining the contents of the file, flipping from one page to the next as if I weren’t sitting right there next to him.
After about a minute of unnerving silence, I cleared my throat and sat up, determined not to be intimidated, in case he was trying to test me in some way.
“I see that you have passed all of the required tests,” he started without notice, “and that you have not had any trouble meeting the requirements of the program up to now. So tell me, is this what you expected?”
I was a little shocked that he actually asked me a question, but I was cautious, “Sir, to be honest, I think the program has been pretty well run, but I’m not sure I understand everything up to this point.”
His eyes seemed to light up at this, “So Officer Smith, what is it that you don’t understand about the program?”
“Well, sir, to be honest, I can’t understand why you have chosen us in the way that you did. I know that I am damn good cop, and so are my fellow team members, but when all is said and done, we are all still local cops, we’re not federal agents. Heck many of the guys don’t even have a college degree, and I know that most of your FBI agents have master’s degrees. So why do you want a bunch of locals, even high-speed locals, running a special response unit of the FBI?”
He let my words trail off for a moment before answering in that slow, deliberate manner that I now find so annoying, “That, Officer Smith, is perhaps the best question I have heard from anyone on the team. The answers to that question, are in large part the reason for these meetings and for this evaluation.
“I have received permission from my superiors,” he said with a sneer at that last word, “to move on to the next phase of this program. You and your remaining team members have gone as far as you can in this program with the knowledge that you have been given. It is now my turn to share some additional goals of this program with you, and it is time for you to make a choice as to whether to continue forward past this point.”
I shifted in my seat, sat up a little straighter, waiting for him to continue.
“Everyone on the team was recruited on the basis of several criteria. The first of which, is that you had to be a person who professed no particular faith in any religion. The second of which was that you had to be good officers, between the ages of 30 and 50 years old, Third, you had to be willing and able to complete the rather rigorous training program we had in mind.
“You have met all of these requirements, and done very well indeed. But the next step requires a further commitment to a rather radical idea. One that you may, or may not be prepared to accept and embrace.”
My curiousity was aroused now, “What is this idea, sir?”
“I am prepared to offer you an opportunity to become immortal.”
“Say again, sir, ...immortal...what exactly do you mean by that?”
“If you accept this agreement, and sign the contracts and consent forms that I have for you here, you will have an opportunity to become immortal. By that, I mean that your consciousness will be able to continue to exist past your natural death, and that you will have an unprecedented opportunity to interact with, and continue to take an active role in, this world as you now know it. Your soul, if you will accept the religious term for it for a moment, will be preseved and contained within a vessel that will allow this agency to give you a new, or enhanced body, to operate with.”
“Hold on,” I interrupted, “is this some sort of sick joke? You did select us because we didn’t believe in any of this stuff, didn’t you? What do you mean by preserving my soul? I don’t even accept the fact that I have a soul...”
He held up a very bony looking hand, silencing me for the moment, “Yes, yes, I understand your shock and even your disbelief. But I can assure you that you do indeed have a soul, of sorts, and that we now have the means to quantify that and to actually contain that spirit within a special device.
“The reason that only men of no professed faith were selected for this project, is that you and others like you would have no pre-conceived objection to undertaking this project. Since you have not yet been concerned with your soul and where it would, or wouldn’t go after your death, it was felt that you and the other team members selected would be more open to the possibilities of this project.”
“Now,” I spoke up again, “wait a minute.. Are you saying that you picked me because I was some sort of heathen who is consigned to Hell because I don’t believe in any of that shit in the first place?”
“Well, that is a very crass, and blunt way of putting it, but yes, that was part of the decision process on who got selected for this program.”
“Well, I’ll be damned...”
“Precisely. Since you have no vested interest in any afterlife beyond this world, why face that possibility when you don’t have to?”
I was pretty stunned at this point, but I wasn’t quite speechless yet, “OK, I’ll play along with this crap for a moment,” I was quickly losing any respect I had for the man at this point. “Why the Hell would the Federal Government want to get involved with my spiritual immortality, and what does that have to do with this program. I thought we were about stopping religious terrorists and protecting this country!”
