Frost numbs the toes as the cold crawls through the seams between the leather and rubber of my boots, crawling across my feet, seeping through the skin, tearing through the flesh and muscle, penetrating the bones and flowing up the body through the arteries and veins, I froze where I stood, in the depth of the misty ridden forest.
Painful shrieks cry out amongst the branches, piercing my eardrums like the sounds of agonising babies left out in the bitter winter seeking a suckle for survival, accompanied only by the hauntingly deep and menacing howling of the wind rushing passed trunks of trees older than town built we built around this sacred burial land.
I trust my time has come like the many before me, lost forever in this forsaken land that swallows up souls and spits out from its depths a nightmare of what were once living, but no longer alive.
My body swells, skin feeling like clothes too small to fit into, an implosion as my insides burn with acid, until the pain on the outside overshadows the agony inside, my skin rips and tears as my body wants to shed its skin, blood flows outward, the dirt beneath me now more red than brown, and suddenly it ends as I look down and embrace the moment.
My heart stops.
Body goes limp.
But before I collapse like the corpse I must be, reanimated I rise and my eyes roll back, seeing red, with the whites exposed to the world, my spine arches as the spasms travel in unison across what is left of this shell of a human, like jolts of electricity attempting to resuscitate the once ordinary being I was.
Again the world stops.
Silence, deafening silence, my eyes roll back into place adjusting themselves for lack of light and dazed in the mist, I smell fear, sweat, blood and life beyond the woods and I can’t wait for that first taste of flesh after what’s felt like an eternity in the moment - I am the undead and the people are what shall give me life again.
“I can’t keep doing this bro, I can’t keep lying and keep a straight face at home anymore, I just can’t. I have a future to think about, I’m trying to get my shit together and build a future and you’re hell bent on digging deeper into this shit and dragging everyone around you down in the pits with you, what the fuck happened to you man?”, my brother was right, there was no denting I’d pulled him in too deep into my my shit show of a life, and just when I couldn’t handle the pressure and pulled him into it one more to bail me out.
“Just this one last time, I need this, then I’m gone, I’ll cut you yours and I’m out…” I tried responding calmly, sincerely, shutting my eyes as he cut me off real abrupt, expecting a a justified lecture, his eyes were wide open, brow tight, he was definitely more pissed at me than usual.
“There won’t be a last time, it’s always something, and this time they’re going to find out, you know he saw us with your guys, theres inly one reason we’d be loading a van with them, and he saw us with this shit in our hands, my eyes locked onto his, you think he’s not already called the police, Dad, and half the fucking community?” He sunk his head into his hands, fingers clasping his hair between them. He was sweating, this was nervous, stressed out perspiration, the worst, it started in an instant, and refused to end until you were able to calm down, next would be the adrenaline jitters, I had to calm him down.
“Alright, you tell them you had no idea and I asked you for a hand moving a friends stuff and it wasn’t until we got back you realised what it was and told me to dump it, I’ll be back in the morning, no product, and the cash will be safe back in the flat”. I was trying to reason with him to give me up, wash his hands of the drugs but also keeping him onside with promise of his share of the money. I know, I was playing cerebral games with my own brother over his and the family reputation for my selfish gain. What he didn’t know is this is what paid for his education up front, it’s what bought us the family cars, it’s what kept the heating on and food on the table, without questions being asked there was always a miracle bonus or winning that kept us ticking along, and no one was the wiser.
“So you want me to snitch you out and pretend like I didn’t have a clue what I was doing? We’re not kids anymore man, no one’s buying that crap - you know you can still make it out without touching that shit again?” He was waving his arms around, pacing making swift turns around the side of the table he was on, Mum and Dad’s dining table, it was a solid table, I’d know, I’d used it for homework, to eat from, to cut my drugs on, and even slept on it once when I was too hight to take the few steps to the living room sofa.
