I wake up being jostled by wheels going over rough pavement. What? This is new. I've never woken up in a vehicle before. As I glance around to take in my surroundings I can see that I am in a police van. Like one of those SWAT vans you see on TV.
I learned a few simulations ago to always wake up calmly and just glance around. I started to stand up immediately in another scenario just to get knocked back down by an angry guard.
My hands are cuffed behind my back. I can feel the cool metal against my wrists. The memories flood back to me. They aren't real memories. More like a fictitious backstory to explain where I am now.
The details are always sparse. Typically, there are no personal memories at all. Just memories of training, practicing, and my capture.
Ever since the incident with the name on the uniform I remember everything in these scenarios. I don't know how many I have been through total but it has been at least 10 since that incident. Everytime I wake up a prisoner. Everytime I learn a new skill that helps me escape and stays with me into the next simulation. I become an expert in some skill I never practiced.
I, Brody, have never handled a gun, for example. But looking across the van at the police officer I can see that his holster contains a Glock G45. It's a 9mm handgun with a flared magwell and no manual safety switch. Once I get free I just have to grab that gun and pull the trigger if I want to use it.
I shouldn't know that. I have never even held a gun in my hand before.
So, my backstory in this scenario is that I am a gang member. A quick glance at my exposed upper arms reveals the gang tattoos that my sleeveless shirt doesn't cover. Apparently, I specialized in grand theft auto. But I wasn't ready for the decoy car setup by local PD.
I can pick all kinds of locks and hack through the security system on a Rolls Royce. Kind of unbelievable that I was that good but got caught by a PD bait car. Some of these scenarios are kind of lazily put together.
Tucked into the waistband of my underpants is a small hair clip. I know that because it's a memory put in place to help me. These scenarios are like realistic video games. You only know what you need to know to advance.
I pull the hair clip out and my fingers start expertly bending the thin metal. It never ceases to amaze me how well I know a previously unknown skill each time I "wake" up.
Once the tip of the metal is properly shaped I start to jab it into the keyhole on the handcuffs. As I start to turn it I feign stretching my back and rub the metal cuffs against the wall of the van. The noise this makes hides the quiet click of the lock disengaging.
Again, I shift around and mumble to the cop something about the seat being too hard. As I shift I remove both cuffs. I settle back down and adopt a bored expression on my face until the cop stops watching me with that suspicious eye.
When he settles back into scrutinizing the floor in front of him I break the silence with a yawn to ensure I sound disinterested.
"How long until we get there?" I ask the officer.
He doesn't even look up at me but says, "about 15 minutes."
He has a heavy New York accent. That's all I needed.
Now, time to take care of him. I jump up as quickly as I can. The cop looks up startled and chokes on his voice as he goes to yell. Before he gets his voice together again I punch him in the nose.
He reels back and grabs the now broken cartilage and I grab his baton from his belt. One quick swing to the forehead and he goes down.
"Lights out," I say as I toss the baton down and quickly grab his gun from its holster.
"Scott you ok back there?" The driver calls back.
"Yea, this idiot just fell outta his seat," I reply in a heavy New York accent.
"Do I need to pull over?" The driver calls back.
"No, just keep on moving," I shout back in the same accent.
The van door has a window I peer through. We aren't moving fast. We are on a city road with light traffic. The door to the van isn't locked so I open it up. The nearest car's driver looks shocked and slams on the brakes. I jump out and go into a roll to break my fall. It still hurts like the devil but it keeps me from breaking any bones.
Without slowing down I run for a back alley to get out of sight. As I run toward the alley I notice something looks off. The alley is way darker than it should be in broad daylight. In fact, it's so dark I can't see inside it.
I reach the entrance into the alley and realize it is a black wall. No light reflects off the wall and no light is coming from the alley. I put my hand against it... it's hard just like a wall.
I look around and see that all of the alleys have similar walls. They simply end in nothing. I step back into the street and look in the direction the van came from. Everything in that direction is black. In fact, the black wall is moving towards me, swallowing people and objects as it comes. I turn and start to run. The wall isn't far behind me.
I run until my chest aches with the effort. The wall easily gains on me. The aching in my chest becomes more intense and my heart rate feels unnaturally high. I look back just in time to see the wall catch up to me. As it hits me my entire body convulses in pain and a blinding light sears my vision.
Suddenly, I am gasping for air on a metal table under a blinding light. People are bustling around me. No one has spoken yet but I know who they are.
The pain is intense. I cry out. "Kate! Please!"
"Calm down, Brody," Wellison's disgusting freaking voice, "we are going to take care of you."
"Please just let me see my wife," I sob, " please let me go!"
A young female assistant stares down at me with a look like pity. I repeat my desperate request to her but she doesn't answer.
"Janet!" Wellison voice cuts like a knife. "Get me the sedative!"
The young assistant runs to a cabinet on the wall and shuffles around. She comes back with a syringe that she hands to Wellison.
"Janet please!" I see weakness in her. Not weakness. Compassion. She is struggling with this.
I see her turn away with her hand on her face just before the needle pricks my arm and everything fades to black.
****************
An unfamiliar voice is speaking.
"I am saying I don't know if any scenario will work now," the voice sounds like it is trying to placate someone.
"What do you mean!" Wellison. She sounds angry.
"He is too skilled! He escaped well before he was supposed to! The program can't create an entire world for him to roam! We can only program a set amount of space. That is why we have everything timed so perfect!" The voice explains.
"OK, so we put him back in a stationary confinement. Then you only have to program the space around the confinement."
"Dr. Wellison, you don't understand. It isn't just space. It is interactions. I can no longer predict how he will interact with the program, which means I cannot program responses which means he will inevitably break through again."
"Well, try," Wellison replies.
"He may not survive another shock like that," the man replies.
"Mr. Rathall," Wellison starts in a condescending tone, "who is the doctor here?"
I hear Mr. Rathall start to reply but the drug isn't out of my system and I fade away again.
YOU ARE READING
Human Programming
Mystery / ThrillerA man wakes up everyday in a new prison... but is it a prison? Brief bouts of lucidity slowly unveil that things are not as they seem. Is he a mental ward or is something more sinister going on?