“Yes, well, to be honest, the government’s interest in your spirit is puely practical. The government has seen a potential use for intelligent, creative beings who have no fear of being injured or of getting killed in the face of highly dangerous missions. But this is not something that the government can allow just anyone to attempt. We feel that it should be limited to men of strong principles and proven character. Additionally, if your spirit can kept from passing to the next world, whatever that may be, when you die and kept available for use in a new body, then all of the expenses the government has gone to train and educate highly skilled officers can be made to pay off for generations to come.
“Think of it, man, all of the knowledge, the skills you have attained up to now as an officer of the law, can be preserved in a body that will not hunger, tha twill not need to sleep, that will not grow old, that cannot be killed, and that can be repaired if it is injured or damaged. Everything that you have learned up to now, and in the future, will be available to you in a new body that is stronger, faster, more capable than you are now. You could truly become immortal!”
His eyes seemed to be glowing as he spoke, getting more and more intense as his voice grew louder. He appeared almost fanatical in his belief that this project, whatever the Hell it really was, would work.
“You’re talking about making me, and these other guys some sort of robots. Sir, I think you’ve been watching too many movies. Robo-Cop was a movie man, the best damn robots I’ve seen are those stupid furry toys my kids wanted so bad for Christmas. How are you gonna pull this shit off?”
“That’s just it, we are not creating a robot, per se, you won’t be a machine subject to any sort of programming, but a freely thinking person, who happens to be in a body that is modified. This is more than technology run amuck, this is a fusion of magick and technology that will be unprecedented in human history!”
Part 2 to follow tomorrow, time permitting.
Sunday, January 23, 2005
The Conversation-Prologue
Friday, February 2, 2001.
That was the day of The Conversation, the one meeting that changed my future forever.
All of us had been informed ahead of time, that we would be called in for an evaluation meeting with the Director, Dr. Kampmann as we called him then. It was at this meeting that our future in the program was going to be decided. Our handlers made sure that we understood that the Director was willing to shitcan the entire team and start fresh if he had too, there were no guarantees based on the need for a certain number of candidates going forward. Of course, they also made it clear that if things didn't go well, the bonuses would stop immediately, and there was no chance of getting back on the team if we flubbed up this meeting.
I felt my marriage had become dependent on the extra income from this project, even if the stresses caused by the number of out of town trips seemed to be getting pretty bad. I had ignored my wife's requests for me to drop out of this program and to spend more time at home as just her way of showing she loved me. I figured by bringing home the extra money to buy the new furniture I knew she wanted so badly, or to buy the new car that we needed was my way of showing how much I loved her. Shows how much I understood about love back then.
I was nervous about the upcoming meeting, my relationship with the Director was much more formal and one sided than it is today, I still respected the asshole then.
I arrived early in the morning, having flown in the night before and been put up in a local Holiday Inn for the night. The Director liked to start his meetings promptly at 8AM, and go on through lunch without stopping, until his prey was squirming with hunger and fatigue. He never allowed food in his meeting rooms, and provided only a pitcher of water to drink. A number of the team members liked to see if they could outlast the Director and hold off from taking a drink during any meeting with him, but even though he always kept a glass next to him that was maybe three quarters full, no one could ever remember him actually taking a drink from the thing, so everyone who tried to match him always failed.
Looking back on it with the knowledge I have now of him and what he had done to himself, I completely understand how he could go so long without food or drink. You see, I fully believe that he was his own first experiment. Except that while I am his first subject to have been successfully brought back from the dead, I believe that Drake never died. I am certain that he has made changes to his own biochemistry while he was still alive, sort of like extreme plastic surgery, except I think he replaced his heart, and his whole digestive tract, among other things. I have seen glimpses of him in private moments, and I have seen some of the bizarre equipment he uses to replace his need for food and drink. Most of it involves IV bags with what looks like fresh blood, and some sort of charging device. I guess you could say that he appears to be some sort of living vampire, while I would fit more into the mummy/zombie/Frankenstein category.
