Interlude-What Fresh Hell

As the text filled his view and the voice recited absurd information into his ears, Officer Ross looked around. His training and experience had taught him that in an emergency situation, he needed to account for what everyone around him was doing. He wanted to confirm that everyone else had frozen in reaction to the same thing he was seeing and hearing.

He saw that everyone else had frozen in shock—all except one.

Through the glass, he saw that Nikolai Rostov was sitting with eyes clenched tightly closed, seemingly trying to ignore the announcements. But the stranger thing was the expression on his face. The cultist was smiling.

—

“What fresh hell is this?” Rostov demanded with a boldness he did not feel. Hallucinations always brought out a poetic mood in him. But he felt the cold grip of terror in his guts. Despite the impossibility of what his senses presented, he wasn't sure this was a hallucination.

As soon as the words had come, he’d felt a sudden heat around him, and a second voice completely drowned out the first in his ears.

“These announcements are always annoying. You don’t need to listen to much of this. All you need to know is that you only have to survive for an hour and a half to make it to the Orientation. Not an easy task for a man strapped to the electric chair.”

Then Rostov felt himself pulled through space and time. He stood in a place of sweltering heat and encircling flames. Now, as he looked around after making his pronouncement, he questioned where in the world he could be. Everywhere around him was nothing but seething fire. Above him, just a deep blackness. He swallowed slowly.

Am I dead already? Rostov questioned. Receiving my eternal reward? Even for a man like him, the prospect of burning forever was nothing to laugh at.

“Hello, my dear Nikolai!” The voice that had pulled him away said. “Welcome to my home.”

The voice let out a throaty chuckle, and Rostov shuddered. It wasn’t anything the voice had said,

though that comment about his execution had felt like a taunt. He’d long ago accepted the reality of his impending death, and it would not be the first time he’d been taunted about his fate. It was just the sound of that voice.

A demonic sound, that was what it felt like. A monstrous sound like nothing he’d heard before.

The quality of the voice permeated his body. A deep, croaky timbre that seemed to seep right into his bones and rattle them.

He could feel that the voice was not of the Earth, and that painful knowledge made him weak at the knees.

Perhaps this was the beginning of his torments.

Rostov couldn’t resist asking: “Uh, am—am I in H-Hell?”

Another bone-rattling chuckle.

“Heh. Heh. Heh.”

Rostov could feel the source of the voice make an effort to restrain its mirth at the last of those chuckles.

“My friend,” the voice said, “you are still alive. How could you be in the afterlife? No, you are in my realm. In spirit, at least. Your body is still right where you left it. Reach out with your mind and touch it, if you don’t believe me.”

Rostov closed his eyes and tried to imagine himself back in the electric chair, and he instantly felt his body there. Trapped in place. His legs hung down the front of the chair, strapped into their restraints. His wrists remained locked tightly to his sides. He could feel the ugly metal cap secured to his skull. And his back slumped against the uncomfortable chair.

Then he opened his eyes again. He was still in the place of heat and flame.

“Is this a visit to Hell, then? I would think that would at least wait until after I was actually dead, but I don’t really know how these things work. Who are you?”

The voice sounded playful as it replied. “Do you not remember me? You, who led men and women in prayer to me? You, who, alone of all the humans living in your world currently, ordered burnt offerings made to garner my favor? I’m almost hurt, Nikolai! I had grown quite fond of you.”

“You’re the Sun?!” Rostov exclaimed. He’d thought that he was preaching bullshit all those years. Surely he had been. It was just a way to grasp hold of a little power.

But now he had drawn the attention of something beyond his comprehension.

“I am the Sun God, yes. Be honored, human. I have chosen you from among all humanity to bear the responsibility of preaching my word and offering sacrifices in my name.”

Rostov stood speechless. What the fuck is going on here?! I was supposed to die. Why are you even talking to me? You must have the wrong guy. All of these words ran through his head, but he didn’t speak them. The pressure and heat in the god’s realm had increased, and Rostov had the idea firmly in his mind that if he once said the wrong thing to this being, he would be turned to cinders in an instant.

“As my Chosen, you should have the distinct honor of beholding my true face.”

There was a swirling of fire and smoke from all around Rostov, forming a tornado of flames in front of him. He raised an arm to shield his eyes from the heat and brightness, that threatened to blind him. An absurd idea, since his physical body was in another place, and yet the feeling persisted.

After a few seconds of squinting at the column of fire, Rostov saw the shape change. It condensed and turned opaque.

Finally, it coalesced into a nude humanoid figure with the head and horns of a bull and the wings of an eagle. The monstrous thing was dozens of feet high. Its flesh was wreathed in flame, and it breathed fire in and out of its nostrils. Rostov had to tilt his head back to take in the entirety of the figure.

What are you?!?! Rostov thought.

“I am called Moloch,” the being said, as if in response to his unspoken question. “I sense that you will serve me very well indeed.”

