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Survivor: No River Runs Here (Chapter 1, Part 4)
Friday, March 9, 2012

C1P4 Explore the brutality of the Academy


CATEGORY: FICTION    TIMES READ: 700    RATING:     SERIES: FIREFLY

Survivor: No River Runs Here (Chapter 1, Part 4)

Table of Contents
Survivor: Introduction Survivor: Chapter 1 Part 1 Survivor: Chapter 1 Part 2 Survivor: Chapter 1 Part 3 Survivor: Chapter 1 Part 4

Disclaimer: I by all means necessary am clearly rolling in dough because of this Fan Fiction- as a matter of fact I am earning so much from it that I intend to buy the rights to Firefly off of Fox just so that I will never have to type this again. No but on a more serious note I do not own nor do I intend to reap monetary reward from the use of any characters/objects/other copyrighted stuff displayed within the Firefly series!

Quote: New images. Anger- not mine- others. Angry faces stare towards me- though their speech is hidden their anger- body language is not lost on me- they think me unfair perhaps. These angry stairs turn to risen fists, aimed guns, and pointed knives. If I am unlucky enough to have to deal with the later two I lose some money in 'life insurance' that will calm the situation. But the first result I often participate in- I am small- light- young- but quick. The other men seem clumsy- have had too much to drink- and I have my day most times.

Summary: Explore the brutality of the Academy.


The cold floor surprises my feet once again- I still am yet to get used to walking bare though it has been at least a month since I first awoke in the metal box. I am shoved into the capsule- this time not by the evasive man but instead by the odd scientist- of whom I grown to realize receives pleasure from pushing around others. Today however I am not headed for the Headmaster's office- today I am headed for the medical labs where each student will receive a complete medical evaluation- all on an individual basis. I have grown used to the metal walls of the labyrinth- but not the evil that resides within its walls. The other students continue to laugh at my expense- naming me Porter; as in attendant, and treat me as such. I hate the treatment- though any 'obscene behavior'; as defined by the scientists as cursing - arguing- or violence, is met with punishment- as I have come to find out and therefore I have no way to resist my torment. They exile me from their table by stacking books on my seat or committing other atrocities to my assigned area- and so I often receive punishment for sitting at the incorrect location. I have notified many of the school staff of my abuse- and yet they hardly care- some even partake in my exploitation- making me help them with dish duty or such on the basis that they will support a false claim that I have committed some wrong. I am a lion lost in a city- not belonging here but trapped nonetheless, even Professor Tullius has grown impatient with my lack of knowledge- and most of the other teachers hate me- going out of their way to make me miserable. The odd scientist appears at the door- as he does every morning. "Good Morning S501, you are the first student to be evaluated today- follow me." I cannot help but to chuckle as I follow him- he had stopped asking me to follow him after I politely refused one day of last week- of course I was punished for my impunity but it was well worth the frustration I had caused him. The capsule whizzes around- it is a disorientating ride; perhaps by design, as the capsule seeming darts at top speed towards its target. This ride however is different than during my visit to the Headmaster's office- this time the capsule drops down several levels before beginning is horizontal departure- a new location perhaps? Finally the door to the capsule opens once again- my feet meet the cold floor but the new and startling environment rather captures my attention- I have been taken directly to a single room by the capsule. The room was a preliminary lab- having similar equipment to that of a pediatricians office, on the far side of the lab was a large metal door- massive enough to confuse with the opening of a safe. In the center of the room stood the Headmaster with one other scientist, and in the corner to my right sat two guards playing a card game- poker. One of the guards was staring intently on the pot- it was large for a two man game, perhaps too large for the man to resist. My eyes intently studied the board- which held a 3 of spades, a 4 of diamonds, a 6 of spades, a king of spades, and the final card was a 3 of clubs. "Welcome 501." The headmaster said - the scientist no longer by his side- and the door at the back of the room closing shut. His words come as deaf to me- I hear them but I don't. slight shushes and whispers clamor the back of my mind- "You're not going to win- your cards aren't good enough" Surprised I glanced around- looking for the origin of the voice- and discovered it had been my own. A blinking light crosses my mind- a flash of memories I once knew- cards- I know poker. How odd is it to be able to name a game when you cannot identify yourself? Whispers fill my ears- my eyes drift warily around the room- glancing- analyzing- I search for the whispers. I glance upon the guards. The first guard looks towards me. He is a large white male- 6'3 220 perhaps. He has bright red hair- unkept- that is complemented by an overgrown red goatee- overall he appeared to be rather lowly educated based on his appearance- his mouth moves but his voice fades behind the curtain of my mind- I look to the other. The guard opposite of him was a Black male of large size and carried a more civilized look to him- his hair properly trimmed and face shaved clean. He hardly made an expression- he was a rookie to the game and seemed almost too tight lipped. He gives me a glance- his more out of concern. I stagger back slightly- whispers turn to images- images turn to memories.


