Some more partial writings
Some more things I wrote for class
The mineshaft twisted away into darkness in many directions. With the ladder now in flinders, getting out would require waiting the hours it would take dispatch to notice he was gone, and then to discover the mineshaft. Meanwhile he was trapped down here in the darkness with his spooked quarry. The shadows from the swinging overhead light menaced him from all directions. He backed into a niche in the wall, looking up and down before switching his pistol into his left hand so he could pull out of strange electronic device.
"Raymond," his voice echoed back to him strangely as he spoke, "Raymond, we're trapped down here together now. We can both get out of here unharmed in you just surrender peacefully. This doesn't have to end badly."
The drip of water answered him. He activated the Device. Warm in his hand he detected the faint pheromonic whiff of fear. The eddies of air in the subterranean air gave no direction, but through the Device he reached out for his target.
"I'm sure you've heard all kinds of frightening things about us, Raymond. I've spoken with many of your kind. You call us Men in Black, Boogeymen, Black Hats. We're here to protect people, Raymond. We're not some movie monsters or paranoid fantasy. I took in one suspect who told me in all earnestness that when one of us dies, we evaporate llike a mist, leaving behind only our hats." The man had been drug addled, at the time, but West had researched it as a matter of curiosity. There was some evidence the DC branch had experimented with psychokinetic projects to cut down on field injuries. West doubted that sharing this fact would strengthen his case with his opponent.
"But it's simply not true Raymond. I'm as human as you are." And that was the heart of West's fear. For years he'd been taught that Agents were using advanced science, while those they hunted were monsters perverting and corrupting reality. It was an article of faith that hunting, capturing, and controlling the so-called supernaturals was beneficial to humanity. But he was beginning to believe that the device he held in his hand, with it's dial and screen and vibrating was no more scientific, and more rational than some of the hamster powered Rube Goldberg inspired toys he'd impounded. If he told anyone, let on that he wasn't a true believer any more, he wasn't sure what they'd do to him. He was almost physically revolted by the thought of finding out.
He recited the periodic table to clear his mind and resumed using his device, whatever it's underlying principles, to locate his target's mind. "If you prick me, do I not bleed? When the latter broke, I tore my pants and skinned my knees. I'm bleeding right now, Raymond. A six year old wouldn't be afraid of me."
His Device gave a hum in his hand. Raymond was listening. He didn't have a direction yet, but if he kept talking he might be able to get control of the situation.
"We don't want to hurt you. We're not going to dissect your or experiment on you." Not since the 1994 showdown between the Research and the Ethics board, West's mind editorialized. "We want to help you. To cure you of your problem."
The Device heated with a spike on anger. "Aint nothing wrong with me. The Holy Spirit chose me, moved me. Gave me the healing touch, and the ability to calm the beasts of the field. I can help people now, I'm close to God. You gonna cure me of God?"
Now I've got you! West twisted a dial on the Psychograph, revealing a three part graph of the subject's and a hazy screen of static as he tried to tune surface thoughts.
"Raymond, there's a scientific explanation for your influence over animals and your control over bodies. Despite your congregation's beliefs, you're not a saint and you're not a prophet. We've seen people like you a lot. And eventually, they always go crazy. Instead of helping, you'll hurt people. The same power that makes you able to sooth a mad dog could inflame one. The touch that heals can also be the touch that kills. Raymond, you don't want to hurt people. But you will lose control of your abilities. Is it such a bad thing to live an ordinary life?"
West's mind flashed with an image from the device. Rats. Shit, he thought, I think I gave him an idea. A surge of subtle energy reached out through the mines, passing through West with a tingle. Silence followed. West glanced up and down the shaft. Timbers above, electric lights hanging, the rotted frame of the busted elevator, the ruins of a ladder, metal rails set into the floor. Rails! West dived out of his corner and dashed down the shaft. At the next junction the rails went left and so did West. He continued downhill when he saw it. A steel mine cart sitting in the tunnel, it's wheels long rusted into immobility. Behind him he hears the susurration of danger. He dived into the cart. Crouched within the metal box, he heard them come, skittering, hissing, claws on stone, fur on stone, fur on fur. From the sound there were a hundred, then many hundred rats. Challenge a religious fanatic's fatih, get a plague. That was some excellent negotiation, West. Next time why don't you tell some mothers how ugly their babies are. He smiled grimly and checked his Device. The signal was strong and getting stronger. Raymond was coming to him.
