[FN] When the Gods are Gone
Chapter 1: The Nameless Slave
I opened my eyes to the sound of distant machinery. I was in a small room; the walls told the story of their age through peeling paint and cracks that ran from ceiling to floor.
Inside this airless space lay all sorts of rusty metal parts: gears, tin cans, bolts... the scent of rust had seeped into everything, and there wasn't a single window to offer relief. A flickering lightbulb, struggling to illuminate the tiny room, reflected off a cracked mirror directly in front of me, stabbing at my eyes.
The only other thing in the room was the old, saggy bed I was lying on, its springs poking through. I tried to sit up; my head was throbbing with an incredible ache. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror; I had nothing on but two pieces of shredded clothing.
My legs were covered in wounds, and my arms were a map of bruises and purple welts, but it was my gaunt, sunken face that struck me most. My cheeks had hollowed out from hunger, there were dark circles under my eyes, and a scar sat across the bridge of my nose. Despite all these injuries, I felt almost no pain—only the headache.
As I stood up, the agony in my feet and legs finally registered. It felt as if I were walking on a path made of blades, as if someone were striking my shins with clubs at every step. I approached the mirror with heavy strides and began to examine my face more closely.
I stared into my own eyes—deep, brown eyes. Were these really mine? I didn’t remember my eyes being brown. I thought the color was... what was it? Or was it brown? No, that didn't feel right, it was something else... but what? Had I forgotten? How could someone forget the color of their own eyes? It’s as impossible as forgetting your own name... your... what is my name?
My legs could no longer hold me; I collapsed to the floor in terror. I felt my breath catching; my heart began to race. The headache intensified. How does a human being forget their own name? I buried my head between my knees, as if my skull were about to shatter into pieces and I was trying to hold it together with my legs.
Who am I? What is my name? What am I doing here? These questions swirled inside my head, bringing more pain. I was drowning in fear and this vast unknown, with no idea how to save myself. Only when my mind grew exhausted from the weight of these questions did I find a moment of reprieve.
The headache eased slightly, and my breathing slowly steadied. Using the mirror for support, I tried to stand. At that moment, I felt a faint draft of air on my fingertips coming from behind the mirror. I pulled the mirror aside and discovered a large tunnel. It was wide enough for me to crawl through comfortably. The end of the tunnel was invisible—nothing but pure darkness.
I couldn't find the strength within me to crawl into a tunnel with no visible end. I pushed the mirror back into place and headed for the door. I grabbed the rusty handle and pulled; the door creaked open. A corridor. The mechanical sounds were clearer now, though I still couldn't make sense of them. I leaned against the wall, walking with heavy steps, feeling as though my legs might give out at any moment.
I continued down the corridor under the glare of flickering, blinding white lamps. The place was so neglected and ancient that the very floor seemed to crumble under my feet. My shoulder rubbed against the wall as I leaned on it, scraping off the old paint. This corridor wasn't supposed to be this long...
Just as a strange lethality was about to swallow me whole, I reached a door. With trembling hands, I pulled the handle. Another room, not very large. Inside was a desk and dozens of screens in front of it. I pulled an old chair from behind the door and sat down, trying to understand where I was from the monitors.
The top-left screen showed a massive hall. In the center was a gargantuan metal box with an open top. Dozens of pipes connected to the box and snaked throughout the room; hundreds of people sat by these pipes, turning something. It was hard to tell from the screen. The camera on the right showed a room with a few beds and some boxes in the corner. It was empty. The bottom-left screen was black; broken, I assumed. And on the bottom-right...
The door burst open. A stout man entered the room, panting, sweat dripping from his forehead. He held an iron rod in his hand.
?: "What are you doing here?!"
I remember trying to protect my head with my arms. With a sharp blow to my skull, everything plunged into darkness...
My mind sank back into the void, just like the first time. Drones and hums appeared and disappeared; I didn't even try to find meaning in them. What was happening outside didn't matter now....
----
I woke up with a headache even more violent than before, my body racking with spasms. The ringing in my ears faded slowly, replaced by the roar of machinery. I opened my eyes slowly.... What was this?
I was in a massive room. In the middle was the giant iron box, the pipes, and the people. I was in the place I had seen on the screen. This was some kind of factory, I guessed. But what were these pipes? What were these people doing?
As I looked around, I noticed the pipe next to me was dripping a red liquid—so much so that a small puddle had formed at my feet. The heavy metallic scent in the air felt familiar. I filled my lungs with that metal-scented air again. Was this... blood? Whose blood? The people here? No, we couldn't produce enough blood to fill the bottom of that massive box. Where was all this blood coming from, and more importantly, who did it belong to?
