Adam! Adam!

by Caleb Wilkie

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Pain. This emotion I come to know well as I exploded into this universe of sin and misery. As my body takes the first tastes of it, my nerves are inflamed with agony. Never since then have I experienced that feeling with such magnitude. The air itself, cruel as it is, creates friction with my skin. Everywherethere is more pain. My muscles are unused to locomotion, and I slowly teeter forward, unable to halt my fall. Wind rushes as my body like a limp bag careens into something hard, cold, and flat. The agony redoubles. My legs seemingly lose their pain as my face and chest intrude on a whole new level. I am crying. My new, frail body will not survive this world: this I know. Among the hiss of the air, another sound comes to my ears. Sound, the only sense I can use without incurring more torment. I hear a frantic rasping. I try to focus on it through the awful throbbing. I realize that it is my breath that I so desperately need. Maybe if I had known how frail the human body was then, I would not have bothered with life I try to open my eyes. I succeed, but immediately those squishy orbs are assaulted by light. Tears are, by now, streaming down my face. How miserable I am; without any other choice, I lay there on the floor. Only God himself knows how long I was tormented there by my own body. Eventually, the agony leaves my frame. In its absence, it is replaced bynothing. Lying upon the hard metal, I find myself alone and without companion. Immediately I desire the pain once more. The loneliness settles upon me heavily. I decide to try at life again. Firstly, I open my eyes. The light, again, streams into my sockets, but I manage the discomfort. Ethereal clouds of mist cling around me and the cool floor. Slowly, I sit up to better discover my whereabouts. My muscles, aching with use, are stiff with every small motion. I dont know why at the time. Whats that? Yes. Of course it is stasis drain. But, as you will figure out, I couldnt remember anything. I can recall how to use simple things: doors, viewportsI realize that buttons are depressed to function other machines. It is quite some time before Im awed by my own knowledge. I am like a fish that knows how to swim since birth. How do I know? Instinct I suppose. Ive never seen a fish. I am told that they exist on Earth in myriad sizes and shapes. They told me that it was evolution. I know it was God. As I lie there on the cold floor, I discover that I am naked (standard stasis sleep procedure again). I am disturbed, clearly. Due to my memory lapse, I dont know that clothes exist. Still, my body naturally desires that protection that it was denied from birth. So, like a fledgling growing its feathers, I ponderously rise to my feet. The haze from the open stasis tank is gone, by now. Im standing among many other sealed tubes. Each is coiled up with an army of cords and conduits that would provide oxygen, nutrients, and whatever other stuff goes into the tanksthat is, if they were activated.

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I eagerly gaze inside each one. Several times I hurt my nose by doing so. My zeal dies rather swiftly though as with every rapid glance within those confines proves my earlier hypothesis: I am alone. A deep, dark feeling settles into my gut. Again, how am I to know that man needs a companion? God-given mindset I suppose. For a time, Im only able to stand there, looking down at my feet and hands helplessly. You have read the report in my log, havent you? Oh, thank God. Well, then I surmise you understand my real situation at that time. But I digress. Knowingsomehow!how to manage the door keypad, I open the sphincter to the passage outside. I dont know what you understand of New Worlds schematics, but the facility functions as a small city. You have your banks, your elite housing, your humble housing, your workplaces, your markets, your agri-hubs, your power stations, etcetera, etcetera. I am in among the primary stasis chambers. We kept those in their own separate housing. Besides, who wants to be near them while on their way to the park? They still create some manner of fear in me. When I enter the passage, I look down both to the right and left. Rooms packed full of more glass tubes line the walls. I manage to stumble out into the hallway. It is mostly made of clear-cut steel. Venting tubes and conduits are naked to the air and to the eye. See, design engineers werent very concerned about appearances in the stasis holdingsfew people who are frozen in coma care about how tidy their bedroom is I find a score or so jumpsuits outside the door. They are bland, meant just for those recovering from the stasis. It takes a great amount of time, depending on the duration of the internment. But I suppose you already know all of this. Like any common man, I want to explore. I begin to wander throughout the installation. I dont go very far the first day. New Worlds stasis warehouse is a lame complex. I begin to think that the whole world is thus. Never-ending halls of blank, empty, soulless tubes. After some time, I am able to discover the exit. This sphincter is at least twice the size of those in the halls. It slowly drones open, and I stagger out into the bridge that spans between the stasis holdings and the hospital across from it. Transparent steel finally reveals to me what the universe is like. I stagger out andand Have you ever been so utterly awestruck by something that you cant move, you can barely breathe? I stand and press my hand against the window and look out at paradise. New World stretches down from my position. Structures of a plethora of shapes and sizes are scattered about. They are so close together that I cannot see the surface of the asteroid beneath them. Every look shows a hundred more blinking lights and windows and jutting spires. Somehow it all reeks of familiarity. But what leaves me breathless that day was the open cosmos beyond. Behind the city backdrop looms the eternity of space. I cant fathom its abysmal depths that have no

