IV. 1. "Who?"
If you're wondering why I'm suddenly starting a new document, It's because having all the goings on of PLN together gets far too complicated.PLN, It would seem, does not need to be one large book, but rather a series of stories. This is, after all, how we play it.
Who? (Jazzer Blog - UVdiarys 24/08/05)
The last thing I remember was… No, I can’t even remember that. Where the hell am I?
Forget that — who the hell am I?
I awake to silence. There is a foul smell hanging in the air for which I have no words to describe. I look around and can see I’m surrounded by huge towering lines of neatly stacked crates that go on forever. I have no idea how big this place is but even through the haze of my dulled senses I soon realise that down here at the bottom of the stack it’s cold and dark and stinks like hell. The labels on the crate near me read ‘Cold Fun! (Do Not Heat, Radiate, Shake or Mix with Food Supplement #334!’ I make a mental note never to touch the stuff, whatever it is.
By all account I’ve been lying on the ground with nothing to cushion me against the cold concrete floor. As I slowly pick myself up my joints and muscles ache in protest at being awoken. It feels like I’ve been given use of someone else’s second-hand body and so far at least, it is rejecting me. I try to shake out the numbing cold but to little effect.
I walk around the place for some time, calling out for someone to help me. No reply. I find a small patch of illuminated floor and examine myself. I’m wearing a red t-shirt, red trousers, red belt, red socks and red shoes. Whoever I was, I had a rather monomaniacal attitude to clothes, I think to myself. Then I realise something else – I have a beard. I wonder to myself if it too is red.
Apart from my singularly red garb all I have on me is this diary. This is of little help since someone has ripped out all the preceding pages. It’s clear that whoever is responsible certainly doesn’t believe in making things easy for me.
Suddenly the stomach cramps hit me. At first I think it’s the just the smell of that Cold Fun but then I realise its hunger that’s tugging on my insides. As I stand doubled up like a grotesque statue a single question creeps into my head. How long was I unconscious? My mind retreats from the pain with more questions, none of which I can answer. The piercing cold and the stomach ache soon bring me back.
I scuttle around the unforgiving floor, trying to ignore the pain in my belly, looking for a loose tin or packet of food. I find nothing. I take to my feet and look for a pile of crates short enough to allow me access to its uppermost member. I search and search but each pile stretches far into the heights above, way beyond my reach.
There seems to be no end to the enormous rows of crates and the intervening corridors of empty space. Frustration and anger take their place next to fear and hunger as each and every stack seems to be taller than the last. My tired limbs fight with my nagging belly and eventually win the argument. For a while at least, I give up the hunt for food. Turning into yet another empty corridor I take a seat on the lone crate resting before me. I look up and silently curse the inhuman scale of this place. Then I look down at the crate I’m sitting upon. That my reactions appear so slow to realise the fact of this crate comes as a grim reminder of my delicate constitution.
I stand up and test the lid. It’s stuck fast. Dimly aware of the dire warnings I’d read earlier I’m nevertheless determined to open the crate. I decide I have little option but to smash the blasted thing against the floor as hard as I can. The violent noise fills the place with strange echoes.
After considerable effort the crate gives in and finally surrenders its contents. In front of me is a small mound of what I desperately hope are some kind of food container. On closer inspection they appear to be small black plastic trays, square, with a thin tear-away seal on top. On the front of is each is printed the name Cold Fun in large red type.
Cold. Fun. I read the name over and over. It provokes no memories. I run my fingers over the bold type. It comes as a shock when it occurs to me that, here and now, Cold Fun is the only name I hold in my mind.
I tear open a packet. Within the flimsy tray sits an ominous slab of colourless gummy paste. I prod it with my finger. I watch as the goop takes several seconds to repair the dimple I’ve just made in it. I rotate the tray in my hands and watch as the contents refuses to react. The rotten smell begins to penetrate my nose and a cold sweat comes over me. I try not to heave.
I pinch my nose with one hand and gingerly tilt the tray towards my mouth with the other. After nearly a minute the foul-smelling Cold Fun finally slides out of its container and past my trembling lips, apparently as unhappy about this encounter as I am. The reluctant food slowly makes its way into my mouth. To my considerable surprise I find it devoid of all character. There is no discernable texture or flavour. It is neither chunky nor smooth. It fills my stomach but offers absolutely no sense of satisfaction or refreshment. I wonder to myself, how can something so bland smell so bad?
