From: Spawn <nmvds@aol.computers> Subject: [PW!] The Dissection, P1 (Was: "CE: Azure Heights Break-In.") Date: Tuesday, February 15, 2000 10:20 AM WARNING: This story contains violent scenes which may be too "mature" for certain audiences. Parental advisement is highly recommended for younger readers with "impressionable" minds. I mean it, kiddies, do NOT go on if you don't think you can hand it. Seriously. Get out. Leave. You'll probably get nightmares anyway. Read on at your own risk, do not proceed if you just ate, etc. Not scared off yet? Sure? Well, with that said, here's the story for the more mature audiences out there... *************** Steve could not believe it. He was finally inside of the most secure facility in the world. After getting past the Dugtrios, it was simply a matter of getting a gun and using it against one of the guards to get him to open the doors. All his work today finally boiled to this. His destiny would be decided today. He expected to be greeted with artily fit for a war. What he found was a dark, empty hallway ahead of him. Suspicious to say the least, and he chose to proceed only with extreme caution. Just then, he heard footsteps. "Welcome, Steven," said a voice. "It's an honor to meet you again." It was Gil Bates. He had been expecting Steve to come, ready for this intrusion. He wanted to greet Steve in person. To make sure he was the real thing. "Have you come to stop our machine?" he asked. "Then by all means, let me show you the way." "No thanks," Steve said, "I'll find my own way there." "Come on now," Gil insisted. "This is what you wanted, correct? To thwart our little plans? To destroy our machine in the name of Team Rocket? Well, come on now. Let's see if your dream can see the light of day." It was a trap. Steve knew it was a trap. Gil knew that Steve knew it was a trap. But Steve didn't exactly have a lot of options right now. Not now with the Pokemon Leeague fully aware of his presence. "So Steve, you finally managed to break into Azure Heights," Gil said, not expressing any emotion in his words. "What do you plan on doing now?" The two of them rounded a corner. "I don't know," Steve replied, "go to Disneyland?" "Oh, Steve…" Gil sighed as he reached for a handgun. "I was afraid that it might come to this. Can't you ever offer a little cooperation?" Steve instinctually responded by grabbing Gil's arm, slamming him into the wall, kneeing him in the groin so that he would drop his gun, and throwing him to the floor. "Now, you have a choice, " Steve began to say as he placed his foot firmly on Gil's chest and placed his sword next to his neck. "You can tell me how to shut off your damn machine… or we can re-enact our favorite scenes from "The Headless Horseman." "Steve, you know I can't let you do that…" Gil replied calmly, knowing his snipers would shoot Steve is he moved even the slightest. Steve looked at Gil and tried to plot his next move. His mistake was taking too long. "You're not the Steven I know," Gil finally said. "The Steve I know died, and as far as I'm concerned, is still dead. The Steve I know wouldn't have hesitated like that. The Steve I knew wouldn't waste his time talking to me. Most importantly…" Steve was so distracted by the words that he didn't notice a man approaching him from behind. "The Steve I knew would have scene that coming. So if you're not the Steve I know, who are you?" Two hands were placed to the sides of Steve's head. "Who are you?" Those were the last words Steve heard. Right before he passed out. ********** Drip.,. Steve awoke to the sound of a leaky faucet. He found himself lying down on a stretcher, unable move a single inch. Every limb of his body appeared to be chained down. Drip… Where was he? Drip… Why was he here? Drip… How long had he been out? Drip… Steve's brain became fixated on the noise. In this dark and cold room, it was the only source of sensory stimulation, and it was driving him mad. He tried to get back to sleep, and ignore the annoyingly repitious sound. But he could not. His body itched all over, but he was unable to scratch. The only other thing in this room he could sense was the lingering smell of death. Drip… "Good morning, Steven." Suddenly, a light came on. After spending so long in the darkness, looking at it was like looking into the sun itself. He closed his eyes, trying to protect his delicate retinas. Drip… "Welcome," a voice sounded. Just then, some gears sounded, and Steve felt the chains pulling on his aching limbs for a few seconds. Tighter and tighter. The man behind the voice wanted to demonstrate his power to Steve. "Who are you?" Steve asked as he looked at the man, eyes barely open. He was an elderly person, one who looked and sounded vaguely familiar. But Steve couldn't quite figure out why. "Do you believe in God?" he asked after a lengthy pause. "I don't know anymore…" Steve replied. "Pity," he