Empathy Ch. 1

Journal entry xx (A Synopsis)

It has been exactly 5 years since I let go of my research. It hasn't been going well:

It started as an alternative to therapy; memory suppression for trauma, an emotional disconnect for damaged limbic systems. It became an amalgamation of tyranny, hope and covetous intent but we just hadn’t known it yet. We do now. People wanted to forget the pain they felt, and we had the answer. We had so much desire to help those in need, I swear. Veterans no longer waking up in cold sweats, survivors resuming their lives without shuddering in anticipation at every person they pass by on the street. We could provide some real healing to a lot of people. Some of the worst things start so well intentioned, as it tends to go.

Oh, how quickly it went from clinical to recreational. From recreational to political. Money and backroom whispers led the charge. When the world was at its most frail, we saw a savior in our own delusions, and we sure as shit thought we could absolve ourselves of our own undoing. This technology reached new heights while the people were at their lowest. War, famine and disease had brought trade, travel and trust to the depths of hell and burned them all over the recent decade. But this felt like the reset button that we were desperate for. Our last chance at redemption.

The leaders of the fractured world stepped in, as they do. Some for power, some as humanitarians and many born of sheer curiosity. The idea was to clear the mind and bring the world together in the most productive, safe way possible. No vengeance, no jealousy, no greed. With it we lost love and compassion- an oversight that slowly crept in.

The procedure had seemed incredibly precise, targeting specific sectors of the brain that controlled emotion such as anger and fear. We could find the detrimental memories and hardwire new feeling. Nanobots encasing mosswood was effectively improving and healing neural pathways. The concoction and treatments were stable and safe enough while in our hands. Maybe our dreams were too big to see the nightmares. Such naivety.

We sold it. All of it. We don’t know what happened after Pathway Bionics took over. I often wake up in cold sweats, knowing it was more than our greed that propelled this into motion. I still claim ignorance but my heart weighs more and more every single day.

The first few years of Pathway Bionics commercial Project: Heart Locket went incredibly well. They had used what we gave them and engineered it to control the masses more than they already did. With murder rates dropping drastically and an unprecedented economic boom, the quality of life increased steadily. Perfect for funding and political influence. A sweeping criminal reform was the first form of action as we voted unanimously across the world to test on the incarcerated. Success. Next were the homeless and the emotionally unstable. It became a vaccine for human indecency. With the widespread testing on the lowest scum of our societies being met with praise and success, the floodgates opened to the public. Eventually, voluntary procedures became mandatory for political figures. Then working class... Eventually even all newborns. It all happened much too quick but maybe that was the point.

Things started to change a handful of years into the mandatory procedure. We don't know when exactly, or what exactly, changed. But like a slow poison it crept in. Or maybe it pushed out. Pushed our humanity out. The world was split, and many people weren’t people anymore. Soulless husks masquerading as decent humans. Eventually, murder began to soar as people were fearless and uncaring. It wasn't hate, no.. Nor was it greed. It felt as primal as it did robotic. Like a Neo-Spartan world of 1's and 0's. If you could take, then take. The hierarchy was establishing itself. No one saw the clouds darkening with each soul we dampened. Some of us remained mostly unchanged in our dreary state, diminished but existing. Some of us resisted the procedures entirely while in others there was an empathetic awakening. Then there were those that didn't resist, didn't really even survive. It is believed that Pathway Bionics had been running tests during the procedures and if anyone was considered to have High Affinity for neural tinkering, they would go missing. By now, PB had an entire private militia believed to be those that never returned... The Dreaded Ones. Those that went through excessive atrocious experiments and procedures. Wholly non-existant and unnatural. Their minds were bent and broken and twisted to serve PB and the Hall Council. Those of us that went through the empathetic awakening could feel, to some extent, the emotions of those around us. At least I have been starting to. I have felt absolutely nothing but dread around these mindless hosts. There was barely an echo of the human soul buried under years of torture. Barely. This was a slowburn apocalypse.