The hunger pains retreat. I finish the Cold Fun and stuff my pockets with a couple more packets. I rest awhile on the crate. My stomach begins to work on the food and my body warms slightly as the muscles relax. I gaze at the broken crate and the mess of Cold Fun packets across the floor. I look ahead into the blank corridor between the rows of crates.
My body’s demands have been partly satisfied, for now, but my mind is as restless as ever.
I know it is time to move on.
I stand up and walk down the blank corridor. Minutes pass and I wonder if this place will ever come to an end. I try suppressing the fear that rises in my chest. Then I realise that I have plenty to fear. I don’t know where I am, who I am or what is waiting for me beyond this place. Then, as if out of nowhere, I can see that I’m approaching a wall. And a door! I hurry to finish this diary entry before I leave this place. I hope that somehow it will help unlock this mystery I find myself in.
Voices! I can hear voices outside beyond the wall. People talking. And machines. Machines talking. I feel a mixture of fear and elation! Are these people, these machines, my friends? Or my enemies? My lifeless memory offers up no clues. One voice in particular stands out. It sounds neither human nor metallic. It has a strange calm to it. It is asking a question. Over again, it is asking the same question.
Are you happy, citizen?
*(25/08) Jazzer In Red Quarters, (53.11)
Jazer wanders into the RED quarters, still wearing a RED uniform.
"Hello? Where the hell is everybody? I know I heard someone around here."
Glad to see some bunks, as the Cold Fun he ate earlier is making him feel sick, he lies down on the first bunk he can find and quickly falls into a deep sleep.
(27/08)
Silent walks in and sees jazzer lying on the bunk.
Great, I want to go to HPD&MC, to I don't know...WORK, and where I end up? The RED Bunks. Shessh. Hey, who's that?
He's wearing a RED suit, has a bread on, and looks somewhat cubby...
Oh My Computer...
It's Santa-R-CLS! Ah, I remember the days in the clone creche when I used to sit on his lap and tell him of all the stuff I want for on Christmascycle. I also remember the songs that used to be sung about him. "He knows when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake. He knows if you've been treasonous or loyal, so be loyal for goodness sake!" They say he didn't exist, a mere Junior Citizen tale made up by HPD&MC. But they were wrong. Santa-R does exist, and is sleeping here. He must be sleeping to prepare himself for the day when he deliver presents. He might be delivering them today...
I should show this to everyone! Now people will no longer call me an idiot for believing in Santa-R-CLS!
He takes out his PDC and takes a picture.
Now to let everyone know...
"HEY EVERYONE! SANTA-R IS HERE!"
Jazzer is awoken from his slumber by Silent's hysterics. He looks at Silent for a moment through bleary eyes.
"What did you say my name was?"
Aratos-O wanders in.
"ah! People who aren't working! I don't suppsoe there's anyone here wants to assist in moving some cleaning equipment from R&D to Power Services? We've got thise rather nasty gunk spillage y'see."
Another ORANGE, Doublethink, volunteer to help, donning a red uniform to keep his ORANGE one fresh. Someones PDC rings, and a clone rushes out.
"Er, hi. Um, I'll help you. If you tell me where I am and what's going on around here. My name's... Santa-R-CLS?"
"Santa-R-CLS?" Aratos bursts into tears of laughter, "well, uh, this is the Red clearence dormitary, and I'm supposed to be getting recruitments to move some totally not dangerous chemicals to Power Services in order to clean the floor. Apart from that, I'm not really sure what's going on around here. Ive not been anywhere near the dormitaries for a while you see. In fact I don't thnk I've ever been to the dormitaries before now-"
"Are you ready, or do we need more people?" Doublethink asks Aratos.
"Wha? Oh yeah, sure. Off to R&D then!" Aratos turns and heads off, followed by Doublethink, while Silent turns to 'Sant-R.'
"Santa, you're awake? Sorry if I distrubted you. I was just so excited. Nice to meet you, Santa. My name is Silent-O-PLN. You look a little hurt, maybe some Commies might have attacked you.