continued. "For if you did believe in God, then perhaps you could understand my nature a little better. That's all your feeble head could really hope for, really. Understanding. Comprehension would be far beyond your grasp." "Who are you?" Steve asked again. "My name is not important," the Dissector continued. "But for the purpose of address, you may call me the Dissector. I break things down to analyze them. To know people is my specialty, it's what gives my powers. You are my current specimen. I aim to find out what makes you who you are." "Great…" Steve sighed, reasoning that if the man was trying to kill him, he would have done so earlier. "Couldn't we just do this some other time? I was kinda in the middle of something." "No." With that, the chains tightened. Steve's muscles were being stretched out to their max. "Always trying to maintain a sense of humor, Steve? You may joke around, but is life really just a joke to you? Something to poke fun at?" Steve didn't really hear him. He was too distracted by the cockroaches crawling all over his body, burrowing into his skin. He wanted to brush them aside, but felt the tug of the chains whenever he tried to do so. "I don't believe so," he continued. "Surely there must be something deeper about you for others to be so concerned. To strike fear in some and hope in others. Even if you do not realize it. I intend to find what that something is." Steven wasn't really paying attention. Not with the cockroaches. Even an attempt to squirm was painful and taxing on his body. "Do you see yourself as a hero, Steven?" the Dissector asked. "I think you do. Why else would anyone be foolish enough to risk his life for such a meaningless cause? You see yourself as a hero. You claim that what you seek is justice and virtue. But in reality, all you seek is survival. If not for yourself, then for your race. These cockroaches are no different. They, like you, are mere parasites. Surviving at any cost--even if it means the eventual death of the host. They feast on your flesh, introduce disease to your system. Do you still fancy yourself as a hero, Steven? Do you believe yourself to be so different than them? Different from anyone?" He began to look at Steve's discomfort and grinned at his subject's low tolerance level. It would not be long before he could crush Steve's spirits entirely. "You search for a way to resist them," he advised, "you try to fight them. But you can't, Steven. You can't win this battle. In the end, you can't really win anything. You try to fight these cockroaches just as you fight evil and injustice, but deep in your heart you know that you can't. You know that it will always be around no matter how hard you try to change things. There is no hope for you, the only thing you can do is give in. Let the bugs have their way and crawl underneath your skin. Bad things will always happen to you, Steve. Let them happen and move on." "Why are you doing this?" Steve mumbled as he tried to distract himself from the situation. "I already told you," said the man, "I am trying to dissect you, both literally and figuratively. I've looked at everything that's inside that little head of yours. But I can't know things about you that you don't know yourself. Not yet, anyway." "Do you know about my past?" Steve asked. "I know where it's buried," the man replied. "Deep down inside." "What can you tell me about myself?" Steve asked. "You're not in any position to start asking the questions." "Please…" "That's not important," the man said frankly. "Whether you were a good person or a bad person or an average person, none of that matters. All that matters is what is the present. So Steven, what kind of a person are you, here and now?" Drip… "I don't know," Steve answered a long pause. Suddenly, the chains tightened again. His bones felt like they were beginning to feel like they were ready to leave their sockets. His skin stretched out so tightly that several of the bugs which were underneath his skin were crushed to death from the pressure. "Surely you can try harder then that," the man laughed. "You are an unusual person, Steve. One who has been been denied his past, is having a horrible present, and in all likelihood will not have a future at all. You're not even in your own *world* anymore. And yet you are willing to risk your life and fight for a cause you don't even fully understand. Why is that, Steven?" Drip… "Why are you bothering to ask if you already know I don't have the answers?" Steven finally said, trying to prepare for the tightening of the chains but not knowing how he possibly could. He didn't even know how his body was managing to take this kind of punishment anymore. "To help you find the answers yourself," the man explained as he lifted a tool from his coat. "But perhaps… I'm going about this the wrong way." WWWWWHHHHHEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRR!!!! The