When the Night Comes Out Presents the Hive, Part one. Mike Kettinger sat
back and looked at what he had written. He sighed it was as good
as he was going to get. He was, as usual, filled with
only doubt about what he had written and whether or not anyone would give a
shit down the road about any of it. Is this what they wanted,
he thought, Would anyone care? Was this going to make any difference?
He let out another sigh and stepped away from his desk. He looked around
the home the company had built for him, right out of solid rock,
with an indifferent attitude. Unlike many of the men that worked for him,
Kettinger had no wife and kids. There was really nothing waiting for him at
the surface or living with him down in the depths. He had thought about
getting a cat and bringing that down here, but decided that doing that to
an animal was just cruel. Some of his men had pets, but the
men were allowed to do whatever they wanted, so they stayed sane instead.
Mike Kenninger kept saltwater fish in a tank in the living room downstairs, not
as cudly, but at least amusing to watch. Most nights. It was
early morning, but looking out the window showed the same light from the bright
lamp set high into the ceiling that it always showed. There had been attempts
to adjust the light to give people a kind of internal clock that matched what
was going on outside, but they never really caught on. It turned out
that their bodies just naturally adjusted to what was happening on the surface. It
would just be before dawn up there, with the sun just coming over the
trees and trying to crawl its way up the mountains. It would be beautiful
outside. He saw Hive City, as it was known among those who lived
here, and it was the same brightness that it was when he went to
sleep. It was amazing how fast the body adapted to things like this.
The kids would be up and playing and running around and then heading off to
school. Soon his men in the administrative personnel would be heading off to the
main prison complex. Soon the night shift would come, crawling back home to
the modest houses to sleep the day away. Mike stood at the window of
his little house, coffee in hand, studying what he could see of Hive
City. High up above were the bright lamps painted on the rock walls were
blue skies and clouds, but the paint had faded a bit. The houses
looked like the homes you might find in any suburban area, but most of
them were built with a hefty amount of stone work instead of wood and siding.
It just made sense to use the materials that you had at hand,
and when you were digging out one of the world's biggest prisons underground, you
just used the rock that you blasted away. Still, the colors of the
homes were yellow and blue and red and other colors associated with suburbia. There
were green areas that were artificial grass so that people could play football, have
cookouts, and children could run around and play their games. The streets were
a bit of a maze, all of the roads and sidewalks turning back on
themselves since there was really nowhere to go. There were no gasoline powered cars.
There were electric carts that the men used to get around, sort of
like golf carts, that really cut down on the morning and evening rush hours
and kept the air breathable. Not far away, just down the road and
around a bend, was the giant cavern that scientists had used to create a
massive indoor garden. The plant life pumped fresh oxygen into the hive and hive
city. It was also big enough that people could go there to get their
vitamin D and have picnics on real grass. It was all pretty amazing.
Keettinger thought it was amazing until you stopped and realized why they were all here
and what this was all really about. The most dangerous men in the world
were just a few hundred yards away in tiny cells, serving out their long
sentences while being shut away from the rest of the world. Most of the
time, especially on weekends when most of the crew got time off, you
could forget that you were underground. They got special feeds for their televisions down
here, and the men had cookouts and football Sundays and barbecues. If you
didn't look up at the rock walls and the rock ceiling that towered above you,
you might be able to convince yourself that you were outside in a suburban
backyard enjoying a Hamburger instead of miles below ground. Kettenger had originally fought for
the idea that the men who worked for him should be single. He wanted
bachelors and something more like an army instead of families, but that proved to
be a losing argument. The men who were most qualified for this work had
families, were older, and had experienced dealing with the kind of people that
would be sent here. And when you had people like that down here,
you could not expect them to live for a long time without their families.
The logistics of constantly having the workforce going up and down the shaft, decompressing
and recompressing, or trying to bring those families down the shaft was just too
much. It was decided it was actually cheaper to create a community underground.
So hello, hive city, Kettenger muttered as he sipped from his coffee mug
and turned away from the window. He moved around his bed and made his
way to the shower. The water down here was monitored, but the location
to build had been picked because of the large underground river and water system.
They had enough water for a much larger community. All of that played across
Kennenger's mind as he took a long, hot shower, then used more water
to shave and brush his teeth. He smiled at himself in the mirror,
thinking that he looked pretty good for a man in his mid forties who lived
his life underground. By the time he was done, The coffee was kicking
in. He looked at the clock and saw that it was now passed on.
