A Light in the Dark

The facility was quiet, darkened. Techno's music wafted through the air like an ambianic smoke machine had been left on. The whole place had the feel of a sleeping giant of some sleeping army after a day of marching. That is, all except for one office where the lights were still hot, and the music was off. The Captain and Jake were pressing Clyde Armstrong for questions. By the looks of their faces, they were not getting the answers they wanted.

"So when was project Arcane put on the table, then?" The captain was pressing hard and starting to sweat under the lights. Clyde had a look of purpose, albeit an evil one, that was completely absent back in the alley, noted Jake. Clyde took his time to respond.

"Well, your guess is as good as mine, Cap'n," he almost smiled the last word.

"You mean they hadn't started the project before you had left?"

"Well," Clyde sat back and looked at the corners of the room, "I didn't really leave, or at least not as much as they threw me out."

Captain Harcourt and Jake exchanged glances.

"You mean they forced you to leave?"
"Well," Clyde said, pointing at his neck, "you don't suppose I gave myself this scar, do you?"

"Dammit Clyde!" The Captain pounded the table, hard enough that the few heads outside on the main floor of the Facility looked up from that nights work.

"Captain, I think I could use a break," the speaker was a tall, pale androgynous male whose sense of peace and serenity more than was plain on the his face, it actually filled the corner he was standing in.

"Ha! If I'm getting you down then maybe the scales aren't so perfectly balanced after all," Clyde emphasized this with a table slap and a sneer of false joy.

"Come on Cap, I could use a break too," said Jake as he went over to the Captain.

"We've been at this for hours and we hardly know more than when we started. Maybe we shouldn't have put so many of our resources to finding this ... shithead."

"Well Cap, we didn't know that he had been forcibly removed from the Magistrate, so that's a leak we could work on."

"But, ... oh I guess."

"Please remember, spoke the androgynous one, "as a three, we have a significant advantage in the questioning, indeed. It is only by allowing him to influence your minds does he succeed in evading your intentions."

The statement almost, but not quite, set off the two big men. What stopped it was the calm that was spreading over them as Andy spoke. Mixed with the warmth and music of the Facility, the words had power of a sort. By the time they had stood and heard the words, they felt that the criticism had awoken them from a dark sleep. Calmly, they went back to the room where it appears that Clyde is laughing.

"Clyde, I want you to listen to me," said Jake. The laughing stopped.

"We want you to help us, and there is no way that we can force you to, but we're going to try anyway because according to all of our information, you're our best bet and figuring what's going on in the Vice Magistrate.

"We can't really offer you anything that you would usually want for helping us, but we can get you off the street and into some clean clothes, get you a shower and try to help you if that's what you want."
Fuck you. That's what Clyde wanted to say, he was too afraid to start crying, so he didn't. Jake saw that look again, the one from the alley. But under the hopelessness, just maybe...

"Now, we know that project Arcane has something to do with converting Naturals, is that right?"

A tear, golden sparking in the hot lights, snuck out of Clyde's left eye and started it's decent. Clyde nodded, but he couldn't understand why.

"We think is was started by someone outside of the Eight, maybe one of the Lieutenants, is that right?"
"It was Victor."
"Victor?" The Captain asked, Jake shot him a glance: don't break the spell the glance said. Clyde didn't notice, he was about to go off like a geyser.

"Yes, Victor Goodbane, he's the one who discovered the theory behind the project's research."

"When you were thrown out they beat you and gave you that scar."

"Yes," the tears were really flowing now.

"Why did they kick you out?"

"I told them it was rubbish, that it would never work, that converting Naturals had to be done with their consent, usually indirectly but that it couldn't be done with their will being bent against it," Jake and the Captain, until just now, had thought the same thing. It was common knowledge until that point, that despair either by self-abasement or other's wrongdoing could lead to that downward spiral which led Naturals to convert.

"But what Victor was suggesting was different, completely physical, a response to a stimulus that produced the emotional destitution required to damage a soul beyond repair. In a sense, nothing else was required than the treatment he was suggesting."
"What treatment?"
"The premise of Victor's idea was simple: Pain."

It had been a goodnight, thought Jake on his way home through the streets. They had accomplished with Clyde more than they could have hoped. It was Andy's intuition and Jake's insight, formed from years of dealing with hopeless people in the city, that had finally cracked the code. Even the Captain's sincerity and determination were a necessary part of the recipe for that evening's success. On the other hand, the news that they had received from Clyde wasn't really to be classified as 'good news'. The Vice Magistrate was working on some kind of treatment meant to convert Naturals to the side of despair. Project Arcane was real, not just some gossip on the street. It was real and it was coming for them, all of them. But now, with the Day shift starting, Jake was headed home for some R&R for the first time in weeks. They would fulfill their promise to Clyde. They would try to help him deal with his demons. Even more, he needed it now. Old scars are harder to heal than new ones, the Doc would say.

In the increasing light of dawn, walking down the dark streets of the city which was the center of this New World, but was equally about to come apart at the seems, Jake walked with his head high and purpose in his step. Just like the light of a new day, thought Jake, there is a hope.

The Smell of Sin

"So when is the last time you've seen him?"

The Captain was a big bald man. He looked like a lumpy, pale version of the incredible hulk as a high school janitor, but his resolve was as big as he was, or bigger. Questioning the whereabouts of a previous member of the Vice Magistrate was a funny thing to do, thought Jake, especially when the one you are questioning is a streetrat. Pictures of Clyde were strewn about the table.

"He was in the streets, ya' know. Bummin' and hustlin', but he didn't look like these pictures much. But I've been trying to tell you I 'aint been down there for a while."
"He's telling the truth Captain, I can smell it on him," which Jake meant rather literally. He could tell the sins of people in the vicinity just as if it had left a stink on them.

"He's been clean for a while, haven't ya bud."

Back out on the floor of the Facility, the usual amount of activity was taking place, creating a heavy murmur. As always, the music of Techno was wafting through the air, giving those present an ample feeling of productivity and a mood of pensive replenishment to those leaning back in their chairs. Coming out of the interrogation room, Jake walked to one of the desks nearby where a small boned good-heart was doing some menial task really well.

"Hey Roger."
"How's it goin', Jake? Any progress finding Armstrong?"

"Not really, just heading out again here in a minute. Hey, have you seen..."
"They're in your left front cargo pocket."
"Oh, so they are, thanks Roger."
"Hey Jake, when you're out there do me a favor, ok?"

"What's that?"
"Watch out for yourself, okay? Things have been getting real screwy lately, ya' know?"
"Ya, I know, see you around Roger."
As Jake walked away, he thought about the city he was entering. The contrast of fluorescent lights and the darkness, the extremes in speed and light. He thought about the smell. He almost took a deep breath walking out the door, leaving that warm little center that he was becoming more and more to think of as home. He was doing his part, he knew that, and he had his part to do. He only hoped that the little he could contribute would be enough to tip the scales in their favor. Almost holding his breath, mentally carrying the feeling of that place, feeling the hope and light, the industry contained within, he stepped out into the darkness.