Soul Factory The End: Part 1 of 3

[Grandiagod]

Feel free to comment.

Soul Factory


Introduction


The wind whipped the lush trees back and forth. An overcast sky hung overbearingly in the sky, threatening rain. The suburban neighborhood looked bleak, desolate and plain. It’s white, cookie cutter houses looked gray and dull. No cars sat on the street, not a soul was to be found in the whole neighborhood. Thunder rumbled off in the distance. Gray spots began to fleck the sidewalk. It began to rain. The clouds swirled madly. A gaping black maw began to form in the clouds. Then they began to pour out of the pitch black hole and time itself stopped in awe.

__________________________________________________ ______________________

Chapter 1

I’m beginning to wonder if I should include irony on my resume. To start things off, I’m sitting in a Boeing 747 30,000 feet in the sky. I hate flying. The planes crowded. I hate people. I’m being crushed into my window seat by a morbidly obese middle-aged woman. I’m claustrophobic. Every ten seconds or so a small child is kicking the back of my seat. I hate kids. To top it all off, in my carry-on is the most important document ever printed, and I’m trying to rush it to some world leader to avoid total global obliteration. I hate responsibility.

Fat lady shifts in her seat squishing me against the window as if she wants to shove me out of it. I have had to go to the bathroom for about an hour now, but I am afraid that I won’t be actually able to squeeze out past the cellulite sentry. What I do have is my laptop on which to write my thoughts, though it is getting hard to type with my elbow tucked at a forty five degree angle to my body. I figure if this is the end of the world I might as well try to tell my story. My computer’s clock says six more hours until landing. I have five and a half until the world ends. A sigh of exasperation would be redundant.
Perhaps, as they say, I should begin at the beginning.
I hate clichés.

__________________________________________________ ___________________________________



In order to understand the exact characteristics of this situation you have to be informed that most everything you believe in is wrong. Sorry to burst your bubble, but it had to be said.

Most people believe in an afterlife. That’s where they get it right. Most people believe that your experience in the afterlife is directly related to choices made while living. Their wrong. When a person dies their “soul”, or rather a collective pattern of electrical synapses that have been created through genetics and life experience, are passed through a paper-thin dimensional barrier. This is all natural and somewhat instinctive for a person’s consciousness to do and if this was all that happened everything would be fine and I wouldn’t be sitting here writing this.

The dimension is, of course, very different than ours and life there consists of beings made entirely of energy. In this dimension, as on Earth, there are different beings that fulfill different niches and have different roles in order to keep the ecosystem functional. Several species of these creatures are intelligent, and even have their own societies and interspecies relationships. People on Earth actually know a couple of these beings. We call them Angels and Demons. For very good reasons actually. Eons and eons ago Angels emerged in their dimension, they achieved intelligence quite quickly and generally drifted around absorbing energy spilling into their realm from other dimensions. The Angels were and incredibly long lived race their lifespan measured in eons. Angels were also a generally peaceable race, not having any real competition, they focused most of their time on understanding the universe around them. They became aware of other dimensions and that the energy they consumed was overflowing energy from these dimensions. The Angels became aware of several dimensions with other intelligent beings in them. What surprised the Angels was that the beings in one dimension had surprising amounts of energy stored inside them. Us humans call the energy souls.

The Angels decided that this discovery warranted further study so they found a way to manipulate dimensional fabric in order for them to travel between dimensions. They found Earth. The Angels discovered that the type of energy humans stored could be consumed. However humans only released this energy when they left their corporeal bodies, retaining the “life pattern” where it floated away to parts unknown. The scientists reported that human energy could give Angels incredible power, however, to obtain the energy it would mean the destruction of a human soul, which carried all of a humans life pattern. The Angels, living up to their name, decided to leave the humans alone. However, as time passed some Angels lusted after the power that only a human soul could grant them. However the Angel leaders would not concede to the harvesting of another race for power. The power hungry Angels decided to form their own society separate from the other Angels, this was the birth of Demons.

The Demons and Angels fought a million year war over human souls. The Demons, driven by an insatiable lust for power, finally beat the Angels. This was about forty years ago.

