Eternal Cycle: Transfiguration of the Essence

Chapter 1

Arrival at Eparchía

I am alive.

As my body restores its ability to function, my dazed mind awakens to an eruption of pandemonium. Beads of sweat drip from my forehead like a leaking tap. It takes little time for me to realise that I am screaming. Even less time to realise why.

I am being pinned down by two sets of arms. They belong to a deeply voiced man and a far more placid sounding woman; both of whom are trying to talk to me, but are in constant competition with the blare of the alarm. I manage to make out the occasional, “Oliver, it’s okay,” or “we aren’t here to hurt you.”

It’s not real. Through gritted teeth, I repeat these words in the hope that, if said enough, it becomes true. But it’s useless. The commotion continues to intensify, deafening me, and making it impossible to analyse my situation.

I can’t bear it. I open my eyes, which instantly exposes me to a dazzling light. I wince at first, but continue staring; urging my eyes to adjust. Eventually, what lies above me becomes visible.I stop yelling, stunned and even more disorientated.

Beyond the lamp that sits directly above my face, lies the roof of a dimly lit warehouse-type-building. I tilt my head to escape the radiance of the light, which exerts a bitter pain in my shoulder, but I dismiss it.

On my side, I am staring a boy who looks deadly sick. He is lying on a hospital bed in nothing but underwear. At the bottom of the bed the boy’s legs are in the grasp of a broadly built man. At the top, there is a large chunk of machinery that attaches to the cluster of wires placed along the boy’s body. A petite woman stands beside the machine, struggling to keep control of the boy’s arms.

I notice a distinct birthmark on his leg; it stems from the top of his calf up to his knee, and resembles the outline of a small bird. I know it is a birthmark because I grew up with it. I am staring at my reflection.

Chills shoot through my body at the sudden revelation. I look almost unrecognisable. The purity in my face has faded, leaving nothing but discoloured skin and eyes as hard as stone. My long, brown hair is shorter than before, and is wet with sweat. I look nothing like the vital seventeen-year-old that I remember myself as.

My attention turns to my surroundings. I am in an entirely mirrored, roofless cubicle. Across it, the man and woman are signalling and shouting things to one another- I try to listen but the background noise makes it impossible. They both wear blue paper outfits, like the ones they wear at the dentist.

The thought makes me shiver. I’ve always hated the dentist. When I was a kid I used to unleash the fiery depths of hell when my mum tried to get me into the car to go to the dentist.

My mum.

The image of her brings memories of home flooding back; the comforting heat of our fireplace, my cupboard-size bedroom… even the irritating creek of the floorboards upstairs. The remembrance evokes both angst and curiosity, leaving me even more terrified; yet desperate to unravel the mystery of my location. It seems impossible for such sensations to coexist.

I snap out of my thoughts and resume shouting and flailing any limbs that aren’t restrained. Eventually, I manage to wriggle out of their grasp. I am overcome by a brief glimmer of hope, thinking that I can get away, until something sharp plunges it’s way into my arm.I shriek as the needle digs further into my skin. Still, I continue resisting, but whatever substance was injected into me soon reduces my punches and kicks to sluggish motions, and my screams to nonsensical slur. I fall back on the bed and watch as the roof starts to spin… or maybe I am the one spinning.

The suction-cupped tubes are yanked off of my body before something is put over me. Initially, I think it is a bag to hide my body in. Once my head comes out the other end of it though, I realise it is the same paper gown that my abductors have on.

The bed starts to shake and I sense that I am beginning to move. I reluctantly flop my head to the side again, anticipating another wave of agony. Surprisingly, I only receive a dim, far more endurable ache. I stare blankly at the woman as she thrusts her hand onto a button on the wall, which simultaneously makes the wall in front of me part in the middle; creating an exit.

A gust of wind emerges as I am soared down an everlasting aisle, filled at both sides with the same silver cubicles. The crisp air violates my face, forcing me to gasp for breath. My newfound sense of debilitation prevents me from sitting up, but I can tell through the light that creeps upon my face that we are approaching an exit. Soon, I am fully exposed to a faint daylight; I am outside. I note that, despite the brightness, I feel no sense of heat upon my skin.