"That wasn't very friendly, Raymond. I've been trying to be reasonable here. I'd rather not have to hurt you." The hungry, swarming tide around the base on his cart stirred in anger and excitement, empathetic to their caller's mood. I'd really rather not get eaten by rats, either, he added. It sounds like a bad way to go.
"Man, I don't know if you're having trouble keeping score, here, I've I've got you outnumbered. It's me, the Holy Ghost, and the manifestation of God's righteous fury, against you and your faithless idolatry. How about we switch now. I'll suggest you surrender, and we'll pray together that the Spirit will have mercy on you."
West's psychograph spiked with anticipation, endorphins. Also, he was close now. Very close. You're enjoying this a little too much, Man of God.
"You're wrong to think I'm faithless Raymond. I believe in things: friends, country, a cold beer on a hot summer night. I believe that people deserve to not have their belief's messed with by charlatans like you. I know you're kind think Agents are monsters, movie boogeymen. Certainly, plenty of us think the same about your kind. But one think I've learned on the job is this. Whether they can change into a wolf, or drink blood in a wineglass, or call poltergeists, they're still all people. They love, they hate, they talk and fuck and hurt. It's all just people, Raymond. You and me, too."
West sense Raymond's surprise. Doubt grew in him. West released a pulse of subtle psychic energy to feed those doubts. One last chance to end this peacefully. The rats murmured restlessly. He could hear footsteps as Raymond got closer.
"I've got to say, man. You're not what I expected. I thought they used computers and mind control to keep your kind of one mind."
"Yep. Mind control was very popular in the sixities. Went out with the cold war. Not cost effective enough for the accountants. Now they use performance reviews and motivational speakers. Frankly, I miss the mind control." He finally revealed the ironic tone of his inner thoughts. He wanted to reach Raymond. To enlist his cooperation. Jagged lines appeared on the screen.
"You mocking me? Fuck you. There aint going to be nothing left of you." West grimaced at the gesture gone wrong. He felt Raymond readying some kind of new attack. Maybe he'll use the unhealing touch I suggested earlier. He may not be creative, but he certainly adpats quickly. Next time, assuming there is a next time, West, don't tell the perp how to kill you when he's got you cornered. This isn't a bond movie, no extra points for spelling things out for the other guy.
Raymond's voice was closer than the echos. His resolve hardened on West's screen. "Does it make it harder, man, to do what you do, knowing that I'm a person, just like you." The rats surged in excitement, sensing death, feeding.
"Yes." West whispered. Then he called on his reserves to send a psychic lance directly into the part of Raymond's mind controlling the rats. One voice and a thousand mouths screeched in pain, then rage. Raymond's control over the vermin broke, and they frenzied, lashing out with teeth and claws at anything around them. Mostly that was other rats, and the cries on pain and anger continued, echoes of the original injury, spreading out. Raymond cried out too, he was among the frenzied swarm, and they bit and surged against him mindlessly as well. West heard a shotgun blast, buffeting his ears in the close quarters of the mine. He leapt to his feet, years of training in a single moment, as he put a disarming shot into the target's shoulder. Raymond spun and fell backwards. In a moment he was lost under the squirming furry mass.
West turned away, gagging with revulsion. Raymond's scream was muted, then piercing. West crouched in the cart, listening for signs that Raymond had recovered. Raymond's screams choked off, and after a long time, the sound of the rats faded away into echoes and silence. West climbed out of the cart, gingerly avoiding stepping on the dozens of dead rats on the floor. Reluctantly, he snapped a few photographs of the grisly, half eaten corpse of the former faith healer revivalist. The pictures in his head, and the acrid smell of fur and blood, he knew would disturb his sleep for some time to come.
He made his way back to the entrance shaft. Disturbed more than he could take, he pulled himself up onto the frame on the broken elevator, and began a painful, barehead ascent out of this chamber of horrors.