"I suppose you want me to tell you who you are. I know you know who you are, but you ask me to tell you, so therefore, I will.
"You are Santa-R-CLS, a person who deliver toys to good little Junior Citizens every yearcycle, and coal to bad little Junior Citizens every yearcycle. Actually, you give gifts to everyone that believe in you. I believe in you. I've been a good little clone. I believe in you, and not the lies spread by commie mutant traitors that you don't exist. You do exist.
"If you want, I can help you out. I suppose delievering presents is hard work. If so, can you fufill my wish list? I ask for only some small items of interest for this year."
The Picky Savebot peeks out from underneath some blankets,
"Is he gone? Aww, he never came to look for me. I need another citizen to save credits for," it scans the room and spots Jazzer, "What a grubby jumpsuit and beard! He looks like he has no credits at all. Which means I won't have to carry anything. He'll do!"
The savebot jumps down from the bunk, waddles along the floor over to Jazzer, and leaps into his lap.
"Greetings citizen! I am a savebot. Feel free to deposit any plasticreds that you never wish to see again in me."
More clones enter and lie down, some to fall asleep, some to talk. Jazzer stares at the savebot sitting in his lap, at Silent and at a person sleeping with one eye open.
"I... Erm... Listen...
Where am I?!"
(31/08)
The sleeper with one eye open startles awake.
"What the..!"
He yawns and rubs the sleep out of his eyes.
"Citizen, You are in the red dormitories, subsector LVQ, sector PLN, in the Alpha Complex. Please keep it down. Clones are trying to sleep in here," he grumbles, and heads off to work.
Athatar walks in.
"Just got reports that Santa-R has been found. Well done Silent!! We've been traking this unregerstered mutie for YEARS!!" He looks down at his PDC, "Ok Mr Santa, because of all your good works keeping JS loyal i have decided to not terminate you. Instead you will be regerested with the "SlowTimeDownation" mutation. We have all the proof we need. How else could you deilver all those FC approved JS fun Stuff in one nightcycle??" He hands over a Yellow Band.
"Make sure this is seen at all times. And Silent, Heres your reward!" He offers Silent 100 credits.
(01/09)
Sant-R takes yellow band and runs it through his hands, as if trying to remember something, at this time a fresh faces RED, Quend-R-LON, enters.
"Have I always been, what is it, a mutie?"
"Most likely. There are records here for you going back years"
"Is that bad?"
"Well Santa-R, Normaly it WOULD be bad. Thankfully for you we at RMHP have taken into account your great work keeping Junior Citzens Loyal until they are released into the general public. Without you and your loyalty presents this guy here," Heslaps hand onto Quend-R-LON-1's shoulder, "may have become a Commie Mutant Trator. Now, Loyalty Day is in 4 monthcycles so we are putting you in probation until then. If you do your job well, then you may not be Erased.
"Agreed?"
Quend looks up, "Ow! Huh? Oh... yeah, Loyalty Presents! I love those. Last year, I got a twelve-pack of Kelpberry-OatCrunch Hot Fun, and a BouncySpring!! Yeah, that was the best year ever for Loyalty Presents. But I bet this year will be even better!"
Athatar walks in... agani
"Ok, i got a report of a Santa-R sighting"
He spots Athatar.
"Oh, you got here first." He looks a bit dejected, and the first Athatar looks over.
"Sorry mate, you get the next one ok?"
"I suppose so," the Athatar walks out again.
"Wow, there's two of you! Are you guys from the same creche? Or, no, wait, you're a mutant, right? You got the stripe, darn, shoulda noticed the stripe. That's a pretty funky power, making copies of yourself. I never heard of that before... Oh, and could you please take your hand off my shoulder, sir? I don't wanna catch the mutie cooties. No offense meant."
Athatars PDC beeps. He reads the message, logs it, and leaves it for his double. He grins at Quend-R-LON, "Don't you worry Q, you see plenty of mutants soon. Too soon!!!" He starts laughing evily, then coughs when he sees everyone staring at him.
Athatar lets go of Quend's shoulder.
Jazzer takes a long hard look at the apparently insane people around him and, wearing a guarded smile, slides slowly off the bunk.
"Erm. I think I'll take a walk," he smiles back at the loonies, "see you."