Where do I fit in exactly? Well the Demons needed to collect human souls right? So years ago, Demon ambassadors came to see the leaders of the world’s major nations. They wanted a deal. Realizing that in order to have a steady food supply the human race still needed to prosper, they offered the leaders of the nations a deal. In exchange for not just coming and subduing humanity, they needed a steady string of souls to be delivered. Our fair leaders decided to form a multi-national “peacekeeping” entity to work behind the scenes as an instigator in civil, religious, territorial and any more types of conflicts that are usually solved with bloodshed. Meet the United Nations. The United Nations needed an ambassador to the Demons. Meet me. Hello, I am Michael Ricon. My official title is Ambassador to Demoncia.

To be cont...

[MalReynolds]

I really, really enjoyed the concept and would like to see where it is going.

That's not to say that you should hurry up and rush the next section out. Outside of a few grammatical errors, it was a nice, easy read.

Mal

[Anonymous]

Whoa, engrossing.

I just read it through again and again, just because of the ideas in there.

[FoJaR]

not to go off topic, but couldnt he just fax the document? :wink:

[Grandiagod]

not to go off topic, but couldnt he just fax the document? :wink:

I'll get to that. Its not just a mere document. MUAHAHA...

[FoJaR]

is it written in virgin blood?

[Grandiagod]

No its not written in your blood. :wink:

[FoJaR]

i will neither confirm nor deny.

[Grandiagod]

I am expeimenting in a new writing style for me in this story, tell me if I start to mess it up.

Chapter 2


Very few people in the world know about the job I do. Apparently world leaders do not want their people to know they are being harvested for their souls. Go figure. Funny thing is, my job title and bio are still found in public records. I also have a nametag:

Michael Ricon, Official Ambassador to Demoncia

I thought this a funny occurrence to begin with, an ambassador to a place no one knows exists. It occurred to me that this might cause unnecessary suspicion, but while walking the halls of the United Nations for my first time, I met several people that eased my mind. They knew nothing about Demons. The conversations mostly went like this:

“Oh hello, My name is blank, I haven’t seen you around.”
“Hello, blank, I am the new ambassador to Demoncia.” Trying to hide my title would be pointless, with my nametag pinned on the breast of my suit.
“Good, well I hope that works well.”
‘Thank you.”
“Yes, I have to go now, nice meeting you.”

Apparently most people assume that Demoncia is just some backwater country they have never heard of. Instead of inquiring they act as if they had know about it all their lives in order to not appear stupid. Not one person has asked me about my job. That is the problem with most people, they are stupider than they would like you to know.
__________________________________________________ ___________________________________

My bio says that I am six foot two, one hundred and ninety-seven pounds, thirty six years old and I work as an ambassador to a place named Demoncia, and that I was appointed in 1997. My older bio says that I was appointed in 1985. An older bio says 1973. The U.N. has no respect for continuity. In actuality I was appointed thirty nine years ago, funny thing about working across dimensional lines. You tend to acquire immortality. I gained everlasting life at my first meeting with a Demon.

When I saw my first Demon, I was not really surprised. He was wearing a business suit. A loud tie was snug against his fatty neck. His hair grey and thinning. He introduced himself only as “Gary”. It was like a bad political cartoon. I now know that Demons only appear in a person’s mind. Well actually they interlock a portion of their energy matrix with the electrical synapses of the brain until they achieve synchronism and they work on the redirect of optical neurons to produce an image of themselves in any form they chose. To be exact.

We met in a particularly decorated hotel in some high rise hotel in some large city, like New York, Los Angeles, or maybe even Chicago. It was quite a while back. I do, however, remember the conversation that took place.

