TheNeverPages Serialisation
Series 4, Episode 8

TheNeverPages - Series 4, Episode 8

Tesla Entry.

I, Nikola Tesla, am not afraid of the chaos. The sky is green and glowing. There is a blanket of black smoke spreading out from behind the ridge. I am standing by the fountain and people are fleeing in all directions. Absolute panic. A great catastrophe has come about. Brave firefighters, soldiers, scientists, even fathers are running towards the ridge. Running towards the LHC and the scene of the disaster. I can hear people screaming and crying, but worse, I can feel their panic. I see a child of six or seven trip over and fall to the floor by the base of the fountain. I can see a crowd of panicked folk charging towards him. I reach down to help him up but he does not see me. He wails and cries on the floor. I reach out to grab his collar but my hand goes through him. I go to jump down onto the floor, but instead I float. I am a ghost. A Sleepwalker. All I can do is observe. I scream out to the crowd to stop panicking, but nothing happens. They trample the boy. Heavy boots, sharp heels and walking sticks pulverise him. Nobody stops to help him up. I can see his skull reduce to pulp. I can see his organs burst out of his tiny ribcage.

I can see looters, I can see the panicked men, gathering their families. I can see people on fire. There is a line of men carrying stretchers from the site of the LHC, the stretchers are leaving a trail of liquid. They are ferrying melted workers from within the reactor.

I am floating now, without control, following the trail of melted flesh. People pass through me as they flee. People cry, people burn and people laugh hysterically. I am floating down Torpor Avenue and I can see a line of twenty women standing still along the boardwalk. Their skin purple and their faces drooping like candles aflame. On the other side of the avenue I see a firing squad comprised of lovers, brothers, husbands and sons. They too are drooping and ailing. They raise their weapons. As I float down the avenue, I see them fire and the bullets glide through me and onwards to their targets. The women are no more. I leave Torpor Avenue just as the firing squad turns their weapons upon themselves.

The black cloud belches rain. Large globules of black graphite sludge come crashing down. When the droplets hit, they leave a thick residue that runs like tar down the faces of the doomed.

As I float, I pass a great window and see my reflection. I am here but not. Just a representation in shimmering green. I am a hologram, projecting into this event. It exists and I do not. I conclude as I approach the ridge that I am a witness to an event that has already taken place. This is not an amalgamation of melded realities but a pocket of history. Of one time. Of one place. I am this disaster’s point of observation.

As soon as I make this conclusion I leap forward into the LHC control room. Inside, there is no real panic. There is only the laboured, drawn out moans of the dying. Inside is worse than in the town. The mania is more pained, more real. People do not move as fast, or as wildly because they cannot, they are dragging themselves mostly. Arms, legs, torsos fused to the walls and floor, to tables and chairs.

I see another hologram approach me. This is MGV1 and he has my Evelyn over his shoulder. He cannot see me. We are two interlopers, each in their own realities, observing the same true event in another reality. We occupy the same space and time, though only I seem to be aware of the existence. I know that MGV1 will soon meet me in my reality. He will soon catch up with me. He will soon experiment on Evelyn and soon we will drink and become great friends and, of course, soon he will send himself into his mind and seal his fate forever and his reality will merge with mine and overtake it. He falls down, dropping my Evelyn, she cuts her head open and breaks her radius. I can see the fracture but I do not feel anger. I know he will look after her. I drift on past him, through corridors of melting workers and frantic terminal workers, through the reactor core and up towards a gantry that leads to an observation room. I can see on the door of the room there has been painted a familiar sign - that of two eyeballs joined by an ivy-twined optic nerve.

I float through the reactor core and to the control room where I see a man lying on a desk. He has a crooked top hat lying on his chest and his legs are crossed. There is a vacant look in his eyes and he seems oblivious to all around him. Catatonic shock.

He says, “Nikola Tesla, in whatever reality you are watching this in, you will soon be with me. This is only the beginning. This will happen again and again until I am right. I will see you on the other side.” And he closes his eyes, and melts away to a black graphite stain on the desk.

Bright light. Wake.


Stage Four Firing complete. I am back in the corridor, looking through the doorway to my room. I hardly noticed the beginning of the Stage Firing, so terrified and transfixed was I. A shudder and then a pulse of energy swept through me and the corridor. The pulse seemed to begin from within me, from inside my stomach and it spread outwards. Then a green hue began to invade my vision, the purple tint falling back and the green hue intensifying until it was all-encompassing. Then a flash of brilliant light, and then back. Back to the corridor. I cannot tell how long I was in that vision of the disaster, it seems to be only the briefest of moments on this side.

I am frozen.

I am numb.

As soon as my eyes adjusted to the light, Paisley yelped and fled. I called after him. No answer. Could not turn to chase. Could not move. I am staring into the room and I am utterly terrified. Within the room, there is no longer a stain on the wall. That growing stain that Paisley has been staring at has gone! All that remains are footsteps starting from the wall, walking up it, across the ceiling, and out of the doorway. The steps are black stains, like graphite powder.

But they are wet. Dripping wet.

Whoever they belong to, they can play with gravity. Whoever they are, they have come and they have walked through a wall to get here.

I can feel a presence in the corridor. 


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