More later
The mineshaft twisted away into darkness in many directions. With the ladder now in flinders, getting out would require waiting the hours it would take dispatch to notice he was gone, and then to discover the mineshaft. Meanwhile he was trapped down here in the darkness with his spooked quarry. The shadows from the swinging overhead light menaced him from all directions. He backed into a niche in the wall, looking up and down before switching his pistol into his left hand so he could pull out of strange electronic device.
"Raymond," his voice echoed back to him strangely as he spoke, "Raymond, we're trapped down here together now. We can both get out of here unharmed in you just surrender peacefully. This doesn't have to end badly."
The drip of water answered him. He activated the Device. Warm in his hand he detected the faint pheromonic whiff of fear. The eddies of air in the subterranean air gave no direction, but through the Device he reached out for his target.
"I'm sure you've heard all kinds of frightening things about us, Raymond. I've spoken with many of your kind. You call us Men in Black, Boogeymen, Black Hats. We're here to protect people, Raymond. We're not some movie monsters or paranoid fantasy. I took in one suspect who told me in all earnestness that when one of us dies, we evaporate llike a mist, leaving behind only our hats." The man had been drug addled, at the time, but West had researched it as a matter of curiosity. There was some evidence the DC branch had experimented with psychokinetic projects to cut down on field injuries. West doubted that sharing this fact would strengthen his case with his opponent.
"But it's simply not true Raymond. I'm as human as you are." And that was the heart of West's fear. For years he'd been taught that Agents were using advanced science, while those they hunted were monsters perverting and corrupting reality. It was an article of faith that hunting, capturing, and controlling the so-called supernaturals was beneficial to humanity. But he was beginning to believe that the device he held in his hand, with it's dial and screen and vibrating was no more scientific, and more rational than some of the hamster powered Rube Goldberg inspired toys he'd impounded. If he told anyone, let on that he wasn't a true believer any more, he wasn't sure what they'd do to him. He was almost physically revolted by the thought of finding out.
He recited the periodic table to clear his mind and resumed using his device, whatever it's underlying principles, to locate his target's mind. "If you prick me, do I not bleed? When the latter broke, I tore my pants and skinned my knees. I'm bleeding right now, Raymond. A six year old wouldn't be afraid of me."
His Device gave a hum in his hand. Raymond was listening. He didn't have a direction yet, but if he kept talking he might be able to get control of the situation.
"We don't want to hurt you. We're not going to dissect your or experiment on you." Not since the 1994 showdown between the Research and the Ethics board, West's mind editorialized. "We want to help you. To cure you of your problem."
The Device heated with a spike on anger. "Aint nothing wrong with me. The Holy Spirit chose me, moved me. Gave me the healing touch, and the ability to calm the beasts of the field. I can help people now, I'm close to God. You gonna cure me of God?"
Now I've got you! West twisted a dial on the Psychograph, revealing a three part graph of the subject's and a hazy screen of static as he tried to tune surface thoughts.
"Raymond, there's a scientific explanation for your influence over animals and your control over bodies. Despite your congregation's beliefs, you're not a saint and you're not a prophet. We've seen people like you a lot. And eventually, they always go crazy. Instead of helping, you'll hurt people. The same power that makes you able to sooth a mad dog could inflame one. The touch that heals can also be the touch that kills. Raymond, you don't want to hurt people. But you will lose control of your abilities. Is it such a bad thing to live an ordinary life?"
West's mind flashed with an image from the device. Rats. Shit, he thought, I think I gave him an idea. A surge of subtle energy reached out through the mines, passing through West with a tingle. Silence followed. West glanced up and down the shaft. Timbers above, electric lights hanging, the rotted frame of the busted elevator, the ruins of a ladder, metal rails set into the floor. Rails! West dived out of his corner and dashed down the shaft. At the next junction the rails went left and so did West. He continued downhill when he saw it. A steel mine cart sitting in the tunnel, it's wheels long rusted into immobility. Behind him he hears the susurration of danger. He dived into the cart. Crouched within the metal box, he heard them come, skittering, hissing, claws on stone, fur on stone, fur on fur. From the sound there were a hundred, then many hundred rats. Challenge a religious fanatic's fatih, get a plague. That was some excellent negotiation, West. Next time why don't you tell some mothers how ugly their babies are. He smiled grimly and checked his Device. The signal was strong and getting stronger. Raymond was coming to him.
