Lives for Hire Series: Book 1 - Lives For Hire

By Brianna Bunn

'Who will you allow to control your mind? A young woman is forced into the Institute by the government and undergoes drastic experimentation. Slowly she loses her grip with reality and begins to forget her very self. A voice in her head begins to speak with her, a man that claims he can help her escape and reclaim the life she has lost ... but how can you trust someone who isn't even real?' Or Is He?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clear Fork Press
• Release date: Mar 26, 2018
• ISBN: 9780989956802

Book preview

Lives For Hire

Lives For Hire

Lives for Hire Series: Book 1

Brianna Bunn

Contents

Preface

Prologue

TRANSMISSION ONE

TRANSMISSION TWO

TRANSMISSION THREE

TRANSMISSION FOUR

TRANSMISSION FIVE

TRANSMISSION SIX

TRANSMISSION SEVEN

TRANSMISSION EIGHT

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Copyright © 2014

Cover and internal design © 2014 by Clear Fork Publishing

Cover designed by Brianna Bunn and Callie Metler-Smith

Cover image © Clear Fork Publishing

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems – except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews – without permission in writing from its publisher, Clear Fork Publishing.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Published by Clear Fork Publishing

Second Edition

P.O. Box 870, Stamford, Texas 79553

Phone: [phone]

Fax: [phone]

livesforhire.com

---

Printed and Bound in the United States of America.

ISBN 978-0-9899568-0-2

This novel is dedicated to my mother, who always helped me through the bitter ends.

Preface

Brittle bones kept the world standing on its feet, though they groaned under its great weight. In stiff wind the joints would sigh, ready to burst, but never did they crumble. The unseen held gravity at bay, the toppling of its crown. Flesh frayed and morals weathered, but on the universe persisted. Assassination attempts went by unmarked, demolition days and dooms-days unchecked. In the shadow, life moved on, the world high above their heads. Questions were asked, but it mattered naught - the world would not reply. Voices were wind and blood was the water. On and on into the infinite, into the expanseless, into the future - the world kept turning and stayed on its own feet.

Prologue

Kill me, she whispered and he had to agree, leaning over her as he was. Her fingers were pale and shaking, twisted by disease and painted with blood - both dried and fresh. The woman was but a corpse before him, barely still alive, and he contemplated both putting her out of her misery and observing her lingering moments of life. To this, the man tilted his head, but moved no closer. A syringe lay cradled in his hand. Her eyes were pleading, brimming with tears, mouth endlessly begging him to take her life. Those grasping hands sought to tangle themselves in his coat, but he was just out of reach, calmly taking in each strained breath, already reeking of death.

Please ... have mercy, she begged, mouth quivering and smeared crimson.

Mercy… he breathed, contemplated, the name – the word passing across his mind. There it held meaning, rooting into a layer of thought. Yes, that will do… Long fingers ghosted across his lips, a gesture he had not been able to lose.

The instruments now nestled in his grasp glinted in the light as they were raised, hands still and practiced. The woman on the operating table saw those eyes and wanted to scream, but the cold stole the breath from her lungs. She was numb, and knew that he was not going to kill her. The doctor had something else planned – a fate worse than death.

Mercy, he whispered fondly as the shadow of his hand passed over her face and the needle entered the flesh of that soft neck.

The woman could not even scream.

TRANSMISSION ONE

-AUTHENTICATING REQUEST…

-CONNECTING…

-FEED ONLINE...

-BROADCASTING…

All was a sterile expanse of white, clean and polished. My eyes followed the edges gleaming, straining to take in the limits of the walls, the seams where it connected with the floor. The lack of color made my eyes water as I tried to commit to memory those details, to process what I had already processed so many times before. It was the hush that stirred in my ears, the oppressive quiet, as mindlessly I counted my blinking. The air was alive only with bright bursts of white noise. Above, the hum of the lights called, mingling with each breath, filling the spaces between to fade in - then out. My eyes closed. In an effort to distract myself, I listened to the thud, even and faint, inside my chest. This was a waiting game and I was surprised they had given me this much time. The morning FEED had usually started by now.

The chair forced my back straight and head level, holding me in captive embrace as around the room made a void cell. Overhead, a panel in the ceiling opened with small telling noise, producing the screen and lowering it down to me. The restraints snapped to life about my wrists and ankles, forcing them into place, locking there as the screen came to life with a flicker of static. On that command, my mind was emptied, forced to look into the logo, the eye of ANSLY staring back. Riding that wave of whiteness, thoughtlessness overtook all, and the Voice began its feeding, shoving information through the channels, bite by bite.  This was no teacher, lacking tone, emotion, empathy - for there could be nothing to distract from the lesson.