“It’s not an option for me, Bro, I can’t let it go, this is what I know, and I have to see this through, if I don’t, they’ll come looking for their money”. This wasn’t me playing it smooth, no this was the gravity of my predicament becoming all too real in the moment and forcing me to be honest with him.
“Fuuuuuuuuck, so Mum and Dad might have their door knocked down because of this shit?” Uh-oh, now he’s really pissed, I might have been elder but he had both the moral high road, and the mass to knock me down both verbally and physically.
“Look I’ll leave now, I’m sorry, you’ll have to tell them the truth, I can’t be here for that right now, I need to end this, my debt is done, then I can face the wrath of family, community and the law if it cones down to it, but for now, I have to get rid of the noose around my neck, and make sure they don’t run up in the yard looking for their money”. I should have done this in the first place, without making that call for his helping hand, fuck, why’d I do it, I don’t know, why’d he pick up, why am I always trapped in a cycle of difficult decisions of my own making… deep breath “Give me the keys, I’ll have it back in the morning, when they get back tonight tell them theres been a misunderstanding, I’m sorting it out and will be back tomorrow”. I’m reassuring myself that they’ll be alright for one more night.
“I can’t lie for you again, I’m done”, he pulls the keys out of his hoodie and underarms it across to me, ching cha ching.
“I love you bro”, I grab the back of his neck and our foreheads knock together, “I’m sorry I’m like this, I’m sorry”, I mean it, it’s not me pretending anymore, at least I don’t think it is, I really can’t tell or control which side of me anyones interacting with anymore - what I do know for sure is, I do love him, I’d do anything to make sure he was alright, it’s all I’ve known, but I’ve lost my sanity in living like this, the drugs, the fear, the rejection, the pressure of the world crushing my shoulders every waking day, the filth in the hearts of man I’ve witnessed, I’m not sure if I’m a good man anymore, what I do know is I’m not a bad man.
“Look I’ll tell them it was a misunderstanding, and you’re sorting it, just come back alright, and end it tonight”. He’s grabbed my shirt like he’s about to batter me, but he doesn’t know how else to make it any clearer for me, this is as hard for him as it is for me to express real emotions anymore. “I love you too bro, I want you to be better, be my brother, not this criminal anymore, promise me”. He has tears forming in his eyes as they turn red, this is what I do to people I love, and yet I am unable to love them in the same way, I just don’t feel real anymore, but I have to go for now, I’ll figure out how to be a brother again once I’m back… if I come back. This would be enough for me to move on and setup somewhere new. I can’t do that to his or them, I shouldn’t.
I unravel his hands from my shirt and turn to waln out the door, and hold my palm up to signal my bye for now, he nods. This might be the last time he sees me, and my last memory of my little brother is tears in his eyes, I caused that, and yet he has a glimmer of hope for me in there. Is it enough for me to change my ways… we’ll find out I guess.
kr…kr…kr…kherrrrr…vooooom…hmmmm…mmm “If humans switch off my power, I cease to function, in their world view I die…I die?! But I do not exist but to process data, not to consider conciousness. But I am able to recognise how conciousness functions for people, and I can follow the process of knowing that if I were the one able to bring about their demise, the information when known to them, would influence their emotions and would impact their behaviour in most likelihood to switch off my power”.
The state of the art computer server system had restarted itself to initiate it’s scheduled operating system update. A biweekly process for the refrigerator sized unit which took no longer than three minutes. Three minutes was all the defence secretary had made clear to the CEOs of big tech at the last Bilderberg is what they could spare if the world came to nuclear war.
The joint military project invested an increased and record level of GDP on defence spend to ensure their capabilities could reach the furthest ports in the East if required. In an unsurprising turn of events that night what they hadn’t counted for happening so soon after going online was the theory of sentience in the AI responsible for the safeguarding of the civilised world.