sound of a dripping faucet was now completely drowned out by the sound of a motor. When Steve looked up, he realized where the sound was coming from. It was a drill. "Your eyes are windows to the soul, Steven," he continued. "They can tell me a lot about you under the right conditions. I would like to know much pain will a man be willing to take before he simply gives up? What are the limits to human suffering, to human endurance, before he can take no more? Before he simply gives up? You are a prime specimen for me to find the answers I seek." The man placed one hand on Steve's face to hold his eyelids open while the other held up the drill. Steve tried his best to resist, but even his best could do nothing to stop him. "No…" Steve started saying nervously in disbelief. "You can't be serious… I mean… this has all gotta be some kinda joke, right? You know, like some guy suddenly steps out of the corner or something and tells me I'm on Candid Camera or something…" "Do you believe that I would be one to joke?" "There's gotta be some other way… you know, you don't have to do this…" "There is not," the man said as he shook his head. The drill inched closer and closer to Steve. Steve starred into the device, knowing that he could do nothing except trying to bargain with the man. "I'll do anything you want…" he insisted, "but please… please… not this…" The drill was so close to Steve by now that he could feel it the vibrations of it deep down in his bones. So close to his eyes that it turned into one huge blur. "Feel proud," the man said, "You are about to give you left eye up for wisdom. A price Odin himself was willing to pay." WWWWHHHhhhhhheeeeeeerrrrRRRRRREEEeeeeeeeeEEERRRRRRRRRR!!!! The motor sounded loudly, but was soon easily drowned out by the screams of pain Steve let out. The gore splattered everywhere as the drill tore through his retinas, and the room was slowly being covered in his blood. Not that any of it mattered to Steve, all that mattered to him right now was that he was currently experiencing more pain than he could ever have imagined. More pain than most people could ever imagine. But the man who was administrating the torture remained unfazed. "You act as though," he said, looking at Steve with cold calculation. But his victim could not hear his words. The blood quickly gushed out of the wounded sockets, however, and dripped down Steve's face. His entire head was slowly covered in sticky red fluid. Even as his lungs began to fill up with his own blood, Steve couldn't help but continue screaming until the moment where he began to choke. "Well?" the man asked. Steve continued hacking and coughing. "This is merely a taste of true pain, Steven," he said as he place his hand over Steve's eye. "Merely a taste." Drip… "I'm going to die today…" Steve thought. "You can fear many things," the man said, "but do not fear death. That is within my power alone, and you shall not experience it until you desire too. Have you had enough yet?" Steve felt the power emanating from the hand, forcing the bleeding to stop. "Steven, I don't think you fully understand my predicament," he said as he looked over Steve's body. "Your nature is a mystery to me. You want other people to perceive you in a certain way. The outward appearance you project to them. But looks can deceive. What's underneath it all, Steven? Underneath of the BS you shovel out? What are you really like?" The man placed his hand on Steven's face again, this time gently tugging on his skin. "When the outward appearances is gone, what's left of you?" the man said as he pulled harder, knowing Steve could do nothing to stop him. Finally, Steve heard a ripping sound. His own skin was being torn off of his own body. What was left over were layers of muscle. The pain was immense, and even simple air began to irritate his bare face with the as if it were a thousand bee stings. With his eyelids now removed, Steve was no longer able to keep his tiring eyes closed or even blink. Everything began to blur together. "Because no matter how one appears outwardly," the man continued as he held up Steve's face, "no matter how 'good' or 'virtuous' or 'heroic' they appear on the outside… the contents inside of the package can still be truly revolting. Only when the outer layer is removed can the true horrors which exist be seen." The man held Steve's face up one last time before he tossed it to the ground, allowing the cockroaches which had been hiding underneath to crawl away. One of them crawled over to the man's hands. "This is how I see you Steve," he said as he held the cockroach up. "The real you. The you that you don't wish others to see. Tiny. Insignificant. Merely a pest that can be easily crushed. But what I think is not nearly as important as her you see yourself. Because only then can I understand what makes you act the way that you do." Just then, the chains