“So you are the new kid.”
I introduced myself and explained that I was.
“Such a formality, your title.”
I asked him why.
“We do not need ambassadors, we know more than any physical being. In actuality, you are more of an multidimensional errand boy.”
I inquired as to how that would work.
“My boy, do you think the U.N. just chose you at random?”
I told him I hoped they would put more forethought into it than that. I was such a witty bastard back then.
“My boy, your wrong, they didn’t pick you, we did. You are one of the few people on planet earth that has the right genetics for the job.” He paused as if to preempt his next words with a sense of drama. “You have the immortality gene, all we have to do is activate it. Then us Demons will have the most reliable errand boy in this dimension.”
I wanted to question him about that, but I was too busy rolling on the ground screaming in pain. Just to get the word out, having your cells and DNA rearranged is not the most pleasant of feelings. So I was quite relieved when I passed out.
My eyes felt as if they were still shut when I awoke and I saw Gary was standing over me. It took me a while to realize that my eyelids were, in fact, closed. I was too exhausted to be shocked.
“Well my boy,” I wished he would stop calling me that. “Welcome to your new life as one of the immortals.”

Thirty nine years later I still work as that one-dimensional errand boy for the pseudo political organization that has killed the most human beings to date. Two weeks ago my superiors informed me that I was going to perform my most important errand ever. That was when all hell broke loose. There is a pun there, but when you work for the people I work for, it has been done.

to be cont...

[jewpinthethird]

Michael Ricon

How'd you think up that name?

Very interesting concept. I didnt know you were so into writing.

[FoJaR]

Well actually they interlock a portion of their energy matrix with the electrical synapses of the brain until they achieve synchronism and they work on the redirect of optical neurons to produce an image of themselves in any form they chose. To be exact.

:roll:

[FoJaR]

oh, and you should add something in there about descartes.

[Chromer]

Have you ever heard of using the Edit button?

[FoJaR]

yeah, but had i edited the second comment in, the :roll: would have lost it's full effect.

[Grandiagod]

Oh you guys.
There needs to be a Chromer vs. Fojar thread.

[MalReynolds]

The only part I would change would be the explanation of the routing of the synapses and whatever. Too Michael Crichton for the subject material.

And Gary said "My boy," as an opener twice.

Mal

[Grandiagod]

I was trying to add an element of sarcasm to the scientific explanation. Guess it didn't work.

[Anonymous]

you do get why i said that you should include descartes right?

[FoJaR]

dammit.

[Grandiagod]

The math guy?

[xObserveRx]

definitely a cool subject to tackle grandia. I wonder, where did the inspiration for this idea come from, if you don't mind me asking? Either way, keep it up, i'm interested now.

[FoJaR]

descartes's famous quote is "i think therfore i am".

he was a skeptic who was trying to prove his own existence. he went through a whole lot of "what if's" before deciding "well we cant believe any of our sensory perceptions because it might just be demons making us see/hear/smell/feel things". and then he went further, with stuff like "in fact, i could just be a construct of these demons's's's's imagination. i could not be real."

and then he decided "well we can think of God, and God is perfect... so i think therefore i am"

at least, that's how i remember it.

i know for sure the part about the demons, and the fact that he was at a point where there was no hope of getting out using actual logic, so he decided to play the God card.

but anyways, the whole "demons make you see things" reminded me of that.

[Grandiagod]

Response to Fojar: Oh, cool.

Respose to Observer: I don't really get my inspiration or ideas from one particular place, they kind of just happen. Really, one day I was sitting down and thought up this thing. My brain works funny.

[Grandiagod]

Chapter 3

I knew it was going to be a bad day when my secretary told me George wanted to see me. George Luna, head of inter-dimensional commerce, was my unofficial boss. Whenever he had something to say to me I usually had to go negotiate the world out of a fix caused by some egotistical official who wanted to shake up what I had built for the past four decades. I have done this many times, but that is another story.

