Speaker 1: This episode is intended for mature audiences only and contain
Speaker 1: scenes of violence. Specific content warnings can be found in
Speaker 1: the show notes.
Speaker 2: You are now listening to Observable Radio.
Speaker 1: By there, This is Cameron Siuey, the creator of Observable Radio.
Speaker 1: In this our second episode of the interim season, we're
Speaker 1: bringing you three early tales that I wrote pseudononymously under
Speaker 1: the name Joseph Kay on the Internet some fifteen to
Speaker 1: twenty years ago. I've resisted the urge to edit them
Speaker 1: in any way, shape or form other than to have
Speaker 1: them be read by our ensemble and with some audio treatment.
Speaker 1: We're hard at work on season two and we'll be
Speaker 1: bringing you more news soon. But for the next few months,
Speaker 1: we'll be continuing to bring you short stories and other
Speaker 1: ephemera once a month on this feed. Finally, I'd like
Speaker 1: to dedicate this episode to the memory of David Burmister,
Speaker 1: who taught me just about everything I know about short
Speaker 1: fiction and who influenced decades of students as a teacher
Speaker 1: and a director. Thank you, Dave. And now three early tales.
Speaker 3: Special I awake as always to the click and were
Speaker 3: of a thousand hidden cameras and the rising glow of
Speaker 3: ambient lights. Over the next ten minutes, the curtains that
Speaker 3: line my bedroom will part, gliding on mechanized tracks, and
Speaker 3: the honey to sunlight of dawn will stream into the wide,
Speaker 3: circular room. I entertain, for the briefest moment, the thought
Speaker 3: of hurling myself at the windows and plunging a half
Speaker 3: mile to the ground. I hold on to the little
Speaker 3: fantasy of wind and sky and falling for as long
Speaker 3: as it will remain, dreaming of those magnificent moments of
Speaker 3: freedom and choice, even if I were not a coward.
Speaker 3: There are a thousand unseen barriers and safeguards. I cannot
Speaker 3: see them, but several parents are doubtlessly just outside the door,
Speaker 3: and would be between me and the window before I
Speaker 3: could leave the bed. Like each morning before, I let
Speaker 3: the dream of freedom evaporate until the next. A woman
Speaker 3: beside me I cannot recall her name, shifts and rolls
Speaker 3: to embrace me. I wrap my arms around her and
Speaker 3: return the affection, but there is no love in it.
Speaker 3: She is young and soft, skin still stretched taut over
Speaker 3: her athletic frame. I know that in my youth I
Speaker 3: would have buzzed with anticipation and lust simply upon seeing her,
Speaker 3: But now I only take solace with the momentary ghost
Speaker 3: of emotion. Her skin is warm, and her fine and
Speaker 3: downy body hair is smoother than the silk of the sheets.
Speaker 3: I find an abstract pleasure from this closeness, something akin
Speaker 3: to happiness. When our bellies synchronize, breathing pressed close as
Speaker 3: they rise and fall in an alternating rhythm. Her breath
Speaker 3: is hot and damp on my chin and neck. It
Speaker 3: only takes me a few moments to tire over, and
Speaker 3: I push her away to swing my legs to the
Speaker 3: edge of the bed. The black marble of the walls
Speaker 3: and floor of my bedroom are heated to my exact preference,
Speaker 3: so I walk naked into the large bathroom. Behind me,
Speaker 3: two parents enter to silently take the protesting woman away.
Speaker 3: Every morning, I try not to focus on the buzzing
Speaker 3: of small servos and motors as the cameras pivot to
Speaker 3: keep me in view it all time. They must be
Speaker 3: completely autonomous, but it amuses me to think of a
Speaker 3: thousand uniformed parents tediously tracking my every move sixteen hours
Speaker 3: a day. They would be madder than I by now,
Speaker 3: the routine begins, not identical every morning, but a tiny
Speaker 3: repertoire of ordered tasks combined in a different order than
Speaker 3: the day before. Shave, shower, preen, pose, smile, evacuate, masturbate.