Autumn air dries away sweat located on my brow- I am tired but pleased. Harvested wheat- shaped into bales surround me and within my hand I hold a primitive tool of sorts- a crescent blade connected to a staff. It is harvest season- working season. My emotions are apparent within this memory- that is odd- most times these sitcoms hold no emotion- they are jokes to me- they hold no sound. I am tired- long day of work with the ragged tool perhaps. I walk- trudge- to an oddly shaped red building; a barn, dragging a cart with 4 bales of the wheat behind me. I stop short of the barn- tossing the 4 bales of wheat into a shuttle shaped storage unit- a large one- a silo. A man next to the silo observes the bales- and hands me 18 ribbons- signifying my total work from the season so far- it is pay day. I head into the barn- and wait in a line of equally exhausted men laurelled with ribbons. At the head of the line sits a well dressed man- no sweat- he has with him a container- and exchanges ribbons for coin. Finally my time comes- I toss him the ribbons- he neglects to exchange them. Anger now boils within me. I open my mouth- silence- perhaps I had been shouting- but my sitcoms are silent. The man shakes his head- smiling- pointing to a document. I can read it- "Labor Card Required"- is what it says- I am too young to have a labor card- I have been cheated. I leave- sorrow and anger consume the memory- but there is evidently nothing to protect me from such an exploit- and so I leave- walking down a street until I arrive at another primitive tool- this one having two wheels and a chain that makes them move when I pedal. In the far distance the sun sets behind tall buildings and bright lights- this is my destination- I head for a city. The memory shifts forward- skipping frames- now I am near the bright lights- but no sound- no text- no speech is audible. Only one sign catches my eye- black letters beset by a lit yellow background- with a picture of beer located in the center. It is a bar. I often went to this city- it is the setting for many silent sitcoms- this bar was kind to kin of my age and only worried about cash or labor- one could find good earning; though not honest, work there. My mind is plagued at a loss for names- the sign to the city- the bar- all unintelligible. Memories interrupt the sitcom- scenes of cards all silent but vivid. Though names escape me- actions don't. I do more than drink at the bar- I gamble. Cards make sense to me- these scenes highlighted by my eventual sweeping in of coin- the other men giving hard pressed looks towards me as I rob them of their hard earned money so easily. I am no cheat- I know this game- it speaks to me- and I listen to it. My decisions are perfect- and so is my success. New images. Anger- not mine- others. Angry faces stare towards me- though their speech is hidden their anger- body language is not lost on me- they think me unfair perhaps. These angry stairs turn to risen fists, aimed guns, and pointed knives. If I am unlucky enough to have to deal with the later two I lose some money in 'life insurance' that will calm the situation. But the first result I often participate in- I am small- light- young- but quick. The other men seem clumsy- have had too much to drink- and I have my day most times. Still the interjections continue. The scene seemed good to me-but then others- dressed in blue or wearing of stars- always armed with weapons- show up to rob me of my victory. These star armed men- keepers of useless laws- were not so kind towards me. Many scenes end with me in a cage- a large room sized cage- with those that I humiliated earlier- and with the star armed men grabbing my winnings. The sitcom returns. I am now in the bar- I don't want to make a bad day worse- so instead of heading to the gambling table in the corner I instead sit up at the bar. I interact with the man behind the bar- he looks genuinely concerned for me- hands me a beer though I don't hand him coin. The evening seems to be mellow- me drowning my anxiety and anger beer after beer- peacefully- I even eye the gambling table for a second- but recant my interest. Then a man stumbles into the bar- he was dirty and dressed messily aside from an oddly nice belt buckle- he is perhaps a miner- and was already belligerently drunk as told by his attempt at walking. He is causing trouble- looking place to place- he tosses the gambling table- and stumbles around- he has not found what he desires. He eyes me- and jettisons to my position- his belt buckle strikes a chord in me- he is a victim of my gambling. He turns me around- starts yelling at me- his voice is silent in the sitcom- starts tossing about- stomping his feet- I show him the insoles of my pockets- empty. This enrages him- but the man behind the bar tries to get his attention- to help me out- instead the drunken fool decides on another path to get his coin. He pulls out a small pistol- aims at the man behind the bar- and points to a cash register of sorts- he intends to rob the place. I attempt to get up- possibly to sneak out- but the drunk clocks me with the pistol- it hurt. Anger and Fear now rise within the memory. The drunk starts flailing his arms- he is angry- he points the pistol at me- squeezes the trigger- but nothing happens. He in his drunken rampage forgot to bring bullets. I am not the first one to get to him- the men formerly sitting at the gambling table surround him- them equipped with knives or chairs. One of the bigger men grabs on to the drunk and lifts him by his collar. Fear fills the eyes of the drunk- he is terrified- he slips out of his shirt and darts towards the door- but forgets to open it- and his face meets the door in a collision of titans- the door wins. The mood lightens- people's faces show their joy; their laughter- though I am deaf to it, and the memory fades away.