The wheels of the bed move off the smooth floor of the warehouse and onto a rugged dirt-track road, which only adds upset to my already nauseous stomach. I keep drifting further into the unknown; the only observation being the magnitude of the many warehouses that I dizzily whizz past.

I travel through an eerie quiet; no chirping of birds, no squalls of wind… not even my nameless escorts attempt to break the silence. Instead, they move in quick, hushed motions, leaving the noise of grinding gravel as the only sound left to infiltrate my ears. My brain is telling me to panic, but my body is in a lifeless, hypnotic state. I want to sleep, in spite of only being awake for a fractional amount of time.

+ + +

I am in the midst of slumber when the bed comes to an abrupt halt. My head juts forward, sending me into instant alertness. Judging by how the daylight is no different to before, it seems I can’t have been unconscious for long.

By now, the sedation’s cogency has eased considerably, enabling me to contract and retract my muscles again. I sit up, preparing myself for another physical encounter. In front of me, about twenty metres away, is yet another warehouse; this one is far smaller. The structure is coated in an immaculate dark green with not a spec of rust or grime in sight. Surrounding the warehouse is an array of fields that go on for as far as the eye can see.

The woman stands next to me, whilst the man disappears round the side of the building. She must have taken her gown off whilst I was asleep, for she stands there in a black jumpsuit, looking far more intimidating. On the left side of her chest I observe an unusual golden symbol- some sort of emblem. Under it lays the words, ‘SQUARE FOUR’.

I don’t have time to consider what that might mean. I turn on my side and hurl my arm in the direction of the woman. Within a split second, before I even make contact with her, she grabs my wrist. I let out a groan as I squirm for freedom.

“Please,” she says, “don’t make me tranquilize you again.”

My resisting struggles achieve nothing. I am too weak. I turn still and can feel my anger and confusion convert into upset and hopelessness. Do not cry.

I look up at her. “What the hell do you want with me?” My voice rips through my throat like scalding knives.

“Oliver, my name is Catherine. I fully understa-”

I cut her off. “How do you know my name?”

“If you just calm down, I can explain,” she says in a gentle tone.

“Calm down? You expect me to calm down? I don’t know where the hell I am; probably a million miles from home, being taken hostage by some… some freaks! And you expect me to stay calm?”

“Listen to me. We aren’t going to hurt you. If we were, we would have already done it by now. I know things seem frightening but just cooperate with us and you will find out everything soon enough. We have no time to explain.”

I am about to snap at her again before I realise that I really have no other option than to do as she says. I have no way of contacting someone for help. I am still too weak to fight my way out. I could run, but to where?

Instead, I just scowl at her. Our eyes are locked for several moments before an abhorrent screeching sound arises, breaking our stare. I turn back to the warehouse to see two sliding doors scrape along the gravelly turf in opposite directions. It reveals an entrance, but inside all there is to see is blackness. Then, in an instant, everything lights up.

Standing in the middle of the opening is Catherine’s companion, gesturing for her to come. She takes a step closer to me and opens her mouth as if to say something. Instead, she just gives me a subtle nod and begins wheeling me towards the warehouse. I remain motionless, hesitant to risk another attack. Run, I tell myself. You can find shelter for the night, and then someone would find you in the morning, surely.

I can’t.

“Which way is forty-nine?” The man asks as we approach the warehouse.

“Fourth from the right,” Catherine replies.

I sit up and rest my weight on my elbows. “What is forty-nine?”

“A number,” the man states dismissively.

I feel my cheeks turn flushed with fury. Of course I know it is a number.

“I’m not going anywhere unless I can get off this goddamn bed,” I demand.

“Oh is that so? Is the big boy grown up enough to stand up all by himself?” The man replies, taunting me.

My muscles tense in frustration. “It couldn’t have been much of a sedation you gave me, if I’m already able to stand,” I say, before clambering out of the bed to prove my point.

“Funny. You were out of it for over three hours.”

I flinch a little, taken aback by the man’s words. I hope he didn’t notice.

“We do not have time for this. Oliver, if you intend on remaining on your feet then I suggest you don’t try to pull any tricks. Now come on,” Catherine says.

The pair turns right and become mere shadows as they walk further into the gloomy warehouse. I walk to the edge of the entrance and peer in. Much like the last one, the inside is split into dozens of aisles. Only, this time the cubicles have been replaced by parallel rows of human-size cylindrical pods that look equally as unfriendly.

