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Superworlds - 1.6 - The Captive and The Audience
🕑 Added 2023-06-22 21:53:18 +0000 UTC*
“Please. God. No. Please.”
In the darkness of the warehouse the teleporting soldier reappeared – but not alone. Now, he dragged with him a shaking shadow of a man – a trembling, mangled figure, clad in nought but rags, his hands shackled in thick iron manacles bound behind his back. All around the moonlit room, the looming soldiers drew closer, almost on instinct, like sharks sensing blood. For there was blood. Their captive’s skin was scarred and mottled, both feet pummelled into pulp – and his eyes. Where once had sat his eyeballs now bore only ragged, gaping holes.
The teleporting soldier, sent to drag him from captivity, hauled the man across the concrete floor like a sack of broken meat. He threw him, shivering and sobbing, at the old man’s feet.
“That’s sufficient,” the buyer murmured, “Thank you gentlemen. You may go.”
“But sir, I-”
“You may go now Jackson. All of you. Our friend here and I are going to have a little talk.”
He turned and smiled at the squad commander and held out his palm. For a moment, the soldier looked conflicted – then he handed the old man the box.
“Move out!” he commanded, and as one the guards clustered together, pulling away reluctantly from their broken, trembling prey. With practised familiarity the soldiers moved into an open space and placed their hands upon their squadron’s teleporter, who scrunched up his eyes. For a few moments, the night air hung with the soft sounds of shuffling and concentration. Then there was a pop, a waft of sulphur, and the armed guards disappeared.
Leaving only the old man and the blinded prisoner, in the warehouse, alone.
Pale and skinny, with jaw-length black hair hanging lank and bloodied against hollow cheeks and a trembling underbite, the prisoner shook at the sudden sound and subsequent silence, and began to frantically rock and sob.
“Arthur, no, Arthur, shh,” cooed the man in the glasses. He did not rise from his chair nor reach out to offer any comfort – merely continued to sit, to stare at the body shaking at his feet. “Arthur. I’m not here to hurt you. There’s no need to be afraid. It will all be over soon. I promise.”
“Oh God,” the man named Arthur wailed. The old man shook his head.
“Not like that. I’m not going to kill you Arthur. Unless you try to escape. But I need something from you. Something very simple. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”
“No,” the prisoner whimpered, “No. No.”
“Shh, Arthur. Shh. Just a simple task, one simple thing, and you’ll be taken for healing. We’ll get you back your eyes.”
The captive suddenly froze. He hunched into himself, peering blindly up towards the sound of the old man’s voice.
“You… you… I’m not going to die?”
“That’s entirely up to you Arthur,” the man said mildly, “Just know that I’ve got a gun to your head, and if I see you being uncooperative, I will shoot you, without hesitation.”
“Oh God,” Arthur whispered.
“Shh-shh-shh. All will be fine. Now just stay there, wait there a moment, while I make a little call.”
For the first time since he’d arrived, the buyer stood. Keeping careful distance from the blind man sprawled piteously across the concrete, the old man shuffled a few feet across the warehouse, wherein he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cellphone. Its screen glowed, flickering with a steady up‑tick of numbers – an ongoing videocall. The feed of the receiver was blank. Delicately, the thin, grey-suited man perched the phone atop one of the wooden tables, propping it up against an empty paint tin with the camera facing back towards the prisoner and the chair.
“Can you see?” he asked.
“Yes,” a voice replied. The old man nodded, then shuffled back to the chair so that he was within the camera’s view. He sat down gingerly, then reached into his breast pocket and withdrew the black velvet jewellery case.
“Arthur,” he said calmly, in a voice that betrayed no hint of the horrors the prisoner had endured, “I’m going to hand you a box. It’s a gift box, like one that might hold a necklace. Like you’d buy from a jewellery store. Hold out your hands. Okay?”
The blind man whimpered, blood and mucus dripping from the sockets of his empty eyes – but he held out his arms. His hands shook violently.
“Arthur. I need you to be steady. I’m going to give you the box. You’re going to open it. You’re going to feel very gently what’s inside it. You’re going to take what it’s inside it. You’re going to hold it. You’re going to be very careful. If you drop it, I’ll have to kill you.”
“Oh God,” Arthur sobbed, and his hands shook even harder.
“No, no, none of that. Do this one thing, and I’ll take you to the hospital. You’ll be healed. You’ll get your sight back. You want that, don’t you?”
“Yes.” A whisper.
“Then hold on to what I’m about to give you. Hope it very tight.”
The buyer reached out towards the trembling man and slowly, slowly, lowered the case into his hands. Arthur flinched the moment the box made contact, but only for an instant, and the next second caught himself so violently that the tension in his muscles threatened to snap the case in twain. But he kept hold of himself. Steadily, steadily, the captive’s fingers fumbled around the box’s edges, feeling the shape, the hinges, the gap. He turned the case around, his broken fingernails prying slowly around the edge. The box creaked open. The hair lay inside.
