Baked Scribe Flashback : In The Box
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Trevor leaned against the wall and pulled the ragged tatters of his jacket around himself, as tightly as he could manage. The power to this section of the city had been set to recirculate mode, so most of the lights were starting to flicker, on and off. He could hear the sound of electricity, humming as the cold rain pelted against the street level transformers.
A police cruiser screamed by overhead, but he barely noticed it. Most of the less savory elements in the neighborhood knew that, despite the display of force and their presence, no cop would actually stop here if he didn’t have to to. Short of seeing an actual murder in progress, no one from the department of public ordinance would be making an appearance.
All the better for the task at hand. He winced at the sound of his jacket tearing again. The time was near that he would need to come up with something to barter for in exchange for a newer one. Maybe he would find something in the house that he could use to trade.
He knelt down, and inserted the pick into the lock, straining to hear the sounds of the tumblers against the thunder and wind. The layer of grime on the street caused his knees to slip as he knelt. Street cleaning in sector four only happened once a week, and sometimes not at all. This week had proven to be one of the latter.
From the other end of the block, he could hear the sound of a small group, laughing and chattering as they stumbled their way towards him. Trevor returned to his task, not wanting the confrontation.
Just as he was about to give up and start scampering towards the alley, he felt the lock align, and click into place. He pushed his way through the door, slamming it behind him before the people passing by could find him here.
The greeting room of the apartment had a high arched ceiling with one simple light bulb hanging from the ceiling. It was unlit and he shivered as a cold draft washed over him.
Through the darkness of the room, he could see a keypad entry panel for an alarm code. He didn’t even bother with it. Anyone who would be able to afford that kind of a system wouldn’t live in a house like this. Chances were, the owner just stole, or salvaged the keypad and bolted it to the wall. Besides, he could would be long gone before any cops could make their way over here.
Trevor had spent the last two weeks watching the residence here, their comings and goings. They didn’t lead a luxurious life, but what would they did have should be sufficient for him.
The first thing he spotted in the closet off the main greeting room was a large parka, which he quickly grabbed, and pulled it on, over his poor excuse for a coat. He would hold on to it and try to trade it later for something else. He looked around to see if there was anything else, as shadows thrown in from the street cast great dancing forms on the walls. There were some random personal items strewn about the room, but nothing that he could sell. Nothing worth anything to him either.
He spotted the glint of something on the floor and bent down to pick it up. It was a small picture frame, the photo inside starting to yellow with age. It was a woman, her face almost entirely filling the frame. Behind her, he could just make out the glittering blue of the ocean.
He reached down to run his fingers along the surface of the glass, when someone came bursting into the room, screaming as they dove into him, taking the both of them to the floor. Trevor rolled to his right, trying to push his attacker away from him as the stranger started to rain blows down on him. Nothing was spoken, but it wasn’t long before Trevor heard the sound of a blade being drawn from its sheath.
This was not the man who lived here. The owner was a man in his 70s and his attacker was much younger than that. He was emaciated, and Trevor can only imagine how long it’d been since he last eaten.
“Please,.”it was all he could think to say but even that wasn’t enough. The man hefted a piece of scrap metal that had been cut down to resemble a blade of sorts. Trevor dodged to his left, feeling the whistle in the air as the metal flew past him.
His attacker was panting heavily now, either from overexertion or from the extreme mania that had to be raging in there.
“Please stop, I’m not trying to rob you.” It was strange to hear himself trying to soothe the man as he had likely killed the resident here.
The man lifted his weapon and charged, screaming as he did so, a sound only capable for those who for whom each mouthful of food was maybe the difference between living and starving to death. As he charged, Trevor ducked to his right and instinctively raised his arm, deflecting the blow but earning a deep cut through the layers of his jackets.
Before he could fully acknowledge the pain or even apply pressure to the wound, lights popped on as a hoverpod dropped down, illuminating the entire room from the outside. Trevor marveled at how important the residents here must be in order to warrant such a speedy response. He watched the flashes from the hull-mounted guns as they started to fire, and his head swooned as the shells began ripping through flesh and bone.
In the computer room, the supervisor leaned over the technicians shoulder and pointed at the screen.
“Is this the one?”
“Yes sir,” the technician replied. “He’s lasted much longer in the simulation and shown a great deal of resilience. Ninety five percent of other subjects had expired from cardiac arrhythmia by now.”
The supervisor frowned, watching the solid light indicating test subject 4G. It was useful to see how much people like this could take, but only marginally so.
“Schedule this one for extermination tomorrow,” he said as he turned to leave. “In the meantime, run the simulation again but this time have three men attack him instead of one.”
He started through the door, and with a sudden thought, turned back. “If that doesn’t work, run the simulation again, but break one of his legs.”
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