He exits the room as briskly as possible, wearing the yellow band. (page 56.02)
Who? (Jazzer Blog - UVdiarys 24/08/05)
The last thing I remember was… No, I can’t even remember that. Where the hell am I?
Forget that — who the hell am I?
I awake to silence. There is a foul smell hanging in the air for which I have no words to describe. I look around and can see I’m surrounded by huge towering lines of neatly stacked crates that go on forever. I have no idea how big this place is but even through the haze of my dulled senses I soon realise that down here at the bottom of the stack it’s cold and dark and stinks like hell. The labels on the crate near me read ‘Cold Fun! (Do Not Heat, Radiate, Shake or Mix with Food Supplement #334!’ I make a mental note never to touch the stuff, whatever it is.
By all account I’ve been lying on the ground with nothing to cushion me against the cold concrete floor. As I slowly pick myself up my joints and muscles ache in protest at being awoken. It feels like I’ve been given use of someone else’s second-hand body and so far at least, it is rejecting me. I try to shake out the numbing cold but to little effect.
I walk around the place for some time, calling out for someone to help me. No reply. I find a small patch of illuminated floor and examine myself. I’m wearing a red t-shirt, red trousers, red belt, red socks and red shoes. Whoever I was, I had a rather monomaniacal attitude to clothes, I think to myself. Then I realise something else – I have a beard. I wonder to myself if it too is red.
Apart from my singularly red garb all I have on me is this diary. This is of little help since someone has ripped out all the preceding pages. It’s clear that whoever is responsible certainly doesn’t believe in making things easy for me.
Suddenly the stomach cramps hit me. At first I think it’s the just the smell of that Cold Fun but then I realise its hunger that’s tugging on my insides. As I stand doubled up like a grotesque statue a single question creeps into my head. How long was I unconscious? My mind retreats from the pain with more questions, none of which I can answer. The piercing cold and the stomach ache soon bring me back.
I scuttle around the unforgiving floor, trying to ignore the pain in my belly, looking for a loose tin or packet of food. I find nothing. I take to my feet and look for a pile of crates short enough to allow me access to its uppermost member. I search and search but each pile stretches far into the heights above, way beyond my reach.
There seems to be no end to the enormous rows of crates and the intervening corridors of empty space. Frustration and anger take their place next to fear and hunger as each and every stack seems to be taller than the last. My tired limbs fight with my nagging belly and eventually win the argument. For a while at least, I give up the hunt for food. Turning into yet another empty corridor I take a seat on the lone crate resting before me. I look up and silently curse the inhuman scale of this place. Then I look down at the crate I’m sitting upon. That my reactions appear so slow to realise the fact of this crate comes as a grim reminder of my delicate constitution.
I stand up and test the lid. It’s stuck fast. Dimly aware of the dire warnings I’d read earlier I’m nevertheless determined to open the crate. I decide I have little option but to smash the blasted thing against the floor as hard as I can. The violent noise fills the place with strange echoes.
After considerable effort the crate gives in and finally surrenders its contents. In front of me is a small mound of what I desperately hope are some kind of food container. On closer inspection they appear to be small black plastic trays, square, with a thin tear-away seal on top. On the front of is each is printed the name Cold Fun in large red type.
Cold. Fun. I read the name over and over. It provokes no memories. I run my fingers over the bold type. It comes as a shock when it occurs to me that, here and now, Cold Fun is the only name I hold in my mind.
I tear open a packet. Within the flimsy tray sits an ominous slab of colourless gummy paste. I prod it with my finger. I watch as the goop takes several seconds to repair the dimple I’ve just made in it. I rotate the tray in my hands and watch as the contents refuses to react. The rotten smell begins to penetrate my nose and a cold sweat comes over me. I try not to heave.
I pinch my nose with one hand and gingerly tilt the tray towards my mouth with the other. After nearly a minute the foul-smelling Cold Fun finally slides out of its container and past my trembling lips, apparently as unhappy about this encounter as I am. The reluctant food slowly makes its way into my mouth. To my considerable surprise I find it devoid of all character. There is no discernable texture or flavour. It is neither chunky nor smooth. It fills my stomach but offers absolutely no sense of satisfaction or refreshment. I wonder to myself, how can something so bland smell so bad?