“Are you coming or not?” The man calls as he and Catherine reach their desired aisle. I grudgingly begin jogging to catch up with them, unwilling to do anything at his command. Once I reach them, they turn and walk down the aisle. I follow, but keep a few metres behind.

The decision not to run starts to seem like a huge mistake as I examine these incongruous devices in more detail. Hundreds of wires seep out of their metal heads and bore their way into the wall that stands behind. They have a number on them, which increases one-by-one down the hallway. The glass centre that structures an opening makes it obvious that these machines are made for holding people. I freeze as I pass number forty-three.

The man must notice the absence of my footsteps, which echo through the otherwise silent building, for he spins round and grabs me.

“Get off me!” I yell as he drags me further down the aisle.

“No turning back now, buddy,” he says, unfazed by my refusal.

I choke as he pulls on the collar of my gown.

“David, don’t be so rough on him,” Catherine says.

‘David’ gives her a displeased frown before releasing his grip and shoving me into one of the machines. When I regain my balance I attempt to run, but my pathway is immediately obstructed as he steps in front of me.

“Don’t bother,” he says, walking into me; forcing me closer to the pod.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask.

“Like I said, you just have to trust us for now,” Catherine says from behind.

I turn round to see her scan a card onto a section of the machine, making it come to life. Red and green lights flash across it and mechanical sounds, like the clamour of a dodgy car engine, reverberate around the room.

“What reason do I have to trust either of you?”

“None. But what other option do you have?”

She presses the red button that bulges out the side of the device and the glass door swings open. “Now get in.”

I glance at the young blonde woman for a second, before swinging my fist into her face. It should have been sore, but the adrenaline from the strike makes the pain in my knuckles almost inconspicuous. I sprint past her and back up the aisle as she stumbles to the floor.

Despite the weariness that sways me from side to side, I still manage to get back to the top of the aisle before I hear pounding footsteps pursue me. Seconds later, I fall. Towering above me is David, repeatedly kicking me. His boot strikes my stomach, rendering me wounded, wheezing as though victim to a gunshot.

“Do that again, buddy, and you’ll regret it,” he barks as he lifts me to my feet by the neck.

“I… am not… your buddy!” I cry between gulps of air.

I refuse to move my legs and so am trailed back down the aisle. The friction between the bareness of my feet and the rubbery flooring burns me, but I still withhold from cooperation.

Like the pulsing blood in my veins, satisfaction spreads through my body when I am returned to the forty-ninth pod. I watch as Catherine staggers to her feet, blood trickling out of her dainty nose.

“You’re only making things harder for yourself, you know,” she says, clearly shaken.

“Do you really think anyone would willingly let you do this to them?”

Before she gets a chance to respond, David interrupts; “Get the hell in the damn machine before I surgically remove that pitiful little tongue of yours,” his voice tinged with hostility.

The complacent smirk wipes itself off of my face as I am hit by the reality of my situation. I look around, in desperate search of something that will get me out of this mess. Of course, there is nothing, giving me no choice but to step forward.

Certain that which each stride I am stepping closer to my imminent death, I am struck by a vivid wave of déjà-vu. The knowledge of my own death feels strangely familiar.

No. How on earth could this be familiar? I dismiss the thought and focus on my erratic, yet reassuring heartbeat, in attempt to ease my anxiety.

“Hurry up,” David demands, giving me a light push towards the machine.

I raise my foot and rest it on the edge of the glass opening. I turn back to Catherine and give her an expectant look, silently pleading for help, but am given only a hollow stare in return. With another step, I am fully inside the pod. The door slams shut, trapping me.

Catherine presses a sequence of buttons on the machine. It erupts with rumbles, forcing me to lurch back onto the glass. Once I regain my balance, I throw myself forward and hammer the pod with all my might, pleading. It remains unscathed, so I give up and shrink to the ground.

“Am I really going to die?” I ask, though my voice is lost in the noise of the machine.

“What?” David shouts; his voice also muffled.

As if on queue, the vibrations stop and a mist of quiet descends over my surroundings.

I press my hands and nose to the glass. “Am I going to die?” I repeat, clearly this time.

A moment of silence passes.

“Oh buddy, you’re already dead.”

Everything turns white.