Floor 21- Descent Read online

  FLOOR 21

  DESCENT

  By Jason Luthor

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Jason Luthor Writing, Houston, 2016.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Recording One

  Recording Two

  Recording Three

  Recording Four

  Recording Five

  Recording Six

  Recording Seven

  Recording Eight

  Recording Nine

  Recording Ten

  Recording Eleven

  Recording Twelve

  Recording Thirteen

  Recording Fourteen

  Recording Fifteen

  Recording Sixteen

  Recording Seventeen

  Recording Eighteen

  Recording Nineteen

  Recording Twenty

  Recording Twenty-One

  Researcher’s Log

  Recording Twenty-Two

  Recording Twenty-Three

  Recording Twenty-Four

  Researcher’s Log

  Recording Twenty-Five

  Recording Twenty-Six

  Researcher’s Log

  Recording Twenty-Seven

  Recording Twenty-Eight

  Researcher’s Log

  Recording Twenty-Nine

  Recording Thirty

  Recording Thirty-One

  Recording Thirty-Two

  Researcher’s Log

  Recording Thirty-Three

  Recording Thirty-Four

  Recording Thirty-Five

  Recording Thirty-Six

  Recording Thirty-Seven

  Researcher’s Log

  Recording Thirty-Eight

  Private log

  Recording Thirty-Nine

  “The ultimate goal of all medical science, throughout history, has been the indefinite extension of human life.”

  - David Marshall

  “The halls are where she stays

  Where she can never fade

  Nothing's what it seems

  Cause Sally's In Your Dreams

  You can take her head

  You can take her hands

  You can take her eyes

  But Sally Never Dies.”

  The Nursery Rhyme of Creepy Sally

  Begin Transmission

  4, 0, pause, 4, 7, 4, 2

  7, 3, pause, 5, 8, 3, 0

  7, 3, pause, 5, 7, 5, 4

  End Transmission

  TRAINING

  Recording One

  So, I wasn’t sure I was going to start recording these again. Well, I mean, I guess I sorta missed it. Hard not to, right? You spend a few weeks of your life keeping notes about the greatest secrets in existence, and that’s gonna leave an impression. I guess in my case that means that I should probably keep recording. Not saying that what’s coming is any bigger than what’s already happened to me. No wait, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Maybe.

  Oh, and by the way, hey there, sorry, this is Jackie. I mean, who else would it be, right? Unless Allison got her hands on my recorder or something. She wouldn’t, I mean, she knows something tragic would happen if she did. By tragic, I am, obviously, referring to the judicial use of my fist to apply some well-deserved punishment.

  Nope! Kidding again.

  Am I avoiding? My therapist tells me I do a lot of avoiding.

  Right. So, I guess that’s a good place to start. How Jackie ended up in therapy.

  So, just to bring future-me up to speed? Yes, I made it into the Scavengers. Duh, I mean, you’re listening to this, aren’t you, future-me? So, you know we made it to the big time.

  Hold on, wait. Avoiding again. Come oooooon, therapy.

  Okay, so, here’s the deal. Scavengers. Yes. Made it. Top dog, king of the hill, everything I wanted. Basically, I’m living the dream, and the last few weeks, we’ve been doing nothing but training to leave for the Deep Creep. Now, before I get into all the crapsack business of how much I hate therapy, let me talk about how much I love the combat training. Because that stuff is tops awesome, and I finally realized why I was always so bored in school. As it turns out, I’m more of what you’d call an ‘active’ learner. Active here meaning I love to punch things. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not great at it. There’s lots of guys on the team that are way stronger than me. I’ve got no problem confessing that, but I’ve also got no problem saying I’m still pretty freaking good. I’m like a spy out of a movie called Code Midnight Black or something. You know, something really cool.

  Now, just to be clear, my first day of training sucked. Like, I survived, if by surviving you mean I had to be carried home by some of my friends and helped into bed, then had to take the next day off because my body was so wrecked. This is going to sound cliché or whatever, but I legit had bruises on top of bruises. Then those bruises had bruises on their bruises, so, yeah, there was no day two for me. I had to skip ahead to day three.

  But I did go into that first day thinking I was pretty miss amazing. I mean, I cleaned Creepy Sally’s clock, am I right? You’d think I’d be pretty freaking good at this whole fighting shiz. But you know what? Nope. Not even close. So, day one, I get to the gym and there’s lots of mats all over the floor. I arrive, as requested, dressed in only the most elegant of stretchy black workout pants and top. You know, the ironic kind you wear more often as you get older because you get, well, bigger. Anyway, I’m not the only one. Now, normally at age seventeen, you’re not allowed to be a Scavenger, but thanks to my general awesomeness, I have, of course, been made the exception. So, you can understand that I’m just a little peeved to see Tommy there too.

  I mean, of anyone it could have been.

  Tommy.

