Hey everyone.This piece would follow on from this other one here http://www.writingforums.com/viewtop...686&highlight= It's a lil interesting where i'm taking this, all a little bit experimental. I'd like to know what people think.
As of yet i'm unsure where the plot will go, but the idea is about an underground insane alysum with something more sinister underneath involving brain-washing, making humans into mental slaves/servants for some unknown secret purpose, something sinister like that. Take a look and tell me what you think!
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‘So, what’s the progress on
44?’
A table, a chair, himself, the dull lamp above and the murky light between were all that Mösch could see in the darkened room, too dark to observe the interior furnishings surrounding him, a curious blend of classic mahogany, crimson leather and icy steel. All were a vague hint of the power of its owner, who was becoming increasingly frustrated:
“Mösch, I haven’t the slightest will to sit here waiting for your answer all day.
44’s progress, summarize!”
The lanky man hurriedly gathered various documents from a black leather folder. On the marbled desk he laid several different papers; photo identity documents; health examinations; psychological analyses amongst some others.
“Erm, oh yes…
44. Stable health-wise, err…but unfortunately appears to have been reported as increasingly unresponsive to treatment–”
“Unresponsive?” the deep voice inquired. “In what way?”
“–well, in that err…it seems the patient here is lacking a –”
“Oh please, we mustn’t talk of these as of human quality Mösch for Christ’s sake. They have a number for a reason, classify them properly.”
Mösch collected himself abruptly. As he and several others knew it was never a good idea to annoy or upset the employer. His identity remained part mystery in the dense shadows surrounding him, but his voice, that deep powerful commanding voice cut through the dingy pool of light like a blade. Mösch knew he was in the dragon’s lair here.
Be clear, precise, don’t mutter, don’t mumble, don’t falter. Just stay kool and calm, informative but not verbose, clever but not a smart-arse, respect him, but don’t suck up.
The tall thin Swiss cleared his throat. “
44 is showing no use to us; multiple aggressive outbursts, communication breakdown occurring and paranoia are becoming increasingly common traits.”
The figure showed on the other side of the table said nothing for a while; he was thinking. His pursed lips, nose and chin and blazer-clad torso were his only features faintly distinguished by the gloomy reflection in the marble. At last he spoke, the voice clear, cut, cold and precise:
“No use you say?”
“Yes sir.”
“Do you recommend removal?”
Something squeezed Mösch’s insides as he heard the question, mainly since it was rhetoric, rhetoric on his next word, one word that would murder.
“Yes,” he said, his eyes gazed down from the half-lit face to the desk. How anyone could stare someone in the face unmoving and speak that was beyond him. Yet in the marble’s reflection he saw nothing emotional in his employer’s movements, just the long drag of a cigar and a puff of smoke dull the dark air a tint more.
“Alright then,” the continued, his voice unbroken but vaguely disappointed. “Mösch, the papers please.”
The lean figure stood up gathering them together the face staring out on the top document, the photo identity, simple friendly and warming, chilled him to the bone as the face seemed to stare into his own eyes. He handed the papers over to the far side of the table. Sitting down he watched the face staring out on the top of the pile disappear as two large hands emerged from the shadows like demons and dragged the prey out of the light. He heard a draw open, a sigh, and a clink as it shut again.
“Alrite Mösch.
45’s progress please…”
