Part 1 | Chapter 6 - Way Out

Part 1, The Ticking Clock

Chapter 6 - Way Out

Dear Employees of Murasaki Research Group,

It is with a saddened heart I’m reaching out to let you know about an important update to our family. Today, in the inner city Manifestation Zone, a bright, valuable young Murasaki employee passed tragically in an accident during a standard Manifestation ceremony with Murasaki employees. It is with a heavy heart I wanted to reach out to you all so you would hear about this personally from me…

I scowl, closing the message on my hand-held and staring into the black screen. I can’t stomach reading any more. Might as well be the CEO's own son, the way the message goes on, except they had no idea who that handler was until someone passed them the message of his death. It’s sickening to make someone’s death about the company like they do. I’ve seen the messages before, it’s always got some personal anecdote to make them seem real, like they get it, finishing with a plea that we are in this together and to support each other in difficult times. But, they’ve never been so close to home before, the dissonance of the veneer and reality so vivid.

“Conrad, you right?”

I glance up at Jason, a concerned half-smile on his face. “Nothing, just thinking about what happened today,” I reply, tucking my hand-held under the table but keeping it within my palms.

Meiko sits at his side, pushing another shot in my direction. “Try and take your mind off it.”

I highly doubt there was anything that could clear my thoughts. Every pause in conversation I can’t help but look back at my hand-held, re-reading the message I’d been dreading now for several weeks. Manifestation has been scheduled less than a week from now, sooner than I expected. It was the reason I spotted the email from the CEO.

Jason drags both hands down his face, accentuating the bags under his eyes, “I’ll be glad to sleep again, now it’s over. They already sent me an email with new contract details, pay scale, everything, they move so quickly.”

“Do you know what section of the generators you’ll be working in?" asks Meiko.

I pick up the shot, downing it in one resolute motion. The sugary sweetness of whatever artificial flavor they added hides the burn of alcohol. As I let the noise of the crowd grow indistinct, the wash of voices and laughter and conversation fades into white noise. I can still hear the growl of the Panthera somewhere in my thoughts, the screams of the Saguinus. I can see blood and violet-white, hear the electrical crack and… black.

And scrolling names, one after another. With one finger I spin the shot glass on its edge in front of me.

“... Conrad…”

I start and look up, the mention of my name surfacing me from my thoughts.

Meiko tugs Harris’ uniform as he joins us, dragging him down to her to explain something I don’t care to try and overhear. I can guess it. He frowns, neatens his collar and worms in next to me at the booth, trapping me in. I don’t lean into him as he wraps an arm around my waist.

“Rough day?” he asks sympathetically, leaning close to my ear to be heard over the noise of the bar.

“You could say that,” I spit back testily.

He grunts and withdraws his hand, “I thought we were celebrating Justin?”

“We are.”

“So cheer up, please.”

I don’t have the energy to bite back my retort, “Are you kidding me?”

Harris shifts, glancing at Meiko and Justin, then lowers his voice, “What has been up with you recently?”

Meiko raises her voice, cutting between us, “Harris don’t…”

Harris leans backwards, placing one arm behind me along the back of the booth, “I get it. I really do. It happened at my older brother’s manifestation as well, all we could see was half the sensors on the platform explode into sparks, whatever was manifested they subdued and the bids… it was insane, those recruiters really wanted him. But it happens, probably more often than they tell us…”

“Isn’t that wrong?” I spit out.

“It happens sometimes. A bad roll of the dice.”

“Conrad,” begs Meiko, her eyes gentle as she looks at me, “I know you’re worried-”

I continue over her, “Isn’t it all kind of just… fucked up? That some number of us will go up there and manifest some sort of walking weapon? That the moment we step on that stage our value is fixed?”

Meiko seems almost on the verge of tears, her hands nervously twisting.

“Meiko’s trying to be helpful. Don’t start at her as well,” snipes Jason defensively.