I began to study the old man in front of me; his hair was almost entirely gone, his legs were a mess of scars, his wrists looked dislocated, and his arms were covered in small burn marks.
I looked at the girl behind me; she looked young, or perhaps she had stayed small due to malnutrition. Her cheeks were non-existent. She was so thin I felt her bones would shatter if I squeezed her arm. her face was bruised and purple as if she’d just been beaten, and her eyes... they were vacant. There was no thought behind them.
I stood up and looked at the other people in my row. We all wore the same tattered clothes, our bodies were all covered in wounds, and everyone had that same hollow look in their eyes... we were nothing more than slaves, forced to work here.
But why were we here? Had we committed a crime? Was the man in front of me a rapist? What about the little girl—was she a murderer? And what did I do? I don't remember, I can't remember... Am I condemned here for a crime I don't even recall?
I don't know. I don't know!! WHO AM I? WHAT AM I DOING HERE? WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE? WHOSE BLOOD IS IN THESE PIPES?
My chest tightened, my vision blurred, and the sounds merged into one. I could hear the rapid thumping of my heart, the sound of my own jagged breaths. Just as I sat back down to catch my breath, I heard a sound—the sound of a giant door opening...
From behind the door came a familiar face: the stout man who had beaten me unconscious. He entered with a large wheelbarrow, filled to the brim with a colorless mash. He approached, waving a ladle, shouting, "Feeding time!"
He stopped at the beginning of the row. He filled his ladle with the mash and began to force it into the mouth of the first man. The man was clearly choking. I could hear the gagging sounds, but the guard kept shoving the ladle in anyway. The man didn't resist; his face began to turn purple, yet he seemed to be struggling to keep the ladle in his mouth.
The stout man's patience wore thin; he grabbed the man by the jaw and wrenched the ladle out. He shoved him aside and moved to the next person.
I could see the sweat dripping from his bald head, down his forehead and across his face. His apron was stained with grease and blood. As he moved down the line, his patience evaporated, and he fed them faster. He was scowling now; his flabby body shook with every swing of the ladle. Slowly, he reached me.
After shoving the ladle into the old man's mouth and forcing it back out, it was my turn. The old man’s last tooth had likely just been knocked loose and sent flying.
I knew the moment I took that ladle—which had been in dozens of mouths and washed in their saliva—into my own mouth, I would lose everything in my stomach.
But I also knew if I did that, I would be beaten again. He glared at me with a furrowed brow; it was clear he remembered me.
He dropped the ladle into the mash, stirred it well, and lifted it slowly. My meal was ready. He gripped my jaw and forced my mouth open, his gaze hardening.
He shoved the ladle into my mouth without hesitation. As I felt that hot, wet metal strike my palate, I began to gag. I tried to pull my head back, but he pulled me closer with the hand on my jaw. He held me so tightly I believed he would rip my jaw clean off.
?: "Don't cause me trouble. Just eat your food."
With tears streaming from my eyes, I tried to swallow the mash filling my mouth. I finished it; he yanked the ladle out and shoved me back into my place.
He moved to the girl behind me. I noticed the rod hanging from his belt as he passed. The mash had a strange taste. Was it meat? Or some kind of grain? It didn't resemble either... but... I felt a strange sense of relief. Perhaps it was just the hunger being suppressed, or something else inside the food.
Were we being drugged to keep us obedient? My mind was growing numb; it had to be a drug. My hands began to go numb too, and I could feel my feet tingling... I wondered how long I had been like this.
What could you have done to end up here? Theft? Smuggling? Assault? Murder? Nothing came to mind... the old man in front of me didn't seem so large a moment ago. Were the pipes moving? Ah, they returned to normal... I could feel my hands again; my mind snapped awake.
The relief from moments ago vanished, replaced by a racing heart. I wanted more; I needed more of that mash. I turned around; the fat man was oblivious.
Give me more, more!! I NEED MORE!!!
With all my strength, I lunged from my spot and grabbed the rod hanging from the man's belt—the same rod he had used to beat me—and I smashed it into his head. He screamed as I continued to strike. He had fallen with the first blow, but I didn't stop. His head split open; I didn't stop. My rod turned crimson; I didn't stop. With every strike, blood splattered around; I didn't stop.
I kept swinging the rod until I was certain he could never hurt me again, until my strength was spent. I kept going until his head was flattened.
He wouldn't be getting up again. I dropped the rod and rushed toward the mash. Amidst the sounds of the machines, I began to gorge myself on this tasteless, mysterious food.
