Project Cypher, Chapter 2 #017

In Project Cypher by ESMALeave a Comment


  • ESMA

Two prison guards in full gear from head to toe patrol the corridors. The guard’s feet thump loudly across the concrete metal lined floors. They remain attentive to every sound as they hold their weapons ready, fully armed. The guards come to a halt in front of the cell that reads 017. One of the guards points his weapon at the doors as the other takes a step towards the biometric keypad. The guard clears his throat nervously, before carefully typing the seven-digit code that was changed daily.

A ding is heard as the biometric keypad accepts the password and begins to scan the guard’s biometrics for confirmation of authorization. The biometric system first compares the DNA and fingerprints of the guard to any matching guards in its systems. Upon confirmation of the guard’s identity, the biometric sends out a scanning beam. The beam scans the guard from top to bottom for unauthorized items.

Satisfied, the biometric keypad lets out a beep of confirmation that is all well and as it should be. The system begins to unlock all seven locks on the door. Loud mechanical sounds are heard as the guard retreats and wait for the door weighing a ton to open. The door loudly creaks as it swings open for the guards to enter.

Keeping their weapons in the air, the guards cautiously and most alert enter the empty cell that only holds a small toilet welded into the wall to hide any access to pipes. The only other item inside is a figure that is fully strapped down in a chair with a helmet AI visor covering their head. No identifiable features can be seen other than the prisoner must be of human origin. With care, the guards ensure the prisoner 017 is still unconscious and sedated by checking the bio-readings from the AI Visor. The AI visor shows latent brain waves and a slow heartbeat, confirming that #017 was still asleep and sedated.

One of the guard signals clear, while the other guard speaks into their intercom. “#017 is still under. Permission to transport the prisoner?” The crisp voice replies, “Copy that. Permission for transport is a go.”

The guard nods back to his partner, who pushes the chair back. The machine controlled wall silently opens and reveals a small closet holding a pulley. The pulley is pushed out into the open by another wall. The wall seals shut showing no lines of opening.

One of the guards pushes his weapon onto his back and grabs the pulley. With care, the guard pushes the prisoner onto the pulley, the entire time the other guard never removes his eyes nor his pointed weapon from the unconscious prisoner. The guard nods at his partner as they exit out into the hallway. The two guards need not wait as they are immediately surrounded by a waiting platoon of ten guards. With prisoner #017 firmly in the center of the formation, the solemn guard procession moves on.

The guards walk for a fair amount of time before arriving in a large hall where other similar guard processions are occurring, escorting several other unconscious prisoners in the same fashion. With great care, the prisoner’s restraints are removed revealing the standard orange prisoner uniform underneath with exception that every prisoner is barefoot. The AI visor is the last to be removed as the pulley is carried away in a rush by the guards. The steel door shut close must firmly and soundly behind the anxious guards. Only once the door is firmly closed, the guards let out the breaths they were holding in and sigh in relief. The guards all grumble under their breaths promising to go out for drinks later that evening.

The prisoners on the ground are still for a few minutes, but like clockwork, they all awake at the same time. The prisoners immediately sit up or roll to their feet as they warily eye each other for a moment. The air is tense for a moment as faces are scanned until the tense air disperses upon recognition of familiar faces. Some of the friendlier prisoner’s wave to each other in recognition and move into groups to chat. Small groups form with the majority of prisoners coming together, but a few prisoners remain separate and alone enclosed in their own area.

One of the loners, a golden-haired man with gorgeous green eyes approaches another longer, an elderly man with a gentle smile. The golden-haired man smiles charmingly and says, “I’m #39, Louis Garavito. Sorry, but I’m new here. What is all this?”

The older man pats the wall next to him for #39 to take a seat. “I’m #66, Henry Gaskins. And this is the chapel,” the old man calmly stated as #39 warily takes a seat next to #66. “Now, I am aware this is no church, but every three years, they allow us, prisoners, to mingle for a couple of hours. So, the name Chapel got stuck and that’s what’s it’s been called ever since,” #66 dryly said with a grin and impishly adding, “So, what are you in here for boy?”

#39 winces at being called a boy but being his charming self, he accepts the name. “I raped and killed 147 boys,” #39 calmly stated with a sincere smile.

#66 shakes his old gray head and snorts. “Kid, every single person in this place is someone who you don’t want to mess with. Take for example that girl,” #66 darkly said pointing to a young woman about nineteen-years-old.

