Chapter 3: Apparatus of Reality (TEW Fanfiction)

   "There's no way I'm sitting in that thing," you proclaim, ripping your body from Ruvik's grasp.
   Jimenez looks pained. "Please,______, relax."
  You continue to back away. "No way. I'm not doing it." you repeat, vehemently shaking your head.
   "It will not to harm you..The helmet's purpose is to simply gauge the origins of your brain activity whilst this test is in effect. That way, we can estimate what is happening. For instance; if the fear center of your brain is active, we can assume what you're experiencing isn't..preferable. However, we could then 'bring you back', so to speak." Jimenez places a hand on your shoulder. "Remember, these are merely evaluations and no physical harm will come to you."
     You still feel the left over worry of metal stakes being plunged into your skull, but you smother the fear. You were still afraid, of course, but it was a fear you could live with. You had been afraid ever since you made the decision to come here. Being afraid has almost become a fact of life.
   You bite your lip and move towards the sadistic gadget. You half expect it to attack you; it looks so vicious. You sit down, metallic creaks groaning from the contraption.
   "Can I atleast know what this thing is?"
   Jimenez clears his throat as he unhooks a device from the back.
   "It's a prototype, a sort of sample, of what Ruvik and I are currently developing. This one functions on a more primitive level, however, not capable of producing everything our sole machine will be able to."
   At this moment, Ruvik exits the room through a heavy locked door to your right, his gait hinting that he could be up to something.
  Jimenez presses the button near your head and the iron restraints spring over your ankles and wrists, freezing you in place. The metal helmet swings down and pounces on top of your head, the little metal rods poking and prodding your skull.
   Jimenez moves in front of you and brandishes an umbilical cord-like tube. "This will be uncomfortable for a moment, but I don't want you to panic. It will just be temporary pain," his tone is laced with a kind of gentle calmness decent doctors are supposed to have with frightened patients, and this consoles you for the moment. You take a deep breath of air.
   With a searing sting, the device is plunged into your neck, just below the base of the skull. You are plummeted into a body-wracking pain that stuns you down to your fingers and toes. Then you're rendered a ragdoll; limply falling back into the seat as darkness overtakes you.


* * *


   It's like sleeping, but even less so. There are no dreams. You're not thinking, consciously or sub-consciously, not in any form. You are unaware of how much time has passed. The darkness could have been there for a minute, or for hours. Your mind has simply been unplugged. You're rendered senseless, thoughtless. It's a state that could be compared to death.
   Then, it happens. Your mind has been plugged in.
   The darkness is broken apart by sparks, like twinkling starlight. They're originally faint with distance, until they suddenly manifest before you. They're twirling, scintillating as if a billion snowflakes are packed inside them, beckoning you to investigate. Not seeing these glints of light as a threat, but a beguiling calling, you eagerly reach for one. As your finger pokes a spark, a beam of light bursts from it and the dark world is simultaneously filled with illumination, breaking through the blackness like a bull through a hall. The sheer intensity of the brightness is almost unbearable. At the same moment a piercing noise, a hybrid of a hissing teapot and the ringing in the ears, seems to emit from the rays. You wince your eyes shut and shield your ears on instinct.
   The piercing noise tapers off, then subsides completely. You can only hear your labored breaths.
   You withdraw your palm from your vision.
   You're met with a vast meadow abundant with wildflowers. The dew-sprinkled purple and yellow pastels of the petals bend with the breeze---soft, dusky, swaying jewels. There are no clouds that burden the sky and the wind carries a shy scent of lillies. You flip around, your eyes scouring this vibrant world in astonishment. The colors of the trees and flowers are clustered together in this landscape, like splotches of paint on an artist's palette. You peer as far into the distance as you can, your eyes squinting into little slits. and you see a lake mirroring the periwinkle-blue of the sky above.
   This world seems to embody an ideal summer, with all the trimmings. You recollect with confusion that it was just the beginning of wintertime back 'home'--if you could call It that--but time has been canceled here.  

   'Am I dreaming?'