Time to get moving down the stairs into the kitchen to devour a bowl
of cereal topped with real pasteurized milk from animals raised here in the hive,
and then out the door. He had coffee to go in a tin mug,
and was in his cart and on the road in under twenty minutes.
It was all like clockwork, he mused. You really could get used to
anything if you tried hard enough. The cart moved relatively slowly as he wound
his way from his modest two story home through the false suburbia. Some of
his men were also leaving their homes, and they raised their hands in a
wave. Kettinger raised his hand back, smiling, feeling good about his job,
his life, but with that gnawing fear inside his gud. It could
be easy to believe you were really in the suburbs and some big city somewhere,
But you could never forget that you were underground, that it took a
long long time to get back above ground, and that there were dangerous prisoners
just beyond the large wall separating the prison and the houses. Up ahead was
the Gate, a massive iron structure that separated the world of peace that was
supposed to be Hive City and the prison world beyond. It was supposedly impenetrable,
controlled by computers, and virtually indestructible. Yet all of those words applied
to anything man made. It made Kennenger shudder. Men loved to tell the
world that the thing they had built was better indestructible, immovable, and a
number of other things that were supposed to show his dominance. It rarely turned
out to be the case. Approaching the Gate was intimidating. It towered over
everything, reaching high above their heads. Down below, at the human level
were smaller doors set into it. This allowed people walking and in their carts
to get through without the laborious process of opening the massive door. That massive
section, the one that opened the widest, was for huge construction projects and
for moving massive mining equipment. Most of those projects were all planned for the
future. The one thing about the Hive was that it intended to be added
onto as the population grew. As the mining operations got deeper, grew more
expansive, bigger equipment would be needed. The Gate also had a psychological effect.
For the prisoners, it was intimidating and dispiriting to see. For the
residents, it represented safety from those on the other side. Carl was at
the gate controls and a little white booth set off to the side. He
held up his hand and then stifled a yawn. Kednger pulled over to the
side and climbed out of his cart to talk to him. What's up,
Boss, Carl asked, nothing much. How's things easy? Night like always,
no commotion at the gate. The nighttime mining went well from what I
hear. Good output. Looks like we'll meet or exceed quota this month.
Great Mike replied with a smile. That was good. The more productive they
were, the more they sent down to keep things running. The more that
happened, the better life. Was you ready for our new guest tomorrow?
Carl shook his head, his eyebrow raised in that way he had whenever you
said something he thought was stupid. Who can ever be ready for Dalton?
King? Jesus, you turned that one city in Ohio into a radioactive wasteland.
Bad news, Boss, very bad news. I wish they'd send him
somewhere else, you and me both, but they're pleased with things down here
so far, so they think we can handle him. I aim to prove
them right. Okay, your relief should be here soon. Carl, good
job and thanks for the good news about the quota. Take care, Sir
Kettinger gave another wave and got back to his cart. Carl pushed a button.
A light emitted from the top of the booth and scanned the cart and
Kettenger in the blink of an eye. Then the smaller cart sized gate opened
with a loud groan that echoed through the cavern. Kettenger drove through. Up
ahead was the wall. This was the outer edge of the prison. It
was made of solid rock, over one hundred feet thick. Another gate,
this one made of rock, slowly rumbled sideways on rollers and kettengerg drove through,
noticing and admiring like he always did. The smooth rock walls on all
sides. Minerals twinkled in the lights set into the walls. Once through,
he was now in the garage. He found his spot near the door and
plugged the cable from the engine into the charger. He grabbed his briefcase from
the back of the cart and walked through the metal door using his key card.
Now the prison looked like any other office. Just beyond this door was
the administrative portion of the prison. Cubicles that looked like cubicles from anywhere else
were all over. All of them were decorated to the personal tastes of the
workers. Just past this section were the guard areas, which included lockers and
showers and training areas. Beyond that were equipment rooms, but there were also
equipment rooms at each floor level for use and emergencies. There were people everywhere,
and he waved and nodded as he went. Most of them were in
charge of things like paperwork, filing it electricity and monitoring the mining operations,
taking care of the inventory and finances. Basically, it was a bunch of
number pushers, administrative assistants, and people with basic office functions. It was
the stuff that got ignored but would have been impossible to operate the hive without.