The meeting room was in the very back of the rather bland looking office building, and always kept rather dimly lit. The doors to the room were far more solid than anything else in the office, and like the room itself, were completely windowless. There was an intercom near the door, where you pressed this button to speak to whoever was inside. There was no keyhole, or even a card reader to open the door, the Director had a special remoe control for this door, and that was the only known way to lock or unlock the door.
I arrived promptly, and saw Betty, the middle aged receptionist with a beaming smile and a quiet voice, at the front desk. She greeted me with a smile and and a couple of pleasant questions about my family before she picked up the phone and called the Director's office to notify him of my arrival. She looked up from the phone, and motioned for me to head back towards the meeting room as she answered the ringing phone on another line. I have always liked her, and I miss seeing her smile. When I come to that office now, she looks more frightened than happy to see me. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, I have seen how I look in a mirror, and I would have a hard imagining anyone being happy to see me now. I look more like a serial killer on steroids, or maybe a little like Arnold in the Terminator movies after a couple of messy battles...
I remember the walk back to the meeting room seemed to take a lot longer than the two minutes it actually took, and that the hallway seemed even darker and quieter than normal, or maybe that is my mind adding some dramatic flare to the memories of this day. In any event, I made my way back to the meeting room, and pressed the button on intercom, identifying myself to faceless person (or people) beyond the door. "Officer Smith here."
Instead of any answer over the intercom, the door clikced softly, and opened slowly towards me...
That was the day of The Conversation, the one meeting that changed my future forever.
All of us had been informed ahead of time, that we would be called in for an evaluation meeting with the Director, Dr. Kampmann as we called him then. It was at this meeting that our future in the program was going to be decided. Our handlers made sure that we understood that the Director was willing to shitcan the entire team and start fresh if he had too, there were no guarantees based on the need for a certain number of candidates going forward. Of course, they also made it clear that if things didn't go well, the bonuses would stop immediately, and there was no chance of getting back on the team if we flubbed up this meeting.
I felt my marriage had become dependent on the extra income from this project, even if the stresses caused by the number of out of town trips seemed to be getting pretty bad. I had ignored my wife's requests for me to drop out of this program and to spend more time at home as just her way of showing she loved me. I figured by bringing home the extra money to buy the new furniture I knew she wanted so badly, or to buy the new car that we needed was my way of showing how much I loved her. Shows how much I understood about love back then.
I was nervous about the upcoming meeting, my relationship with the Director was much more formal and one sided than it is today, I still respected the asshole then.
I arrived early in the morning, having flown in the night before and been put up in a local Holiday Inn for the night. The Director liked to start his meetings promptly at 8AM, and go on through lunch without stopping, until his prey was squirming with hunger and fatigue. He never allowed food in his meeting rooms, and provided only a pitcher of water to drink. A number of the team members liked to see if they could outlast the Director and hold off from taking a drink during any meeting with him, but even though he always kept a glass next to him that was maybe three quarters full, no one could ever remember him actually taking a drink from the thing, so everyone who tried to match him always failed.
Looking back on it with the knowledge I have now of him and what he had done to himself, I completely understand how he could go so long without food or drink. You see, I fully believe that he was his own first experiment. Except that while I am his first subject to have been successfully brought back from the dead, I believe that Drake never died. I am certain that he has made changes to his own biochemistry while he was still alive, sort of like extreme plastic surgery, except I think he replaced his heart, and his whole digestive tract, among other things. I have seen glimpses of him in private moments, and I have seen some of the bizarre equipment he uses to replace his need for food and drink. Most of it involves IV bags with what looks like fresh blood, and some sort of charging device. I guess you could say that he appears to be some sort of living vampire, while I would fit more into the mummy/zombie/Frankenstein category.
The meeting room was in the very back of the rather bland looking office building, and always kept rather dimly lit. The doors to the room were far more solid than anything else in the office, and like the room itself, were completely windowless. There was an intercom near the door, where you pressed this button to speak to whoever was inside. There was no keyhole, or even a card reader to open the door, the Director had a special remoe control for this door, and that was the only known way to lock or unlock the door.