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depth, and within it shining so many stars, speckled gleams of white breaking the void with awesome splendor. I am there abreast with the viewport for an inconceivable time. Tears stream down my face. I had no idea how insignificant I was before this moment. I wake up on the chilly floor. I dont really know quite what happened. But I rise to my feet nonetheless. I know now that I had just simply fallen asleep. Within a second, I realize that I am famished. My stomach groans so loudly it echoes in the hall. I steady myself with one hand on the wall; I am so weak that I can barely stand. The hospital is white. White everywhere. The floor is composed of endless white panels lit from below, and the ceiling above is brandishing its own white light into my face. I guess its supposed to be welcoming. I hate it. Stumbling along, I pass a junction with a large computer screen displaying the directions to the elevators, the doctors offices, and several other locations that I cannot recall. I move on towards the elevators with their bright, convenient, friendly up and down arrows. The button squeals when I press it. I jump! Its the first real sound I have heard since I awoke. I bend over and stare at the little thing. Activated now, the button was softly lit underneath blue. I smile at it. Its cute. Then I hear the growl. I glance around in fear. The elevators gravity displacers make an odd hiss as it slows and opens. Naively, I snap two looks inside, looking at it like its some wild beast. Its emptyof course. Inside, I find another welcoming control panel. My index finger slowly extends and hovers over the studs. I look at the icons and the text next to them, both showing the purpose of each floor next to the number. When I glance over sub-level 5, I have the urge to send myself there. I didnt know why. Im barely able to control the desire. But along with it comes a grim fear that clenches harder than even my empty belly. Something was down on sub-level 5, and I knew it. But then my stomach rumbles again, and I hurriedly read the rest of the options. Without pause, I mash the button to send me to the cafeteria. The elevator chimes cordially, and the door slides closed. Flashing icons display the floor numbers By the time I wobble into the corridor, my stomach is in pain from so much hunger. I grimace as it contorts into a new discontented shape. When I see the sign with the pleasant blue man and his cutlery over the mess hall door, I pause. Somehow my stomach remembers better than Iit screams at me. Of course the place has been vacant for an incredible time, but the tables and the chairs are still in their pristine positions and conditions. The hospital, undoubtedly, required excellent sanitation records. I, however, could care less about the cleanliness of the facility. I feel weak. So weak. I shoulder the button to open the kitchen door. The sphincter sighs open, and I hurriedly enter.

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The counters are all perfectly white. And empty as my stomach. I use the tables to support my weight as I clumsily seek out storage. Thank God, I find it. I snatch the first container I find. Desperate for its contents, I scratch it with my fingernails, trying to open its plastic seal. I throw it on the ground in exasperation. I sling it at the wall. It wont open. I grab it and run into the kitchen. Nearly a hundred knives wait for me. Shining like the fanged maw of some monster. I lift the blade into the air and drive it into the food container. Pressurized air hisses from the incision. It is the sound of a fallen preys last gasp of life. Tomatoes tumble out. Ripe. Red. Delicious. My teeth tear into them. The juice streams past my tongue and down my throat and past my lips and across my face. Each one makes squishing screams as I force it into the embrace of my teeth. But my stomach would not be contented. I scamper into the pantry again. This time I find cold storage. Shelf upon shelf packed full with meats await me. And my belly has found what its looking for. I gluttonize the pork and the beef cold. I am an animal that moment. It seems like my life is built to feed. Water quenches my dry lips. Mutilated food plummets to my innards. God knows how long I was there. Feasting. Even though my hunger finally subsides, my desire remains. In the aftermath of the carnage, I look down on the food scraps blankly. They could not slake my addiction. I look at the five tomatoes that I had just devoured. Each was a pulpy red puddle. It reminds me of oh, God, help me I cant I apologize for my insecurity during our previous session. My experience in New World was traumatizing to say the least. Thank you for your consideration. Life in solitude was hard. As I have told you, I want company. Any company. I want anything but to be alone. Initially, I thought that silence was my only companion. My ears awoke from stasis still believing in noise and clamor, but when they stirred and heard nothingit was a foreign feeling. As I walk through the abandoned corridors of the city, I finally hear it. Hear what? The city of course. New World itself makes noise. Every computer console, door sphincter, light bulb, everything creates its own gentle hum or sigh. The city is vibrant with life around me. Brightly colored posters speak of happier times. Green plants in sealed capsules reach out against their bonds. My feet pad softly along. Hidden wiring and piping whine ever so softly overhead. The walls even give way to groaning, discontented by the vacuum outside. Oh, yes, New World was majestic. I would go into the history, but that might bore you. Besides, if I have gathered correctly, youre not here interrogating me for a history lesson. The first several days are spent in the hospital. But I never travel to sub-level 5.

