Chapter 17: the Collective

“What’s wrong with him?” Cindy asked.

C-1 rolled to regard Cindy below her, on the lower bunk. She traced her gaze toward C-6 in the corner of the cell, seated on the floor, near the toilet.

A bald headed C-6 had his arms wrapped around his knees, rocking back and forth. His face would twitch now and then, stare into space and mumble gibberish in a crazed panic.

“He hasn’t completely assimilated yet,” C-1 said.

Cindy raised a thin eyebrow behind her green framed glasses.

“He’s neuro-linked into the Collective’s network but he’s still operating individually, adjusting to the influx of information from each of member.”

“Neuro-linked?”

“It’s like a synchronization of brain waves enabling a synaptic transfer system between all of us and ultimately making us many in one. But he’s still trying to wrap his head around how were in different places, doing different things, in different bodies yet retain a unified consciousness.”

Cindy nodded, showing no emotion and there was no telling if she was taking it in or not.

“And it gets harder with each new member,” C-1 mused, her tone solemn.

“It does.”

“Yes, because they have to absorb more information than the last. We fear there might be a limit to our potential. That the network load grows so great it mentally breaks any new member we try to link.”

“What do you think—” Cindy paused and rephrased. “I mean what do you guys think your cap is?”

C-1 shrugged. “Even between our shared memories of the Encrypted Scriptures and neuroscience degrees it’s too hard to say.”

Cindy stared at her with those innocent eyes. Trying her best to digest this content.

“Will you do that to me too?” Cindy asked.

There was no fear in the voice, no expectation or reluctance. Just pure curiosity.

“Do you have a mage chip?”

Cindy shook her head, long curly hair bouncing. “Standard citizen chip.”

“Then no.” C-1 sized up Cindy’s thick body, her light skin, symmetrical face, dark hair and those nerdy glasses shielding her green eyes.

“No,” C-1 repeated. “You have other uses baby girl.”

They locked gazes and C-1 gave her a look.

“You wanna fuck?” Cindy asked.

“Not anymore.” C-1 face-palmed. “You shouldn’t always ask. Just move in if it feels right, okay.”

She nodded but the Collective doubted she understood. She was too submissive, too wary of them no matter how at ease they tried to make her feel.

‘But the tomb will do that to a person.’

They owned her but they wouldn’t treat her like a possession.

‘Well, at least not in private.’

The Collective needed to keep up appearances in public.

“What did you do?” C-1 asked. “To end up in here I mean.”

“I started a business.”

The Collective waited for further explanation but none was forthcoming.

“And then? What crime did you commit? Fraud, espionage or some other kind of corruption.”

“No, my business got too successful. I received a lowball offer from KaibaCore and was under the illusion that I could say no. Few weeks later, some board members made accusations, the board had the books audited and I was found guilty of embezzling money. And now KaibaCore owns my company.”

Despite the sombreness of the story there was no emotion in Cindy. The tomb hadn’t broken him. The League of Five had gotten to her first.

“I think I figured out why they call themselves the League of Five.” Cindy said evenly. “Because they’re the only real players in the corporate world and the rest of us NPC’s waiting to be picked off.”

“Come here,” C-1 said.

She helped Cindy into the top bunk and pulled her into an embrace. Cindy showed no signs of being moved. She simply laid there as C-1 cuddled her and tenderly stroked her curly hair.

The moment didn’t last long ruined by a sharp pain on the back of C-1’s neck.

“Fuck! Don’t scratch,” C-1 yelped and threw hand to her neck.

“I’m sorry,” Cindy whispered automatically.

“Not you,” C-1 said and threw a warning glance at C-6.

Who shivered and removed his hand from the stapled wound on the back of his head.

‘Let it heal,’ the Collective thought.

C-6 nodded vigorously and swept his gaze around the cell as if trying to pinpoint the source of the voices in his head.

“Watch him a bit,” C-1 said climbing off the bed. “Don’t let him hurt himself.”

“Where are you going?” Cindy asked.

“Expecting a visitor.”

Right on queue the intercom beeped.

“Sharon Sloan, you have a visitor,” a guard said over the intercom.

C-1 cringed at the name. The Collective had told the guards countless times not to use their old names.

‘Yet they insist on antagonizing us.’

C-1 sat on the hard chair, elbows on the cold steel table, moist fingers interlocked.

C-1 watched as the guard scanned Broker’s courier at the entrance to the visitors’ hall. Yannick leaned against wall near the door, playing with his sick-stick and supervising the search.

‘The third and final search.’

The tomb was extremely thorough. Not to prevent crime or anything noble like that. But to discourage any smuggling that would go around the guards and avoid paying their smuggling fees.

The Collective had yet to encounter a problem money couldn’t solve but they doubted they had enough money to negotiate with the guards for the entry of this particular contraband.

‘Makes better sense to try and smuggle it in.’

C-1 caught Yannick staring at her. The chief guard never missed a visitation session.

‘Making sure his business isn’t undermined.’

C-1 kept her expression straight but the Collective’s mental was an amplified storm of anxiety.

‘Calma, calma.’

It was only normal for Yannick to keep an eye on who the big players in the prison met.

‘Yes it’s only normal. Everything will be fine.’

The guard retracted his scanner. “She’s clean, citizen chip and a few false teeth.”

“No other upgrades?” Yannick asked.

The guard shook his head. Yannick turned his broken face to the courier, then to C-1 then to the guard and said.