I arrived promptly, and saw Betty, the middle aged receptionist with a beaming smile and a quiet voice, at the front desk. She greeted me with a smile and and a couple of pleasant questions about my family before she picked up the phone and called the Director's office to notify him of my arrival. She looked up from the phone, and motioned for me to head back towards the meeting room as she answered the ringing phone on another line. I have always liked her, and I miss seeing her smile. When I come to that office now, she looks more frightened than happy to see me. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, I have seen how I look in a mirror, and I would have a hard imagining anyone being happy to see me now. I look more like a serial killer on steroids, or maybe a little like Arnold in the Terminator movies after a couple of messy battles...
I remember the walk back to the meeting room seemed to take a lot longer than the two minutes it actually took, and that the hallway seemed even darker and quieter than normal, or maybe that is my mind adding some dramatic flare to the memories of this day. In any event, I made my way back to the meeting room, and pressed the button on intercom, identifying myself to faceless person (or people) beyond the door. "Officer Smith here."
Instead of any answer over the intercom, the door clikced softly, and opened slowly towards me...
Saturday, January 22, 2005
Back in Action-Sort of...
Greetings again. I am glad to be back in my little apartment and to have a chance to renew my posting here in this blog.
I have had a very rough week. After the raid I described in my last post, we returned to our basecamp at an old firefighting campsite in the woods not too far from the actual location of the raid. Things seemed to be going OK at first, when I wrote that last post. However, all Hell broke loose when some of the prisoners who had been hurt in the action found a way to take some of the medical people and their guards captive in the makeshift MedTent. Unfortunately, things didn't go as smooth in taking back control of the situation, as they had in the raid. Abu Majid led the prisoners in taking the hostages, and somehow got ahold of a grenade while one of the others had gotten some sidearms.
The immediate reaction was to try to negotiate with Majid, but he was having none of that, he kept increasing his demands from freeing all of his people to outrageous sums of money and weapons, he knew that none of these demands could be granted. After several hours of a stand-off situation, I was tasked with leading the assault team. It was my assignment to find a way of getting to that grenade and neutralizing it at all costs.
My memories of the assault are actually less than clear, since I did succeed in getting to that grenade. When we rushed into the tent, we were immediately accompanied by a couple of extremely loud sonic blasts that were intended to throw the hostage takers off balance, our guys had been given special ear plugs and a warning of when it would come. The blasts did succeed in their stated goal, as Majid was holding the grenade when I burst through the door, but dropped it just as he was getting ready to throw it at me when the sonic blasts occurred. He recovered quickly enough to try to kick the grenade in my direction, but I was already leaping towards it as the SWAT members following behind me started sniping the terrorists still left standing after the blasts. I was able to scoop the grenade in my arms and fall down directly on top of it, like I had read about so many brave soldiers doing in WWII in order to save their comrades. Of course, I cannot accept any such accolades, since I would feel no pain, and would suffer few consequences, or so I thought.
The blast from the grenade did a significant amount of damage to my body, shredding much of the skin I had left, breaking a couple of bones in my chest, and severing a bunch of my neural pathways. Luckily my body was solid enough to absorb enough of the impact that my fellow officers were unharmed. The terrorists were quickly neutralized, and only one of the med techs had been killed (apparently in the initial hostage taking) and two officers slightly wounded.
After this second assault was over, I found I could not walk, and had very limited movement in my right arm. I had to be loaded onto a special stretcher, and flown back to Virginia for the repairs to be undertaken.
The majority of last week was spent in own special repair bay as the techs had to repair my severed neural pathways, patch on some replacement skin, and mend the broken bones. They also spent additional time reinforcing certain weaknesses from blast impacts, in the hope that I can be of even more use in explosive related cases. So the end result is that I am heavier and sturdier than I was before, since they have started the up-armoring process that will make it more difficult for stray bullets or fragments from explosions to damage my body.