In this room there could only be a shell, but a hollow space for knowledge to be poured into. Single thought came through amidst that noise, echoing, again then again. I did not want to learn anymore. I did not want to hear the Voice.

Electric shock fizzled down my spine, snapping at my wandering attention. My body jerked, mind jumping back to the lesson as it was pressed, imprinted into my consciousness. But that thought returned, all the same. I did not want to do this. I just couldn't learn anymore.

Every day, filling the logs, hours passing in the blur of the FEED, respite coming only in designated slices - too little sleep, not enough to eat, and my mind, my thoughts - babbling without ceasing. Often my body would convulse, shaking fits, skin shivering as though trying to escape the hold of my bones. And the forgetting ... who was I? All those memories, endlessly fading, no matter how I clang to them. What of my family? What of my self? My hobbies - the foods I once liked to eat, the things that I hated ... no. A whiteness, filled with that noiselessness, was creeping into me, that blessed nothing. And I had reached my limit.

The shocks intensified, wishing to shatter apart my skull, burn my skin. It felt as though my edges were fraying, as though my blood were being reduced to ash and my body spasmed, violently, out of my control, as warbling notes left my throat, breaking. Pain. My own personal cataclysm.

The blackness swathed my eyes, my aching head, cradling me, carrying me, and for the first time in ages, I dreamed not of ghosts.

Simplicity awaited me, bathed in silver light. The sun balmed the earth below, turning golden the edges of my features. The world unfolded before me, an endless view of cerulean skies and the slopes rolling vast. Beneath the shade of the canopy, I sat, the leaves above playing shadows upon my form. Wind brought motion to the grasses, turning them into the seas as the taste of spring christened the air and the smell of coming rain lingered heavy. Above, the cloud cover continued to break, allowing the skies their reign, and below all seemed to stir in the face of that summertime. Quiet, peace and quiet, reminded of simpler times, and elsewhere dogs barked, fencing rattled, and the countryside breathed.

I breathed with it, my eyes untrained and face lax. The shadows stirred and the clouds continued to gather, and I wanted so desperately to smile. My mouth did not respond. Skin remained taut, fixed into place as my hand rose, trying to trace its shape. Smooth features replied. Lipless, I sat, the world bright, showered in the light of the heavens, the grasses cutting against the scene. Heartbeat clawed its way into my throat, telling me that I could not pretend. You do not belong. I wanted so badly to stay, to be happy.

It could be my last chance.

The dog found me, all wide brown eyes and dark fur. My hand reached out, to lure it nearer, to pull it close and enjoy the day, to let it witness the quiet. It turned those dark eyes on me, tilting its head, responding not to my hand and seeming to ask why I was there. You do not belong. Its expression mimicked, my voice, my words, thrown back at me, as my heartbeat rose up to greet it instead.

You do not belong here.

The dog snarled, opening its mouth, lips peeling back to reveal sharpened teeth - maw stretched wide and gawking. Through those many infinite points there was only whiteness - just noise - and its eyes bled blankness.

I slipped back into the world I had abandoned.

System Error detected, please stay seated until a Representative can be sent. The speakers mocked with their noise, unseen and sharp in sound. This message will repeat.

My body was leaden, drained and tense. Leg jerked, arm slung back against the restraints, still locked firmly in place, keeping me anchored to that damned chair. Oh yeah, I'll stay seated all right.

Groaning soft, my head rolled, numbers drifting across my vision before I could stop myself, seeding phantom figures to cloud my sight. Headache gathered, tightening screws into my temples and back, I forced myself to lean, trying to think of anything but that white. Behind my eyes, the Voice still crept, wanting to slip through the edges as the screen hovered just above, poised and ready. Slow, I blinked in threes, trying to clear my senses. 

The door slid open with low hum. Coming back to, my eyes tracked the shadow that invaded the doorway. Into my room, they stepped, door closing behind in unseen whirl of mechanisms. Up, sight trailed, to the fine polish of shoes, each standing so squarely inside the lines. The black of leather seemed mocking and monochrome seemed to be a way of life.

There was the tap of fingers against screens, the only sound to halve my inhalations.

Number Fifteen, they began, in a voice nearly human. You are in direct violation of Contractual Law Three, subset four, first restriction. This law states that all participants in assigned experiments are required to follow the objectives laid out before them, to their completion.

I resisted the urge to trail up along the seams of their uniform, to find their face, knowing already what I would see.