“Pat her down just in case.”

C-1 felt her heart rise to her throat. She watched the guard search every inch of the courier’s clothes, even made her take off her sneakers and socks.

Nothing, they found nothing.

The C-1 held back the urge to sigh relief, tried to maintain an impassive expression. Though the sweat accumulating on her forehead did little to aid the calm demeanour the Collective was going for.

Yannick eventually nodded the courier in. For a moment the Collective thought the chief guard would pull something else but he didn’t. He just kept his blue eyes trained on C-1’s table.

‘Nicky is being more of an asshole than usual.’

Though they didn’t much care to admit it, Yannick had a sense for trouble and he had their scent on the tip of his broken nose.

‘Perhaps we should abort.’

The courier settled on the opposite stool from her. They quietly stared at each other. Within C-1’s peripheral vision Yannick was still eyeballing them. There was no making this exchange covert. Question was.

‘Is it worth the risk?’

The question seemed rhetorical when they actually thought about it.

C-1 watched the courier work his tongue like he was trying to flick out strands of meat stuck in his teeth. C-1 stole a final look at the chief guard who still had cold eyes trained on them.

‘No choice.’

C-1 gave an imperceptible nod to the courier. They leaned toward each other and locked lips in an awkward, passionless exchange.

“No touching!” A guard yelled.

They ignored him, working their tongues into each other, intent on prolonging the kiss for as long as they could.

A guard grabbed the courier’s shoulders, wrenched her back, out of her stool and unto her feet in one quick motion.

A meaty hand enveloped C-1’s head and smacked her into the steel table.

“Spit out!” Yannick growled and bashed her head into steel again.

C-1 ignored the command, ignored the pain and tried to swallow.

Yannick forced his other fat hand into her mouth. She thrashed only to have her head bashed in again. She bit down on his hand and he cracked her head into steel again and again and again.

“Stop it!” The courier yelled an empathetic expression on her face but powerless under the embrace of the guard restraining her.

C-1’s jaw slackened under the force of Yannick’s bleeding hand, pain spiked up the bloodied side of her head and her vision blurred.

She coughed and wheezed as Yannick eased out his hand. The chief guard's hand dripped a sticky mixture of blood and saliva. Between his thumb and index he was pinching a small plastic ball.

“What do we have here?” Yannick said, raised the ball to the light. Inspected the goldish powder that filled it. Seemingly unbothered by his bleeding hand.

“Angel dust,” said the guard restraining the courier. “Expensive shit. A pinch of the stuff throws you into a heavenly trance unlike no other high, an explosion of bliss better than any virtual fantasy ever constructed—” the guard trailed off, noticed the eyes considering him, cleared his throat and said. “Or so the rumours go.”

“Tsk, Tsk, Tsk,” Yannick clicked his tongue. “I’m disappointed S-h-a-r-o-n.” He said, stretching out the forbidden name.

C-1 ground her teeth and did not respond. The Collective’s instincts screamed out for correction, to reprimand the chief guard but they ignored them and bared the humiliation.

“I’ve been doing this for some time Sharon.” Yannick tossed the ball of powder unto the table. “I know every trick in the book. Now tell me Sharon. Was this the only one?”

“Yes,” C-1 croaked.

“You didn’t swallow any Sharon.”

“No,” C-1 said, aching head still pressed firm against the cold steel and blood soaked into her dark dreads.

Yannick lifted her face and inspected the inside of her mouth.

“Even so, I guess we should make sure Sharon.”

Yannick raised his sick-stick. Lips curled into something more vicious than a smile.

“Now open wide.”

C-1 frowned and croaked. “Nicky there’s no nee—”

Yannick shoved the baton into her mouth, all the way to the back of her throat until she was choking on it. Then flicked the electrocution switch.

She spasmed madly and retched as he yanked out the charged sick-stick and jumped out the way of her puke: spraying out her mouth and nostrils.

C-1 gagged a bucket load and then coughed up some more.

Yannick waited for her to finish before he inspected the vomit with great disgust.

Satisfied there wasn’t any more contraband, he said.

“You should get some time in solitary for this Sharon.” Yannick turned to the courier “And I should charge your girlfriend over there but I’m in a forgiving mood so I’ll let you both off with a small beating.”

A dozen or so guards sauntered closer, sick-sticks charged and ready.

The guards tossed C-1’s body into the cell. Her light skin was bruised purple and her black dreads were stained red. Her body emitted an unbearable smell: a cocktail mixture of smoked meat, piss and vomit.

C-3 plucked her up, carried her to the bed and laid her on the low bunk.

“Are you okay?” Cindy said expressionlessly with a first aid kit in hand.

“Were fine,” C-3 said through long dreads covering her face. C-1’s face too swollen for her to take the lead like usual.

The two muscle men, C-2 and C-4 strolled to the door and watched the guards disappear out of sight. Afterward they checked either side of the pathway for any visitors.

‘They’re gone,’ the Collective thought.

C-1 tongue flicked a molar loose and spat it out into C-3’s waiting palm.

C-3 wiped the tooth clean. Pressed it hard between his thumb and index. It cracked and shattered. Revealed a pellet sized device imbedded within. C-3 blew away the chunks of filament teeth until only the device remained in her hands.

C-5 took the device, held it to the wall and shined a torch through it. On the wall 3D plans of the old empire’s hyperloop tunnels glowed into existence.