The floor was filthy with blood and the colorless mash. Insects and rats immediately swarmed the open buffet. The slaves continued to turn the pipes, and I continued to eat until I thought I would burst. Just then, a voice I didn't recognize echoed through the room.
"A slave has awakened in the Purge Sector! Security forces, deploy immediately!"
I heard the ear-piercing alarm. They were coming for me. Despite all the mash I had eaten, I didn't feel that previous calm. My mind was still sharp. Had I developed an immunity?
I grabbed the rod and ran out through the open door, putting distance between myself and the place they called the "Purge Sector".
I scrambled through identical corridors, searching. Searching for the room where I first woke up. That tunnel could be my ticket out. I could hear the shouts of several men.
My frail body didn't have the stamina for this pace. My breathing grew deep, and I could feel my legs tiring. Between the slaps of my bare feet on the floor and the blaring sirens, I looked left and right frantically.
Suddenly, I found myself slammed against the floor. My legs felt as though they had tangled together. My hands were shaking, as if an electric current were running through my body. The side effects of the drug were kicking in.
As I tried to stand again, I heard footsteps from behind.
??: "You go that way, I'll continue here!"
They were closing in. Driven by the fear of being caught, I scrambled up and started running. Even though I almost fell with every step, I pushed on. The man behind me finally rounded the corner.
??: "Get back here, you bastard!"
I didn't even look back. It was clear as day that no kindness would come from these people. I kept running. After turning one more corner, I finally reached the place I wanted. The corridor I had emerged from when I first woke up.
I was going to escape, but what was outside? Maybe they had stationed men out there to catch me. My mind briefly flickered to what might happen, but I tried to silence those thoughts. The only thing that mattered was right now, not the "after."
I neared the room where I’d awakened when I suddenly felt a sharp, violent pain in my shoulder. I was bleeding. The shock of the pain sent me crashing to the floor again. While trying to stifle my screams, I looked back. There was the guard, holding a strange object.
He was panting. Since he no longer needed to run, he began to walk. He had a foul smirk on his face—not the look of a predator who had caught its prey, but a scavenger who had found the remains of a meal.
In agony, I stood up. The blood flowing from my shoulder wouldn't stop. I left the rod behind and kept running. The guard, out of breath, shouted: "Don't run, you little prick! There's nowhere to go!"
I finally burst into the room; nothing had been changed. I shoved the mirror aside; it shattered into a thousand pieces as it hit the ground.
In pain, I entered the tunnel and began to crawl. The sound of blood dripping onto the floor echoed through the tunnel, and the whimpers of pain I tried to hold back began to escape my lips.
Then, my hand caught on something. Was this a bone? It was a skeleton, wearing the same tattered clothes as I was. The first person who tried to dig this tunnel hadn't made it.
Just then, I heard the shouts of the guard who had finally caught up. His voice shook the entire tunnel.
??:"You're not the first to go in there, and you won't be the last! Nothing will change!"
I kept moving. As I progressed, I encountered the skeletons of other failed escapees. There were quite a few of them.
??: "Where do you think you're going? You think you can survive out there? You belong here!"
I didn't listen to his words. I didn't want to stay here. I had to find out who I was; why I fell into this place, who the people here were, and why we were treated like animals. I began to feel a breeze against my nose from ahead.
??: "You won't find what you're looking for out there! What you're doing is pointless!"
There was no point in such talk when my freedom was so close! Just a little more, I will get out of here... what is this? Why is there a wall here?
But the wind was still hitting my forehead, still licking my face. I searched with my hand for where the breeze was coming from. It was only a tiny hole.
I looked at the skeleton right next to me—the last person who tried to escape. He held a ladle in his hand. He had been caught before he could finish the tunnel he found.
Just as my hopes were sinking into the darkness, the guard caught me. He lunged at me and pinned me down. His hands were around my throat. I was going to be strangled to death.
With what little strength I had left, I tried to resist. He was squeezing my throat so hard that I couldn't think of anything I could do.
??: "I'd love to kill you here and leave a surprise for the next runaways."
My vision began to darken.
??: "But you're lucky. Your escape attempt coincided exactly with the guards' inspection hour. Lucky bastard."
I didn't understand what he was saying. My lungs felt like they were burning, about to explode.
??: "What happens to you now isn't my business anymore. Why aren't you laughing? You're going to have a painless death."
He stopped squeezing my throat. Just as I was about to take a deep breath, I took a heavy punch to the jaw and blacked out right then and there.