The system monitor has not recorded any illness, nor any other limitation on your person that should interfere with completion of the task. Are you making attempts to be - deliberately rebellious? Every word crashed down with monotone precision. If this is the case, your contract shall be revised and you will be entered into relocation and indefinite reassignment.

I traced the clean paths of fabric, upward to the collar, the column of pale skin that lead to those eyes. Dark, blackened pools set within lax, unresponsive face.

No, I forced between teeth, I feel sick.

If you cooperate immediately and finish your objective, this breech of contract shall merely be recorded for future reference, the Faceless continued, not noticing the words.

I was given choice. ANSLY did not give choices to many, they didn't have to, all they needed was quick movement of hands and the magic show continued.

The Representative stared fixedly at the space between my eyes, as though an internal switch had been flicked, rendering them incapable of motion. Were they even breathing? Nothing moved. Nothing was out-of-place.

Where would I be reassigned if this contract was ... terminated? What would my new contract be? Where would I be relocated?

Spider touches twisted my insides, the questions shoving their weight against my chest. And not one passed my lips.

I will cooperate. I felt small, small and burning with heat.

Then let us continue.

Three steps were taken, shadow crawling across the tiles, the door opening and closing in stride.

I was left to my cell, to bear my choice.

Tears pressed into the back of my eyes. Again, the screen was produced, and once more, the FEED began. My mind was emptied and filled.

The day ended in reverse. I was released from the main building and packed onto the monorail. Bodies, too loud, jostled for space. I kept my head low, thoughts murmuring mindless as I tried to tune out that world. Everything was stark, heavily contrasted and shadowed where it had been light, and my brain made the transition as though in shellshock.

The side effects of the treatment, the lessons, kicked in as soon as the FEED disconnected and the Voice silenced. Each day, headaches dug eager fingers into my skull, trying to pry apart bone. Numerals drifted, like dust in my eyes and again I concentrated on breathing, listening to the erratic pulse throbbing in my throat. My body gave violent twitch, jerking, as muscles contracted and form - twisted - into itself. No one in the crowded car paid notice, occupied in their screens, their headsets.

Every day they seemed to become more and more elaborate, headgear giving way to implants and crafts, all flashing metallic and color, creeping to replace skin. I tugged at my collar, trying not to feel the weight of my own headset, waiting impatient for my stop. I needed sleep, not broadcasts. It was all I wanted.

The crowds around me swelled and thinned, leaving me an island lost within the tides. Time passed my by perceptively, increments crawling like hands on clock and my eyes became lidded. Soon I swayed in time to the movement of the train. I was part of the framework, another piece of the car moving forward, onward. I could pretend I was a shadow, cast on the plastic seats, or some haunt, silent onlooker invading these surrounding lives. People wouldn't notice. None looked to my face. I did not exist, my headset offline and my form only physical, no mimicry of a virtual identity.

It was as though the world had layers. One held only substance, the material, the physical things and the other the virtual side of life. At times I could pretend to see the streams of infinite connections, information, words and thoughts colliding and making strands in the air. Though, honestly, it was just a projection of all the screens.

At my stop, I edged my way through the crowd, exiting onto the platform and entering the wash of lights to head to the apartment. Buildings towered overhead, looming beneath the collective glow of the city and lording over the thin walkways. The streets were damp from acrid steam, moisture clinging against my issued shoes as I made way. Sounds were echoed back to me, the monorail gliding once more out of sight as on, the shadows stretched. Others, too, moved amongst the molding.

We were held under a fog, though I doubted it was all for the same reasons. Most of the participants of ANSLY's experiments were housed in this corner of the city, but it was hard to differentiate all the uniformed persons. I had no idea if there were a hundred of us or a thousand. It hardly mattered. I had no energy for the simulated world, so the idea of communication was null.

Tired smile creased my lips as a young mother walked by, trying to distract her son from his headsets, making odd faces until at once he burst into laughter. I missed those small things. I missed my mom.

I entered the foyer of my building and took the elevator up, vision starting to wane. Fingers shifted, rubbing at my temples, trying to ease away the headache. I was nearly asleep by the time the doors had opened again and I vacated the pod. Space was not wasted, the hallways narrow, forcing me to dodge several inhabitants laughing into their microphones and distracted by their headsets, broadcasts at full volume.

The ANSLY broadcast system was currently muted on my own, the screens blank and without light, no longer tuned into the Institute's programs. The Public Access installation chip I had been given upon arrival still lay unused on my beside table. I was rather tired of the constant information. Did all work and no play make Number Fifteen a dull girl?