Rostov’s mouth gaped. The former cult leader was only dimly aware that he had fallen to his knees.

—

[Take the remaining time to make your careful preparations for Orientation. The task we set before you is not easy, but whether you believe it or not now, it is necessary. In time, those of you who live may come to agree with us. We hope for the best of you to succeed.]

“Christ on a cracker!” Officer Ross exclaimed. He had let the announcement finish what it apparently had to say, since it seemed important and possibly urgent. But now he sprang into action.

“Did everyone else hear the same shit I just heard?” he asked, standing.

The other people in the pre-execution waiting area provided affirming noises or gestures, grunted ‘Yeah’s and nods.

“Good, I’m not crazy then,” Ross muttered.

He turned to the viewing window. Rostov was still there, still seated in his chair with his eyes clenched shut, still apparently weirdly happy at the announcement.

Maybe it’s not weird, Ross thought. If he thinks this System will save him somehow…

He turned back to face the room. A guard stood by the door, visibly still stunned, lips moving as he muttered to himself. Officer Ross thought he vaguely recognized the lip movements. It took him a moment to place, but the guard appeared to be praying.

Ross approached and looked down at the man’s name tag. It read: “Underwood.”

“Corrections Officer Underwood!” Ross said.

The man came out of his trance and straightened his posture.

“Yes, sir, what is it?”

“I’m Officer Jeffrey Ross. I worked on that man’s case.” He gestured at the viewing window. “And I need to know: what is the procedure for this situation?”

“P-procedure?” the man asked.

“Yes. What’s procedure if something happens to interrupt an execution? An act of God, or some kind of emergency?”

“Mm, ah, we don’t have a procedure for this—”

“Procedure is that any act of nature or God that would prevent the execution requires that it be rescheduled,” a voice said from behind Ross.

Both officers turned their heads to see the prison chaplain, dressed all in black except for the typical white collar. The man was tightly clutching a cross that hung from his neck. He looked anxious to Officer Ross, but he was clearly more together right now than the guard.

Ross turned his body fully toward the man of God.

“Preacher, do you know what this man’s in for?” he asked.

“I am vaguely aware,” the chaplain said.

“Well, let’s not be vague,” Ross said. “He led a depraved pagan cult. He sent his followers to burn innocent people to death. Teachers. He had them burned in the schoolhouse! They didn’t even give them a proper burial, just left ‘em there.”

“I don’t know what you’re telling me this for, sir,” the chaplain said stiffly. “If you’re asking me to pass judgment on this man, that’s for the Lord—”

“I want to know how I make sure that his sentence is carried out!” Ross interjected.

“Why the urgency, Officer?” Underwood asked, his tone curious but guarded.

“The urgency is that something is going on—” Ross gestured at the space where he could see the timer still ticking down. “I’m concerned that we’re about to face a prison break or something like that on a massive scale. Reality is being altered. This man—” He flailed his arm in Rostov’s direction. “This man cannot be allowed to walk free ever again.”

A pit was forming in Ross’s stomach as he checked the time remaining. [01:05:22]

—

“I will always be with you,” Moloch said, his voice surprisingly soothing and penetrating at the same time. “I will hold your hand through the Orientation and into the new world to come. You will enjoy power and pleasures beyond those you have previously tasted. All you must do is serve me in all things, and feed me sacrifices.”

“Master, I pledge myself to your service,” Rostov said. All his life, the only thing he had ever truly been able to respect was power. At last, he encountered supreme power, and he felt an unfamiliar emotion: devotion.

“Go now, inhabit your body again,” Moloch concluded. “Do whatever you must to survive these remaining moments. I cannot interfere directly to protect you here and now. I cannot grant you access to your Skills until the System’s timer finishes.”

“Yes, Lord,” Rostov said simply, bowing deeply.

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he sat in the electric chair as before. But somehow everything seemed to have changed.

A figure stood in the room with him who shouldn’t be there, while everyone else manning the execution chamber was gone. A single obstacle to Rostov’s sweet release and a return to power—no, an improvement of his prior circumstances and an elevation to the greatest power he had ever known! He felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins, but also a twinge of fear.

“Officer Ross,” Rostov said, “what are you doing here?”

“You know what I’m doing here, you son of a bitch,” Ross growled back. “I’m here to put an end to you.”

“Are you so confident that this is the end of the world that you’re willing to ignore the law?” Rostov asked, both stalling for time and genuinely curious. [00:49:38]

There was more than a little time left, but perhaps he could keep the Officer from executing him long enough for someone still interested in following procedures to delay the execution. With other people here, Rostov had a lot of faith in his ability to talk his way out of dying within the next hour. He had all the motivation in the world, after all.

“Everyone in the next room is hearing voices and seeing things,” Ross said. “I assume you did too. If it’s not the end of something, it’s damn close! It’s that, or you’ve doped us all up somehow, and this is when you make your prison break. Either way, you die before that timer runs down!”