George’s hair was gray and thinning, at least under all the hair color. His hair was always conspicuously combed over, drawing more suspicion than had he just left his bald spot alone. George has forced casualness to his demeanor, when I walked into his office he treated my like an old friend he had not seen for ages. “Mike, good to see you, how ya doing?” He stood up from behind his lavish, uncluttered desk and extended his hand. I walked over to him and took the bait. George took my hand in his as if he was afraid that if he let my hand go I would bolt from his office.
I grinned through my teeth and let him know how I was doing and how nice it was to see him. That is something people learn quickly when they work in politics, to lie.
“Take a seat Mike, take a seat.” George released me and waved toward a single, metal-framed chair placed in front of his desk. The chair was cheap and uncomfortable. George sat down in his high-backed, leather, executive chair. George often used his office for corrupt negotiations with human politicians. George thought the difference in luxuries made him look impressive and give him an edge. All it really did was piss people off. “Mike, we have a doozy of a problem.”
I asked him when we have not had a problem.
“That’s, what I like about you, you’ve got a sense of humor.”
I found my eyes wandering to the huge window behind his desk , it was supposed to offer a great view in order to further impress his guests, however, today it was raining, the sky was dark and the view was depressing.
“The Demons. They’ve finally done it, Mike, they have finally done it.” George put emphasis on the last finally. “They’ve finally figured out a way to get power from us without us dying all the time.”
I asked why this was not good news.
“It’s how they do it that is the problem.” George went on some big explanatory rant. It was obvious that he was reading off a semi-memorized report and understood about half of what he was saying.
I understood it perfectly.

The Demons had figured out a more practical way of obtaining the power they craved. They had discovered how to make copies of human souls. They took the imprint of a soul and molded raw dimensional energy to fit it, they could make limitless copies. This was necessary since the demons did not draw their power from the energy of the souls but from the infinitely complex patterns that the energy was formed into. They had finally advanced there technology where they could copy that pattern from an original. They need many souls to increase the diversity of the patterns and increase their power. That is why they are going to kill every human on Earth, to make lots of copies. It is like a soul eating Kinkos.

I deduced that I was the one who had been volunteered to stop them.
“You have to stop them, Mike.” George’s voice was still cheery, but underneath it echoed of terror. “You are the only guy who has ever been able to talk some sense into those freaks.”
I asked George where I would contact one of the Demons. In the past I and a Demon would meet in a hotel or restaurant and have a discussion about the current state of affairs between Earth and Demoncia. The Demons were not addicted to the formality that humans seem to bathe their political affairs in.

I asked where I was going to meet the Demons.
“Mike, get whatever you need. You need to be here by seven o’clock tonight.” George held out a small yellow sticky note. There was some small, sloppy handwriting on it. I squinted. I told him what the sticky note said.
“Yeah, Mike it’s a subway station, but that’s where you are supposed to show up. That’s what they said.”
I was intrigued, but tried not to show it.
I also pondered why the Demons would make plans to destroy humanity then tell us about it. I figured I would ask them when I saw them.

to be cont...

[Grandiagod]

Yo, dont give up! Give some feedback.

Chapter 4

It was one of those days, so dreary, that the world seemed bothered to exist. The dark, gray sky let down a drizzle that found its way between towering buildings and onto me. I was standing just outside the subway wearing a black trench coat that seemed to suck up the moisture. The entrance to the subway station was full of people mindlessly bustling about. Going from Point A to Point B. A thought struck me while I was watching these naïve, human drones. I was responsible for every one of them. I was the last hope for every living being on Earth. Have I mentioned I hate responsibility?

Trying to make my way down the steps to the subway was like swimming upstream, in a waterfall. I was bumped and jostled from every direction, by people with varying degrees of dryness. I was about half way down when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a blurry figure approaching me to fast to avoid a collision. I was slammed by the figure’s shoulder so hard it felt as if I had been kicked by a horse. My torso lifted my feet off the ground and I tumbled toward the concrete wall of the stairway. The first part of me to hit the wall was, naturally, my head. I closed my eyes, let out a little yelp, and collapsed. I proceeded to shout out to my assailant questions about the legitimacy of his birth. My voice echoed through an empty silence back to me. The sounds of the busy subway and outside street had ceased. My eyes slowly fluttered open. There was not a soul to be seen. Everyone had disappeared. I sprung up and bounded the steps back up to the street. There were no cars, there was no noise except for the rain, there was no people. I looked up at a cluster of several ten and twenty story buildings. I could imagine how every floor was devoid of life. How computers sat at their desks with urgent reports stopped in mid sentence. How some incriminating paper continued to pull itself through a paper shredder, the person in jeopardy, no longer overseeing the process. For the first time in a long time, I was really, truly shocked. Standing in the rain, I let my trench coat absorb every droplet of rain. Seconds were minutes and minutes were hours. Time passed in slow motion. Soon my common sense took over. There was no need to waste my time staring at empty buildings. I shed my water-logged trench coat on the sidewalk, underneath I wore a black suit and black tie, no need to dress cheery for the end of the world. I deliberately made my way down the stairs of the subway entrance. After all, I have an appointment to keep.