The memory fades- reality slowly becoming of me- voices sound muted in the background- they sound out of focus. "501?" The Headmasters voice pierces my daze- fear startles me to full awareness. "Er- You gonna explain what u meant- or ya just gonna stare into space boy?" The messily kept guard asked- his voice showing frustration with my claim. My eyes examine the Headmasters face- he seems perplexed- I must still seem distant. "Go Ahead S501- it intrigues me that you have a notion about the cards." The Headmaster takes my look as a request- as if I were asking for permission. My mind searched its depths for a logical explanation to my outburst and for my knowledge of his cards- but it cannot find one. But it is not an opinion- no it seems more like a fact- like I know that his cards are inadequate- as if it were as much a reality as the air I breathed. "I do not know how to explain- I think I used to play card games such as this- I was good at them. I knew when to fold- I know he should. His cards are not good enough." The guard laughed a tad and pushed all his chips in "The hell Ima listen to a young-yin bout my cards the he caint even see!" The second guard looked doubtful as to whether he should follow- he was losing the game after all- and this would surely signal the end for him- it would be safer to just fold. The Headmaster did not change focus- still adamantly focused on me. "I will pay you whatever you lose to follow- to bet on your cards." The Headmasters said- gesturing towards the second guard- though his eyes not shifting from my face. The guard hesitated- looking at the Headmaster and then to the pot as if in disbelief before quickly tossing his chips into the pile- his eyes returned to the Headmaster as if awaiting his approval to show his cards. "How much would you bet- or risk losing rather- over whether you were correct or not? What privileges would you seek to gain from this?" The Headmaster was asking me- his eyes still studying my face- studying me. I was surprised by the Headmaster's intense interest in gambling- but it was more than that I suppose. My search within to find an adequate demand did not last long- but finding a way to properly word it was much more difficult. " I want to know who I am. The other kids- they have names- homes- It would be illogical to assume I have had neither- I want to know of my origins- of my name." The Headmaster's eyes darkened- any hint of pleasure or happiness faded from his face and his eyes jotted around the room. "501? How long have you suffered from a lack of memory? I remember that you asked me this question earlier- at the time I thought you were joking, however I should reveal to you that I actually don't know about your past- it is not my responsibility to do so. Do you have another request?" His voice was weak- as if holding no confidence- concern- or truth. You are Subject 501- and that is what you are. His previous words rang through my head- these were stated with strength. Anger filled my mind- bouncing around as if a hornet- I was not going to get my request. "501- I take it that you have been bullied because of your lack of knowledge- because of your memory?" I shifted my anger outwards- glaring towards the headmaster- he was dodging my request. "How does that pertain to my identity" my voice severe. "It doesn't. However I was thinking that you would likely want for revenge- or protection from the bullying would you not?" The suggestion intrigued me- at least I would gain something from the trade, but the notion of him trying to protect me seemed ironic. "I somehow doubt that you would be able to protect me." The Headmaster's confidence didn't waiver- his stare still directly encountering my glare. He held the ace- and he knew it. "Yes, but you would wouldn't you, what if you could get away with a fight? Would they still bully you then? This is of course assuming you want the bullying to end." "Continue." The idea of fighting seemed pleasant, perhaps it could overtly reveal something to me- and at the very least it would silence the other students. The Headmaster smiled "501- if you are correct about the card game- then you will be allowed to fight one student without punishment. However if you lose this bet then you will act as a porter to a student of my choice. Is this adequate?" I nodded in agreement to the trade and the Headmaster turned to the guards- and signaled for them to show their cards. The guards showed their hand. The first guard; the one I had warned, held in his hand a 5 of hearts and a 7 of diamonds- a straight- a good hand. "Looks like yur gonna be work'in lot more now boy" His face lit up like a jack-o-lantern- he was sure of his