Kettinger found his way to the elevator he headed up. His office was
near the top of the administrative area. He had a few hours to look
over reports from the night shift and then get ready to talk to the day
crew. Tonight was to talk to all of his men about the Dalton King
transfer. He finally reached his office after what felt like a marathon of a
journey through the offices. His administrative assistant, Jennifer, was not there yet.
However, there were notes and messages written on pink slips stuck to his
door. He groaned. That meant the head office was already calling him before
he had even gotten up. They were as worried about the King transfer as
he was. Of course they were, but still it was exhausting to have
the confirmation. He grabbed the notes and unlocked his office. Once inside,
he flicked a switch on the wall and the lights came on, extra bright
and supposedly capable of stimulating vitamin D production in his body. He flicked a
second switch and the fifty monitors that made up one entire wall flickered into life.
He could now monitor virtually any corner of the hive from his chair.
Long another wall was a set of more monitors, but these flashed numbers and
names. He could tell where every guard was, every prisoner, which mining
teams were, ware, how much fuel was an each mining machine, basically
everything that the hive was. He could read, monitor, study, and
understand if the hive had a brain. This was it, and he had
a seat right in the center of it all. He tossed the briefcase on
his desk and flipped through his notes. There were twenty messages, and fifteen
of them were from the PR department of the Gemini Corporation, the company that
really owned and funded this place. Hello, mister Kenninger, a voice called
from behind, Hello, Jennifer, he replied, still reading the messages.
We have got to tell Norma to write these messages a little neater. I
can't read some of these. Jennifer came into the office. She was maybe
five foot five and high heels and per as a spring day. She had
long blonde hair and blue eyes, but her hair was done up this morning.
She grabbed the messages. Most of these are from the PR people,
she said. This one's from Donaldson, though you may want to call him
back. Mike groaned. Rick Donaldson was the CEO of Gemini Incorporated. It
was always a stressful time when you had to talk to the guy all the
way at the top of the ladder, especially when you were literally miles beneath
the very bottom of the ladder. Heiney Coffee first, Kettinger said, I'll
get it. I was going to get my own cup, Jennifer said,
handing the stack back to him and then vanishing down the hall. Kettinger smiled
and then headed over to the large curtain that stretched behind his desk. With
the flick of a button, the curtain groaned and slid aside. From here
he could see the prison. There it was the hive in all of its
glory. Ketnenger gave himself a half smile at that thought. Could one really
call a prison glorious? Yes? He thought, His entire life was now
becoming an oxy moron. The cavern was huge, as high as the ceiling
was. The bowl of the prison as it spiral down, was even bigger.
It was as if a giant hand had scooped a humongous ball of stone
and earth out of the middle of this cave. The prison cells lined the
walkway that wound down slowly, heading to the lower levels. At various intervals,
there were corridors that branched off to other areas. The medical facility branched
off down near the lower levels, closer to the mining facility. There were
other wings and areas, but they all followed the same general pattern. Once
you came through a short corridor, you emerged into another bull that spiraled down
and down. The cell doors were another marvel. Each one was half metal
and then thick smoked glass. When a guard approached the cell, they flicked
a switch and the smoked glass suddenly became crystal clear. The glass was also
unbreakable through some new process that Kenninger did not even try to understand. Guards
patrolled these walkways and halls steadily and at regular intervals. At the same time,
monitors watched each room, showed what each prisoner was doing, recording it
somewhere more. Monitors monitored the guards. Everyone wore electronic devices that monitored their
health and various biological elements of each body. There was virtually no way,
once you were inside the hive itself to have a moment to yourself. This
was the life that we chose, Kenninger thought. At times it really did
look like a beehive. When there were people going down to the mines or
coming back. Standing here and looking down, it looked like insects moving about.
Right now, he could see the night shift from the mines heading back
to the locker rooms to change and shower before heading back to their cells guards
were also coming back to the main administration building. Teddenger looked at a monitor
and saw that Carl was busy dealing with the steady stream of people coming and
going back at the gate. Kettenger sat down at his desk and then looked
at the stack of messages. He hated phone calls so much. He was
an action guy who preferred to just do things, work on things, make
plans and then execute them, and not spend time in meetings and conference calls.
All meetings and conference calls did was take him away from the work that
had to be done. He reached over and found the message for Donaldson.
Just as he picked up the phone, Jenny arrived with a mug of coffee,
which he sat down on the desk. She had another one in her
hand, from which she sipped eagerly. Kettnger knew that her coffee was likely
heavy with cream and sugar, to the point of almost being a cappuccino.