The loading dock was lit by dim, fluorescent lights. The dull gray concrete looked even more depressing than the sky outside. I was at a loss at where to go next. The whole place was utterly devoid of life. At times like these I often look upward, not for a religious preference, just simply out of habit. This time my habit paid off. On the concrete ceiling was a series of large, brightly spray painted arrows. Not having any other lead, I followed them. They led to a concrete column next to the loading area for the train. On this column was a single yellow sticky note stuck about chest high. In bright, red printing the note read simply: FOURTH STOP. A small noise interrupted me from my pondering. It grew louder. I was beginning to dread where this was going. The noise was one of a subway train. I leaned over and looked down over the tracks into the dark tunnel. Two white headlights pierced the darkness. I leaned back as quick as I could. I really was not in the mood for decapitation.

The train slowed and stopped. It seemed like a very normal, yet very empty, subway car. Cautiously tiptoeing to one of the doors I examined it. It certainly seemed like an extraordinarily normal subway car door. With a hiss all the doors slid open. I jumped back. They definitely opened like normal doors. After a few seconds of deliberation I came up with a solution. I probably should get into the damn thing. All the clues, of which there were few, pointed that way. I carefully walked into the subway car. In it I saw a perfectly, exasperatingly, normal, five foot long, green cabbage worm.

It asked me for my ticket.
I explained I did not have a ticket, but I pulled out the sticky note and showed it to the worm.
It apologized and said I was okay. Then it made its way to the next car.
I sat down. In situations like these I usually find it very helpful to sit down.


To be cont...

[Grandiagod]

Hey, comment b!tches.

The subway train’s windows were as black as death. As far as I could see, nothing existed beyond the car. Just a subway train floating through inky blackness. The only sign of motion was the swinging metal handholds.

They say you meet quite a few characters on the subway. I met several on my trip. First of all was the ticket checking, talking, giant, green cabbage worm. Once in a while he would pass through the train car where I was sitting, he always moved like there was something urgent going on, but not urgent enough to interrupt his slow, undulating pace.

Then there was the man without legs. They were not amputated or deformed. He just simply lacked lower appendages. His locomotion consisted of hovering three feet in the air and flying around. He was wearing the top half of a dress suit that continued over the end of his torso. He passed through the otherwise empty train car, nodded at me and proceeded through the connecting door.

The third was a wrinkled old lady, she too was passing through the car. However she stopped to talk with me. She sat down next to me and said I looked lonely. We started up a strangely normal conversation. She told me about her grandchildren and how she was going to see them and how she had to spend an arm and a leg for gifts for them. She was perfectly normal except of couple times ever minute she would blink out of existence. One instant she was there, the next I was staring at empty space. Then she was back, she was gone for less than a second each time. She seemed not to notice and I did my best to ignore it. Then, in the middle of saying a sentence she blinked out and, and never came back. The ride turned pretty depressing from then on. Like I said, the scenery was not much.

The train stopped three times. Each time it pulled into what seemed like an identical, gray, depressingly lit station. I looked to see if any passengers were boarding. The stations were empty. But once in a while, an unexplained wisp of a shadow would appear and disappear. As much as I was lacking for company, I sincerely hoped that they were not my traveling partners. Three hours and thirty-nine minutes from when I first boarded, I checked my watch, the train reached the fourth stop. It was the same gray station as all the other times. The car door hissed open. I wore apprehension like a coat.

It appeared there was nothing else to do but follow the clues that I had been given. Which was a sticky note. I walked to the open door. The air blowing in from the station must have been around freezing. I had not quite dried off from earlier and the temperature did not make my journey any more pleasant. I quickly strode through the depressing station. I looked up the stairs to the exit and

To be cont…