  He's got his half loaded smile cocked the minute I step inside, like he knows I’m going to be upset that he’s around. Well, he’s right, sorta. We’ve been on okay terms ever since he decided to apologize to me for being a toolbag when we were younger. That was a few weeks back, but it doesn’t mean we’re best friends. But, okay, I admit it’s nice to see someone I actually know, plus I’ll admit that I, without having to be blackmailed, initiated contact with the notoriously toolish Tommy Jones.

  “Hey,” I shout as I wobble over to him, my hands squeezing my hips from inside my pockets. “What’s the deal, Toolbag?”

  He gives me this half smirk as he shakes his head at me. “Seriously? This is how we’re going to start our work relationship?”

  “I dunno, sounds kinda like a cute nickname. You know, endearing. You want me to just call you Tommy the whole time? That’s a little boring, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, yeah, Jackie,” he laughs, finally unloading that smile of his with a blast. “Just as long as we’re cool.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa there, feller, let’s not move too fast now. We’re about right here,” I say as I raise my hand to my waist. “That’s what I’d call lukewarm, at best. We’d have to be more like, here,” I continue, raising my hand to my head, “Before we’re cool. But, hey, lukewarm’s something, right? Better than where we were a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Can you at least promise me you’re not going to shoot me in the back during gun training?”

  “I don’t know if I can agree to that . . .” I can see his frown is about two-hundred percent genuine, which, to be fair, is really my fault
. I have what can only be called a relentlessly persistent ability to drive people away. On a team like this, I figure that’s not what you’d call a desirable quality. “But no, we’re cool. Kinda. And, I guess I can promise not to shoot you in the back.”

  “Geez, thanks for the olive branch.”

  “Come on, Tommy, I said I take it back. I’m still going to call you Toolbag though. We need codenames for each other.”

  “Does that mean I get to call you Jacko, then?”

  Now my own eyebrow takes the arc of a fly ball as I glare at him. “Best friends and family only, Toolbag. Besides, Toolbag can mean you’re handy or something. Like you’re someone I can always go to when I need to get something done.”

  “Okay Jackie, I hear ya. Just as long as we keep it friendly.”

  I hold my arms out like I’m waving him in. “I’m here, right? Making convo, doing the friendly dance. Effort, Tommy. I have it.”

  He looks impossibly unconvinced. "Glad to see it."

  “Well, do a little more than just see it, weirdo, and answer my question. How’d you end up here for training? Didn’t realize they were eyeing you to be a Scavenger.”

  “Weirdest thing, right? My old man always said I was more likely to make Security. Then out of the blue, we get a visit from Judas Abbott. Man says they want me on board because I’ve always done pretty good as far as, you know, sports and everything. So, he said they needed someone really athletic for the next Scavenging, and we both know that’s pretty much me.”

  “Yeah, but, you’re not eighteen. Your birthday’s not for like, two more months. I mean, at least I thought.”

  That grin of his reloads. “You telling me you remember my birthday, Jackie?”

  “Don’t get a big head, Toolbag. I remember everyone’s birthday. I mean, courtesy, you know? God.”

  “Right, right. Anyway, yeah, you’re right. Birthday’s not for a while, but they said this was an emergency, and, I mean, it’s not like I won’t be pretty close to the age limit when we take off. My birthday’ll only be about two weeks away. So, they waived the birthday, said it’d be fine. Guess they couldn’t pass up on these,” he says as he lifts his arms, kissing his admittedly overly developed biceps.

  Still. Gross.

  “Tommy, I swear, if you ever do that again, I’m going to make sure you don’t have the lips left to apply any more kisses.”

  “Dang, Jackie. You’re vicious.”

  “Think I got here by being a priss?”

  “Nope. I’ve always known you’re tough. Best arm in baseball, right?”

  Well, sucking up to me always makes me smile. “Don’t forget my mad skills at basketball.” I throw up my fingers like I’m flashing some hand signal at him. “Yo.”

  “Yeah, um, Jackie, if you don’t want me kissing my biceps then you can’t go around trying to . . . well, I don’t even know what that signal was. But you can’t.”

  “Right, you’re right,” I agree as I bow my eyes, suddenly reminded of my recurring social awkwardness as I tuck back into my own body. “Um, so, know anybody else here?”

  That beakish nose of his points between a few people as he scans the room. “Nah, almost everyone seems older than us.”

  I join the search, taking a look around at everyone. He’s right. There’s about a dozen other people all dressed like black doppelgangers and I barely recognize any of them. It’s not like my people skills are fantastic, and now here I am, surrounded by strangers. It’s almost . . . almost . . . enough to make me want to leave. Not after all I’ve been through, though. Not after climbing through vents to be the first person to ever invade Floor 1, nearly getting shot up with Creep gunk and brainwashed, not to mention knocking the hell out of a monster to save this Tower. If I could do that, I can do this.

  I take a deep breath as the blur of strange faces cross my line of sight.

  I can do this. I can do this. I ca —

  My mantra is interrupted by the click clacking of the door lock behind us, and me and Tommy both kinda spin like children caught making trouble. It’s all of a half second before I’m staring at the only man in the room dressed differently from everyone else. He looks like a big piece of blueberry candy in his colored bodysuit, and his shockingly white hair bobs around his sharp cut features. It’s like someone took a knife and carved his face out of granite.