I wasn't from Sable City, or even its district. There was no home waiting for me at the end of the day. That home was half a world away, nestled in the farming regions of a smaller province. My family - all so far away, and I could do nothing but wait and vainly hope. Hope that my contract would for whatever reason be revoked, that I would be discharged, sent away, sent back - to where I was supposed to be. My only hope was to see my family soon.

I rested my forehead against the door to the apartment and put my hand to the scanner. The lights on my headset winked, tuning into the security system and finishing the unlocking. I watched the little insignia blink and did the same, cold. I wished I had the energy to feel alone - anything but this tiredness.

The door slipped open and I entered the main room, collapsing on the hard plastic of the sofa. It would have to do - this entire situation. All of it. I made sure that the door had closed before my eyes did.

I had four hours until the next day began. Four hours, two minutes, and fifty-two seconds.

‘Idiots. They’re all idiots.’

The voice that echoed through my thoughts was not my own. It was a man's voice, low and irritated. Snorting, I nodded to its sleepily before allowing myself to fall into the welcome dark.

The buzzer sounded, followed by a soft shock, pulling me from dreamlessness. Groaning, my body gave a twitch and I jerked awake, blinking up at the white ceiling stapled across my view. The buzz and shock came again, starting behind my ears and winding up my spine. This time, I obeyed, rising and effectively stumbling - falling - over my bag that had slipped onto the floor sometime last night.

For a moment, I just lay on the floor; face nestled against the cool tile.

Good morning, NUMBER FIFTEEN, The automated voice piped, You have TWO HOURS and THIRTY-TWO minutes before the SIXTH MONORAIL departs from STATION ONE.

Thanks, I muttered, rolling eyes at the monitoring system and pulling myself up from the floor, heading then to the bathroom for the morning wash.

Hands found the zipper, peeling off my uniform as eyes avoided the mirror, stepping into the shower stall and waiting for the sensors to register. Unlike some of the regions outside of the cities, there was no water here to spare. Showers were done, then, as a dry spray, a disinfecting soap followed by a cleansing wash that coated the entire body and peeled off, fell away, like a second skin. It clung to the surface oddly, a white foam that smelled of ammonia and artificial lemon. Each day it made my skin crawl, but was mandatory. The system kept track, record, of these details; sleeping, eating, showering, making sure that health was maintained.

In the smaller provinces, there were people who served as monitors, going through all the records to make sure nothing was out of place. I had known several before I was offered up to the ANSLY program. Or, as it surely said on file, was volunteered for selective service.

Exciting the bath as the last of the peel fell away, I cleaned my teeth with the given strips and pulled back my hair. Though it was personal choice of how long ones hair was kept, as well as the color, regulation guidelines stated that no hair was allowed in the face. It made it harder for camera identification.

I just thought they liked to see all the light drain from our eyes.

'Power plays. With all the effort put into mind control, it seems fitting the wardens would like to see the fruits of their labors,' the other voice added, making me jump. 'Perhaps a sociopathic trait, to take joy in the suffering of others. But, the ideal is to forge some sort of Utopia based on these principles.'

My fingers gripped the edges of the sink, raising eyes to my reflection, blinking away that presence. The world seemed to tilt precariously, and I did not know if I should be smiling or just ... ignoring this.

‘People can hardly succumb to stupidity when their minds are not their own.’

I felt faint. Nausea turned my stomach as the voice continue is calm monologue. I was going mad. All these endlessly days, from here to the Institute, from the Institute back, the sleep-lathered haze of thought - tearing a hole in my head.

They would apply me for treatment, put me in the special experimental testing. I would be strapped to tables while they - cut open my head, dug around in my brain! I wondered if they would have some maniacal sense of style - like in the old horror movie broadcasts - with the padded cells and straight jackets.

Taking deep breath, I checked my headset, making sure it was muted and not connected to any online server. Had someone just hacked in my hardware? Was this some kind of joke?

'Not quite. Try again.’ The voice held a sort of wry amusement.

Just who the hell are you?

Suddenly, the overhead buzzer sounded, sending another damned shock coiling up my spine. Shaking the sparks from my head, I cursed under breath - I had to keep on schedule! Panicking, I faltered out of the bathroom, still unsteady on my legs. Bending only to grab my bag from the floor before making it out the door in that rush.

I brushed through the people crowding the hallway, trying to make it to the elevator as the world continued to blur. Shit. Shit! I could not be late. If I was late, the world would move on without me.

The seas parted around me, guiding me to the platform, and still riding that fear high, I climbed into the pod and jabbed the button for the lobby. The doors clattered closed and I tried to will the mechanisms to hurry, praying that I could manage to get back on schedule before the monorail left. Overhead, some dingy music played to farther fray my nerves.

