TheNeverPages Serialisation
Series 3, Episode 9

TheNeverPages - Series 3, Episode 9

Master G_ entry

Tesla’s lover stripped me and prepared me for the machine. It seems that when I operated on her it was only by sheer fluke that I was able to garner results. The equipment here is bizarre and horrific at the same time. Forks, spikes, tubes and probes all with the menacing look that says only ‘insertion’. How was it that I got results just by strapping in the lover and inserting the needles? 

I am behind the screen, naked. Tesla’s personality switched as soon as I agreed to the experiment. Not for better, nor for worse. He just became clinical. Focused. Our friendship is aside now and I am thankful in some ways. Professional. Laudable. 

He graced me with a few moments to write this before we begin. He said that he would make a small entry and then rig the journal to the machine too, so to record what I will be seeing as he did before. It should write itself. I am scared. 

When it is switched on, will I feel as I did before when he projected my dream? Will I be there? Or, as this is projecting into another reality, will I be an observer? Will I be able to react? Will I be able to do anything? The main fear is that I see something that I want, or need, but will be unable to act like in a nightmare where you are meant to go through a door, but you are not able to move. 

The lover has given me a two minute warning. It is soon to be time. Brekker, here goes. Lucy I do this for you. I must come to you, I must find you. I must! Where are you now when I need you? I love you. More than anything I love you.

I go…

Tesla’s Entry

Subject is in the chair, positioned on his back, head in vice, eyelids pinned open. My lover has attached the pulse-verifying tubes to the tracks on his torso. All vital signs are good.

Sleep inducing algorithm tonic has been administered. Tested his synaptic reflexes. Subject has taken and is falling into a drowsy sleep. Needles are to be inserted now.

Needles inserted. No struggle, no pain, no signs or recognition. Heart rate stable. 

Projector enabled. Journal about to be connected after finishing this entry.

Proud, scared and hopeful for the outcome. Though I have a theory on what I am about to witness, I will remain open minded. Anything can happen now. The periscope was easy to attach. Have rigged a small brace around his face, pinned eyelids up, instead of back. This should act as directional ‘barn door’ to deflect the projection through the periscope…

Retreating now to comfortable viewing position.

I am soaring. High above Pripyat, high above the cyclone’s hats. High above it all I am swooping and swirling, caught in a flux, caught in an ecstasy. For once, my collar does not appear stiff, does not irritate. My arms are outstretched, fingers spread and my hands are unblemished, smoothed, softened. Everything seems in soft focus but it is not irritating, it is altogether seductive. The town below is a patch surrounded by a wasteland. The cyclones, from above, all look like plates spinning atop poles. I am above it all but I decide to descend, as even in this somnambulist state, I am of reasoned mind and I direct my focus to the ground. 

I am weaving through the heads of the cyclones, flying with their flow, around and around and the patch below that is Pripyat is growing. I tilt towards the ridge and I spot the top of Mother Motherland.

Gliding now towards her, gliding up to her face. Eye to eye now with the great stone statue. I can see her pain, fear and resolution. she is complete. What love I bare to thee Mother Motherland. I reach out to touch her cheek, she is cold. As I touch her, she begins to crack and sand begins to seep from her eye socket. I flinch and fly backwards, descending away from her face as a small stream of sand runs down her stone cheek. Down I am going now towards her base, towards the compound, towards everything, I am nearly 50ft from it when a dark cloud whips all around, enveloping me completely. I cannot see, I cannot feel, I cannot taste. I lose all sense of geography. I am temporally blind.

The cloud parts and I am inside the reactor. There is panic all around but no sound. On a gantry, by a bank or terminals, a man is frantically pulling levers. Women with clipboards are running around, men in suits sink to their knees and pray. I turn to the reactor to see the uranium rods. They are not dipping, but furiously rising and falling like great, mad pistons. I am looking back now at the gantry and I can see a man crawling on the floor, crawling towards a hatch.  He is near the man at the bank of terminals, there is a flash of steam. The man at the terminal screams and instantly melts through the gratings, his gushing dousing a woman on the gantry below. The crawling man gets to his feet, I reach out when I see his face. he is me. I reach out to grab him, but the black fog comes once more.

I am in my hotel room, there is a version of me on the bed. He is struggling to write in his journal. He is grotesque. Half melted. I can see black powdery skin floating from him and whirling up to the ceiling where it collects in a large black stain. It is in his image. 

I am now dragging him over concrete away from Pripyat, I look down at the sack of melted me and feel nothing, again the black fog comes.

I am in a desert…I know this desert. I recognise the remnants of past memories. Tokens, affectations, signifiers of a time long past, I look around in the distance, I can see the silhouette of a man, he is sinking into the sand, I want to go to him, I try to, but something grabs my ankle.

I am turning now and as I am turning, I am changing location. I am in a laboratory, there is a woman on an operating table, and she has a veil over her head. I approach her. The smell of sulphur burns my nose and eyes, there is a bright purple discharge leaking out from under the veil. I lift the sheet to see a dying figure stretched out on a gurney. It is Lucy, twisted in agony, deformed beyond hope, tortured and tormented. I know who did this. It was me…and not just me…

It was Brekker too. I look down at the travesty that was my beautiful love and she opens her eyes and looks at me, she says in a voice that isn’t hers, “He is coming, and he walks through walls”

And I wake up.

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