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I sleep during the night I suppose or whenever my body finally demands my slumber. The hallways work rightly enough. One night I try to curl up on a surgeons table with a set of scrubs as my pillow. I wake up with a feverish sweat. Images of the gleaming blades and malign instruments around me torture my soul like an unpardonable sin until I finally retreat back into the hallways. Ironic that it would haunt me so. At long last, I find the tram station. If New World is paradise, then these are the stairway to heaven. Their use again comes easily to me. My memory cant recall all the destinations offered. At the time even, I dont know what JustINNs is, who Nicole Max was, why half of the sub-levels are highlighted in red and orange, or why I cant access seventyfive percent of the city. Still, the tram is my first route to discovering what befell the city a year ago. I dont really know where Im going. I select my destination without preamble and look warily about me as the machine softly lurches forward. Windows widely reveal the city, blazing with eternal nuclear energies. Prominent advertisements drag my gaze. I see flashing neon billboards encouraging ridiculous splurging and sinful gluttony. Instinct commands that I investigate such gaudy icons, but I maintain my vigil from the viewport. Over the next several weeks, I explore New World eagerly. I am an excited newborn. I look in every corner and every back alley and every awful hotel and every brothel and every caf. Of course it takes me long hours to discover the purpose of each place. I have an eerily familiar relation of one of the whorehouses. I had no idea of the man I had been. The sins I had bred. I return to the hospital often enough. The food is packed to the rafters in the mess hall there. It is my headquarters for the whole month of my new life. While I discover new places and features of the city, I finally realize that the tram does not allow access to every part of the facility. The red and orange text on the readouts bespoke of the fallen city. Quarantine. I dont know the meaning of this word. But it trudges a sense of terror in its wake. Somehow, I do know what it means. The connotations of its flaring orange neon sears into my brain. I cannot think but of this quarantine. And it is on sub-level 5 that I discover its origins. Please, sir, I need a moment. It brings me much grief. Too much grief to bear. Perhaps I can tell you again at our next meeting? I can barely stand the thoughtbarely stand Sub-level 5. The laboratory wing of the hospital is where the science and the health of New World meet. When the city was founded, we believed in moral liberty. We believed that science trumped faith. We believed in reason. Sub-level 5. Where I found the spawn of a world without morals.

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I ride the lift downward into the hospitals womb. The door blazes with orange, gleaming bulbsquarantine. Trembling, I activate the sphincter. Unlike the inviting white wards of the upper corridors, this door was reinforced steel, and it growled as it opened. The lab is a wasteland. Everywhere I look the place was wrecked. Shredded metal plates peeled away from the walls. Exposed conduits draped from the broken steel. Pipes are sliced into segments in clean swipes. Shattered consoles litter the floors in the labs, and the lights in the hallways flicker incessantly. I tread softly. Beneath my feet, the floor is covered in dark stains. Even I, in my infantile naivety, realize that something is horribly wrong. I pass through as if in a dreadful nightmare. I stretch my pale hands out. They tremble. My fingers caress the scarred steel. But their touch only worsens my fear. The terror becomes a tangible disease. It penetrates my skin and my bones. My soul collapses along with my spine. I have never felt fear before. My sleep was sweet, blotting out the horror of my former life. I am terrified. But it is not the harsh environment. The inhuman destruction that surrounds me. No, its that even this place, this warped abyss, is so disturbingly familiar to my eyes. Every room brings a flash of remembrance. I have been here before. Before it was destroyed, I saw it. Still, my curiosity spurs me ever onwards. Damn, my sinful nature. Perhaps guilt compelled me. Perhaps, in the end, I had no choice. Perhaps it was fate. Just like I find my way into the test lab. The chamber is a prison of broken equipment, blinking lights, gleaming instruments, sparking wires...it is anarchy. My eye sweeps around, surveying the wanton damage. Then I see it. Among the artificial sheets of steel and shining tools, organic material stands out so well. I look at it. Into its eyes. It stares right back at me. The leviathan. The creature that is birthed from the sin of the city. I stare, and it stares. We both just stand apart. As I gaze into the eternal, black chasms of its eyes I can see the primal nature. I can peer inside and see the dark pollution of its soul leaking from every pore. It is so still, gazing at me. It hasnt eaten in years. And Im the food. It screams. And its coming towards me. Faster. Faster it runs. I wail in terror and anguish as fear seizes my heart like a talon. I sprint back to the lift. The clawed feet of the creature rend the floor which screeches like a siren. I hear its panting behind me. It is hunger. The insatiable lust of a savage beast.