   With a single sound that seems to snap the sonic barrier, something tears through your reality. It sends your happy little world shaking, crumbling to its knees. You feel the soil beneath you quaking, ruffling like a blanket being shaken, and you run out of sheer fear the earth beneath you may fall apart. Your legs pump your body to move faster and faster. The vibrant colors of this world swirl into a blurred mass as you flee.
   The sound slashes through your world again, and this time you see what it brings with it. It looks to be a colossal, nearly invisible force field with a type of bluish liquid-like waviness in its transparent body. It's like a hand is taking a giant sheet of saran wrap through the scenery. You cannot see where it begins or ends, if it even does. It is as if it manifests from everything, and it's coming for you.
   It's traveling at such an incredible speed that you quickly realize you cannot outrun it. You crumble to the ground in a ball, shielding your head for protection, although you doubt it will do much. You hide your eyes and grit your teeth.
   It glides over you, through you, then onward.  
   No pain.
   No sound.
   Nothingness.

   You cower for an undeterminable amount of time, eyes tightly shut and head shielded as shock springs through your body. You don't hear the 'waves' anymore.
   You feel a soft tickle on your elbow. It feels like eyelashes, the soft flitter of butterfly kisses. Your mind is so poised, braced for anything, that you nearly scream at the gentle touch.
   You unwrap your arms from around your head.
   At first glance, you see a flower nestled next to you. It has sprouted from the corner of a white tile.
   You climb to your feet, confusion overtaking your expression this time as opposed to fear. The room is a dimly lit, dingy square box of white tiled walls and floors, but flourishing throughout are the wildflowers. You watch in astonishment, your jaw falling, as the soft pastel purples and yellows burst through the floors. They gain in speed, twitching and lurching as they lengthen from their stems. Next, the petals and leaves unfurl, the motions bearing a graceful flow like ballerinas. The flowers have even manifested from the ceiling, peeking through little cracks, their petals dangling upside down as they thrive and open up to you. Little, blooming speckles of pastels. Logic simply does not exist here.
   You finally notice a door to your right. Your hope is ignited.
   Suddenly, another blue-tinted wave rips through the room. As it rips through, it transforms every flower into small clusters of ashes.
   You dart to the door, holding your breath, reaching for the gleaming doorknob that promises you security and, hopefully, regularity.

BOOM

Something's behind it.

BOOM

   The ominous sound merges with a screeching, horrendous scraping, like something is raking at the other side with its talons, digging into the wood as deeply as it can muster while it desperately attempts to break through.
   Panic spurs you and you run to the other side of the wall. A twisted symphony of blood-curdling screams erupts from beyond the door. Your back is to the wall, fear cradling you, eyes darting around the room wildly with one primal instinct: survive. The thing behind the door is making the door splinter and crack with its determined force. It's all simultaneously enclosing on you, all threatening to engulf you. You wince your eyes closed, body tensed, almost accepting the notion that this might be your last moment of life.

   A nearly defeaning, rumbling resonance of splitting wood and concrete blares from behind you. You flip around, gasping a deep breath of air. You watch as a crack crookedly tears up the wall in a zig-zag manner, sending out ghostly bursts of plasterdust as the wall is divided. Then, with an agonizing slowness, the walls begin to pull apart. You press your head to the wall and your eyes peer through the crack to see what lies on the other side.

   There's a chandelier and two curved staircases.

   At this same moment, a large, bony hand with curved claws breaks through the door like a bulldozer, sending out splinters of wood. You shriek and desperately try to peel apart the walls.
    As it pulls apart, it finally becomes wide enough for you to squeeze through. You pinch through it, your arms suffering cuts from the jagged interior of the construction. Your foot hooks around a metal rail you failed to see in your fog of fear, and you collapse face-first to the main floor of the mansion. The walls abruptly shutting behind you with a crunch.
    Silence. You aren't sure if this is a good sign.
    Your legs do not find the motivation or power to lift yourself. You're stunned to crouching on your knees, gazing at the bloody crack in the wall from where you came. In a matter of seconds, the crack fades like it never existed. It must have all happened in a matter of seconds, but it appeared slow inside your mind. It dragged on the way nightmares seem to drag on.
   A thrash of dizziness reels your senses. Your head feels like an overfilled cup of water and you're struggling not to spill it. You remain attached to the floor out of fear of fainting. You aren't quite sure if being here means you're safe..You're certain of very little right now. You hold your head in your hands, your mind unable to comprehend what just occurred.    
   There's a change in the atmosphere, like an electric current whirling by, or the static before a thunderstorm. Your head jerks up and you nearly scream when you realize that someone is beside you.
   He leers over you with an outstretched, bandaged hand.
You simply gaze up at him, dumbfounded, but his expression gives nothing away. Your lips part as if to speak, but they simply quiver, unable to form any. How do you just explain what you saw? You watch Ruvik's lips move to expel words, but you barely hear him through your stunned, reeling reverie.
   "....what....?"
   "Take it."
   You grasp for his hand and you're lifted to your feet.
   "What--What was that, Did you see--?" the words come out in shudders.
   He doesn't answer you. His head tilts in curiousity as he looks you over from head to toe, as if he has questions and might find the answers on you. His pace is slow, intimidating.
"What are you doing? We--"
He reaches out and grasps your chin with his hand, his fingers digging into your cheeks to an extent where it borders on pain.
    He leans in closer, almost seeming to inspect you. You flinch in reflex, but he grips harder in response, pulling you closer as he sends you staggering towards him.
   "Why are you doing this?" You have to discipline your voice harshly to keep it from trembling.
   He lets his hand fall to his side, and casually he begins to circle you, eyeing you like a hunter whose got a target on his prey. As he strolls behind you, you hear his footsteps stop. You try to will your body to face him, but you're suddenly made unable to move, paralyzed by some invisible force. He hovers behind you close enough to where you can feel hot breath against your ear.