"That wasn't very friendly, Raymond. I've been trying to be reasonable here. I'd rather not have to hurt you." The hungry, swarming tide around the base on his cart stirred in anger and excitement, empathetic to their caller's mood. I'd really rather not get eaten by rats, either, he added. It sounds like a bad way to go.
"Man, I don't know if you're having trouble keeping score, here, I've I've got you outnumbered. It's me, the Holy Ghost, and the manifestation of God's righteous fury, against you and your faithless idolatry. How about we switch now. I'll suggest you surrender, and we'll pray together that the Spirit will have mercy on you."
West's psychograph spiked with anticipation, endorphins. Also, he was close now. Very close. You're enjoying this a little too much, Man of God.
"You're wrong to think I'm faithless Raymond. I believe in things: friends, country, a cold beer on a hot summer night. I believe that people deserve to not have their belief's messed with by charlatans like you. I know you're kind think Agents are monsters, movie boogeymen. Certainly, plenty of us think the same about your kind. But one think I've learned on the job is this. Whether they can change into a wolf, or drink blood in a wineglass, or call poltergeists, they're still all people. They love, they hate, they talk and fuck and hurt. It's all just people, Raymond. You and me, too."
West sense Raymond's surprise. Doubt grew in him. West released a pulse of subtle psychic energy to feed those doubts. One last chance to end this peacefully. The rats murmured restlessly. He could hear footsteps as Raymond got closer.
"I've got to say, man. You're not what I expected. I thought they used computers and mind control to keep your kind of one mind."
"Yep. Mind control was very popular in the sixities. Went out with the cold war. Not cost effective enough for the accountants. Now they use performance reviews and motivational speakers. Frankly, I miss the mind control." He finally revealed the ironic tone of his inner thoughts. He wanted to reach Raymond. To enlist his cooperation. Jagged lines appeared on the screen.
"You mocking me? Fuck you. There aint going to be nothing left of you." West grimaced at the gesture gone wrong. He felt Raymond readying some kind of new attack. Maybe he'll use the unhealing touch I suggested earlier. He may not be creative, but he certainly adpats quickly. Next time, assuming there is a next time, West, don't tell the perp how to kill you when he's got you cornered. This isn't a bond movie, no extra points for spelling things out for the other guy.
Raymond's voice was closer than the echos. His resolve hardened on West's screen. "Does it make it harder, man, to do what you do, knowing that I'm a person, just like you." The rats surged in excitement, sensing death, feeding.
"Yes." West whispered. Then he called on his reserves to send a psychic lance directly into the part of Raymond's mind controlling the rats. One voice and a thousand mouths screeched in pain, then rage. Raymond's control over the vermin broke, and they frenzied, lashing out with teeth and claws at anything around them. Mostly that was other rats, and the cries on pain and anger continued, echoes of the original injury, spreading out. Raymond cried out too, he was among the frenzied swarm, and they bit and surged against him mindlessly as well. West heard a shotgun blast, buffeting his ears in the close quarters of the mine. He leapt to his feet, years of training in a single moment, as he put a disarming shot into the target's shoulder. Raymond spun and fell backwards. In a moment he was lost under the squirming furry mass.
West turned away, gagging with revulsion. Raymond's scream was muted, then piercing. West crouched in the cart, listening for signs that Raymond had recovered. Raymond's screams choked off, and after a long time, the sound of the rats faded away into echoes and silence. West climbed out of the cart, gingerly avoiding stepping on the dozens of dead rats on the floor. Reluctantly, he snapped a few photographs of the grisly, half eaten corpse of the former faith healer revivalist. The pictures in his head, and the acrid smell of fur and blood, he knew would disturb his sleep for some time to come.
He made his way back to the entrance shaft. Disturbed more than he could take, he pulled himself up onto the frame on the broken elevator, and began a painful, barehead ascent out of this chamber of horrors.
More later