“Gently now,” the old man reminded, almost caring, almost kind. Arthur’s arms continued to shake, but his hands remained steady, brought still by sheer terror and force of will. His fingers slid softly over the velvet lining, searching for aberrations – more tender in fear than the barest lover’s touch.
“I… I feel something,” mumbled Arthur, “I think… it feels like hair.”
“Good,” the thin man replied, leaning forward with a smile that Arthur could not see, “Good. You’ve got it firmly?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. What do you feel?”
“I… I feel… nothing.”
“Nothing from the hair?”
“No I… what is this? What do you want?”
“Arthur,” the man said patiently, “I want you to do something for me.”
“W-what?”
“I want you to absorb the power from that hair.”
“I…” The blind man stammered, and suddenly the fear on his face was palpable, stuttering and sick. “I- I can’t, I can’t feel anything, it’s not… please, I can’t do it, there’s not-”
“Arthur,” chided the man, and there was disappointment now in his patient teacher’s tone, “I need you to make a real effort. If you can’t do this, I’ll have to kill you. I don’t want to kill you Arthur. But I need you to absorb that hair’s power.”
“Oh God. Oh God please I can’t, that’s not how my powers work, they have to be a person, they have to be living-”
“They are living Arthur. That’s a real person’s hair. Absorb it Arthur. Absorb it, or I’m going to kill you.”
“Oh God. Oh God please.” The blind man scrunched up his face, his entire body shaking, his teeth chattering uncontrollably, as all that was left of him clenched around this single, solitary hair. Desperate. Clutching.
“Please-please-please-please-please-”
“Five Arthur. Four.”
“Please. PLEASE! No I’m trying, I swear I’m trying, I’m trying, there’s nothing there-!”
“Three.”
“NO! No I promise, I swear to you, there’s nothing there, THERE’S NOTHING THERE!”
“Two.”
“No-no-no-no-no-no-no oh god please, please, hnnnnngh, hnnnnngh, hnnnnngh-”
“One.”
“I’M SORRY!”
Silence.
The endless dark. The sound of a chair being pushed back, scraping. The sound of shuffling. Then the old man’s distant voice.
“Satisfactory?”
“Yes.”
“Any further need for him?”
“No.”
“As you wish.” There was further shuffling, and suddenly Arthur heard the thin man speak once more, close by.
“I’m very proud of you Arthur. You’ve done very well. Now put the hair back into the box. Yes, gently; that’s right. There you are. Hand me the box. Yes. Excellent. Now stay there. A healer will come soon.”
“Please,” the blind man whimpered.
“Shh. Shh. You’ve done well. It will all be over. Soon this will all be a bad dream.”
With the case tucked safely in his pocket, the thin, grey-haired man shuffled back toward the table. He retrieved his phone, reoriented the camera towards himself, and started off towards the warehouse front door.
“The healer will arrive in an hour. As will a telepath.”
“I’ll be long gone.”
“Good.”
A pause.
“He made a genuine effort.”
“I know.”
“Do you need another?”
“No. I know what I need.”
The speaker ended the call, leaving the old man in silence – save for the whimpers of the broken empath, huddling in blood and sweat behind him, and the sound of the small television, blaring oblivious on into the dark.
*
“Look, we’re almost out of time, Matt and Jane, I want to say thank you so much for coming on the Tonight Show, and thank you so much for everything you’ve done – it’s really, it has been an absolute pleasure, an absolute privilege, thank you.”
“Thank you Jay.
“Thank you.”
Claps and cheers.
“Is there anything you want to say?” the host asked, “Anybody watching at home, anyone you want to say hi to?” He looked between Jane and Matt, the latter of whom shrugged.
“Shoutout to my family, I guess,” said Matt, “Thanks for supporting me, and I’m sorry- I’m sorry I had to lie. Um…” he paused, thinking, “Shoutout to Jonas and Sarah. Shoutout to everyone back at Morningstar; Giselle, Wally, Will. You’re all as much heroes as I am – much more, probably. And I guess… shoutout to everyone, generally. Everyone who lost someone throughout all this horrible crap. I’m thinking of you. We’re all thinking of you. And… here’s hoping this is the end of it. Here’s hoping it gets better from. Here on out.”
The studio erupted in thunderous applause and Matt nodded, chewing his cheek and glancing for approval back at the host. Out of the corner of his eye he shot a brief glance at Jane, who for a second, and for the first time since they’d come on the show, looked genuinely uncomfortable.
“I… ah… I’d like to… yeah. What Matt said,” said Jane. Then she hesitated, shuffling slightly in her seat. “And um, to my dad too. Hi. Dad. Hope… hope you enjoyed the show.”
“I’m sure he loved it,” Leno replied. He fixed them both with a truly magnanimous smile. “Matt Callaghan. Jane Walker. From all of us here in the studio at NBC and at home, let me just say thank you, once more.” He turned to the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, live across America and around the world, exclusive to the Tonight Show, I give you: Matt the Human, and Lady Dawn!”
Matt and Jane rose, waving, and the world followed in standing ovation.