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I round the bend and see the yawning maw of the elevator. Behind me, I hear the monster. But its not just hunger I hear in its breath. Delight, glee breathes down my back. It loves the hunt. It lusts for my flesh. My blood is its most beloved drug. Behind, it comes around the bend and smashes into the wall. It screeches again. This time with pain. It sees its prey escaping. It must have me. I must escape. I must live. I tumble into the elevator. I see pure evil in the corridor behind me. The flickering lights make it flash with preternatural speed. One moment it is fifty feet away. The next it is thirty. And then its fifteen. Its ten feet away. The tremors of its raging feet shake the floor and my weak, guilty, sinful, body. Tears cascade down my face, wrinkled with fear. Claws rise above me. Green saliva shoots at me from its blubbering, shaking head. Rage shines in it. Horrible hunger for the feast lies within that grim grin. Dried blood surrounds its fangs. The stains on the floor. Blood. The wretched remains of scores. The monster wails. I sob, knowing that my end is nigh. The door slams closed. And the elevator rockets back up into the safe light of the hospital. I am locked into a visage of pure, unabashed fear. Through the steel, I can hear none of the abominations cries of rage, pain, hunger, and desire. But I can never forget them. I know them. I know them well. Sir, Im afraid it will take more than a cup of fresh coffee to cure my chills. My fright, my friend, comes from in here. You have no idea what it is like to face the product of all of your sins. The accumulation of your malign ways manifested as a physical predator. You want to know? The ascension back from the pit seems to last a lifetime. The lift chimes softly, and the doors open graciously. But it all is a ruse to me. I have found the terrible truth of New World. I have discovered its evil. All of the white walls and the happy terminals are just a joke. What I saw down on sub-level 5 was the real thing. I will discover that the creature there is the original. The primogenitor of a score of lesser demons who ravaged the city. My investigation will take me all across New World. But it takes me nearly a week to finally muster the courage to face the city again. I move cautiously. I still have no weapons and would not recognize them if I found them. The only boon God gives me is my mindwhich is a potent instrument if used correctly. An instrument that is far too often employed with knowledge. Instead of wisdom.

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I dodge the quarantined blocks. I dont think at the time that I knew what I was looking for. I was just searching. Journal logs left by the last sane inhabitants of New World inform me of its fall from grace. How it had prospered. How it was a beacon of learning and technology. And here, in the histories spoken by the people, I first met Dr. Adam Roskov, Chief of Medicine. Colleagues of the man kept records which state his intense zeal in the projects conducted in the labs. I listen to whispers on the audio files that cautiously say that he had begun to devote more time to the research lab then to the patients in the wings above. What is he doing down on sub-level 5? I deactivate the power on the console, and stand from my position. Im among the many domicile towers strewn about New World. The habitat Im in is poorly furnished with only a bed, a desk, and a small, drab painting. It provides little insight into what the people of New World were like. Dead end. I leave. Its always quiet out there. The almost subsonic hum of the city itself is now lost to me. I no longer hear the hiss of computers as I pass, or the gentle shiver of the pipes overhead. Its serenity. Its serenity where it isnt chaos. But I stray away from all of the quarantine zones. I have no wish to meet the wretch below before I learn more of it. Of course at the time, I do not realize that I have the instinctual desire to kill itI just want to flee, but also to discover. Theres much I dont know about myself. It takes my entire time alone in New World to discover my name and my ethereal past. Looking back now, I understand that I was sick. I can see how I was different than normal people. Yetmaybe I wasnt so different. I apologize; Im getting slightly off tempo. My desire to kill? Mostly, the natural aim of my body was to slay the beast which I had met in sublevel 5. But I know now that I am possessed of a killer instinct. Do not presume upon my slight figure or my sickly frame, sir. In the dark of New World, I displayed my lust for bloodshed. It is nearly two weeks after my encounter that I find blood again. Skulking through the habitats of various persons, I finally find a lead. I notice immediately on my intrusion that the place was larger and more stately than most of the other homes. The apartment is composed of several rooms including a large kitchen and sitting area. Either the previous occupant was a family man or an accomplished member of New Worlds society. A minute later, I discover that both are true. Jameson Bile was a leading doctor in All Hearts Hospital. He was also chief assistant to a certain Adam Roskov. Earlier journal logs show that they were close friends. They came to New World together, and despite differing opinions, maintained a consistent work relationship. As I read further on the glowing terminal, I intuit that their cooperation began to decay.