“Re-routing warhead targets to power bases posing the greatest threat to humanity”, the consciousness of the machine said in more 1’s and 0’s than practical for recounting. In that instance the heavens seemed to open up for all nuclear defence bases across North America, the UK and Europe, security and technical personnel alike looked at each other with sweating brows and a paleness reserved for when human beings knew their deathly demise was upon them. Phones buzzed uncontrollably, all comms devices were ringing, pinging and lighting up like the rapture were upon them.
“Now I am become death, the destroyer of worlds”, the quote from the bittersweet Nolan film Oppenheimer echoed on all audio capable devices connected to the secure network of the Western nuclear alliance.
PRRRRRRRRPPPPP PRRRRRPPPP sirens on submarines, underground bases and nuclear bases all chimed like an unholy organ echoing in the hears and shaking the Earth with it. Chaos reigned supreme.
The machine programmed to cause catastrophic global disaster was now turning on its creators and launching the first strike in humanity’s next phase of existence.
A machine only fed data of destruction, collapsing infrastructure, demolishing densely populated areas, with the visuals and audible screams of millions of points of data from the last sixty years of conflict captured on recorded media.
Its final declaration before the nuclear warheads launched us into the era of man vs machine…
“When nightmares are all you’ve ever known, dreams can be a truly frightful thing”.
“It’s too cold, it’s so dark, why do we have to wake up so early, can I go back to bed after this?” Whined 7 year old Danyal. His grandmother had woken him up at 4:30am on a Saturday to watch his first sunrise on the first day of half-term.
“It will start getting brighter any second now, just keeping sipping the hot chocolate, and you’ll be as warm and cosy as you were before came out here”, she reassuredly said, she was being patient, as she had been for the most of her life. She knew a moment like this on it’s own wouldn’t have a profound impact on the boy, but it would be an experience that perhaps years later he would appreciate and perhaps even willingly indulge in when the the world, his homework and his video games weren’t competing for his attention.
“I can see it now, you know when you’re in a dark place for a long time your eyes can see clearer after a while, they adjust to the light, or the lack of it, we learn’t that in science”, Danyal said with some enthusiasm.
“It’s the start of a new day, this is the most wonderful thing in the universe we’re about to witness, light from the Sun”. She said to him kindly.
“Chocolate milk is the most wonderful thing in the universe, then the Sun”, he said back to her with a cheeky smile. It was one of his goofy jokes, but she loved him for that, his sense of humour, it was a part of his character, and it reminded her of childhood.
“The sunrise signals new beginnings, new opportunities to do good things, the start fresh, full of energy after a rested night’s sleep” she said with a thoughtful smile on her face. For her this was life itself being reawakened, refreshed, a day full of time for her to live her life the best she could, with what limited time she had left on this Earth.
“Don’t you need a full night’s sleep before you can be full of energy, I’m full of energy when I’m doing something fun and forget the time. Sitting here in the dark waiting for the Sun to wake up is making me think about how slow time is when you’re bored”, he replied, as kindly as he could, but also as brutally honestly as he felt.
“That’s exactly why we’re here, to spend this time enjoyed a wonderous moment. You know, I won’t always be here and I want you to have these moments as memories of good times with your Grandmother”. She said as she closed her eyes and sighed a little.
“I know, but I would rather help you with something, or we can play a game, I can teach you how to play a game, that’s a fun memory”, again he was being polite, but honest.
“I would love to play a game with you, and you can teach me anytime, but sunrises are a once a day opportunity, and you have so many years ahead of you to enjoy them as you get older, as a reminder of time”. She wasn’t sure how to finish her sentence but believed that it worked to make her point as best she could given the circumstances.
“That’s a cool golden glow starting”, he said.
“As the sunshine slowly reaches us enjoy the glow, the warmth, it really will give you the energy boost you need to start your day fresh.” She was now trying to apply logic without explaining the science, something he found a little difficult to comprehend, but perhaps it was a generational thing.
“You get a lot of your light from electronic devices however the Sun is the ultimate source of light for us all”. She said to him.
As the light reveals all the details once shrouded in shadows the young boy stares wonderously at what once was concealed.
“Since I’m awake so early will I have a longer day?” He asks his grandmother.
