3
The darkness scares me. I sit for a moment, trying to get my vision to focus, trying to see anything at all. My eyes blur. I bang the 48-volt battery pack stuck to my head. Oh, how I would tear it out if this wasn’t my last life. I can’t move. The darkness engulfs me, and I remember my biggest fear from before, from before they murdered me and these assholes stole my afterlife. They brought me back to what clearly feels like hell.
“Psst. Hey, you in there. Are you still good? Sorry about yelling at you earlier, but this place, well, it’s not a place where you want them to pick you. They’ve got us all here for different 'crimes,' as they call them. It’s nuts. Now even death isn’t safe from them.”
The voice sounded like it was in my cell. I spun around frantically, looking for whoever was projecting it.
“I don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t remember committing a crime. Who are you? Show yourself.”
I try to sound confident. I try to sound tough.
“Hey, calm down, muchacho. I’m just a prisoner like you. I’m above you, though. These 48-volt packs don’t just keep your brain and ticker going. I found ways to connect to the electronics and talk to you from my cell. Only thing is, it can only be done at night when they power things down. The pack on your head, once it boots you back up with the initial jolt, doesn’t need the full 48 volts. It only takes five to twelve volts to keep you running. That extra 36 volts, I use it. I have free reign over the lower-voltage systems in the prison. During the day, though, they’d find me and fry the link. You get it, amigo?”
The voice booms in my cell.
All I do is nod.
“I guess either you're nodding your head in the dark or you flatlined, because I know I didn’t explain it wrong, amigo.”
The voice lets out a chuckle.
“Sorry. It’s a lot to take in, but I think I understand.”
“Good, good. So listen, amigo. We’ve got some work to do. Not many walkers in here. You’re probably the first I’ve seen actually start moving this fast. Since that’s the case, we can get out of this shithole. I’ve been here so long, I’ve lost count. I’m not mobile myself, so you’re gonna be my legs, muchacho. Sound like a plan?”
The voice sounds excited and full of ambition.
“Wait. Hold on. I literally just came to, and that’s a lot to think about. Heck, I don’t even know what’s going on or why I’m here. I committed no crimes before I died.”
I shuffle around aimlessly in my cell, trying to remember the layout.
“Whoa, slow down, amigo. Listen, you’re here with all of us, and I’ve got a plan to get us out. What’s there to think about? You’re obviously stuck, and these people can’t be reasoned with. I promise you, I’ve seen so many come through and try to plead and beg. They want your info, the stuff in your brain. The only reason we’re talking is because they still can’t extract the memories manually. So this isn’t something you can talk your way out of. They’re gonna torture you, do whatever it takes to get that shit out of your brain. Got it, amigo?”
The voice is serious now.
I slap the ground. My hands are numb, still waking from death. Anger fills me like a boiling pot, but what can I do about it? I don’t even know this person. I need assurances. I need answers.
“Okay. But before I do anything, I have a few questions.”
Moments pass. Nothing. Just darkness. Am I losing my mind? Was the voice not real?
“Hey, sorry. Had to drop out quick. A line runner was fishing the line. Sometimes I gotta drop or get dropped.”
The voice returns after minutes of silence.
“Wait. I thought you said the security was down at night?”
“Yeah, it is, amigo, but they still have line runners on patrol. Think of them as night-shift security. There’s only a handful, not thousands. Anyway, what were your questions?”
I sit on the cold floor in the middle of my cell, trying to organize my thoughts.
“Okay. I have just three questions, and after you answer them, I’ll decide if I’m going to help you. Deal?”
Again, silence. Then:
“Deal,” the voice rings out.
“Alright. First question: What’s your name? Second: Why are you in here? Third: Why should I trust you?”
It’s the best I can manage on such short notice. My brain still feels like mush, but I need to know something about him. I need to know he’s not some psycho trying to use me.
“Easy. My name is David, David Vasquez. I was brought back because I have knowledge about the crime I committed. Murder. Only, it was self-defense. They killed my wife. You should trust me because those assholes took her from me, and I want out of here so I can live whatever life I have left. Once we’re out, you don’t have to trust me. We can go our separate ways. My question is, why wouldn’t you trust the guy who wants the same thing you do? Out. Listen, I want your name too, but we gotta stop for now. The line’s getting sketchy. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”
Just like that, the voice vanished, and I was alone again in the dark cell. My new home. I had a day to think, to decide whether I would help David or not. Could he really get us out of here? And what even is out of here? My brain scrambled as I tried to fall asleep.