“Don’t ruin the evening,” adds Harris, placing his arm along the booth over my shoulder and giving me a cold jostle. I stiffen and exhale my breath sharply through my nose. Harris turns his attention to Jason, “Did they send you a new contract already? Pretty crisp right?”

Jason eagerly takes the chance to change topic, his hand resting on Meiko’s thigh and giving her a reassuring squeeze, “I know, I’m surprised it happened so quick. Do you think they prepare it all before hand?”

Harris leans forward, “Just wait till they assign you an apartment. You have no idea how sick I was of living with my younger brother, I don’t think I could ever go back.”

I stand, staring at the table between us. “I need to go to the toilet, let me out.”

Harris gives me an annoyed glance, biting back the words I know he truly wants to say, “No, you don’t.”

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“Yeah, I do. Let me out.”

He moves, drawing me into him as I brush past him, “Don’t do this,” he hisses, “I get it, but don’t take it out on Jason. We can fight later if that’s what you want to do.”

I give him one glance before brushing past.

As I leave the bar I send Meiko a message.

I’m sorry. I just can’t tonight. Tell Jason I’m happy for him. - CD, ID:SB0088907B

----------------------------------------

I understand. They didn’t see what we saw. I’ll see you tomorrow? - MK, ID:MRG2002322G

Somehow, I end up making my way back to the lab. I think I just want to smell something familiar, lose myself in the meditative process of drawing and my outlet is unfortunately Dorrien lab equipment rather than my own belongings.

The strange emptiness of the lobby is the first sign something isn’t quite right. It takes me a moment to consciously place what my instincts notice immediately.

I pause and duck back into the darkness of the street, keeping back from the lighting around the glass entry doors and pulling the collar of my jacket around the sides of my face. The security desk is oddly empty, and there is a man hovering over the turnstiles in the depths of the lobby. He stretches a hand, and a huge Theraphosid symbiont, I have no clue what genus, steps from his wrist and hunkers down on one of the sensors. Vibrant blue markings on its eight jointed-legs flare to life, then the turnstile swings freely and the man scoops his symbiont up again and passes beyond the lobby into the building.

I barely hesitate, then sneak after, passing by the desk and bending over the workstation to look at the security feed. The cameras are dead. I inspect the same turnstile the stranger used, the teeth still swinging free. Impish curiosity drowns out every dark cloud in my mind in a rush, or maybe those shots are finally doing their job.

I pass through without swiping my own ID, tucking into a corner as I find the stranger at the elevators. His hand is stretched again to let his symbiont make contact with the buttons there as well. Blue energy flashes through its limbs again, and the lights above begin to count down the elevator returning to the lobby. I take a deep breath and step into the hallway.

“Hey, hold the elevator!” I call out.

He turns calmly, not at all like I’ve caught him in the act of something improper. His hand withdraws from the elevator call buttons, his Theraphosid gripping his wrist with its long, jointed legs. “You’re working late,” he replies with casual disinterest.

His skin is swarthy, like he sees real sunlight. The sides of his head are shaved, but the hair on top is almost longer than my own hair, braided into a single coffee-brown plait that just reaches between his shoulder blades. He’s wearing scrubs like every other lab worker, but they just barely fit over his broad shoulders and chest, the sleeves rolled up to reveal lean forearms. He’s a touch shorter than me, maybe a little older, all compact muscles unlike any lab worker I’ve ever seen before. I jog up to him, trying to imitate the slight breathless rush of grad-students who are in and out at the late hours trying to make progress on their research. As I get closer, I notice a second symbiont gripping the outer helix of his right ear, a Vespa maybe? He’s not working alone? And which one is his? Surely, the Theraphosid given his obvious familiarity as they work together.

I pause at his side, waiting for the elevator. When it opens, he gestures for me to go first and I nervously tuck some of my grey-streaked hair behind one ear. “I’ve never seen you before?” I test.

He doesn’t even look at me, his voice perfectly mild, “It’s a big building.”