Speaker 3: By altering my routines with random reorganization, it gives the
Speaker 3: impression of variants where there is none. The parents tell
Speaker 3: me that this is just one of the reasons my
Speaker 3: channel is still so popular, despite being functionally identical to
Speaker 3: my father's and his father's before us. I have a
Speaker 3: flare for fakery, for showmanship. It makes them beam with pride,
Speaker 3: and I favor them with an empty hull. Oh smile.
Speaker 3: I can choose what I want to do for the
Speaker 3: rest of the day from an approved list. Another beautiful
Speaker 3: facade of freedom. I can hold courts over one hundred
Speaker 3: gladiators and command them to tear each other apart. I
Speaker 3: can paint on a canvas one hundred feet dollar. I
Speaker 3: can inhale hallucinogens and stumble through the thousand acre wildlife
Speaker 3: preserve on the outer decks of the tower. I can
Speaker 3: copulate with my choice of limitless young men or women.
Speaker 3: I can beat a child until his skull caves in.
Speaker 3: It is, of course, a limited form of choice. I
Speaker 3: cannot go back to bed and weep. I can never
Speaker 3: say stop, I cannot leave the tower. I'm at my
Speaker 3: most honest. I believe in the eight hours of broadcast
Speaker 3: solitude each night, locked in the blacked out bedroom of
Speaker 3: silk and marble, with whatever warm body has caught my fancy.
Speaker 3: These are the times that I can admit to myself
Speaker 3: that I would never be able to exist outside the tower.
Speaker 3: I know nothing about the outside, and the parents and
Speaker 3: my concubines can only tell me of the millions of
Speaker 3: people that love me. I don't know how a real
Speaker 3: person lives. I only know my world. I spend the
Speaker 3: morning in the museum, aimlessly wandering through ancient paintings and statues.
Speaker 3: For the afternoon, I practice horseback riding on one of
Speaker 3: the open air decks. I do this partially because I
Speaker 3: told the parents I would be in the Harim all day,
Speaker 3: and it amuses me to think of them struggling to
Speaker 3: adapt the programming and the wasted resources. When I'm done
Speaker 3: for the day, I retire to the balcony with a drink.
Speaker 3: The jagged spires on the horizon look like teeth as
Speaker 3: they swallow the sun, and I can feel that cold,
Speaker 3: familiar not in my guts, that unease and dread at
Speaker 3: the crawling passage of time. When the sun goes down,
Speaker 3: I start to think about the world below me, spinning
Speaker 3: awake just as mind settles down to sleep. I've been
Speaker 3: careful not to conceive, but that can never last. I
Speaker 3: have no illusions about this. Sooner or later I will
Speaker 3: have a child. Doubtless. The parents are already weeding me
Speaker 3: off the contraceptives in my meals. Oh, I grow ill
Speaker 3: at the thought. So I stand to complete my nightly ritual,
Speaker 3: to gaze into the looking glass. The elevator descends through
Speaker 3: the vast interior space of the tower towards the lower
Speaker 3: levels below the surface. I keep quiet on the ride,
Speaker 3: no music to interrupt the silence. The parents love of
Speaker 3: this portion of my night, such a wonderful flair for
Speaker 3: the dramatic. They say, I do it because it is
Speaker 3: the last thing that keeps me sane. The guards on
Speaker 3: the other side are like the parents, only their uniforms
Speaker 3: are different, distorted reflection in the mirror. They smile at
Speaker 3: me with genuine love and affection, and allow me to
Speaker 3: pass into the viewing chamber to look upon my future.
Speaker 3: My father, a man I have never met, lies on
Speaker 3: a soiled mattress in a sterile metal chamber. They only
Speaker 3: love you for so long. He stirs slightly, but I
Speaker 3: know he cannot see me. His eyes are now lidless,
Speaker 3: each orb a milky ball of scar tissue. His mouth
Speaker 3: is lipless and dry. His bleeding ums hold only a
Speaker 3: few shattered teeth. His ears are gone, the skin pulled
Speaker 3: tight around the holes and sewn shut with black cord.