The hunger pains retreat. I finish the Cold Fun and stuff my pockets with a couple more packets. I rest awhile on the crate. My stomach begins to work on the food and my body warms slightly as the muscles relax. I gaze at the broken crate and the mess of Cold Fun packets across the floor. I look ahead into the blank corridor between the rows of crates.
My body’s demands have been partly satisfied, for now, but my mind is as restless as ever.
I know it is time to move on.
I stand up and walk down the blank corridor. Minutes pass and I wonder if this place will ever come to an end. I try suppressing the fear that rises in my chest. Then I realise that I have plenty to fear. I don’t know where I am, who I am or what is waiting for me beyond this place. Then, as if out of nowhere, I can see that I’m approaching a wall. And a door! I hurry to finish this diary entry before I leave this place. I hope that somehow it will help unlock this mystery I find myself in.
Voices! I can hear voices outside beyond the wall. People talking. And machines. Machines talking. I feel a mixture of fear and elation! Are these people, these machines, my friends? Or my enemies? My lifeless memory offers up no clues. One voice in particular stands out. It sounds neither human nor metallic. It has a strange calm to it. It is asking a question. Over again, it is asking the same question.
Are you happy, citizen?
*(25/08) Jazzer In Red Quarters, (53.11)
Jazer wanders into the RED quarters, still wearing a RED uniform.
"Hello? Where the hell is everybody? I know I heard someone around here."
Glad to see some bunks, as the Cold Fun he ate earlier is making him feel sick, he lies down on the first bunk he can find and quickly falls into a deep sleep.
(27/08)
Silent walks in and sees jazzer lying on the bunk.
Great, I want to go to HPD&MC, to I don't know...WORK, and where I end up? The RED Bunks. Shessh. Hey, who's that?
He's wearing a RED suit, has a bread on, and looks somewhat cubby...
Oh My Computer...
It's Santa-R-CLS! Ah, I remember the days in the clone creche when I used to sit on his lap and tell him of all the stuff I want for on Christmascycle. I also remember the songs that used to be sung about him. "He knows when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake. He knows if you've been treasonous or loyal, so be loyal for goodness sake!" They say he didn't exist, a mere Junior Citizen tale made up by HPD&MC. But they were wrong. Santa-R does exist, and is sleeping here. He must be sleeping to prepare himself for the day when he deliver presents. He might be delivering them today...
I should show this to everyone! Now people will no longer call me an idiot for believing in Santa-R-CLS!
He takes out his PDC and takes a picture.
Now to let everyone know...
"HEY EVERYONE! SANTA-R IS HERE!"
Jazzer is awoken from his slumber by Silent's hysterics. He looks at Silent for a moment through bleary eyes.
"What did you say my name was?"
Aratos-O wanders in.
"ah! People who aren't working! I don't suppsoe there's anyone here wants to assist in moving some cleaning equipment from R&D to Power Services? We've got thise rather nasty gunk spillage y'see."
Another ORANGE, Doublethink, volunteer to help, donning a red uniform to keep his ORANGE one fresh. Someones PDC rings, and a clone rushes out.
"Er, hi. Um, I'll help you. If you tell me where I am and what's going on around here. My name's... Santa-R-CLS?"
"Santa-R-CLS?" Aratos bursts into tears of laughter, "well, uh, this is the Red clearence dormitary, and I'm supposed to be getting recruitments to move some totally not dangerous chemicals to Power Services in order to clean the floor. Apart from that, I'm not really sure what's going on around here. Ive not been anywhere near the dormitaries for a while you see. In fact I don't thnk I've ever been to the dormitaries before now-"
"Are you ready, or do we need more people?" Doublethink asks Aratos.
"Wha? Oh yeah, sure. Off to R&D then!" Aratos turns and heads off, followed by Doublethink, while Silent turns to 'Sant-R.'
"Santa, you're awake? Sorry if I distrubted you. I was just so excited. Nice to meet you, Santa. My name is Silent-O-PLN. You look a little hurt, maybe some Commies might have attacked you.
"I suppose you want me to tell you who you are. I know you know who you are, but you ask me to tell you, so therefore, I will.