He smiled and then dialed Donaldson's number. He rolled his eyes at Jenny.
Good luck. She whispered, yes, hello, mister Donaldson, Kettinger said,
I just got in. It's early morning here. Yes, yes,
I know it's hard for me to keep track of the hours too. Huh.
Yes, yes, we are fully prepared, and I plan on briefing
the men tonight. We will be absolutely ready for Dalton King's arrival. Ketenger
felt a small headache begin to pulse behind his eyes as the CEO droned on
and on about the importance of this thing going off without a hitch. It
was as if he did not realize that this transfer had been the most important
thing on Kettenger's mind for weeks. Now it was going to be a long
day. It was ten o'clock time for the staff meeting. Kettinger put the
phone down and rubbed his head. He took a huge gulp from his coffee
and then grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door. He had been on
the phone the entire morning. He hated a morning that started that way.
He preferred a slower start where he could check emails and read some overnight staff
reports. They're already waiting, Jenny said, as he dashed past. He'd
better be, Kettenger muttered in reply. He grabbed his briefcase and moved fast,
acknowledging the good mornings and hellosers that he got from the staff. He
wound his way back down to the lower level of the administration building and down
another corridor before hooking right and emerging into a room that looked like a large
classroom. Long tables took up most of the space, and sitting behind them
were the beefy men he knew and trusted with his life. These were his
men. Good morning, he said, in a voice that was loud enough
to cut through the chatter, but not loud enough to sound like he was
angry. I won't keep you long, gentlemen. The big meeting is really
tonight. That sent another murmur and some groans through the crowd. Kettinger moved
to the front of the room and stood behind a small podium. He set
up his briefcase on a nearby table and opened it. He removed some papers
and set them out. Thanks for being on time, everyone, he began.
I've got good news from the night shift. Unfortunately, I've been on
the phone with a Gemini brass most of the morning. More groans. Yes,
you know how much I love spending my mornings on the phone. But
the initial report are great. Looks like we had a big strike overnight in
the mines and we might reach our quota and exceed it, and we're going
to do it ahead of schedule. There was some whooping and hollering. While
these men were guards and not the mine managers, they knew how important the
mining was to the existence of this place. Yes, that's very good news.
Now overnight there were five injuries, just the usual stuff. One broken
ankle, a broken wrist, and a concussion among the injuries. Davis,
make sure you stop by the infirmary. Keettinger scanned his reports, rapidly,
moving his finger down the page. Waterson is acting up again, Bradley.
He keeps trying to say he's sick. He's logged a lot of time with
the doctor, but they can't find anything wrong with him. He's trying to
slack off. If it happens again, we're going to have to put him
in isolation. You have my permission that if he gives you any guph today
you can move him. No need to call, just do it. Bradley
nodded. Of course, we all know what tomorrow is. I'm not looking
forward to it any more than you are. Gentlemen, I know that you
will do your jobs and take care of things in the highest form. Of
professionalism. I have no need to tell you how important it is that things
go smoothly. Our meeting is tonight with the entire staff, save for the
skeleton crew who will still be patrolling and monitoring. The meeting starts at seven.
Please be on time. He looked up at the men, all of
them staring at him with a mixture of eagerness and boredom. It was a
quiet night from what I can tell. Let's have more of them and these
meetings can be even shorter. We'll see you all tonight. Have a good
day, gentlemen, Reg please be at my office in ten Reg Allipson,
a man with short blonde hair and a stocky body, nodded and raised his
hand Kettingerg closed his folder. That's it, gentlemen, get to work.
Back in his office, Keenger allowed himself a moment to feel a bit of
relief. Now it would be like a normal day, he told himself.
Now things would shift back into the daily routine. Behind him, Redge settled
into one of the chairs. How are the men doing, Reg, Kennenger
asked as he sat in the swivel chair behind his desk. Reg was a
big man who had been with Kennenger. From the start of the adventure with
the Hive. He was the head bull, to use the prison parlance.
In other words, he was at the top of the ladder among the guards.
He looked tough, could throw down a beating, was unafraid to use
deadly force, but also had a heart of gold and would help anyone from
prisoner to fellow Hive city resident with everything he had. There were always a
few prisoners who were tempted to take advantage of his good nature, but they
never took advantage for very long. No nervous Mike red Da replied, the
only person in the entire prison allowed to talk to Kettinger and use his first
name when they were in private. Kettinger preferred a formal atmosphere at all times.
