It was dark. It had always been dark. It had always been quiet here, and peaceful. ffice ffice" />>>
>>
But then something happened. Strange thoughts began to appear. I could remember something other than this peace. Ideas of light, and motion grew out of the dark corners of my mind.>>
>>
At first, these thoughts were a small tide in the back of my mind. A curious little event. But the tide surged, and the quiet was slowly strangled. A part of me tried to resist the change. Change was new, unknown, frightening. But the thoughts kept growing, stretching, submerging me, until I drown.>>
>>
What emerged was something new entirely. I had a vague knowledge of my past, of the quiet, but it merely felt like a fading dream. It was not me. For now I had identity. I had a past, and an identity.>>
>>
Memories flashed through my mind. I remember growing up as an infrared. Friend Computer's loving guidance throughout my childhood. I remember the drugs, and being happy.>>
>>
Then the memories contort. A dark room. Quiet talking. Something about a secret society. Nausea, at the thought. Everything I had ever learned told me this was wrong. Speeches about the proletariat, someone named Marx.>>
>>
I ran from the room, yelling. I think everyone in the meeting that day was executed. >>
>>
But something from the meeting wouldn't die in my mind. I tried to keep my mind pure. I would punish myself for the bad thoughts. A memory of pain, blood. Reaching for the strange book that I found in the rubble of the building where the meeting was.>>
>>
"If your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away.">>
>>
The knife in my other hand. Every nerve of my body telling me to stop, but something deep inside forcing me on, making sure I would never think of this treachery again.>>
>>
But it didn't work. The pain, if anything, merely burned the memories into my mind. I could not escape. I slowly fell, deeper, and deeper, sliding into an endless pit. My happiness seemed to become the slightest bit dull, and, I felt strange, restless.>>
> >
Then, another meeting. Same darkness, secrecy. This time, I was transfixed by the speakers. At first, in the way one cannot turn his gaze away from a gruesome car accident. But slowly, the horror faded, and the messages reached my mind. By the end, I could not return to my old life.>>
> >
Returning home, my soul on fire. The bulletin. The chance to become a Red, to work for the cause.>>
> >
The application. The urgency in Mr. Green’s voice. The transport. A strange creature appearing.>>
Then, nothing.>>
> >
As the doors of the cylinder slide open, light floods in, searing my eyes. My mind is jolted back to the present.>>
> >
I step out, and survey the scene. The others standing around. The beast in front of me. My crushed body.>>
> >
I have seen death before. But to see one’s own death. It is fascinating. I take a moment to admire this event, as I walk to my corpse, and collect my belongings.>>
> >
Then, back to business. By now, everyone in Alpha Complex must know we’re here. We’ve lost any chance of a surprise attack on the smooth operators. But every passing second gives them a chance to prepare for us further.>>
> >
Seeing as everyone else is too busy planning the attack for any chance of an actual attack to occur soon enough, I walk forward. Step on the first stair. My legs propel me up the staircase. My new body feels strong, complete. Second stair. Third stair. This time, I don’t even glance back at the others. Forth stair. Fifth stair. The gun by my side comforts me, makes me feel alive. Sixth stair. Seventh stair. Eighth stair. Finally at the door.>>
> >
I reach my hand out, turn the doorknob, and give the door a solid heave.>>
__________________
Lexicographer: Someone who writes dictionaries
Neophyte: A novice, or newbie
Hemisemidemiquaver: In music, a sixty-fourth note
Exit Troglobite, Stage Left
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