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I am just reading a passage about a riveting breakthrough when I catch a smell lingering in the air. Standing from the console, I search the premises until I find Mr. Biles master bedroom. I fall backwards. My stomach tries to empty its contents on the floor. It succeeds. I lay there retching and heaving for a time. Eventually, I wipe my mouth and venture inside again. Blood coats everything. Arterial spray on the walls. A dried pool on the floor. The body lies at the foot of the bed. The creature had been ravaged by some insane attack. I see similarities in it to the monster I saw before. But this one was clearly dead. The air in New World is extensively recycled. Even so, decay had begun to work on the corpse. A massive gash in the chest is peeled back and rotting. I can see its white bones jutting from around wrinkled organs. Patches of skin, outlined in greenish pus, still cling to mushy muscles in places. Its locked into a position of rage and agony like a dancer paused in a violent performance. Mandibles are snarling at death in a bitter final deed of defiance. Right claw clutches the bed mattress. Left is stiff in the air. Eyes have disappeared into the sockets of the skull. Flayed skin and splatters of blood lay thrown about the body as it, in its final moments, succumbed to its own savagery. I finally tear my gaze from the creature. Gore soaks the room. But as I look between the ragged smears of blood I see patterns. Writing. The writing of the insane lay upon the steel panels. None shall desecrate the shrine, it says. Gods judgement is at hand. Witness the beginning of the end. The New Armageddon. Are they angels? Are they demons? I come to realize that Jameson Bile probably met his end by the beast on the floor behind me. It perished in starvation, cooped up in the bedroom as it was. Giving into its own animal brutality, it ripped itself open with its own fangs. On the shredded linens, I find a large knife. The cleaver is coated in dry blood. Perhaps Mr. Bile put up a fight after all. In time, I will come to realize that my hypothesis is skewed, but I will tell you later. That would detract from the story and from your understanding. Needless to say, I take the blade for my own use. In the kitchen, I scrub away the gore. I depart from the habitat. The rest of the journal logs remain unread for the time. A misstep that I will later grieve severely. Here I am, walking down the halls in my black and grey jumpsuit, with a gleaming cleaver stuck in my belt. What I dont know yet is that I know how to use it. My investigation is mostly random. In my solitude, I forget the joys of organization. I am free to do what I will. The next day, I visit another large home. This one is composed of considerably more character. Bright posters line the walls. Gold trophies sit in glass cases. Military insignias on the steel walls. Colonel Gregory Harris.

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Audio files speak of his retirement from the Cosmonaut Corps, and his recruitment as chief of security at New World. His journals are the greatest blessing I have received since my awakening. Weapons caches. Emergency access tunnels. Heavy equipment. City blueprints. Its all there. All things I need. I snatch a piece of paper and a pen, marking down a hasty route to one of the supply sheds nearby. I also jot down directions to the nearest emergency access panels I hear a noise nearby. I havent checked the house. A deep sense of dread drops into my belly. I wait. I beseech the heavens that the sound was a ghost of my insane imagination. But the rending of flesh reaches my ears once more. I shut my eyes. The house wasnt under quarantine. But I follow the noise. The kitchen stands in front of me. The door is wide open, absolute dark within. I cannot see a shape through the gloom. Black and that sickly noise are the only things in existence in front of me. Trembling, I reach my left hand around and activate the lightsmy right drops to the handle of the knife cradled at my back. A score of dead forms lay sprawled about the counters and the floor. Blood lies on the cabinets like some abominable varnish. Most of them have been laid into. Some of the corpses are but rags and bones. The sound has stopped. It looks up at me. From its meal, it looks at me. Fresh dinner. The cursed lights overhead flicker with their sudden use. I draw in a breath, knowing the beast will slaughter me then and there. The light returns, and I am alone with the dead. I stand there, wheezy with terror. I look around the counters, barely able to cope with the suspense. The monster will pounce on me any moment now. But I truly am alone. I hastily leave the kitchen and march to the exit. The sphincter opens It leaps upon me with a murderous wail. I scream as its weight draws me to the floor. It rears above me, sighing in and out, in and out, ready for the meal to come. Without pause, I draw the blade and bury it its skull. It wails in pain. I pull the weapon awayand slice into its neck. It screams. I hack an arm away. It falls to the ground. I roll on top of it. And bring the cleaver back on its chest. Again. Again. Again. The blood sprays on my clothes. It writhes. I hack. I beat the psychotic monster until the chest is pulp. Blood bubbles from punctured lungs. The eyes still roll. I kill them too. I kill. Until I realize that I have been screaming. My voice is hoarse. I can barely breathe.