They want to do this right tomorrow. At the same time, King
has a reputation for raising hell wherever he goes. Never been in a place
like this one before, Kenninger said. The plans they have for him coming
here are unlike anything I've ever seen. I don't think he'll be any trouble,
but the fact remains he really is as dangerous as they claim. He
is. Quite a following up there on the surface and can get people to
do his bidding for him. That's why he's going to be locked down once
he gets here. Man, there has never been a person as buried alive
as this guy is going to be. Reg nodded but said nothing. His
face did not change. I have every confidence in the men, Ridge Kettinger
continued, Please feel free to spread that around. Part of the reason where
Richie thinks some success already is because of all of their hard work. I
know that they won't let someone like King disrupt that. Is there anything else
any other buzz going around? Reg gave a very short and courage shake of
his head. Nothing, the men, I'm pretty happy. Really old things
considered take some getting used to. But once that happens, Ugh, you
just do your job like anyone else. Good to know. Okay, well,
please make sure that you and the rest of the men are assembled by
seven. I'll go over the plans for tomorrow and maybe that will reassure some
people. Reg stood up and gave a brief nod. That was his way
of acknowledging he had received the message and was now leaving. Kettnger raised a
hand in reply, and then Reg turned and walked out of the office to
start his rounds Kettenger rubbed his eyes, sighed, and then permitted himself a
really good yawn. He studied the monitors across the wall holding the remote that
let him change the various monitors to show other parts of the prison. All
seemed to be in order. The prisoners were getting ready to do their work
in the mines, the guards were patrolling those who had worked the night shift
and were settling into their cells. In the administration building, people were working
at computer terminals and other office duties. Farmers were farming, Scientists were doing
things that scientists did, and the medical facility was tending to the wounded from
overnight. Kettenger let himself a marvel at the idea of using prisoners as miners.
It seemed counterintuitive. Sure, give prisoners a method of digging through the
rock brilliant. However, they were all so far down that someone trying to
tunnel up was impossible. You had to worry about decompression to get out of
here. It would take someone weeks to reach the surface, even with the
laser cutters that some of them used. Plus most of the actual mining was
currently being done by professional miners and not prisoners. Since these guys were criminals,
they did not generally come in with the knowledge of how to mine.
The hive had professionals and staff who handled the actual digging, while the prisoners
hauled rock and broke up rock, just like the days of old. It
was thought that some of the longer term prisoners would learn the trade and become
trustees who could take over some of the foreman work that was down the road.
Right now, most of the prisoners were laborers who helped the actual miners.
It turned out that the rock here was rich in all kinds of things.
They had found diamond dust, gold dust, and other precious metals and
gems. That was nice, But it was the minerals and natural gas held
within the rock that was the real prize. All of that got sent to
the surface and used to power buildings, cars, and entire cities. Amazing,
So much of it was science that Kettenger just did not understand. Kettinger
swung around in his chair and stared out over the huge pit that was also
a prison. It was a marvel of modern technology. Yet when you threw
in a wild card like Dalton King, all of that technology meant nothing.
The man was dangerous. Kettenger rubbed his eyes, took a swig of the
last dregs of the coffee and his mug, and swallowed the cold fluid.
Then he went back to work a normal day. He told himself that was
what he wanted until seven. Dalton King was thirty three years old, born
in Great Britain, and still spoke with a British accent. He was skinny,
with dark hair that tended to fly away from his head in a strong
breeze, a long, thin nose, and a small but sharp chin.
He had dark coal eyes that were notorious for their cold stare. He was
also about as charming as a man could be, as known for his ability
to sweet talk himself out of things as he was for his cold hearted nature.
He was also a killer, a mass murderer hundreds of times over.
Exactly what happened to Dalton King to turn him into a monster was not entirely
known. It was known that his parents died in a car accident when he
was very young. He was raised by his grandmother until she too died.
Then he became part of the system, shuffled off to homes and foster families.
His records long since lost to history. At the age of sixteen,
he shows up attending a high school outside of London. His grades are good,
but his history teachers left a note in his file that Dalton seems to
bear a lot of grudges against other people and often disputes the textbook versions of
history. In particular, he protests the idea that the Allied Powers were correct
during World War II and that Great Britain had any justification for the Falklands War
in the eighties of the twentieth century. While disputes are fine, the teacher
notes Dalton often gets loud and hurls insults at those who oppose his view.