By now the world has grown like a sack of cells. The bulk of life, growth and technology is all clustered in giant city centers. Pillars of influence. Alters of achievement. Pitri dishes. Beyond the city centers things are scattered and less involved. Much of the world is a harsh landscape echoing our past like still life photography. Toxic overgrowth, barren wastelands and mutated fauna reclaimed much of the world before I was born. Few encampments and cultures, if any, remain outside the safe biomes of the major city walls. The rest of the free world is run by the Hall Council and backed by Pathway Bionics, the puppeteers of our crooked marionette.

______

There was a presence of another, just like us. We could feel it, even through the heavy winds and dust storms. The timing had to be just right, and all of us felt as if the stakes this time were not just high, but damn near everything. We had felt him for days now, tracking the train and preparing for the heist. We waited for the perfect opening, when the train would slow around a sharp bend and come out of a tunnel that was carved into the side of a mountain, giving us plenty of time and room to board the train from above. The passenger car of the train had to be separated, with a bridge up ahead leading to a heavily guarded outpost; Who knows what they were planning upon arrival, let alone how many Dreaded Ones would be there. This had to be quick and was our only shot.

We saw the oncoming lights from within the darkness of the tunnel. We dug our hooks in the earthy overhang. As the train horn sounded its release from the belly of the cave I slowed my breathing, concentrating on the task at hand. The swelling of air and sound as the train left the tunnel raised in unison with my adrenaline. We waited for the first few sections of train to pass before the right car was under us. The car with that intense entity inside it. The drop was short, and our landing was silent compared to the blaring train.

“It’s now or never!” yelled Hector, our mechanical Swiss army knife, eyes hidden behind welding goggles. His expression rendered crazy from the manic grin on his face. He raised up a large, torch-like device in anticipation, only adding to the chaotic feel as the flames reflected off of the pitch-black bug eyes.

Hopefully never again I thought to myself. “Ready when you are,” I said, peaking into the window “be ready for 5, maybe 6.” I found myself grappling a makeshift flashbang grenade and nodding at Hector.

A rush of energy and light forced my eyes back to the window. The sound of metal ripping and crashing was immobilizing as Hector pried the two cars apart. It looked like fireflies jumping out from between the wheels and tracks as we slowly skidded to a halt, the lone engine still chugging into the distance.

“Time to move Abby!” Hector barked while sheathing his torch. “They won’t leave us here long.” He took one hard glance up to me while he tapped his watch. I cracked the door and threw my flashbang into the car, causing a searing light and sharp sound to whip through the air. We pushed through, heading straight for the shackled man with a sack over his head. The guards were dazed and lacking the wherewithal to stop us as we charged through. A couple of these Dreaded guards were stumbling around in front of the Empath we came here to save. I slammed one of their heads into the thick metal wall of the railwagon and turned to the other, sweeping their leg out and slamming them into some dusty boxes to the right of our target, who by now was terrified and excited by all the ruckus we were causing. By the time we had him on his feet and were near the exit a couple of the guards had come-to and blocked our path.

“He has a reckless heart.” intoned one of the guards.

“Fervor is cancer.” Nodded the other.

One reached for their radio as the other lifted his night stick that was emanating pale blue at the tip. They had no intention of letting us go but we were running out of time. There was a blood-curling war cry to my right as Hector charged the guard with the radio. The bull rush sent the guard spiraling out the door and clear off the train- His body folding and unfolding down the steep hill beside the tracks as the tumbling radio was disemboweled of its coils and transistors. That was too fucking close. The other guard to Hectors left let out a gurgled cough as he spat blood onto the floor. I hadn’t noticed Hectors other arm shoved into the gut of the reeling guard, a pommel showing itself through his clenched fist. Hector removed a crimson coated dagger, embraced the man and intimately shushed him down to the floor in a sweet, somber tone. With two fingers he lowered the man's eyelids. The guard was still in his own warm puddle