Drake was in his glory when he came to see me, he told me receiving 'high honors' for implementing the program that created me, and has been given the green light to recruit, train, and 'raise' more officers like me. I think the government is really looking into whether or not the process that created me can be used to create a special cadre of elite troops to be used in places like Iraq.
Anyway, I have just returned home, and I am still getting used to balancing as I walk and move. I have been given the next week off, pending any crisis that arises, and intend to do some serious blogging over the next few days. I hope to be able to finish the story of how I came to be, and explore some of the issues that are of new importance to me. You will probably be seeing multiple posts a day this weekend, and more frequent entries during the next week.
Well, I need to think back that first meeting with Drake when he broke out some of the details of this program, and I will get into that later this evening.
I have had a very rough week. After the raid I described in my last post, we returned to our basecamp at an old firefighting campsite in the woods not too far from the actual location of the raid. Things seemed to be going OK at first, when I wrote that last post. However, all Hell broke loose when some of the prisoners who had been hurt in the action found a way to take some of the medical people and their guards captive in the makeshift MedTent. Unfortunately, things didn't go as smooth in taking back control of the situation, as they had in the raid. Abu Majid led the prisoners in taking the hostages, and somehow got ahold of a grenade while one of the others had gotten some sidearms.
The immediate reaction was to try to negotiate with Majid, but he was having none of that, he kept increasing his demands from freeing all of his people to outrageous sums of money and weapons, he knew that none of these demands could be granted. After several hours of a stand-off situation, I was tasked with leading the assault team. It was my assignment to find a way of getting to that grenade and neutralizing it at all costs.
My memories of the assault are actually less than clear, since I did succeed in getting to that grenade. When we rushed into the tent, we were immediately accompanied by a couple of extremely loud sonic blasts that were intended to throw the hostage takers off balance, our guys had been given special ear plugs and a warning of when it would come. The blasts did succeed in their stated goal, as Majid was holding the grenade when I burst through the door, but dropped it just as he was getting ready to throw it at me when the sonic blasts occurred. He recovered quickly enough to try to kick the grenade in my direction, but I was already leaping towards it as the SWAT members following behind me started sniping the terrorists still left standing after the blasts. I was able to scoop the grenade in my arms and fall down directly on top of it, like I had read about so many brave soldiers doing in WWII in order to save their comrades. Of course, I cannot accept any such accolades, since I would feel no pain, and would suffer few consequences, or so I thought.
The blast from the grenade did a significant amount of damage to my body, shredding much of the skin I had left, breaking a couple of bones in my chest, and severing a bunch of my neural pathways. Luckily my body was solid enough to absorb enough of the impact that my fellow officers were unharmed. The terrorists were quickly neutralized, and only one of the med techs had been killed (apparently in the initial hostage taking) and two officers slightly wounded.
After this second assault was over, I found I could not walk, and had very limited movement in my right arm. I had to be loaded onto a special stretcher, and flown back to Virginia for the repairs to be undertaken.
The majority of last week was spent in own special repair bay as the techs had to repair my severed neural pathways, patch on some replacement skin, and mend the broken bones. They also spent additional time reinforcing certain weaknesses from blast impacts, in the hope that I can be of even more use in explosive related cases. So the end result is that I am heavier and sturdier than I was before, since they have started the up-armoring process that will make it more difficult for stray bullets or fragments from explosions to damage my body.
Drake was in his glory when he came to see me, he told me receiving 'high honors' for implementing the program that created me, and has been given the green light to recruit, train, and 'raise' more officers like me. I think the government is really looking into whether or not the process that created me can be used to create a special cadre of elite troops to be used in places like Iraq.
Anyway, I have just returned home, and I am still getting used to balancing as I walk and move. I have been given the next week off, pending any crisis that arises, and intend to do some serious blogging over the next few days. I hope to be able to finish the story of how I came to be, and explore some of the issues that are of new importance to me. You will probably be seeing multiple posts a day this weekend, and more frequent entries during the next week.
Well, I need to think back that first meeting with Drake when he broke out some of the details of this program, and I will get into that later this evening.
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