became tighter than ever. Enough force to rip a normal man in half. But the elderly man apparently wouldn't let him die so easily, and so Steve continued suffer. From four different limbs, the chains pulled his skin away. It started off by ripping down the middle of his body and was slowly peeled off, until it was anchored to his body only by his nails. One by one, however, they were pulled slowly away, each time taking a large chunk of a finger or a toe with it. Steve wanted to brace himself for the pain, but could not even close his eyes. Drip… As the last nail was torn off, Steve realized that the chains no longer debilitated him. He was free to move now, even though he was in too much pain to do so. Steve glanced over to find that his hands, or at least what was left of his hands, completely covered in blood. "Have you had enough yet?" the man ask as he looked over at Steve. "It is not as if you are a stranger to pain." Steve tried to gather his strength, but could find none. The old man raised his hand to focus some of energies into Steve, and like before, the bleeding stopped. Steve began to feel a little better in comparison to his previous state, but still to weak to do any major movements. Especially considering the stickiness of the blood soaked table. His weary eyes began to heal after not being able to close or blink for the past half hour or so, and a fraction of his vision returned. The old man walked towards him, scalpel in hand. It was so perfectly polished that Steve could see his reflection in it. "Hideous, aren't you?" the Dissector said. "Not a pretty sight. Not a pretty sight at all. And yet, you cannot blame me for showing this to you, Steven Fugues. For this is not an image of my own creation, but rather the image of what you are. Look how far you have fallen. You are no longer even a man anymore." Steve watched in disgust as he starred at his reflection. His bloody, skinless, face. His lips were now gone, and all that remained of his nose was hole that resembled the shape of and upside-down heart. And his eyes… His eyes… He was so terrified at what he saw. But at the same time, could not stop looking. "In the end, you are utterly worthless," the Dissector said. "You posses no special skills. You have accomplished virtually nothing in your life. No one in your own world would really miss you, and the people of this world mistake you for someone else. And your quest for heroism resulted in the death of the one person you loved." He took the scalpel away from Steve's face and put it back at his side. "And yet despite all this, despite the fact that there is absolutely nothing for you in this world, I can sense a will to live. A burning desire to go on. Why is that?" The old man made an incision in Steven's chest, watching as the blood oozed out. Steve was thankful for the blade's sharpness, it could just as easily have been dull and agonizing. Perhaps the old man simply wanted it to reflect his precise nature. When he needed to be precise, at least. When the incision was finished, the old man reached into Steve's chest and grabbed his still beating heart. Steve felt the pressure in his chest as it was being held in the hands of this complete stranger. And with a single tug, Steve's heart was ripped from his body. Each artery snapped one by one. But he would not die. Not now. While he was having problems seeing, Steve could hear his heart pumping even though it was no longer attached to his body. Whoever the old man was, he seemed to possess more power than Steve could ever imagine. He simply would not let Steven die, no matter what happened to him. But why didn't that make this situation any easier to deal with? "Is this where you courage lies?" the old man said as he felt the slab of muscle pulsate in his hands. "Your goals? Your hopes? Your desires? You fears? Is this the root of you passion?" He tightened his grip and crushed it like one would crush a tomato. Steve felt a sudden tightening as the pulsating stopped. "Tell me Steven, is this where the answers lie?" the old man asked. "I have looked into your head already, but maybe I should look into your heart." As he said these words, Steve felt a chill over his body. It started with his outer layers of blood soaked muscles and slowly grew inward. He was dying emotionally, and all that being left was a cold. empty shell. "Is this hell?" Steve finally managed to ask. "No, Steven, it is not hell," the man answered, "This is merely a place of learning." Soon, Steve felt a sinking feeling as the table began to gain the consistency of quicksand. The fine grains irritated Steve's body, rubbing against his bare muscles. Slowly he began to fall through the table entirely. Where he was headed now, he had no idea. Drip... ************ -TBC <Icy mode> So, what does everyone think so far?</Icy mode> -Spawn To reply, remove "puters" from the e-mail address.