“Hector?!” I screeched. “We don’t kill!” I felt the soul of the guard become an echo as his final breath left his quivering mouth. A tear rolled down my face, born of fear and ending in relief- but it wasn’t mine. As his soul dissipated, my eyes fluttered shut for a moment, pictures racing through my head of the life of the Dreaded guard that now lay dead before me. I had never experienced a near-death moment myself, but I know what that just was, and it shook me to my core. A pensive hulk loomed over his corpse and woke me from my daze. Hectors head curved from the ground up to mine, goggles reflecting the corporate blue of the dreaded guards stick that was still glowing with a low hum sound, even without its master.

“No, Abby, You don’t kill” Was the barely audible whisper still being thought over. “We uh,” He cleared his throat as if fighting back something painful “we all feel it, but make no mistake about who they are.. who we are”

“It doesn’t matter!”

“It DOES matter!” He urged. “They want to rip us apart, make us feel every cut while they play god inside our heads.” His voice building with passion and disgust with every passing word. “They cage us and beat us till we are grey and dead because they can't feel shit anymore.” He paused for a moment, coming to a certain clarity “In fact, I’m doing them a service by cutting them down. You know damn well the edge of death is the only thing that brings them any semblance of life…” he paused for a breath “enduring nothingness while living is so, so much worse.” He let out an otherworldly battle roar of sadness and anger while slamming his fist into the wall. Finally, after the longest 5 seconds a human can endure, Hector released his shaky breath and sank his body down in exertion.

______

It took a couple hours to trek back to our safehouse; a humble abode embedded in the rocks of the mountain where the mosswood still grew thick. A majority of the dwellings were thin walled with heat resistant material made of fabrics, mosswood and the flora of the earth; Including a minty sagebrush that grew rampant and helped freshen up the unkept stench of the nomad city while keeping the dust at bay. These homes were similar to large tents but with the internal structure made of rock, clay and sap from the desert willows. The housing took up the northwestern quadrant of the encampment, specifically nestled between the pool of fresh water to the west and the rocky cover to the north. This gave access to the water and edible flora and fauna of the area. Of course, the water was septic, murky and full of animal excrement until we installed our pressurized filtration pumps that carried the sanitized water through a heat coiled pipe and into a sealed tank. Water was dispersed throughout the housing and remaining structures weekly. The cafeteria was just south of the oasis and the barracks was east of the housing, slightly embedded in the boulders of the mountains. Most of these major structures of the encampment worked around the center courtyard that was open for nightly fires or township meetings. Each of these structures was made similar to the tent housing but reinforced with thin metal wrapping that was covered in thick mosswood to shroud it from passer byers and specifically the Hall Council. Every roof was caked in red clays, rocks and mosswood to avoid suspicion and radar from overhead aircrafts and drones if any made it out this far. The top of the mountain had a homing beacon and radar to give us ample warning of any intrusions. The outskirts were rigged with rods and sensors that let out high frequency blasts to deter the larger beasts that roamed the quiet nights. There was something about the rusty colored moss that made tracking us difficult. It corroded metals, jammed signals and gave a certain clarity to the mind. Religions were dead these days, but this plant was worth worship. As far as we knew, there weren't too many safe places for Empaths anymore save this one, so we had to be careful when we left and how we returned. We had been on the run for so many years not knowing how or why the Dreaded kept finding us. Kept taking us. We rarely got anyone back, let alone new blood. This was a much-needed victory.

After we all got fixed up, bellies full and faces washed, we finally had time to talk to the man those Dreaded had beaten and deemed mad. We sat in groups around crackling fires, hearing loud belches and guttural laughter in the still night air. There was a comfort to the encampment like our victory was a weighted blanket. Many walked by and greeted him in passing, some offering our traditional strong spirits and smoke sticks crafted from fine herbs and mosswood. His shackles danced in the night with that similar corporate blue from the cusp of the chain and cuffs as he lifted and lowered his hands to great some passersby and received their offerings.