  Judas Abbott.

  I hate this guy.

  He spots me and gives me that jerkface smile of his, but he passes by. It’s almost a gift that he decides to not actually talk with me, since it’s a good bet that it would cause a sudden rupture to my precariously calm façade. Hey, I said I’m bad with people. It’s not like I try to hide this, and I’m especially bad with people like Abbott. Anyway, guy takes center stage in the gym and kinda just treads circles, looking at all of us before he begins what I can just about imagine will be some predictably long, blowhard speech about how we have to be the best or something.

  “Members of the Second Scavenging. Welcome to week one of preparations for what may be the most trying times of your young lives. The road ahead is fraught with difficulty but, I must say, I am confident. You have been chosen, among all your peers, for a singular reason. Because you are the best.”

  Bingo, I think. Ding, ding, ding. Jackie wins this round.

  “From this moment forward, you will be molded, as the clay in the hands of the potter. Some of you have stood here before, have seen the dangers of the Deep Creep. Your younger, less experienced compatriots will be relying on you to lead the way. However, those of you who are new to this team should not be under any delusions. No one will hold your hand, or baby you through the depths of the Tower. A foot taken slightly askew may very well end with your leg taken from you. Hundreds of feet below Floor 21, there will be no way to save you should such a thing occur. Everything you are taught from this moment forward is for one singular purpose: to make you into a survivor.”

  He keeps walking circles and cutting us up with his eyes. “Every day, we will begin with physical conditioning and combat training. If you feel too tired, if you feel you cannot keep up, then you will be removed from the team. This is no game, and you’d do best to mind that. When enraged, the Creep moves significantly faster than the average human, and your reactions must be honed to their utmost if you hope to survive when in the belly of the beast. Beyond your physical regimen and combat training, you will also learn how to handle a variety of weapons. Pistols, rifles, flamethrowers, these will all be your means of survival when in the depths of the Tower. You will learn how to handle explosives and how to properly toss grenades, for instances when your life is at its most threatened. And, should any of you prove yourselves skilled enough to become a commander of your own unit, you may very well be rewarded with this.” Abbott stops, his body pivoting on his foot as his hand flashes outward. An arc of fire burns the air as he drops to a knee, a sword held out from his arm. It’s humming as the steel edge just sizzles with orange light. I’ve seen it once before, when we fought Creepy Sally.

  It’s still as uber now as it was then.

  Abbott keeps going. “The Ignition Blade, more commonly known as the Sword of Fire. It is awarded only to the most skilled and experienced of Scavenger officers. Each of you will be trained in the use of a knife variant of it, meant for use only in the most dire of moments, when you find yourself caught in the limbs of the Creep.” The sword plunges back into its sheath as he whirls back up, his hair following in a trail behind him. “Of course, only half the duty of a Scavenger is to be physically prepared.”

  His gloved fingers tap at his temple. “The mind is the most potent weapon in your arsenal. It is your first defense against the Creep, helping you to see and anticipate your enemy’s behavior. However, it is your only weapon against the Darkness and the Demons within. The grasp of the shadow men is a more terrible strike than a hundred blows and can drive a man to insanity. Isolated, alone, separated from society and without mental preparation, you will be useless
in the floors below. For that reason, you will each be taken into the Creep and allowed extended time alone. You will be monitored secretly by your superiors to ensure your safety but otherwise left to maintain your own sanity. You will be instructed in breathing techniques, trained to resist your darkest fears, but, in the end, you alone know whether you can ignore the dark siren call of the Tower. Of course, we will help you prepare. To that end, each of you is to receive a psychological evaluation and to receive ongoing therapy sessions. This will help sort out your mental state in anticipation of our descent into the Creep.

  Now, see, that's the killer for me, you know? It’s like, I understand the whole deal with having to train to go down into the Deep Creep. That’s, like, a basic thing. I’m not going to want to go down there without knowing how to use a gun, right? I’m not suicidal. I mean, depressed sometimes? Sure. My point is, I can deal with the physical stuff. But the psychological stuff? Do I really want somebody taking a peek inside my brain? It’s not exactly a lot of sunshine and flowers in there. Anyway, that gets back to how I started this recording.

  Mentioning my therapist.

  Thing is, now that I’m thinking about it, I really don’t have the energy to tackle that mess. But, I’m recording again, so, hey, I guess that just means I can save that convo for tomorrow. After my next therapy session.

  Amazeballs.

  Recording Two

  So, maybe I dodged this discussion yesterday, but you know what, recorder? You’re my only friend. Well, that’s not fair. I’ve got Allison. Thing is, she doesn’t get half the stuff I deal with. She’s queen of her floor. You know, a real Miss Popular.

  Not that I’m bitter.

  But, the thing is, that’s why I don’t feel like I can talk to her about stuff like therapy. Nothing beats sitting out on a couch for an hour to make you feel crazier than you normally do. Plus, it doesn’t help that the dude I talk to is just . . . I dunno. Not normal.