TheNeverPages Serialisation
Series 5, Episode 7

TheNeverPages - Series 5, Episode 7

We have climbed into a ventilation duct above the observation gantry. We can see Tesla. Poor, broken man, pulling on his levers in a slow repetition. If there is one terminal, one process in the LHC reality reactor that is menial and meaningless, it is Tesla’s terminal. Our hearts break for him.

We have chosen to hide in order to observe. We can see all the way down to our starting point, back to the floor of the reactor where MGV2 interacted with the reactor-tube. It is a tiny dot. The gantries criss-crossing, the electrical beams that dart across the space create a maelstrom below us. It is even more impressive to be above it than to be below. The noise is wondrous and almost symphonic. Before, we had ear-bleeding reverb and gut churning bass rumblings and now we have a gentle hum with a higher toned sparkle that complements it gracefully. Hard to believe that such a machine of destruction can also create something so wondrous.

Our vent is at a cross-passage, the grate below views the walkway, turning left, the grate on that passage looks down onto the observation booth. It lies empty at the moment, save for a strange grotesque bronze bust, maybe waist high. The arms are sharp, rectangular and without hands. The head is long and pointed. Could be a hat, could be a visor, could be an interpretation of a horse’s skull, such is its shape. Can’t tell when looking down upon it. The shoulders are large and smooth, almost like it is wearing plate armour. The bronze finish of the statue is buffed, cold and menacing. Cannot see what it rests on, looks like a set of three thin, long legs, with four joints a piece. Like a ghastly easel. The room is filled with dread. The shadow the bust casts is not of its true form: shadow across the wall looks like a human wearing a top hat. Do not want to go into room. MGV2 does not want to either.

But go we must.


Cannot open grate to fall into room. Going to try and pour our way instead. The incident with Paisley and the culvert could not have been a one-off. We can turn to sand. We know it. We can feel it. We can reform too so we can move through grates and keyholes. Though the room fills us with dread, we are compelled to investigate the odd room. It has no obvious place in this complex. No rhyme or reason.

Leaving journal in vent, will pour in as sand, investigate, leave, double back to where we climbed into vent originally and pick up journal. From here we will continue to observe the gantry and mourn our working-corpse friend Nikola Tesla.


Returned.

Back in vent at cross passage. Journal still here. Periscope still here. Infiltration into room success. We poured through and reformed. Like human hourglasses.

Made discoveries and found a document.

The room we entered was thirty-five foot cubed. In the centre stood the bronze bust. It was indeed standing upon a hideous tripod/easel construction. The entire piece stood eight-foot tall and the spindle-legs were filed to points at the end. They seemed both sturdy and fragile at the same time.

Its face was not of a horse’s and was not a visor. It was a sleek, long helmet. Ribcage looked like the front grill on Model-T. The shape of the torso and the width of the shoulders suggested the statue to be male, however where the stomach should have been were not the contours of a strong set of abdominal muscles, but instead the feminine shaped contours of a foetus. A progeny!

I got in close and I inspected it. No warmth. No humanity, not even in its progeny. The one thing that overwhelmed us completely was its sense of menace. Purposeful menace. I looked over the foul machine and MGV2 went about inspecting the walls, running his fingers over the seams and counting bricks. He found nothing to note.

We were about to leave, when there came a sudden, cold gust of air through the room, accompanied by a sigh that carried the weight of pain and history that only mortal souls can bear. No mere draughty sighs like we humans do. MGV2 and I froze in dread. There was something else living in the room. The statue? If I had my periscope I would have looked, but I could not bring it in through the keyhole. Was it the statue’s shadow cast upon the wall that sighed? Twisted and non-representative of the statue’s form? Most possible.

We turned to look at the statue, and that is when we saw it: a piece of paper. A torn, stained and sorry looking document, folded over and over, poking out betwixt the statue and the stand. How had I not seen it before? We could not stand to be in that room any longer and so we took the paper, slid it under the door and then together we poured ourselves through the keyhole and out onto the concourse.

When we reformed we looked over at Tesla again and called his name. A whisper at first, then a shout. No workers seemed to care about us and Angeline was also not around. Tesla did not respond, just moved his two levers up and down.

We did not dally any longer and so we moved quickly down the gantry that ran alongside the office wall and into a utility laboratory where we climbed back into the vent overhead. Here we are now, back in the vent with the journal. We do not want to look back through that grate into the room with that statue. MGV2 is watching Tesla. I can hear MGV2’s tears dripping onto the cold metal vent. In our conjoined sadness, each strike of sorrow on steel is like a cannon firing.


Angeline just came! While MGV2 was crying, she walked past Tesla and as she past him, she let her hand gently brush against the hem of his suit jacket. Nobody but us saw the gesture. That tiny gesture. That hope of a connection. We could not see her face, but we didn’t need to; the subtle contact said it all. Tesla did not react. She walked off and he carried on with his levers.

I have attached the document found on the statue below.

What happened to me in MGV2’s dream has happened before in another reality. In another time. In 1986. In this town, but not this location. Before it was folded into this realm, it suffered a fate that, it seems, it is doomed to repeat again.

The note is attached. 


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