Dalton King is expelled later that year. He then vanishes again. At the
age of twenty five, a man calling himself Dalton King begins a website railing
against much of the modern world. He hates, it seems, everyone and
everything. He declares in videos and long rants on the site that humanity has
destroyed the planet, and he worries about man's continued exploration of space for fear
that humanity would contaminate more planets. He espouses a theory that much of the
population should be destroyed and those left knocked back to the stone age. At
first, this Garner's little attention, but then Dalton's message starts to find an
audience. He begins recording more and more videos, and over the course of
the next five years, his message becomes more and more radicalized. He calls
for outright armed insurrection and terrorist tactics. Abruptly, the side vanishes in the
course of twenty four hours, and many wonder if Dalton King had gone underground
or been killed. Many police agencies around the world, concerned with his rhetoric,
search for him. He vanishes for two years. Then one April day,
Dalton King made his first strike, using one of his devoted followers,
a group of mostly young and disenfranchised Zealots. He straps a bomb to a
young woman. The bomb of an explosive type not before seen, and it
is undetected as the woman goes to the top of the Saint Louis Gateway arch.
Once there, she detonates the bomb. A terrific explosion blows out the
center section at the top of the arch, knocking out the keystone sections.
A second bomber located beneath the arch, sets off another bomb, and one
of the legs sections falls completely, killing more people inside of it. In
all, one hundred and fifty people are killed and over one thousand wounded.
That night, a new video appears and quickly goes viral. Dalton King claims
that he is everywhere and that he and his followers have declared a war on
all of humankind. He states that no one is safe and that he is
targeting the United States first because the ua US is still the biggest dog on
the block. He also states he intends to sow fear from the inside out.
In six months, that cryptic message is explained. On a cloudy day
in August, a nuclear device goes off in downtown Chicago. Eight hundred people
die instantly, and thousands more die over the course of weeks, with more
dying from radiation poisoning over the course of years. There is no video message,
but the name of Dalton King is mentioned. Two weeks later, an
enclave of his followers is found in Kansas City planning an attack with saren gas.
Dalton King releases a video vowing revenge. That night, all ten of
his arrested followers commit suicide in their cells. The next day, an apartment
building explodes in Lincoln, Nebraska. It turns out that Dalton used his resources
to rent out an apartment and then pack it with boxes filled with explosives.
Another two hundred are killed as the bomb goes off in the evening when more
people are home. Another message from King states that he will continue to sow
fear in the heart of the country to prove that no one is safe.
The next day, a hijacked tanker truck filled with a biological weapon and high
explosives detonates in Missoula, Montana. The virus unleashed essentially shuts off the entire
state. The government controls the entire state as the military moves in and enacts
a quarantine. Death tolls are in the thousands, but the exact number is
not known to this day. The US is now in a panic. The
stock market crashes, neighbor shoots, neighbor over disputes, big and small.
Entire cities burn as police crack down on suspected neighborhoods and kings. Sympathizers and
the neighborhoods fight back. Both sides of the political aisle say that the rights
of people are being trampled. The country is in chaos. The chaos,
rioting and sheer panic continue for six months. Then a series of bombs explode
all over London. Two hours later, a bomb goes off at the top
of the Eiffel Tower, another bomb goes off in the Vatican, and the
Sydney Opera House is turned to rubble in another suicide bomb. The coordination of
the attack stuns the world. King releases a new message, but he hardly
needs to say anything. He is everywhere, his followers are legion, no
country is safe, no person can hide. To accentuate his point. As
soon as the message ends, a series of explosions rock the Middle East,
with bombs killing thousands and so Saudi Arabia, Libya, Jordan, Turkey and
Dubai. Then there is silence. There is silence for more than two years.