Speaker 3: His limbs terminated in raw stumps at the wrists and
Speaker 3: ankles when I first was allowed to see him. Now
Speaker 3: they are gone completely. I've watched them break, bend, and
Speaker 3: vanish and slow bites over the years, and there are
Speaker 3: only scarred pits around his gunt torso now there are
Speaker 3: deep fresh gouges in his gut. Every time I think
Speaker 3: he simply cannot endure more, he astounds me by continuing
Speaker 3: to live. When my time on the channel ends, each night,
Speaker 3: hiss begins. The tower goes deep underground, and that is
Speaker 3: my father's world, the nightmare reflection of my own. For
Speaker 3: the last few months, they have begun to open him up,
Speaker 3: to take ragged slivers from his organs. Since they took
Speaker 3: his tongue and lips. He has no shame about gibbering,
Speaker 3: wailing wordlessly. I have no love for this man, no
Speaker 3: pity for this thing. I can barely feel pretty for myself.
Speaker 3: But he is my mirror, portrait of my future. The
Speaker 3: people that love me now will grow weary and will
Speaker 3: fall in love with my inevitable son. And when I
Speaker 3: am of no more use to them, I will pass
Speaker 3: through the dark surface of the glass and become the
Speaker 3: figure in the mirror. Same people will delight in watching
Speaker 3: my slow and surgical dismantlement for eight hours every night.
Speaker 3: The mechanical arm on the ceiling descends, looping a hook
Speaker 3: through the harness around my father's broken body, and carries
Speaker 3: him into the next room to prep him for the show.
Speaker 3: He begins to shriek, utilating cry of helpless terror. Thrashes
Speaker 3: in the machines embrace, but it cradles them almost gently
Speaker 3: as it takes him from my view and into someone else's.
Speaker 3: I look away, return to my room, my emotionless and
Speaker 3: hollow in the dark. The channel changes.
Speaker 4: Long story short.
Speaker 3: I hate the whole lever and he.
Speaker 5: Couldn't stop me.
Speaker 1: Man, what's the thing?
Speaker 4: What thing, that thing man right there on your shirt. Jesus,
Speaker 4: what the fuck could calm calmed down? Do not don't
Speaker 4: tell me to calm down.
Speaker 1: Just stop, okay, stop freaking out.
Speaker 6: What the fuck is it doing there?
Speaker 2: Man?
Speaker 4: It's You're gonna wake it up?
Speaker 5: Is it?
Speaker 3: Great?
Speaker 4: Observable Radio enamel pins They're unexpected finally wrought and hard
Speaker 4: enamels and shades of c RT green on a gun
Speaker 4: metal backing. Get yours at the Observable Radio Company story.
Speaker 4: You are now lying from Observable Radio.
Speaker 7: Thall, something is wrong. Consciousness drifts back to me lazily,
Speaker 7: like an incoming tide, as my mind and body awake
Speaker 7: in stages. At first, it is dark and I have
Speaker 7: no form, just a terrified animal spark suspended and a
Speaker 7: featureless abyss. My primal four brain sense useless impulses to
Speaker 7: my unanswering body, demanding that I run and hide. But
Speaker 7: I'm still. How long I drift there I do not know,
Speaker 7: and the darkness of hours time. Gradually I become aware
Speaker 7: of muted sensory impressions, the faint hiss of venting gas,
Speaker 7: the dry taste of recycled air. It is utterly black, however,
Speaker 7: darker than I would have believed possible, and I slowly
Speaker 7: realized that my eyelids refuse to open. I am aware
Speaker 7: of them now, thin sheets of flesh that tug across
Speaker 7: my face but remain closed despite my best efforts. Even
Speaker 7: without them, I can still sense the glass and metal
Speaker 7: frame around me. With a dawning wave. I realize how
Speaker 7: cold I am, so cold that, for a hideous and
Speaker 7: protracted moment, I believe I may be on fire. I
Speaker 7: begin to panic, still trapped inside my nearly lifeless body,
Speaker 7: wanting to slither and crawl away from the pain. My
Speaker 7: lips part with a tear of flesh, and I can
Speaker 7: feel blood trickling into my mouth, growing instantly cool as
Speaker 7: it runs between my clenched teeth. My jaw remains locked
Speaker 7: in place, the muscle straining weakly beneath my cheeks. I
Speaker 7: want to cry, to sob like a child bathed in
Speaker 7: quiet despair and helplessness, and my cocoon of self pity.