I hold my breath, feeling my heart race. At the side of his head, the Vespa’s wings tremble in a high pitched buzz, crawling down his ear to spin its sharply pointed thorax around his ear lobe.

This is what that HR meeting had been about, he’s the one they were looking for, I’m sure of it!

Being here with him can only end badly, but I’m already fucked. Next week, at my own manifestation ceremony there are only two outcomes for me - either I end up like the boy and his Panthera today, snapped up by the highest bidder, or I’m another cog at the bottom rungs of society doomed to follow Harris and Jason into servitude. Eventually, my mischief will catch up to me in my insipid attempts to feel anything authentic, and I'll find out what happens to serfs when they can’t get fired but have outworn their employment. So what’s left, but to take the biggest gamble I’ve ever taken in my life?

The surge of adrenaline from the taste of freedom is unlike any rush I’ve ever had before, I don’t even know what he’s after, if he’ll let me tag along? This is insane… and yet, I’m struggling to keep a giddy grin from my face.

“What floor?” he murmurs, waiting for me.

I take a breath, “It depends.”

That catches his interest, and he turns slowly to me. His Theraphosid climbs his arm a little higher drawing my eyes back to those forearms again, wrapping its eight legs around the rolled edges of his sleeves. His eyes are the most brilliant blue color I’ve ever seen, almost pure cobalt. His jaw has the ghost of a five o’clock shadow, a muscle in his cheek flexing as if he’s clenching his teeth.

“I’m sorry?” His manner is so calm and flawless. I’m in awe of how easily he gives off this aura of perfect normality despite having just broken in.

“You’re not from here.”

Those blue eyes suddenly flash and look straight at me for the first time, his hand repositioning to his pocket. His shoulders are still relaxed, but I’m suddenly aware of the danger that comes with having his attention, how exposed this gambit leaves me and how much power he has over the next few moments. I need to make myself valuable and fast.

I take a breath, “Whatever you did with security, there’s a second shift around midnight. The late guard has a Canis who’ll be able to track your scent if you are still in the building. They won’t even bother trying to get the camera’s back on, invertebrate symbionts are rare at Murasaki,” I garble out, less confident than I was hoping.

A single brow arches, that muscle in his cheek shifts with controlled tension. He rolls his jaw slowly as if he’s considering the situation.

“Tell me what you are after and I’ll help,” I gamble, putting all my cards on the table. My heart flutters in my chest, equal parts excitement and fear. I’ve never felt so alive, I almost need to remind myself to breathe.

The Vespa in his ear buzzes, and his eyes slowly disengage from my own. He opens his palm, leaning against the elevator with his hand positioned by the buttons, as if it’s just a casual gesture, but his Theraphosid purposefully strolls down his arm again and sets to work on the panel. He’s so lean I can see the branching veins from the back of his hand spidering up his forearm.

The moments before he decides to reply stretch. Finally, “Why would I be after anything?” there is the rumble of a growl in his voice now, an edge of impatience and everything except the innocence the words proclaim.

“Because you’ve turned the cameras off, and you walked through the turnstiles without swiping in. You wear scrubs like a hospital but not a lab, we don’t care about hygiene here - it’s for chemical protection, sleeves down.” I hesitate, cautious what I give away and finally nod at his arm, “And you touch every piece of technology you interact with, you’ve got a symbiont riding with you hacking our systems?”

The elevator clicks, and begins to rise without him touching a single button. His symbiont returns to his arm, job complete.

The edge of something dark flashes through his eyes again, “And what if I decide to kill you for what you’ve seen?” I glance at his second hand, perched over his hip pocket still. His fingers are deceptively relaxed, every inch of him the poised tension between casual disregard and coiled readiness.

I raise my eyebrow, “Seems a bit sloppy.”

The corner of his mouth twists into a sardonic curl that he barely suppresses a moment later, “Is that so?” The disinterest in his voice has a hint of amusement now.

“Where we going?” I ask.

He takes a single breath, withdrawing his hand and starting to roll his sleeves down, I’ve won. “Lu lab. Level 32.”