Sep 18, 2010

Short Story: The Spire (Part 2)

                Stacy grabbed the rusted tin can that held her food and her drink in one simple mixture. She used the edge of her sweater to clean the rim and drank from the thick mush inside. While the make shift stew would eventually fill her stomach, right now all it did was give her a severe case of dry mouth. She wasn’t even sure of the meal’s contents.
                The line moved along as she departed, trying to find a place on the dirt floor to sit. The Spire had its own special pecking order, and Stacy didn’t fit into any particular social group, but didn’t mind. She enjoyed her ‘privacy’ when she wasn’t being used by Solider or Leaper, even if it was only for a few sparse hours a day. As soon as she finished her mush she would be forced into her cell, her own special version of hell, and have adrenaline forced into her body while her brain was poked and prodded for processing power. As soon as the assimilation process began her privacy went out the window. Everyone assimilated shared every thought, emotion and memory. That is why escape was completely impossible. Unless it was an act of complete spontaneity, you would be killed during the assimilation process. And if you did have the guts to try something unplanned? Solider would issue a single order and you would be blown to pieces by one of his many bodies watching the perimeter.
                That is why Stacy enjoyed the mush. It was better than being a crater. Her ‘co-workers’ hated her for it. They never acted their thoughts, but they all hated their situation except for Stacy, so that made her the black sheep. Stacy tried to remain optimistic given the situation. After all, mush was better than no mush.
                She took a drink as the green light over head turned on.
                Back to work.
                Everyone sighed and dropped their deteriorating tin cans onto the dirt encrusted floor for the next group of assimilators to fight over. The two doors opened with a woosh as another group of assimilated came through the entrance and Stacy and her group made their way towards the exit. As she was leaving she turned towards the entrance to be greeted by all new faces.
                The second group of assimilators looked as wretched and pathetic as Stacy’s group. There was something off about this group though. There were a small group in the back looked a bit out of place. Their clothes were different. Their clothes were cleaner than anything Stacy had seen since the “Day of Enlightenment”. Sure the clothes were still ragged and worn out, but they had a certain sheen to them.
                Who are they?
                Solider walked up to Stacy and nudged her towards the exit with the butt of his plasma rifle. She turned quickly after locking eyes with a boy in the ‘clean’ group. Based on the way the others in the group looked at him he was the de facto leader. Solider nudged her again with more force than the last as the mech’s grip tightened on the rifle, looking as if it was preparing to end her right there.
                She moved along and got to her cell, the needles entering her veins. The ice of the adrenaline crept through her veins as she could feel the precut flaps of skin on her neck move, the needle plunging into her muscle. As she could feel the assimilation taking control, her mind was one thing. Those piercing blue eyes.