Speaker 7: Higher functions of my mind begin to slowly emerge, grinding
Speaker 7: like rusty gears into use, and I try to calm myself.
Speaker 7: I am alive, I tell myself, this is all perfectly normal.
Speaker 7: And at any moment one of the ship's medics will
Speaker 7: carefully open the capsule, place the tip of a plastic
Speaker 7: ball between my torn lips, and squeeze warm, sweet electrolytes
Speaker 7: down my parched throat. This maternal image of comfort steals
Speaker 7: my quivering body, and I begin to breathe regularly, and
Speaker 7: my reason begins to return. If I am awake, then
Speaker 7: we have arrived. A long, silent passage through the endless
Speaker 7: night of interstellar space has ended. If I am alive,
Speaker 7: then we are in orbit around Etta Cassiopie. I breathe
Speaker 7: evenly and smooth, and catch a tinge of something in
Speaker 7: the air, a faint whiff of chemical corruption from the
Speaker 7: dry sterility of the ventilation. The blackness beyond my closed
Speaker 7: eyes pulses briefly with light, registering a soft red glow
Speaker 7: as it diffuses through the vessels and capillaries of my
Speaker 7: closed lips. My cracked lips amid little white sparks of pain.
Speaker 7: As I can toort my face, tugging my eyelids open
Speaker 7: with a quick and agonizing jerk of the head. Fluid
Speaker 7: weeps from the corners as I blink convulsively. At first,
Speaker 7: I am terrified that I am blind, and then slowly
Speaker 7: ledges of my tiny capsule resolve in the faint red
Speaker 7: light of a blinking led The glass is just a
Speaker 7: few inches from my face, and I can see my
Speaker 7: breath against it, a wet fog that briefly flowers into
Speaker 7: ice and quickly evaporates into the dry air. Beyond the
Speaker 7: glass is nothing, a silent and yawning darkness. My heart
Speaker 7: is thudding in my chest now, and my limbs seem
Speaker 7: to twitch and tug on the safety restraints around my
Speaker 7: ankles and wrists. The tight glass coffin and the empty
Speaker 7: abyss beyond seemed to crush me between them, twining threads
Speaker 7: of claustrophobia and agoraphobia around my chest, and I struggle
Speaker 7: to breathe evenly. The light should beyond. Someone should be
Speaker 7: here by now. Something is very wrong. Movement at the
Speaker 7: periphery of my eyes causes me to turn my head
Speaker 7: in a sharp and stinctual move. The weary, atrophied muscles
Speaker 7: of my neck scream in agony, and my eyes grind
Speaker 7: through sandpaper filled sockets. I gasp, and my eyes filled
Speaker 7: with warm, welcome tears that without gravity simply cloud my
Speaker 7: eyes like a lens through the watery haze. I see
Speaker 7: a passing wave of dull red light, illuminating briefly the
Speaker 7: dimensions of the space in the dark, and then drifting
Speaker 7: out of sight. I shake my head, grating my teeth
Speaker 7: against the dry, tearing pain of movement, and fling the
Speaker 7: tears from my eyes. They drift away in little silver
Speaker 7: spheres and freeze. Moments later, I blink my eyes and
Speaker 7: try to focus again on the darkness. I barely realize
Speaker 7: that I have stopped breathing. When the light returns. It
Speaker 7: has a red emergency light, spinning silently, but is far
Speaker 7: too dim and far too slow. It crosses the room
Speaker 7: like a broom, briefly revealing the faintest glimpse of the
Speaker 7: space beyond. I see rows of dark containers, dozens of them,
Speaker 7: each containing the vague shadow of a figure. My eyes
Speaker 7: dart around the scene, unable to absorb any details, only
Speaker 7: the vague sense of scale and shape inside the room.
Speaker 7: I strain my eyes to focus each time the light passes,
Speaker 7: but I can't make out anything in the dimming light.