“And if the timer means nothing?” Rostov said.

“Then I’ll claim temporary insanity!”

Officer Ross grabbed the lever that would power up the chair, and Rostov realized that Ross was neither bluffing nor amenable to persuasion. What had turned him so desperate to see Rostov dead, the death row inmate had no way of knowing. But he couldn’t let himself die like this, not with freedom and life and so much power right around the corner.

“Help!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “Officer Ross has lost his mind! He’s about to flip the switch! Help! Murder! Help!!!”

Ross hesitated for a moment at the surprisingly shrill sound of Rostov’s shrieking, and Rostov heard the sound of some movement in the distance, somewhere off down the hall. But wherever help was, and whatever help there was, it was far away now, and Ross’s hand was on the switch.

A moment later, Rostov heard nothing. He only felt. 1500 volts of electricity surged through his head and legs, and he briefly faded into unconsciousness.

When the darkness passed, Rostov felt a damp cloth on his face.

“W-where am I?” he asked, voice hoarse. “What happened?”

“Oy, he’s awake!” called the familiar voice of Barry the corrections officer. The soothing damp cloth pulled away from Rostov’s face, and in its place, he was hit with bright, head-splitting light.

“Aargh!” he groaned, and reached to shield his eyes from the blinding whiteness. Or rather, he tried to raise his hands and shield his eyes, but he found them still bound in wrist restraints.

As his reaction to the sudden burst of light faded, Rostov’s vision recovered, and he quickly assessed the room. Its previous occupants were back: two guards and the doctor, with one of the guards having restrained Officer Ross, the other standing near Rostov with the damp cloth, and the doctor striding toward Rostov.

Rostov immediately checked the timer. [00:29:56]

Almost there, almost there, he thought desperately. Just need them to hold off on executing me for another half hour. It seemed implausible even as a proposition, considering how eager Officer Ross had been to take the matter into his own hands. Surely, these brutal, hard men who brought people here every few months to be killed wouldn’t bat an eye at making sure his sentence was carried out, no matter what he said.

Rostov had felt confident in his ability to talk his way out of this, before Officer Ross ignored him and pulled the lever anyway. Now his brain was fried, and he wasn’t certain he could even speak coherently.

“We have to put him down now, now!” Ross was saying in the corner, Rostov could now make out.

The guard was speaking more quietly, but Rostov could make out the word procedure. Two more guards appeared in the doorway.

At least they’ll keep that madman away from me, Rostov thought. It would be something to have someone like that on my side, but as an enemy, he’s practically feral!

“The Governor is on the line,” one of the new guards pronounced loudly. He clutched a small phone, which the guard who had been restraining Ross took. The other two guards now stood carefully between Ross and the electrical equipment. But Rostov was staring at the phone. What was the Governor going to do here?

“Governor Doyle says to go ahead with the execution as scheduled,” the guard with the phone said. “We’re not to let anything disrupt it.”

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!

“Yes!” Ross said. He practically cackled with glee. “You’re gonna get everything that’s coming to you, you smug son of a bitch!”

The doctor had reached Rostov, and he leaned over him now, pressing his stethoscope to Rostov’s chest. The doctor looked to Barry and shrugged.

“He’s as ready to be executed as they ever are. Let’s not keep Governor Doyle waiting.”

Barry looked at Rostov. “Sorry, man, your time’s come. Luck’s run out. Any last words, you’d better say ‘em now.”

Rostov sat numb, exhausted, brains scattered. His ingenuity had completely deserted him.

Barry looked to Ross. “Procedure’s fucked anyway, you want to pull the lever?”

Ross just nodded.

“Everything ready?” Barry asked another guard.

A nod from him too.

Ross walked over and put his hands on the lever. Made eye contact with Rostov. His face took on a bittersweet expression. Then a look of resigned sobriety. He was about to take a man’s life. Then he began to pull the lever—and the lights flickered. And went out.

It took Rostov a moment to realize what was going on.

Praise Moloch, I’m saved! This had to be a literal act of the god. Was Florida’s electric grid running off of solar power, perhaps?

His attention was pulled away from the sudden burst of gratitude by the sound of Officer Ross swearing in the dark.

“Shit!” Ross exclaimed.

The lights came back on, then.

Ross yanked the lever back up and pulled it down again, but nothing happened.

“Power’s out,” one of the guards said. “We’re running on the generator now. It doesn’t produce enough power to run the chair.”

“Shit!” Officer Ross repeated. “What can we do?”

“Nothing but wait for the power to come back online,” Barry said.

[Ten of your minutes remain!]

Ross sat in stunned defeat. Rostov also sat, strapped in as he was to the chair. He was burned wherever the electrodes touched him, and half-mad with relief and joy and incredulity.

He had to restrain the urge to gloat.

He’d been shocked once today already by Ross’s desperation to see his sentence carried out. There was no need to add any more tension to the room in these last moments.

And what remained of the timer flickered by in a surreal silence.