   "Because, you're mine."

   The way he says it; he's certain without a shred of doubt. This was a fact.
   His hand seizes your neck and he pushes you forward, thrusting you towards the double doors. They swing open automatically.
   You don't see the corridor on the other side or the endless slew of doors or the sconces. There is nothing beyond this. A foreboding darkness.
   You begin to writhe and pry at his hand under his grasp, but he simply grips tighter. As you squirm in your useless struggle, his telltale smile stretches across his mouth.
   You both fade into the shadows.

   * * *

    The darkness is parted and your vision arrives blurry at first, then slowly comes into focus, like the adjustments on a camera. It takes you a moment to realize Jimenez is peering into your face, concern embedded into his expression. You jolt forward, realizing you're back where you should be. Your head is swarmed with questions but, at the moment, you cannot find the right match. You reach for the back of your neck and feel smooth skin, no device plugged into it, no bandaged hand. You can almost still feel the grip..
   Your eyes settle on Jimenez again, and a myriad of emotions whirl through you, but you can't put them into words.
   Jimenez has a pill and a small styrofoam cup ready for you on a small metal endtable.
   "I recommend taking these, migraines are commonly experienced after returning."
   "I-I was in this room.. I couldn't get out, and this, this monster was about to burst through a door---"
   "I can assure you that whatever you experienced, it does not carry over into this present reality. What matters is that you relax and take this medicine." He gestures toward the medication and water.
   "I want an explanation."
   "What ever you saw, it manifested from our machine. It's a primitive version of our invention. A blueprint, of sorts, but only two minds can be connected at once, if we're lucky. Our goal is to have multiple individuals involved."
   "What is its purpose? Why would anyone want to experience that?"
   "How can I say this?" His brows furrow as he searches for the right words. "It's like linking brains together, sharing everything on an electro-chemical level. Emotions, memory, perception--Everything, directly."
   "But..that doesn't explain why there was something trying to kill me."
   "You can't always control what manifests in the STEM. What is seen originates from the pit of one's sub-conscious. It brings things even you weren't aware of." The owner of the baritone voice had appeared in the doorway, clutching one of the Styrofoam cups.
   The memory of your encounter inside the machine springs back to you.
   "You were there...You said I was--"
   "I connected myself to bring you back." He puts the cup to his lips, his eyes gleaming with some sort of secret.
   "Without one of us to guide you through the stem, you may not have returned," Jimenez says, "This has helped us study what must happen to make sure all who are involved with the STEM, can return. Although, your mind can be easily swayed; it is hard to differentiate between what is real and what isn't within its confines...Simply put, if your conscious believes you dead, then you can pass in reality."
   "So, I could have died. Thank you for leaving that detail out."
   "You wouldn't have died." Ruvik says bluntly.
   "How? If I thought I was dead in there, I would have died in real life."
   "Because I can control them."
    You simply gaze at him, unsure of what to say.
   "Now, if Ruvik had not been connected to help guide you back, you could have died. Under the supervision of experienced professionals, however, you are safe." JImenez clarifies.
   Your gaze drips down to your body, the fluorescent lighting casts a dreariness over your person. You can't tell if you look sickly pale or if it is just the light. You know you need sleep, either way. This is too much for one day. Jimenez seems to sense this and presses the button that frees you from the grasp of the chair.
   "Another aspect, I should mention, of our creation is that the host has the ability to perceive your emotions, thoughts, and even your memories. Ruvik was the host."
   Your eyes widen and trail up to the pale figure leaning against a doorframe, his smirk laced with mischief. 'Everything?' Your inner most desires, faults, dreams and fears...You feel violated, that your privacy has been trespassed, and paradoxically a strange connection. His eyes say, 'I know things about you that you don't even know.'
   "Why would you need to know everything?"
   "I've stated this before: If I were to allow someone to become my assistant, I needed to be completely certain of who they were."
    Jimenez nods. "--and speaking of which, have your made your decision?"
   "No."
    Your face falls. You've endured all of this, and so far, nothing has come of it. How much more of this can you take? Make up your mind.
   Jimenez seems to mimic your thoughts; he shakes his head, uttering a sigh of impatience. "Ruvik, my whole ambition is to quicken our pace. Our mission desperately needs to be getting back on track to--"
   Ruvik advances towards Jimenez.    
   "Your mission? It's my mission, and my decision." His grave voice placid, but his eyes remain intent. He withdraws from the doctor and moves toward the exit.
   "We don't have all the time in the world, Ruben. It is imperative that we--"
   Ruvik vanishes behind the door, a spike of anger slamming it shut for him.