Speaker 7: There is nothing in the darkness that can tell me
Speaker 7: what has gone wrong. I didn't see the window at first,
Speaker 7: but I gradually became aware of it. As faint pinpricks
Speaker 7: of starlight catch my eye, I lock my eyes and
Speaker 7: focus on the drifting stars, as my heart threatens to
Speaker 7: burst from my chest and my lungs suck in frigid
Speaker 7: air and gasps. Calm, I repeat over and over, like
Speaker 7: a mantra to myself. Calm. If I can just get
Speaker 7: control of my breathing and be patient, someone will come
Speaker 7: to help. Well, I can answer. There is an explosion
Speaker 7: of light from beyond the window. I squint, feeling my
Speaker 7: iris's spasm, and struggle to contract. Outside the porthole, there
Speaker 7: is a blue and cloudy world, looming and massive. My
Speaker 7: eyes adjust and I can do nothing but drink in
Speaker 7: the sight of the oceans.
Speaker 6: And the land the planet.
Speaker 7: Light seeps into the cabin and illuminates the rows of
Speaker 7: glass and steel tubes, and I can finally make out
Speaker 7: the occupants. Most of them are frozen and dead, pale
Speaker 7: blue and white wraiths with lips and eyelids pulled wide
Speaker 7: and open by contracting muscles. A few of the containers
Speaker 7: are smeared red and opaque. Each has the same flower
Speaker 7: of frozen blood and cracks where it's occupies us to
Speaker 7: beat his skull against the glass. I tug again on
Speaker 7: my restraints as panic overwhelms me, my limbs thrashing against
Speaker 7: the restraints. I realize I am silently asking for God,
Speaker 7: begging escape from this frozen mausoleum. My eyes lock onto
Speaker 7: the planet, now wide and filling the window, and my
Speaker 7: heart stops. In the blue ocean, I see the distinct
Speaker 7: silhouette of the European coast.
Speaker 6: My mind reels and I catch my eyes against the disorientation.
Speaker 6: We never left. The fever of panic breaks, and I
Speaker 6: begin to feel a glimmer of hope. We never left.
Speaker 6: I'm not gonna die in orbit around an alien world.
Speaker 6: I'm home. I can still be saved. These thoughts start
Speaker 6: to warm me, and I stop dugging against the straps.
Speaker 6: Measured breath returns, and I close my buffy, swollen eyes
Speaker 6: and allow my heart to settle. I open my eyes again,
Speaker 6: gazing down onto the Earth, and a sudden wave of
Speaker 6: nausea rises in me before I really understand what I've
Speaker 6: just seen, striking a sharp line across the face of
Speaker 6: the globe, the terminus between night and day divides Europe
Speaker 6: and Africa.
Speaker 7: On the day side, I see the polar ice, a
Speaker 7: stretching white sheet that has all but absorbed the Scandinavian
Speaker 7: Peninsula and coils around the rest of the continent. On
Speaker 7: the night side, there is primal and elemental darkness. There
Speaker 7: are no cities, no lights. There is emptiness. As quick
Speaker 7: as it came, the Earth slides out of view, showing
Speaker 7: only her frigid and lightless night, and dropping the cabin
Speaker 7: into a final cold darkness. The red claxon light has
Speaker 7: stopped spinning. The lights inside my coffin have stopped blinking.
Speaker 6: I am left.
Speaker 7: Alone and the.
Speaker 6: Frozen dark.
Speaker 4: With the dead.
Speaker 6: Terror claws at me. My body is shuddering and useless,
Speaker 6: with blood.
Speaker 4: My eyes.
Speaker 8: I suck hand a deep lungful of the dying hair and.
Speaker 2: Scream Where the hell did you get these?
Speaker 5: Mom? You can't just barge in. This is my I
Speaker 5: found these in your backpack.
Speaker 2: What is this?
Speaker 5: Stickers?
Speaker 2: Okay, they're stickers. Look at this. Some of these are holographic.
Speaker 2: Have you used any of these?
Speaker 5: It's not a big deal.
Speaker 2: Taught you how to do this stuff? You all right?
Speaker 2: I learned it from watching.
Speaker 5: You parents who have observable radio stickers. Have children who
Speaker 5: have observable radio stickers? Are your children purchasing them at
Speaker 5: the Observable Radio company store? Check their browser history today you.
Speaker 4: Are now by Observable Radio.