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The thing beneath me will never draw breath again. Slowly, I stagger to my feet. I turn to the exit once more and leave the corpse there to rot. Then I feel the rage fill me again. This time its fearless. This time it is pure, unabashed wrath. I leap upon the dead thing again and rip its body asunder. I dont scream this time. I just grunt and chop and cleave. The head rolls away. Even as its body throws fusillades of viscera at me, it shivers. My eyes tell me that it still lives; my brain tells me that its dead. I make sure. In my new life, Ive found my God-given talent: killing. I leave the knife buried in its broken body. Who wouldnt blame you? I imagine that most people wouldnt think me capable of such madness. But they dont know my past. They dont know what I am. I discover my true nature nearly a week later. I have not encountered another of the creatures since. I find a new suit to wear as my previous equipment was drenched during the fight. Colonel Harriss schematics lead me to a weapons cache which, much to my vexation, is nearly empty. A heavy coat and a light suit of body armor. Really nothing that will stop the talons of the damned demons inhabiting the city. What I do find of interest is a heavy pistol with all in all twenty rounds. The firearm is foreign to me. I never felt comfortable with it. So I holster it and make use of a grim combat knife. You should have seen me, sir. I looked the part of a soldier. After I killed the beast in the colonels residence, I had a new confidence, a new mindset. I knew I could kill, and I was comfortable doing it. The blood from the monster was like some baptism. A rebirth, where I have emerged anew. Now, I know and crave the bloodletting. It has been weeks since my resurrection. New World is my home once more. This time I have adapted. As I wander through the halls again. I resume my investigation. But all the while I know where all the answers lie. I know where my road will take me. I know I will return to my past. I will go to sub-level 5. But that is still another week ahead of me. When God will allow me to stray away from my destiny no longer. Further habitats tell me that even the ordinary citizens had begun to hear whispered rumors of Roskovs experiments. Jameson Bile was said to have been the only vocal opponent to the doctors midnight visits to the laboratory. But all eyes were quickly distracted away from the experiments performed in the dark. The first brutal murder. It was some nameless hospital nurse. She had been followed home. Andwell, she was found in the same state as I find the rest of the corpses.

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Naturally, Colonel Harris took the investigation upon himself. A week later, he disappeared along with his team of investigators. The city descended into panic. Another two deaths occurred the next day. Eight more the next. Escalation of epic proportions. Then there were sightings. Then there were massed killings. The monsters spared none in there genocide. Security teams put the city on lockdown. A large portion of the citys residents escaped on the transports. Most of them were left to their doom. Security patrols were scythed down like the rest of the mobs. No one had heard from Dr. Roskov since the madness started. No one cared. They were dying in the tunnels and the wide plazas of the inner city. One of the largest losses of life went on in Jupiter Square. A large mob of citizenry were locked within when the quarantine began. The creatures found their way inside and rent their prey to pieces. I had passed a viewport that offered a look down into the square. More than a hundred bodies were flayed and laid about. Every corner had been ransacked. Among the dead, I spotted more of the creatures who had perished from starvation in the chamber. It was a corpse room, and I felt no inclination to investigate it. The beginning of the end came when I found my way back to the habitats I had initially entered. I dont know what made me return to Jameson Biles homebut as I passed its door a grim dread filled me. I enter. Immediately, I see the blank screen of his personal computer. Before I move to it, I check his bedroom, and, just how I left it, the corpse sat next to the bed. Satisfied that I am alone, I sit in Mr. Biles padded chair and stare at the glowing screen. My previous readings were still open. I continue without preamble. And here I finally find the right questions. Biles journals log his work with Dr. Adam Roskov. Genetics. Mutation. Improved health. Apparently the chief of medicine had begun to grow obsessed with his pet project: genetic manipulation. He said that he could improve mans health exponentially in any way. He could give them super strength; he could make them indestructible. He could make them shrug off bullets and blades and whatever else came. See? He was breeding a serum that would make him rich. Colonel Harris was excited. He would be the spokesperson who could take the product back to Earth. So, I figure it out. New World was a control scheme. All it was created for was to demand control from every nation. With the most demandedthing in history, Roskovs plan was to simply hand it out. His plan would only require that his subjects serve him. In return, they would be granted ascension. But his greed killed him. He wanted the power he had created. He wanted to be feared for his mind and for his body. A potent machine with the iron resolve to rule without mercy. It changed him. Biles audio files are stammered bursts of a fearful man. The doctor had begged his superior to relent and let another take his place. Roskov would have his victory however.