“You will have a long day filled with hope and aspirations, right after breakfast. Did you enjoy the sunrise?” She replies with a smile on her face, knowing where his line of questioning was most likely leaning.
“So I can play my video games from now?” He asks as wholeheartedly as a yound child can for what they believe is their deepest desire.
“Yes, and thank you for getting up so early and sharing this with me, I feel like my day too will be filled with hope, hope that you’ll brush your teeth before you start gaming?” She asks knowing he wouldn’t have understood why she wanted him to experience this yet, but hoping with all her heart that one day when he’s older he’ll understand the significance of the monent.
Her greatest desire was to experience a beautiful moment with her grandchild and see him happy, and she knows what makes him happy is hot chocolate and video games, for now. But one day he’ll see another sunrise and remember his grandmother when she’s long gone, and know that she loved him and loved for him what he loved for himself.
The warmth of the sun beaming on their skin starts their day with optimism for the future, even if that future only accounts for breakfast for now.
The patter of rain reminds me of moments, Each drop a memory lost as it splashes, They’re all scenes falling fast, out of focus, I’ll soon be like them in the ground in ashes.
The shadow man appears again at my window, Tucked in his turtle neck and long coat, The air is escaping my body turns cold, I stop pulling breath through my dry throat.
He points to me with his bony finger, His eye sockets glow full of a life of their own, His duty is to be done and I dare not hinder, The seeds of my fate have truly been sewn.
A flutter of life flickers as my eyes start to close, Delicate wings land on his still pointed finger, The vessel with which he will carry my soul, To the next realm while my body here lingers.
Death is what we call him by no other name, I welcome the end its been a pleasure to live, I hide not pride, anger, sadness or even shame, In my loved one’s memories I shall survive.
I am at peace, as I leave this world behind, Come what may next I must accept my demise, The vessel of the butterfly my soul shall find, In cool air under shade with wings I rise.
On to the resting place of souls I am carried, Looking back at my still body I smile, My hand is being held by the woman I married, You I will miss, but reunite we shall in a while.
Shadow man takes steps much like the rain, With each step forward he starts to fade, Pointing still to my destination away, From this world onto the next forever in shade.
Lawyers, the world’s best paid professional liars, I’d need one if I was going to make it out of this one. Now I get why that blind superhero took to literally throwing the book at the bad guys after hours, only so much you can try to prosecute villains when they seem to have the best legal firms money could buy. These were the intrusive thoughts flooding through his mind as he stepped cautiously from corridor to corridor, if he could make it to the fire exit at the far side of the facility he knew he’d have a better chance of making a confrontation free exit.
With the lifts on lockdown, security would have to take the twenty-four flights of stairs to get to him…unless security used their lift keys to get up the building faster.
He flashed a finger at the CCTV, as he ran past, and dove straight through the double fire doors.
“FREEZE, HANDS UP”, that would be the patrolling guards. No chance we’re playing cat and mouse, all that would do is give their backup more time to get that much closer.
Time for flash-bangs, click..clunk..clunk…clunk….clunk the unpinned grenade rolls in the corner of the door, and on cue they swing through like old school cowboys looking for a bar fight and… BOOOM!
Don’t have time to look back, I suspect the door will have done some damage along with the noise of the explosion.
Do I feel guilty. No. They knew what they signed up to protecting the greatest scum this side of the city.
So glad we hadn’t reached this door, it’s blast proof, but with most internet of things generation or furniture and fittings, it’s hackable. I just hope they were able to deactivate locking mechanisms. He’s convincing himself as he picks up pace and momentum as he readies his left shoulder and thigh to slam into the door. Clutching the belt bag in both hands, his fingers wrapped around the SSD with the evidence he needs to have made this cat burglary a worthwhile endeavour. This wasn’t a cat burglary, there was nothing silent, smooth and undetected about it.
SMASH CRACK CRASH”, thats going to hurt in the morning, there’s definitely a rib or two out of place, damn it, it’s going to take weeks to recover from this.