Speaker 9: Sick or the algorithm. Sometime during the third consecutive nights
Speaker 9: spent huddled over the toilet, insides heaving and shuddering as
Speaker 9: I vomit forth what seems to be everything I've ever eaten.
Speaker 9: I realize what's happening. He is trying to poison me.
Speaker 9: That's all so elegant, so perfect, and so clear that
Speaker 9: I start to laugh, but another barrage of wretching forces
Speaker 9: me into silence. The next morning, I throw the contents
Speaker 9: of my meager kitchen away, wrapping it three times in
Speaker 9: black plastic, and burying it deep in the apartment's communal
Speaker 9: dumpster to prevent some unfortunate transient from the cross fire
Speaker 9: of his wrath. I am out the door of the
Speaker 9: complex and half way to the corner store when I
Speaker 9: realize he knows must know where I would shop, so
Speaker 9: instead I pick a direction and walk, enjoying the chill
Speaker 9: winter airs. It soothes the ragged shreds of my insides.
Speaker 9: I turn at random intervals, following an improbable path out
Speaker 9: of my neighborhood until I find a small grocery with
Speaker 9: an unfamiliar name. Once inside, I fill a small plastic
Speaker 9: shopping basket with foods and brands that once I would
Speaker 9: never have eaten, soy milk tofu, strange tins of ethnic
Speaker 9: foods whose ingredients I can't recognize. I can feel my
Speaker 9: stomach reborn in the anticipation of an untainted meal. I
Speaker 9: prepare the food in a fog of nervous anticipation, trying
Speaker 9: to focus on savoring the exotic aromas and the grease
Speaker 9: spitting sounds of the frying pan. When it is done
Speaker 9: and the meal sits before me on the chipped and
Speaker 9: stained plate, I can only stare paralyzed by doubt. By
Speaker 9: the time I can raise a single spoonful to my
Speaker 9: chapped and split lips, it has long ago grown cold.
Speaker 9: It tastes clean. But this brings me no joy, so
Speaker 9: is every meal before this. An hour later, I try
Speaker 9: to tell myself that the mounting pain is only fear
Speaker 9: and anxiety. But before the stroke of midnight, I am
Speaker 9: again crouched in the dingy bathroom, surrendering the day's work
Speaker 9: into the porcelain mouth of the sewer. I pack up
Speaker 9: the remaining food and dispose of it with the same care.
Speaker 9: I eat out the next day, layering debt onto the
Speaker 9: last of my credit cards and restaurants on the opposite
Speaker 9: side of town. I feel the eyes of every patron
Speaker 9: upon me, and wonder if any of them are in
Speaker 9: his employ By dark, it is clear that he is
Speaker 9: more clever than I ever imagined. I am a wash
Speaker 9: in despair. As I spend another sleepless night, gagging and
Speaker 9: sobbing on the tile floor, I imagine the algorithm, the
Speaker 9: perfect predictive models at his disposal, charting my every move
Speaker 9: across the city with unerring accuracy.
Speaker 7: Every time I.
Speaker 9: Think I've outwitted him, I walk willingly into his web.
Speaker 9: There is nothing left to do but wait for the
Speaker 9: jaws of his trap to close. So I wander the
Speaker 9: city a broken man in a fit of misplaced hope.
Speaker 9: I buy a candy bar from a vending machine in
Speaker 9: a theater lobby and hold it close like a talisman.
Speaker 9: When I get home, I fill the bath a few
Speaker 9: inches deep with rust colored water and hold the little
Speaker 9: plastic wrapped bundle beneath the water and squeeze. I know
Speaker 9: that I will see it, but it still breaks my heart.
Speaker 9: A thin, almost invisible stream of bubbles picks out the
Speaker 9: point where a foreign object has pierced the protective layer.
Speaker 9: Through the haze of gnawing hunger. I convince myself to
Speaker 9: try just one bite, and to take the chances. This
Speaker 9: is a gamble that I do not win. In the
Speaker 9: small hours of the morning, I press my fists into
Speaker 9: my empty, protesting belly, and I imagine the legion of
Speaker 9: his followers sliding silently through the restaurants and producisles of
Speaker 9: my life, slipping hypodermic needles into carefully selected packages of food.