"You are Santa-R-CLS, a person who deliver toys to good little Junior Citizens every yearcycle, and coal to bad little Junior Citizens every yearcycle. Actually, you give gifts to everyone that believe in you. I believe in you. I've been a good little clone. I believe in you, and not the lies spread by commie mutant traitors that you don't exist. You do exist.
"If you want, I can help you out. I suppose delievering presents is hard work. If so, can you fufill my wish list? I ask for only some small items of interest for this year."
The Picky Savebot peeks out from underneath some blankets,
"Is he gone? Aww, he never came to look for me. I need another citizen to save credits for," it scans the room and spots Jazzer, "What a grubby jumpsuit and beard! He looks like he has no credits at all. Which means I won't have to carry anything. He'll do!"
The savebot jumps down from the bunk, waddles along the floor over to Jazzer, and leaps into his lap.
"Greetings citizen! I am a savebot. Feel free to deposit any plasticreds that you never wish to see again in me."
More clones enter and lie down, some to fall asleep, some to talk. Jazzer stares at the savebot sitting in his lap, at Silent and at a person sleeping with one eye open.
"I... Erm... Listen...
Where am I?!"
(31/08)
The sleeper with one eye open startles awake.
"What the..!"
He yawns and rubs the sleep out of his eyes.
"Citizen, You are in the red dormitories, subsector LVQ, sector PLN, in the Alpha Complex. Please keep it down. Clones are trying to sleep in here," he grumbles, and heads off to work.
Athatar walks in.
"Just got reports that Santa-R has been found. Well done Silent!! We've been traking this unregerstered mutie for YEARS!!" He looks down at his PDC, "Ok Mr Santa, because of all your good works keeping JS loyal i have decided to not terminate you. Instead you will be regerested with the "SlowTimeDownation" mutation. We have all the proof we need. How else could you deilver all those FC approved JS fun Stuff in one nightcycle??" He hands over a Yellow Band.
"Make sure this is seen at all times. And Silent, Heres your reward!" He offers Silent 100 credits.
(01/09)
Sant-R takes yellow band and runs it through his hands, as if trying to remember something, at this time a fresh faces RED, Quend-R-LON, enters.
"Have I always been, what is it, a mutie?"
"Most likely. There are records here for you going back years"
"Is that bad?"
"Well Santa-R, Normaly it WOULD be bad. Thankfully for you we at RMHP have taken into account your great work keeping Junior Citzens Loyal until they are released into the general public. Without you and your loyalty presents this guy here," Heslaps hand onto Quend-R-LON-1's shoulder, "may have become a Commie Mutant Trator. Now, Loyalty Day is in 4 monthcycles so we are putting you in probation until then. If you do your job well, then you may not be Erased.
"Agreed?"
Quend looks up, "Ow! Huh? Oh... yeah, Loyalty Presents! I love those. Last year, I got a twelve-pack of Kelpberry-OatCrunch Hot Fun, and a BouncySpring!! Yeah, that was the best year ever for Loyalty Presents. But I bet this year will be even better!"
Athatar walks in... agani
"Ok, i got a report of a Santa-R sighting"
He spots Athatar.
"Oh, you got here first." He looks a bit dejected, and the first Athatar looks over.
"Sorry mate, you get the next one ok?"
"I suppose so," the Athatar walks out again.
"Wow, there's two of you! Are you guys from the same creche? Or, no, wait, you're a mutant, right? You got the stripe, darn, shoulda noticed the stripe. That's a pretty funky power, making copies of yourself. I never heard of that before... Oh, and could you please take your hand off my shoulder, sir? I don't wanna catch the mutie cooties. No offense meant."
Athatars PDC beeps. He reads the message, logs it, and leaves it for his double. He grins at Quend-R-LON, "Don't you worry Q, you see plenty of mutants soon. Too soon!!!" He starts laughing evily, then coughs when he sees everyone staring at him.
Athatar lets go of Quend's shoulder.
Jazzer takes a long hard look at the apparently insane people around him and, wearing a guarded smile, slides slowly off the bunk.
"Erm. I think I'll take a walk," he smiles back at the loonies, "see you."
He exits the room as briskly as possible, wearing the yellow band. (page 56.02)
posted by Zatnik | 4:29 AM
|
0 comments