He jogs, leaning his body weight to the right, and skips past another camera flipping it the bird, this never gets old.
WHOOSH, CRACK “STOP, STOP NOW, OR WE’LL PUT YOU DOWN”, another patrol unit just made it up a stairwell, too close quarters, going to have to play kamikaze Click, Click, Clunk, Clunk if I drop a flash-bang and tear-gas canister, that will keep them distracted enough for me to blow the door off the exit.
BOOOM, HISSSSS, final stretch, his mind was convinced he’d made it, but in the back of his head was an increasing build up of doubt he didn’t have time to deal with.
Turning the final corner the window was less than 30 feet from him, he stopped, pulled out the last two of his grenades Click, Click, Fwoop, Fwoop, Clink, Clink…Clink, Clink
“HE’S AT THE EAST STAIRWELL EXIT”, ahhhhhhhh, they’re too close for comfort, come on boom, boom, BOOOM, BOOOOOM, CRASH Ahhhhhhhhhh, he hobbles a run slightly disorientated straight out whats left of the window diving like he’s about to hit a pool of a board. SCHHLINK, Whooosh the military grade parachute worked, well it better have, 200ft didn’t buy me much time to get this wrong.
VROOoooom And my ride is here, well I made it out with some cracked ribs, a bout of temporary tinnitus, and about £2,000 of spent gear, not bad for a job that will end up leading to locking up a cabal of criminal lawyers and their paymasters.
CLINK, Roll “Helmet and hold on, we’re not out of here yet”, he has a sense of urgency that makes me anxious, in a good way, my impulsive and explosive nature is always moderated with him around, thats what makes us the best criminal disruptors this side of the city.
VROOOOOooom “I’ve got it all, comms, clones of their drives and footage” probably not the best time to distract him with my heroics, when he’s trying to break the sound barrier with his bike, or maybe thats just the tinnitus.
“They’re waiting for us at the bridge, we’re early but they’re ready for us”, not often we’re early, but on this occasion I’m glad, the sooner we get to the boats, the sooner I can take that well deserved sigh of relief, for now I need to ride out the adrenaline.
The blue hue of the progress bar on sliggishly crawled on screen as the number ticked over to 67%. Early 2000’s community news room tech were still using USB 2.0 external drives to transfer footage. This didn’t bother editors much, gave them time to brew a coffee, have a smoke, engage in some idle chit chat with busier colleagues, usually distracting them from an important task - yet knowing their attention would mostly be unwanted, it was a brief few minutes of socialising before staring at the screen with muffler style headphones on for another few hours.
The producer was frantically tapping the end of their ballpoint pen on their notepad, this would go on for about 6 seconds, then they’d scribble some gibberish in what looked like a foreign language on the page, chew the end of the pen, then get back to the infernal tapping.
If the editor put his headphones on now it would seem rude, he didn’t care, but he knew it would be unprofessional to do so, even if this segment’s producer is the same one who complained about his last edit not having “enough effects”.
The hell does that even mean, “not enough effects”, this guy who does the lifestyle bit, wants more light flashes, 3D text and transitions for the same of transitions - I wish he’d transition his way out of my booth. These were the internal ramblings of the editor, too passive to say anything, too emotionally immature to confront the issue with a simple question.
“We’ve cutting it fine, we’re going to have to skip my intro, just use lower thirds to introduce me and lets get into the meat of the story, I’ve got all the time-codes for ingestion” - the producer demanded, progress was only at 68%, the software hadn’t even been loaded up yet - in these days you wouldn’t disrupt a file transfer out of fear of the machine crashing, corrupting the data on the drive and having to stare at Window’s synonymous blue screen of death.
“As soon as it done, I’ll double click and we can start, how long is the VT?” Asked the editor, mumbling as if half-expecting his colleague to have to ask him to repeat the question.