Speaker 9: They ruin and corrupt at his whim, surgical and efficient,
Speaker 9: before vanishing into the throng of the city at my approach.
Speaker 9: They have none of the compassion and love that I have.
Speaker 9: They are less than human. With his fearful intellect pulling
Speaker 9: their strings, they will always be one step ahead of
Speaker 9: me until I learn to think in new ways, to
Speaker 9: chart new cognitive pathways and turn the game back upon him.
Speaker 9: So I tell myself, this is what i'man I spend
Speaker 9: the first day of my new life in the cramped
Speaker 9: living room of my apartment, organizing my thoughts with clean,
Speaker 9: sterile efficiency, and conserving what energy I can from my
Speaker 9: wasting body. Night brings the wretching sickness, but all that
Speaker 9: arises is water and pills, half digested in the bilious fluids.
Speaker 9: The pills, of course, not for the first time, I
Speaker 9: feel a sharp twinge of respect for the crystalline perfection
Speaker 9: of his plans. I dump the last of my dozen
Speaker 9: prescriptions into the toilet and watch as they dissolve into
Speaker 9: pink and blue clouds. On the third day, I am
Speaker 9: rocked with a sudden clarity and sense of purpose that
Speaker 9: shocks me in its intensity. My will penetrates through the
Speaker 9: starvation malaise. I must win or I will die. The
Speaker 9: rashes and soars inside my cheeks are deeper, and I
Speaker 9: can feel the gentle sway of loose teeth when I
Speaker 9: clench my jaw. He is still winning, but not for long.
Speaker 9: There's still time. Water I can collect from the roof
Speaker 9: in a small army of cheap hardware store buckets. I
Speaker 9: know that somewhere in the byzantine plumbing of the aged
Speaker 9: building there must be one of his infernally clever devices
Speaker 9: a tiny pump, squatting like a predator and pulsing its
Speaker 9: vile contents into the water main. I'll have to give
Speaker 9: up bathing, a small sacrifice. The rain water will keep
Speaker 9: me alive for a while longer, but I must find
Speaker 9: a way to eat. The answer comes to me in
Speaker 9: mismatched puzzle pieces over the next few days. While gently
Speaker 9: working another loose molar from my bleeding gums, the pieces
Speaker 9: suddenly snap together, and a warm, smothering blanket of epiphany
Speaker 9: coats my aching frame. The clattering of the tooth into
Speaker 9: the sink basin is like the ringing of bells. Late
Speaker 9: in the frigid afternoon, I begin another unconscious journey, drifting
Speaker 9: through the city on shaking and atrophied legs, knowing full
Speaker 9: well that he is watching. But this, my beautiful solution,
Speaker 9: is beyond even his reach. I choose the house at random,
Speaker 9: and then, in one final attempt to baffle the algorithm,
Speaker 9: turn around and choose another house across the narrow, tree
Speaker 9: lined street. I sift through the mail. It's a small
Speaker 9: sample size, but enough to confirm the most necessary of facts.
Speaker 9: A single occupant, the poor man, is surprised to have
Speaker 9: a visitor at all, and his face contorts with fear
Speaker 9: as I force my way inside. I'm flooded with guilt
Speaker 9: and regret as I push him to the floor and
Speaker 9: strike his skull with the crowbar I pull from the
Speaker 9: folds of my jacket. No, I must steal myself. This
Speaker 9: is his fault. He has dragged us both to this moment,
Speaker 9: and this poor man like me is just another of
Speaker 9: his victims. I make quick work of the meat, the muscle,
Speaker 9: memories of summer spent hunting in the mountains flaring up
Speaker 9: with each quick cut, severing ligament from bone. I allow
Speaker 9: myself a quick bite, a feast to my shrunken and
Speaker 9: withered stomach. The iron and mineral salt taste floods my
Speaker 9: head like a vapor, and I bawl like a child
Speaker 9: in relief. I waste nothing and leave behind only slick
Speaker 9: bones and awful I want so much to thank this
Speaker 9: man for his sacrifice, but I can think of no
Speaker 9: fitting tribute, so I whisper my gratitude to his remains.