victory. The second guard no longer can hold his calm- a laugh breaking through his lips as he showed his hand- 8 of spades and 5 of club- forming a higher straight. He grabs at the pot- grinning ear to ear. The first guard sat stunned "Er- Doc do I get the same deal as the othr fella- will you pay my losses." The Headmaster gestured for the guards to leave. The unkept guard sharply rose from his seat- and after giving the headmaster grumble and shooting me a slight scowl stomped on out of the room. The second guard followed- though upon leaving giving me a grin and a thumbs up- his pockets loaded with fresh coin. "501- you continue to impress" The Headmaster said as him also smiling- he walked over to a drawer along the left wall and pulled from it an injector of sorts. "It is time to run tests- please follow me" The headmaster gestured me to follow him- towards the large metal door on the opposite end of the room. Step by step I approached the door. The closer I got the larger it seemed- it being entirely metal and thick at that; no way to see behind it not even a panel to see into it. The door slides open to reveal a circularly shaped lab- within it a plethora of medical machinery- the floor and walls acted as touch screens and holographic interfaces- even sporting projectors. As I walked through the doorway in light danced along my body- scanning me- identifying my measurements. The room was a modern marvel. However something within the room- a ghost- a feeling- haunted it, and instead of awe I found intense fear. My eyes drifted upon the large abomination within the center of the room; an operation chair. Alarms are set off within my mind- the torso of the chair was dressed with a transparent plastic cloth, which even with the lights dim, failed to properly cover the underlying spine of the chair- and more importantly the blood red stains that taint it. The Spine diverts into arm, leg, and neck rests that seem more threatening than comforting- equipped with 5 sets of restraints- wrist, arm, shoulder, leg, and neck. The crown of the chair posses a head restraint and having no padding or comfort to speak of- only metal- only fear. The chair gives me an evil grin- it awaits its victim. The door closes behind me. I turn back towards the door, I wish to escape. The image of the chair haunts my mind and a lingering whisper warns my conscience of the obscenity- but I am already trapped. "Why don't you have a seat" The scientist who had formerly been by the Headmaster's side insists- his voice calm, perhaps even gentle. But my mind is still alarmed. "No" My voice recoiling firmly- a shiver of fear obvious. The Headmaster walks around to his apprentice's side. "501- what my apprentice meant to say was- sit down in the chair." His tone dark- and his message threatening. "No." though wavering I stand my ground. "I only want to run simple procedures- tests. Sit down in the chair 501- I will not ask again." The headmasters voice did not shiver- did not quake- yet I could not help but feel a cackle of sorts within his words- as if they were two sided. He advanced towards me- hands readily on the injector. "You are bluffing." My eyes draw to his injector- betraying me- and they show fear; fear of the pain. The Headmasters expression lightens up. "501- This is only a sedative- I promise- the tests which we have to run on you all require you to be asleep." The Headmaster gestures towards the chair- his assistant lightly gripping my arm and guiding me towards the chair. I slowly pace towards the chair- my body acting without my minds lease- acting out of fear. I sit down and the headmaster injects me. "See nothing bad- now you're going to start to feel..." his voice fades away. My eyes bat shut. I feel metal clamps around my wrists. Darkness envelopes me and his ruse a success.

COMMENTS

Friday, March 9, 2012 2:05 PM

PENQUIN11


Ok Ive got to admit that the blockquote is sort of pathetic in how much of an indent it supplies- I will look for possible solutions to it. Other than that please leave some feedback! I miss reading you guy's opinions!

Friday, March 9, 2012 2:10 PM

PENQUIN11


For now the best I could do was to separate the flashback with some line/breaks. If you guys have better suggestions please tell me.

Wednesday, March 28, 2012 9:08 AM

PENQUIN11


Added a table of contents!

Also as a side note I would love to see some comments- I am writing this fic as to improve my writing, if I have no criticism or complements I really have no clue how well I am doing(and being the perfectionist I am I sort of assume that no-one is into it!)! So PLEASE leave comments!!!!!!!!!


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