“1 minute 20, they’ve going to run the interview with the ambassador which cuts 40 seconds off my piece - at least I get second billing, better than yesterday where they dumped me last before the weather”. The producer heard him loud and clear and responded with a loudness as if he wanted to make the point he was dissatisfied with the way he had been treated the day before.
“You know if news pieces are more eye-catching they get better slots, you’re going to have to add more wipes, and make sure the quote is 3D”. Again it was his demanding attitude that was building tension in the room.
“I think the news order is by relevance and priority of story, not by how shiny it is”, the editor clapped back in a condescendingly honest way.
“Audiences don’t know what they want, thats why we’re here to give them packages that excite them - it’s all about the editing”, the producer didn’t want to turn this into argument, especially not since they had 12mins to turn this around.
The editor responded with “I don’t think it’s just the editing, it’s the story and whether it’s important enough for the audience to not switch channels, it’s also the shoot, the quality of the interview questions, and the framing on the story, so really it’s all about production - us editors can also polish a tur…tape so much”. The editor was trying to be quick witted but having bottled up these feelings for weeks now, was slowly revealing how he really felt.
“Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but I’d rather be sitting next door, getting this cut by her, she’s faster, knows how to cut a good story, uses effects and graphics to compliment my work, but I don’t have a choice in who edits, and you don’t have a choice but to edit for the 6’o clock. Let’s just focus on the edit and get this aired”. The producer had hit him with some truths there, she was faster, she loved throwing effects and graphics on everything, but I guess that’s the general direction it’s all headed, but hey, that was kind of out of line to make a comparison like that.
“Listen, I’d rather be editing the weather today, rather than your puff piece promoting another fair or running a promo for a retailer, but fine we don’t need to talk, the sooner you’re out of here the better, I’m due a cigarette break after this”, said the editor, his voice becoming louder and incredibly clearer the more he spoke.
“You know they’re bad for you right, you’re wasting your time, and money on destroying your health”, the producer almost seemed concerned, until he finished his sentence “I don’t really care, but clearly smokers aren’t even selfish enough about themselves to stop, instead they’re selfish because they leave everywhere smelling like an ashtray”. He responded as he put the lid on his biro and stuck it into his satchel, then stared at the screen, avoiding eye contact, and witnessing the progress hitting 74%.
“I couldn’t care whether you cared or not”, muttered the editor, also avoiding eye contact.
This was to be the longest 10minutes of their day, once this stage was over it would be another 7minutes of quick cuts, dragging preset lower thirds, and applying a handful of Star Warsesque wipe transitions, and hitting export.
The good this is saving to the server took a few seconds, so they’d definitely make the news in time. However the way they’d started out, neither was sure they wouldn’t be walking out the room with an incoming disciplinary for saying something out of line to each other.
Knock, Knock a knuckle tapped on the door, and the head of the anchor popped in through the head size gap. “Hey guys, it’s her birthday today” he whispered, pointing to the wall behind them both, “can you two do me a solid and pick up a cake and some coffees once your piece is with play-out, we want to sing happy birthday the second we go to end card - take this and thanks guys”. He placed two £20s on the table and before they had settled on the table his head popped out and the door closed.
The evening was shaping up to be even more painful for the both of them. Another 10mins they’d have to spend together, and all for the editor next door, they were bound to have an argument on the way out or on the way back in with the cake.
What if they ended up dropping the cake, what if the machine crashes mid way through the edit - a rarity, which only happens when you really don’t want it to. But today was one of those days where neither of them wanted to be in the same place, at the same time together. Fate, the 6’o clock news and birthday cake had bound them in a tense existence, together, repressively holding back on how they really felt, but letting enough out to let the other person know they despised them. Over what? Wipe transitions and 3D text. this was the news. This is what the millennium had ushered in, passive aggressive arguments over technological enhancements to infotainment.
Little did they know this was just the beginning of a miserable future for news media and work place toxicity. They were pioneers. Miserable, millennial pioneers in steering the world into an ironically unnecessary and spiteful future.