Speaker 9: When I have the meat wrapped up in plastic and
Speaker 9: packed tight into my rucksack, I light a single candle
Speaker 9: on the top floor of the little house and turn
Speaker 9: the gas stove on high. I'm not yet home when
Speaker 9: I hear the low rumble of the explosion, a wave
Speaker 9: of thunder from the distance that crashes over me. The
Speaker 9: pulsing lights of fire engines highlight the black column of
Speaker 9: smoke rising into the sky. I walk on, leaving the
Speaker 9: chaos behind. For the first time in more than a month,
Speaker 9: I sleep like a babe, my body healing as pure
Speaker 9: and untainted nutrients penetrate mysels. I am not yet well,
Speaker 9: but after a few more meals, I will be ready
Speaker 9: once more to fight him. I know I can beat
Speaker 9: him now. I know the algorithm can only predict the
Speaker 9: actions of my past self bound by the laws and
Speaker 9: morals of the old world. That world is dead. I
Speaker 9: am a free man.
Speaker 4: You have been.
Speaker 1: Listening to Observable Radio. Tonight's episode three Early Tales was
Speaker 1: performed by the Ensemble featuring Wendy Hector, Cohen Edenfield, Chris Strau, Purporina,
Speaker 1: and Phil van Hest. Written by Cameron Suey, Produced by
Speaker 1: Cameron Suey, Phil van Hest, Properina and Hector. Edited by
Speaker 1: Cameron Suey. Our psychology consultant is doctor Earli Soliel Art
Speaker 1: by Krinn Fletcher. Our theme is the back Rooms, performed
Speaker 1: by Mew. Additional music from this episode provided by by
Speaker 1: Lotus Golden Anchor Jweya, Edward Carl Hansen, Tim Koolick Van Sadano,
Speaker 1: Ethan Sloane, and Ferrell Wooten. Observable Radio is listener supported
Speaker 1: thanks to all our patrons and listeners, including Kathleen, John Tidd, Russ,
Speaker 1: Rick Callison, Brianna and Zach. Patrons fund the production costs
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Speaker 5: In the world.
Speaker 1: We'd be grateful if you stop by to take a peek.
Speaker 1: Now here's a trailer from lux Radium Productions for their
Speaker 1: sci fi audio Dramaropolis, a murder mystery in neon Utopia.
Speaker 1: Thank you for listening and stay tuned.
Speaker 7: My god, how can this all be?
Speaker 5: Is that?
Speaker 7: Stanley?
Speaker 5: He wrote, guy gets the dream invitation, and I still
Speaker 5: told him not to go.
Speaker 6: Man, look at me.
Speaker 3: The whole world works just the way they want it to,
Speaker 3: however they want it.
Speaker 7: That's Metropolis, which is why you need to get out here.
Speaker 7: I'm telling you now. They'd never let anyone like me
Speaker 7: on that island. Stanley, where is he?
Speaker 6: What do you know? I don't know.
Speaker 4: He's just fanished.
Speaker 8: What do you think happened to your friend? Who do
Speaker 8: you think made that happen?
Speaker 7: You have taken an incredible risk coming here.
Speaker 10: It's a cage.
Speaker 7: It can't be, can't it. There is something very dark happening.
Speaker 8: I can't explain the dread, but it is here.
Speaker 1: We have a moment right now, this narrow window where
Speaker 1: we are the only ones who know the secret.
Speaker 4: I cannot believe they built this place.
Speaker 1: If we can use it the right way, we can
Speaker 1: make a world that actually works.
Speaker 6: Why did they make it like this?
Speaker 4: But if we.
Speaker 1: Bungle it, if we let this opportunity slip away, then
Speaker 1: the world is lost. It's health, the mouth of health.
Speaker 5: You know what we have to do?
Speaker 10: No one ever dies in Metropolis. Spend a minute here
Speaker 10: see if We're Not wrong.
Speaker 1: Metropolis an audio drama, a Lux Radium production, coming to
Speaker 1: a podcasting platform near you September twenty twenty four. Follow
Speaker 1: along at Luxradium dot org or on Instagram at Metropolis
Speaker 1: Underscore podcast. Spend a minute here see for not Wrong