Axel jerked awake, his horrified gasp cutting through the apartment’s silence. He sat bolt upright, eyes darting around as he struggled to remember where he was, the images churned up by his mind refusing to leave, sticking like leeches. When it eventually dawned that what he’d been experiencing was yet another nightmare, the construct of memories he’d tried and failed to repress, he sank back against the wall with a thin whimper, pressing his hands against his face, his fingers threading through his greasy hair and wrapping the strands painfully.
Fur drenched in sweat, the rat sat motionless for a minute, gasping for air, his breaths quick and ragged. When he felt like he could bear to move again, Axel let out a trembling breath. “Alright… okay…” Letting his hands fall from his face, he kicked the sheets from his legs, tangled and twisted from his thrashing during the night and staggered out of bed, blinking from the daylight leaking into the apartment. Leaning down and tapping a button on his phone, Axel blinked when he saw the time flash up on the screen. 11:53. Normally the nightmares would have woken him up hours before. Shaking his head, he crossed the room and pushed the switch for the TV, desperate to try and clear his mind, his body feeling chilled.
The TV screen flickered to life. Staring out at Axel was the face of a reporter he vaguely recognised, Martin Schul or School, or something else beginning with an S. In the top left hand corner of the screen, a golden SD was rotating slowly, the symbol for Seryat Daily, the city’s most popular news station. The beefy man was standing just to the side of a large group of people clustering outside a building, a concerned look plastered to his wide face.
“… and it’s been 4 hours since the 78th victim of these string of mysterious deaths has been confirmed.”
Leaving the reporter’s gravelly voice to fill the apartment, Axel turned away and bent down to yank open the fridge. He leaned in and started to pick up the old milk container, recoiling when he caught a sharp smell escaping from the top.
“… So far, the only information that the Seryat police department has been able to release is that all of these deaths have involved some kind of malfunction within the augmentations produced by Brennan Synthetics.”
Axel froze, then slowly turned around to look at the screen.
“Police haven’t released whether they have been able to deduce if there is a pattern to these sudden and tragic deaths, with their widespread and apparently random nature. In addition, experts still have not been able to deduce what has actually gone so terribly wrong in the augmentations of these poor individuals.” Martin indicated behind him, and Axel now saw that the group of people he’d seen were standing outside a hospital. “Officials are encouraging those with Brennan Synthetic augmentations to report as soon as possible to their local hospital for an examination of their circuitry, although they are also reassuring the public that there is no need for panic – they are confident the cause will be identified and dealt with shortly.”
Feeling weak in the legs, Axel held onto the fridge for support. This was feeling too close to what had happened before. Much too close.
“… But what is far from certain is the fate of the company responsible for these augmentations. 6 years ago, Brennan Synthetics emerged as a company capable of producing cheaper, more affordable augmentations, giving many more people access to this technology. Whether the company can recover from this tragedy has yet to be seen – as does the fate of the company’s owner, Richard Brennan, who has yet to release a statement.” Martin turned to look behind him at the small crowd, then turned his concerned expression back to the camera. “We can only hope this situation is resolved as quickly as possible. This is Martin Schuul, reporting for –“ Martin trailed off, looking at something off camera, his eyes widening.
BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM. A rattle of gunfire, and Martin was thrown backwards, dark red droplets spattering the camera screen. Axel jerked back, knocking the carton of milk on the floor. Onscreen, the camera had been dropped to the sidewalk, the lightly twitching foot of Martin Schuul obscuring most of the view. Just past the heel, Axel could see the crowd of people outside the hospital had scattering, terrified civilians running for their lives. The rattle of gunfire continued, getting louder, and every now and then someone in the distance was thrown to the floor. Suddenly, the camera was snatched from the floor, heavy breathing drowning out the sound of distant screaming. The image shook as the camera was turned, as suddenly another figure stared out. The face was covered by a burlap sack. On the forehead, a large cracked gear emblem was painted on in red. From two small eye holes, eyes glinted.
“This is just the start!” The figure screamed into the camera. “The work of the Purifiers has only just begun! By the time the Purifiers have finished, the augmented scum of Seryat will be on their knees, and-” He paused as the faint sound of police sirens started to emerge. He looked around off camera quickly, almost desperately, then turned back to the screen. “- and what was started in Lanthae will continue. Fear the Purifiers!” The camera suddenly went dead.
Axel’s legs buckled, his head growing faint, and he sagged to the floor, feeling as though he couldn't breath.