Fingers sorted, switching back on my screens and watching the clock counter click in the corner of my vision. I tried to take a breath, even as the timer wound on, down, without a care, without heed. If I ran to the station, that would get me back on track. At least, enough to avoid incident.

'And the mouse runs on its wheel.'

Stop, stop, stop! I repeated, to the glass, eyes closing. Tell me who the hell this is!

'I am called Doctus Urchin,' the man returned, voice lowered, tone distracted. 'Not that such has any meaning to you.'

Doctus ... Urchin? I rested my head against the plastic of the walls; flicking back off my screens and wondering who in the name of heaven and earth was playing this game. It was cruel - elaborate, and I had to give them kudos for keeping it up.

Or was this some sort of test from ANSLY? Was it possible that after my little incident they had planted something into my hardware, into the headset system, while I was distracted by the FEED?

I shut down all of the gear, manually, setting it to reset. Watching as the lights that usually dotted my uniform flick off. I started to count, recite the alphabet, anything to push away the deadness that lingered behind my eyes. I withdrew, trying to take a breath and remind myself that everything was all right. That I would get through this.

An image flashed before my closed eyes, just as the Voice often lingered, a vision of a dark room, tilting, and a figure outlined against a doorway. It took less than a second to both appear and flee, and I pressed myself back against the pod, eyes bolting open and greeted - only by the front foyer.

I was no longer tired. As I ran to the monorail, dodging bodies on the streets, I felt the bite of fear, its teeth sunk into the back of my neck. Emotion, pure and clean, shuddered through me, odd sensation after so long. It drenched my body in cold and made my skin shiver - holding me fight. I was feeling. Alive. Nothing here to calm my racing heart and this fear - I savored it. Maybe I was insane. Maybe I was out of my right mind, but ... the hysteria broke the monotony.

‘A perfectly natural reaction.’

To that, I gave sharp laugh. It was always encouraging when the voices in your head validated your own thoughts, right? Was that its job? My own pessimistic sort of mortal supervisor?

‘Adding commentary in regards to your mental status does not equate a job. Furthermore, I am male, therefore regarding me as it is rather insulting.’

Well, someone forgot their happy pills this morning, I teased, making game of this. Guess who also forgot their happy pills? Me. Undoubtedly me.

My eyes skimmed across the station as I made way to the platform, feeling paranoia sharpen my focus. Was ANSLY watching? What would people think if they saw me talking to myself? Would I be reported?

Grasping at composure, I boarded my assigned train, eyes constantly moving to the other passengers, engaging in their games, their broadcasts, their chats, lives moving on and none noticing the way my eyes jumped from each.

Absently, my fingers found the adjustments to my headset and turned it back into active mood, muting the broadcast and trying to blend in with the others around me, cooling my panic. I was just talking to my connections, right? Into the microphone ...

Doctus Urchin remained silent, which I was grateful for. I rolled the name around in my mind, curiosity following. Was it usual for delusions to name themselves? I pulled up the internal search system and adjusted my screens, moving the projected windows around and sorting through the hits I got in response.

Doctus was derived from Latin, meaning - learned - or perhaps, educated? And urchin was divided into several possibilities. One entry was for some aquatic creature referred to as a sea urchin. The other was a slur for an orphan child or street urchin. I decided to opt for the first. An educated being of the sea? I gave a snort of laughter, amused, and hearing no validation.

But, educated orphan. Most orphans ended up in the ANSLY program, shipped to Sable to be registered and indoctrinated as Representatives, turned into Faceless.

My hands held steady to the holds as the monorail rattled on, head bowing with a roll of my eyes. This man was a figment of imagination. Naturally, his name had to make sense. At least to me, right? If I was having these complex hallucinations that meant my mind was just - substituting for something I was lacking in, right? Bitterness, maybe? This Urchin character seemed to have plenty of that.

‘The human psychosis cannot simply will matter into existence, no more than its energy can be created or disposed of.’

Welcome back, I greeted.

Wait - did that mean he thought himself in existence?

The monorail glided to a halt, doors parting to let the tides turn. I was drawn out into the crowd, still pondering the existential crisis of the aquatic orphan. If this was all in my head and not just an elaborate and pointed scheme, was there a cure? Was this all just a produce of fatigue and willful loneliness. Mind over matter, they always said, though I still couldn't quite wrap my head around my thoughts willing into existence a companion.

A temperamental, taciturn companion.

I followed the wave of participants into the building, its featureless front mocking. My hardware synched itself with the system, signing me in as I entered the main corridors, navigating through the halls. After I started the