#39 turns his emerald eyes on the girl being pointed at. Messy salt peppered hair that made her look far older than she truly was. Pale, dry skin, but everyone in this place was pale. Eye shadows denoting a lack of sleep or a side-effect from the AI visor. Thin pale lips, sharp cheekbones, dull grey-blue eyes, a face that was no beauty, but was not hideous either, just a rather unmemorable face. The same could be said for the medium sized build, average chest size B-cup, average weight of 135, average height of 5 ft 5. Truly nothing out of the ordinary.

#39 snorts and turns to glance back at #66. “There’s nothing special about that girl. I doubt she’s anything to worry about,” #39 confidently replied.

#66 shoulders begin to shake as he roars with laughter causing #39’s face to darken with embarrassment. #66 wipes the tears of mirth from his eyes as he slaps #39 on the back. “Kid, that’s #017. And trust me, when I say this, that is one bad girl you don’t want to tangle with,” #66 crisply said.

#39 frowns and returns his gaze back to #017. #66 hides his snicker as he waits for the inevitable question to come. “Alright, I’ll take the bait. What’s so special about #017?” #39 curiously asked.

#66 wolfishly smiles, “It’s not who she is, but rather what she did,” #66 darkly said, before pausing for dramatic effect. #39 lips twitch with anger as he waits for the old man to continue. #66 grin widens at the desired reaction taking place. “That girl is the world’s greatest mass murder,” #66 triumphantly said.

“Her?” #39 said with disbelief.

“Yup, hard to believe given her looks and puny arms, but that girl did it. She wiped the town of Stoker clear off the map. All 5,264 residents of the town single-handedly killed by her. And when I mean everyone I mean even down to the babies in their cradles. Of course, she’s completely crazy. Instead of running, the girl merely waited there to be caught and jailed,” #66 happily chirped.

#39 disbelieving turns to stare at #017 whose head was resting on her knees. #39’s mouth opens and closes unable to speak. “Shocker ain’t it,” #66 chimes in.

#39 frowns and finally says, “Okay, then why did she do it? Drugs? Abuse? Satanic Ritual or what?”

“Ah, that’s the million-dollar question. They checked her body for abuse, but they found zero signs of abuse. There were no drugs in her system or any other indicator of mental instability. It’s wasn’t planned or a premeditated event, but rather just a spontaneous decision. To this day, they still don’t know why. Crazy huh,” #66 murmured before adding, “We’re all bon-a-fide fiends, but the funny thing is we all have our own reasons for becoming what we are. But that one, not a single clue.”

#39 snorts, but begins to chat with #66 about intellectual topics to pass the time. To his pleasure #39 finds that #66 is quite the educated man. Suddenly the soft chatter of the room is pierced through. A soft female’s voice pierces through the air, #017 singing an unknown song to many.

“Holy water cannot help you down

Hours and armies couldn’t keep me out

I don’t want your money

I don’t want your crowd

See I have to burn

Your kingdom down-.”

#39 softly whispers to himself, “Seven Devils, how very appropriate.”

The song finally ends as the last note hovers hauntingly in the air for a moment, before dying. #017 climbs to her feet and happily says, “I feel so much better now.” She walks past the stunned prisoners and stops before #39 and #66. “Hey old man, ready to go?” #017 calmly asked with those eyes, that were no longer dull, but eerily shining.

#66 eyes the unusually quiet girl, who seemed suddenly quite cheerfully. An unspoken message passes through their eyes. “Yup, but can I bring the kid along? I took a liking to him,” #66 coolly replied.

< Property of Fantasy-Books.live | outside of it, it is stolen.

#017 eyes assess #39 causing the hair on the back of his neck to rise. With relief #39 watches as those eyes finally cease to study him. “Fine,” #017 replied, before turning away.

“Her bare feet seem quite pale and in desperate need of a pedicure,” #39 quietly and most strangely thought to himself. The other prisoners fail to notice the conversation as they are all rather interested at the strange and most random interaction.

#66 hastily climbs to his feet and pulls the unease figure of #39 up behind him. #39 swiftly reacts and follows the old man who is only a few steps away from #017. #017 stops merely an arm’s reach away from the wall. #017’s lips peel back into a sinister smile. “I’m back,” #017 said in a sing song like fashion that caused their hair to stand on end.





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