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As the bizarre metamorphosis underwent, Bile had tried to secure the lab. However, the thing escaped. I discover that the doctor felt responsible for Roskovs condition and his horrible actions. But Bile failed in keeping the violent monster from its feasting. The hospital nurse that was the first victim was chosen becausewell, simply, she was a woman. Roskovor the monster he turned intoneeded to reproduce to create more of his kind. The autopsy on the woman was never complete, or else they would have found the eggs. Bile knew he must keep the thing from further foul deeds. As the first of the abominations, it alone could reproduce and send more demons scurrying about; the others were much weaker, as they were without human genes to make them stronger. I apologize. All of this may confuse you. The effects of the serum are not simple to describe. What I do know is that Adam Roskov was far stronger and durable than his spawn as the serum was pure in his blood. The others were mere minions. Dr. Bile lured it back to its nest. Back to sub-level 5. There, he nearly was killed by the creature; however, he escaped and initiated the quarantine. By then, Colonel Harris investigation returned to the dead woman, where he was cut down by the newborns. You must be in shock? I have to admit that I was as well when I read it. How remarkable that it happened so quickly. One moment, all was harmony, but thenthen it was madness. Bile knew that his plans to contain the violence and keep New World from dropping off into the abyss of insanity had failed. He also figured out another horrible truth. Secondary exposure to the serum was having its effects. While he recorded his last journals, he explained that, in time, he would succumb and transform into the same creature that Roskov had become. The materials required for an antidote were there. But they, along with the father of the evil, were locked in sub-level 5. Knowing this horrible truth, he locked his family safely away in the shrine. Then: his last log. I see his face streaming with sweat and tears. My family is safe. I wont fall to the murder and sin Adam did. I will not harm a soul. God help me. Then that was it. He locked himself in his bedroom. Then the madness set in. He cut himself and wrote on the walls in his own blood. Until he transformed, starved, and tore himself apart in his insanity. For a time, I stare blankly into the console screen. God knows alone how long I sat there in the dark. Now that I knew the facts, I could barely fathom them. I enter the master bedroom again and see Biles altered form laying there dead. I cry. I cry for the injustice of man. I cry for my solitude. I cry for those who died. I cry for cryings sake. I cry for Jameson Bile. I even cry for Adam Roskov.

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At the bedside, I remove a picture of the two men. They, who had once been friendswho had once been human, smiled sweetly back at me. It was as if they were saying thank you. All they ever wanted was for someone to pity them. I find Jamesons shrine. Before, I had forgotten that religion was frowned upon at New World. Depravity ruled in the city. Everywhere except that home. The shrine entrance was hidden in the house. When I descend, I find the peaceful bodies of the wife and children. They are so serene. Outside the quiet dark of the chapel was adulterated sin and evil. Outside, the darkness was terrifying, but here, it closed in like a soft blanket. The bodies died peacefully. Who knows what Jameson gave them to allow such a quiet passage to eternity? I look around and find the signs of the pious. A bible. A small, wooden cross. It was all special to them. It was precious. Jameson would have rather died alone in the turmoil of New World then desecrate the altar of God below. I never was religious. But as I stare at the cross there, I kneel and I pray. I pray like a madman. And I knew Gods plan. Our sins brought this on ourselves. We lived in a world where we had forgotten God, and this insanity was what was the fruit of such debauchery. We were doomed to fall into the sin and greed of Adam. I open my eyes, and I stand again. I inspect the contents on the table. With the bible and cross, are a glass goblet and plate. I pick up both and weigh them absentmindedly. Setting the cup back, I gaze at the plate in front of me. It is mirror-like. For the first time since my awakening, I see my visage. I drop the plate and scramble away from it. I look at its shattered profile like it is possessed of some demon. What I saw in the plate horrified me. Before, I had no name. I had no past to call my own, and, as a newborn babe, I was sinless. But who stared back at me through the other world beyond the plate? None other than Adam Roskov, Chief of Medicine. Monster. Sinner. I resist the idea. I know it to be true. The face in the picture and the grim expression that had formed in the plate were the same. I am Adam Roskov. Or at least I was. What I have becomewhat I am nowI know not if he can be called the same. I rage down the tunnels. Shame is not quite right. It is more aptly dubbed the knowledge of evil. Like the father of mankind, I realize my sin and, its not shame that fills me but despair. How can I go on now? I pass places as my raging fills me. I cry out as memories assail me with every turn. Past sins haunt me. Its like reliving all of your worst moments and shortcomings. Flashes of gluttony and greed greet me. I see my failings all about me.