Talith, one of our resident electrobiologists and technicians as well as other nifty traits, was working to get his chains off with some sort of soldering-looking device. "Please hold still" she advised as she rested his arm over her leg to stabilize it as she meticulously worked the joints of the chains with her tool. He looked nervous and bashful. "We will never get these wretched things off if you keep flailing about"

He whispered his apology and sat still, arms in her lap, red in the face. He was younger than most empaths we had seen imprisoned before, maybe his mid-twenties, but his eyes didn’t match- He felt old in his energy and worn in his scars. We could see the burn marks near his temple from the different devices and experiments that had been used to infiltrate his mind. He must have been tortured and tortured bad, for many years. He had an ashen color to his hair that gave off that same slow, old aura. As Empaths, most of us can feel a nearby soul. And it differs from one to another. Once close enough, some of us can even see the soft smoke of the aura in its different hues. Some of us push down and hide from the connected network and some of us hone our skills and embrace the shared pain and beauty. This kid had quite the beauty in his soul. I wiped away a tear casually as I turned my glance away from him. Talith was still at work on the shackles as most of us peered into the embers before us, lost in separate thoughts.

After a long hypnotic moment of staring and silence, Hector fractured the still air. “You got a name, kid?”

“Poe?” He shrugged, as if not sure himself, eyes glued to the glowing pen melting his chains.

“How did they get you?” came from my mouth without realization. "And I am Abby by the way." I gestured up to my oldest friend "this thug here, is Hector" as he dramatically rolled his eyes.

“Get me?” Poe seemed lost, his voice was shaky and fluctuating. “I came to them. Wanted answers, not a cage. They wanted something else from me. I.." his brows furrowed in confusion "I can do things, change people.. Rattle them?”

“We felt you a town over” Said an astonished Hector “like, a beacon or something.” Hector puzzled for a moment before opening his mouth to speak again.

“What do you mean you ‘Rattle them’?” I interjected. We all feel them, but to change them? In what sense, what capacity? I was spellbound by this kid.

Sensing my devastation, he quickly replied “I have no idea. They break.. or are fixed??" his voice was trembling now "I, I see their feelings. It’s like I find it for them and unbury it. They called me the ‘Key.’” There was a quick and sharp metallic sound as the cuffs finally pulled apart and set him free.

"Wooohooo!!" celebrated Talith as she danced a little jig.

In the very same motion Poe fell to pieces, open hands hitting the ground, palms up in surrender. He'd become lost completely in his memories. Too lost to celebrate the freedom Talith had given him. A locket, glowing with that same pale blue, fell from his pocket, which he quickly scooped and returned to its home without a thought. Curious. He sobbed and apologized and shook violently till he collapsed.

"Ah geez, I'm sorry kiddo, wrong time to cheer" Talith gave a couple pats to his back, kissed his cheek and walked off to continue her night, spinning her little fire pen around like a gun in the wild west before sheathing it.

Without skipping a beat Hector closed in on the kid, embracing him and assuring his safety. We quickly glanced at each other before he returned to the broken-hearted kid he held in his hands. We walked Poe to his makeshift bed and Hector waited with the boy till he cried himself to sleep. I waited outside and enjoyed the stars that looked like shattered chandeliers in the night sky. Clouds began to cover the horizon as Hector left the dusty tent. They were painted purple by the lightning dancing off in the distance, too far away to hear its following thunder. Hector and I walked back to the fire, hopeful for the first time in a long time but scared to be optimistic.

Hector felt it too. This could be everything, this kid with no idea. A routine rescue that came with an utter gutting of our paradigm. Whether we wanted to admit it or not, we couldn’t shake the feeling that he was the future. What had their plan been with him? Were they close? We knew there would be a target on our back wherever we went. He was a beacon, and we weren’t the only ones reading the smoke signals. The clouds grew darker and closer still, as they always do before dawn. Tonight, we would rest, knowing that the morning brought rain.

________________________