The world waits as economies crumble and law enforcement agencies attempt to track down
the madman. Sightings are common, but nothing pans out. Groupings of his
supporters are arrested and dozens thrown into prison. In the Middle East, hundreds
of King followers are tracked down and executed on live television, but there is
nothing from King until about one year ago, when a small sheriff station not
far from Death Valley receives an unlikely visitor. Dalton King, wearing a simple
gray sweatshirt, jeans, tennis shoes and a smile, walks into the small
station and surrenders. To say that the local sheriff is stunned would be a
vast understatement. What happened next was electrifying television. Dalton represented himself and actually
pleaded not guilty. However, it soon became obvious that he was not really
going to put on much of a defense. Instead, he was going to
use the international coverage to espouse his theories about how mankind needs to go backwards
instead of forwards. He advocated for the elimination of all but a third of
the existing population through some kind of global catastrophe. The judge eventually court ordered
lawyers to defend him and had Dalton chained and gagged in the courtroom. The
day that happened, it was shown that Dalton King had become more than just
one man. A group of one hundred of his followers spread out all over
Manhattan and detonate their now familiar suicide bombs are killed and thousands maimed, and
the message is sent that Dalton King is not to be silenced. A video
posted on a website says that hundreds will die every day that King was bound
and gagged in the courtroom to prove it. When the judge refuses to budge,
another one hundred people are killed with more explosives in Miami. Then that
after noon, another hundred are killed in Los Angeles when more bombs were detonated.
King is allowed to be unchained and not gagged, but he is instructed
that his attorneys will launch his defense from that point forward. He is besieged
by the judge to remain quiet. Dalton King turns and faces the television cameras
that he knew were recording his every move and smiles, a smile that becomes
infamous around the world. He agrees from that point forward there is little doubt
that he is guilty. His defense attempts to ma a defense, but they
soon find that they will get no help from Dalton himself. They bring in
psychologists and psychiatrists and doctors who try to explain that he is irreversibly damaged because
of his childhood, and that essentially Dalton King is insane. The entire time
King sits there with a smile on his face. The question soon arose about
what the government wanted to do with this monster. There had been an international
agreement that King would face trial for his crimes in the United States and that
would be the end of his trials. The fear was that trying to transport
him around the world will afford his followers too many opportunities to try and break
him free or cause more mayhem at his behest. But the question remains,
was he to be executed or imprisoned for life? And if he is to
be imprisoned, where is he to be imprisoned. It is soon decided that
killing him would be the surest way to spark his followers to more violence.
King himself seems to advocate to anyone that will listen that he deserves to die
for his crimes. He gives interviews to the press around the world, giving
more of his theories and giving more and more reasons why he should be executed.
Not wanting to martyr him, the option is soon taken off the table,
and the option of sending him to the deepest, darkest corner of the
hive is presented to the international community. It is agreed that this will be
where he will spend the rest of his life, provided it can be shown
that there was no way for him to escape. Several dignitaries took a tour
of the hive and became convinced. King is found guilty. Up until the
time his sentence is read, he is convinced that he was going to die
by the hands of the government. The look of outrage on his face when
his sentence was read is something to behold. His face red, the veins
in his neck and foreheads standing out. Dalton King screams obscenities at the judge,
the jury and the people gathered. He has to be tased and then
dragged out of the courtroom. His followers react with more violence. There are
suicide bomb attacks in Madrid, Beijing, Tokyo, Melbourne, Berlin and Dallas.
There are threats of Moore, but this time the response from the law
enforcement world is swift and devastating. It turns out that the world was close
to finding many of the largest strongholds of his followers for some time, and
they were just waiting for a signal to make their raids. It is a
slaughter as police squads and military units around the world move in on enclaves of
his followers. There is very little attempt to arrest anyone, and hundreds of
his people are gunned down. King is sent to a supermax prison and kept
constantly tied down until his cell at the Hive was ready. Now with the
highest levels of security the world had ever seen, he is to be transported
to the Hive and hopefully buried for the rest of his life below ground.
That means that the most dangerous man the world had ever known, a man
with the capability of building bombs out of almost anything and motivating other people to
do his bidding, is going to be Mike Kettinger's problem for the rest of
King's life. Despite his initial protests that such a thing would disrupt the commercial
operations, not to mention jeopardize the underground city just a short distance from the
prison, Kettenger is told that it is going to happen. This is the
kind of thing for which the Hive was built. Ketnenger has to agree,
but the idea fills him with nervousness and outright fear. He has never met
the man, but the thought of soon seeing one of the most famous men
in the d history of crime face to face causes him to feel nauseous.
The Hive is his home, his life, and he did not want a
disease, a living tumor like Dalton King here to sow discord or cause any
disruption. Everything has to go right tomorrow. Everything you've been listening to When
the Night Comes Out the Hive. Tune in next time for the Hive Part
two, written by Brian w Alaspa, narrated and produced by Ali James,
Music by Vivek Abishek. Catch up on the first four seasons of When the
Night Comes Out now. Support us on Patreon for more terrifying content.