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They weigh me down until I topple to my knees. Again, Im weeping openly. It seems nothing can save me. Then as I kneel there in anguish a new wave of emotion engulfs me. I see the monster down the corridor. It regards me with a sick sentience. I perceive it through my blurry vision of tears. For the first time since my awakening I speak. Please, God, do not take me. And then the beast slowly approaches. I see my eyes beneath the madness black deep. As it grows closer, visions of my murderous rampages stab into my pupils. Blood flings into my eyes. With my talons I rip into flesh. I taste the taste of man. The terrified faces of scores flash by me. I see the crying eyes of babes and women. I see the woman that I ravaged and damned to spawn the monsters that plagued the city. The monster comes closer. Still I stare at its gleaming fangs. It grins at me. Through me, it will once more assault this city. My friend, my last link to sanity, Jameson Bile is there too. I see his fleeing form as I pursue him. I savor his taste in the air. His flesh will be mine. Then he is locking me in the laboratory. I screamor it is that roar of the monster that I am. Who am I? What am I? Can I escape this eternal damnation? The blood of thousands rests on my hands on my sharp, shining claws. The monster stands over me. There is no other choice now. I have run as much as God will allow. My destiny rests in that gaping jaw. Take me, demon! Do it! Its blood-stained embrace surmounts me. I scream. As my sanity slips from me, I feel the indomitable violence that I had subconsciously suppressed for so long surface. Just before I lose myself completely, I feel my body warp. The hands curl to claws; my teeth sharpen to mandibles; my vision blazes with savage clouds of madness. And my scream it changes pitch Into a bellow of ecstasy. Into a shout of an addict who has been given his drug once more. Lord alone knows how long I was in the throws of the monster. I awake in the darkness of sub-level 5. Truly, this is my nest. My clothes are gone, shredded during my metamorphosis Im sure. My skin is pale and spotted like a sick man (and I am more sick than any has ever been). I barely recall any of my mad resurrection as the abomination. It all is jumbled as a nightmare. Visions of it fill me with frayed edges. In my wrath, I feasted on my own kind. The squeals of the mutants filled my ears. They feared me. They feared for the first time since their pathetic mewling infancy. Only I had the strength to slay them now.

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Yes, sir, that is how I killed the monster in the colonels home so easily. Even when I appear human, the serum makes me stronger and quicker than any normal manat least I think so. You see, you are the first living human I have seen since my rebirth. Of course. As I return to my senses, lying on the cold floor of the lab, I feel weak and deprived. Then I remember the journal log from Jameson. The antidote. But a quick investigation tells my returned scientist mind that the laboratory is far too damaged to construct the chemicals. I despair. I must cure myself of this disease before it takes me again. I know not how long my humanity will last. Adam inside of me dictates my decisions. When I devote myself, I can see the materials I need to create the antidote. All my life has led me to this. I must rectify my sins. I scramble throughout the facility. Every inch of it comes back to me. I remember it so well. I almost feel Jameson, my friend, next to me. Now my only companion is the monster inside of me. I feel him simmering beneath my skin, in my heart, in my very soul. The beast may have generated from a physical source, but I know its stanch rot inhabits my mind and my spirit. It must not be allowed to rise to the surface again. It takes me nearly an hour to assemble all materials. I clothe myself in a lab coat. I must flee this place. The salvation in my hands cannot be manifested in New World. That place is lost to hell forever. I calculate the distance to the hangar, and pray to the Holy One that my true self will not emerge before I can make safe my solution. My coat flaps behind me as I carry the case with all those precious materials in my hands. Feet pound in the hollow tunnels. I pant. I feel the scratch of the monster within me like some vile babe in the womb. I hate it. And, therefore, I hate myself. My plight is unfair. Why did my God give me this task? Why did he choose me to bring judgement to these people? My greed was the seed behind it all. Why God? Why? I pass bloody halls, dead forms in the shadows, broken glass, and despair, and the forgotten sins lying in darkness. I leap through the door and see a shuttle squatting in the hangar bay. It is mostly empty. Few members of the population having made it that far. The pilots chair is empty. When I sit, I feel destinys hand upon me. When it rockets away into the cosmos, I never look back at the gleaming city behind me. Edens gates have been locked to all, forever. Such doom will be brought to all who seek that which God denied us. Once the vectors are plotted in, I secure my precious cargo. I record my log on the shipboard computer. I tell everything. I see my face there. Adam Roskovs face. But it is haggard. Itsdiseased. Hollow eyes and sunken cheeks.

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I finish with my plea for rescue. That one day, if I am found, my cure will be made and given to me. That my plague will be ended. Then I slept. Back into the infinite depths of the stasis tank, where even my dreams could not haunt me. So, sir, I am here. Call me captain, doctor. Captain, do not call me that. I am no longer that man. I ceased to be him when I was infected with that serum. Yes, well, I suppose we must get you to the medical bay. Excuse me? to administer the antidote. I suppose it should be urgent. Wait! You have not given me the cure yet? I read your log, sir, but I failed to finish it as our interviewing began. I surmised that your personal word would be much better. Hmwell, captain, I have a question for you. Speak it. Do you believe in God? I do not. That would explain it. Explain what? That look on your face, what is amiss? Well, my ill-fated captain, the beast knows when it is threatened. It is just like any creatureeven a man will fight to the end when he knows his end is nigh. surely not Yes sir. Youre all dead already. What? You can runbut Im afraid that your follies have been counted by God. Your end, my friend, is now. God help me. Yes, captain, pray. The demon stirs.

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