   * * *


That sycophant has barely contributed a thing.

   He strides down the corridor, aggressive thoughts sweating inside his mind. More so each day, he thought Jimenez as more of a nuisance than a helpful peer.
   His memory rewinds to the beginning; Jimenez had come to him. He had reached out to him and ultimately kick-started his invention, putting his plans into action. For that he was grateful. This collaboration was once beneficial. With his help, Ruvik didn't have to seek his own..materials.  They are brought to him after a simple exchange of money. That is how Ruvik prefers it; getting his materials with ease, so he could do as he pleased. However, deep down he sensed the impending possibility that the doctor now only remained because he concealed an ulterior motive.

   Does he take me for a fool?

   The question had reverberated in his mind for quite some time. It had sat, simmering, but only truly boiled when Jimenez angered him. Over time, this occurred more frequently. A mutual dislike for each other had begun to morph between them, but it was smothered under the fact that they needed the other for their own intentions. Ruvik still needed Jimenez as long as he needed materials. Whatever Jimenez's motive is, if he even has one, it won't be successful.

   No Matter.

   It won't be long until he will not need Jimenez. He looks forward to that day.

   But you...

   He opens a trapdoor at the end of a winding corridor and climbs down the rusted ladder into a layer of blackness.
   A thick silence greets him.
   Solitude.
   Down inside, he circles the room with thoughtful contemplation, the shaky glow of a flickering lantern knocking his silhouette onto every wall. He passes the diagrams of human anatomy countless times.
   He knows what you crave..What you fear..
   Indeed. You could be very useful.
   How it must make you feel, all of this happening to you. The fun of toying with you. It's even satisfying in some form in his troubled mind, but it's not enough..He has developed a hunger for more. He's someone who goes after something when he wants it.
   His reverie drifts to the first test. He turns the memory over and over in his mind, like a cherished piece of gold:


   "You will be asked to help aid in dissecting bodies. Can you psychologically handle this as your profession?"
   You had simply muttered, 'yes.'
   He gazed at you with a cold expression throughout this drone of yes no, yes no, of answering questions. The truth serum had rendered you unaware of who you were talking to or where you were. You were a simple pawn for answering his questions and he was the vessel.
   His attention had eventually crossed into a darker realm, as it always ultimately does, and his voice lowered.
   "Tell me what you crave, what you fear.."
   Your brows had knotted together as if you had hit a jumbled maze of confusion in your mind, and then they loosened, having found a way through;
    "Ruvik."
    From then on, a seed had been planted. It grew in many kinds of directions, some very dark, spreading throughout his psyche.


    * * *

   Just a matter of time.

    His attention diverts to a surgical blade laying on a table. He picks it up and brandishes it, the reflecting light of the steel leaping off the damp concrete walls. He strides towards another ladder situated in the corner that leads down even further. He flips the knife over in his hand, gazing at his bandaged reflection for a moment, before descending the ladder into a deeper realm of darkness. Into his home, his prison.