Vending Machine Lunch (9 page)

The feeling
quickly went, and they both silently acknowledged that they had to
do it again. But this time, more Requiem. They both were no longer
thirsty to satisfy their hunger for food and to survive, a shift of
priority had happened in their head. It was now for their fix, they
wanted the feeling again.

So the next
day, they caught more Requiem. And the day after they caught even
more. And the more they feasted over the poisoned meat, the more
they wanted more.

Jink noticed
the change in their behaviour, as probably did Jad, but he didn’t
care. He didn’t care that the veins under his skin were millimetres
from bursting to the surface, he didn’t care that him and Jad
weren't speaking much anymore. When they did speak, it was only
about the Requiem, how much they desired it, both planning together
when, where and how they would catch them. They never spoke of
anything else, and became distant, both of them in each other’s
separate quarters, plotting and scheming and craving. Jink becoming
more and more aware that the feeling of supremacy was showing him
how he could knock Jad down a rung of what little social ladder
they had.

Unfortunately,
one night, Jink had been too distracted with his own proud thoughts
and Jad had been too vocal with his proud instructions, that Jink
had crashed their car into a small building whilst they were
driving through the swarm of the Requiem, trying to hunt them down
without being ripped to pieces by their many ravenous mouths. Jad
had often claimed, even before he got hooked on the dead meat, that
the Requiem had slowly been getting more violent as time went on.
The scarcity of food was making them take more risks, chase faster,
become more and more relentless each day they went hungry.
Fortunately for Jink, Jad and other Requiem addicted survivors,
food was plentiful. However, this food liked to fight back. Unless
the head was severed or the brain disconnected.

Jink’s vision
re-appeared. His head was pounding, it had the distinct feeling
that someone had been repeatedly smashing a brick over it. Indeed,
he was surrounded by bricks, small shards of glass and other odd
bits of rubble. He could hear the sound of burning, somewhere in
the distance, the noise of the flames trickling through his ears
meaninglessly. Rubbing dust from his eyes, Jink scrambled up, dazed
and looking around to try and figure out where he was.

He instantly
turned around to face the wreckage that used to be the car. He had
crashed it into a small building. He knew which one, it was a
shabby looking small one, no bigger than the average bedroom. Jink
had hidden in there once from the Requiem back in his days of
scavenging. But the car crash had now revealed that the back brick
wall of it appeared to have been hiding a set of steps, down
underground. The force of the speeding car had been no match for
the building’s tinny metal doors and the single brick wall, and had
flown straight down a hidden set of steps before coming to an
abrupt halt as it crashed at the bottom, catapulting Jink through
the windscreen.

The sound of
Jad’s voice crept into Jink’s head. It was an imaginary scolding
for not wearing his safety harness. However once his eyes brushed
over Jad’s assumingly dead body, slumped in the passenger seat of
the car, blood oozing out of his head, he assured himself and his
all-important, Requiem fuelled ego that not wearing his safety
harness whilst driving had been the right thing to do. And now he
didn’t even have to get rid of Jad. On the unlikely chance he was
alive, he’d be consumed by the flames which were currently chewing
away at the car before he regained consciousness.

Jink span
around, ignoring the ache of his body, to face wherever it was
they’d crashed into. The headlights from the wreck of the car
illuminated a large hall, all underground. Drab, dirty and cracked
mosaic tiles decorated the place, climbing their way up pillars
that obviously held the ground above from caving in.

Squinting
through the dust, the headlights revealed that this space was
mostly empty, a long hall of some sort with pillars dotted around
and what looked to be a long thin hole running the length of it. He
looked up to the other side of the long narrow creek of sorts to
the wall of the other side of the hall. A large sign caught his
eye.

High Green.

Jink had no
idea what it meant. Nor did he care. There were several other signs
dotted about, one advertising a place called ‘The Drinking Well’
another advertising ‘Anchor Insurance’. He crept forward, through
decades of air dust, towards the long hole thing. He got to the
edge and looked down. Not much was to be seen, the long hole didn’t
go down very far, and appeared to have rusted strips of metal and
rotten bits of wood at the bottom. A rusting metal sign was just
visible, obviously it had fallen from somewhere. The words on it
were unreadable to Jink.

“Welcome my
son.”

The voice from
behind him made Jink jump. He spun around, to be faced by a tall
man. His face covered by a shadow created by the bright lights of
the headlights, shining in Jink’s eye. It wasn’t Jad, so who could
it be?

“Welcome, to
the System.”

Jink approached
the mysterious figure who appeared to be addressing him with
caution. He had quite a high pitched voice, it sounded strained and
somewhat harmonious.

“Who are you?”
asked the tall figure as Jink approached.

There was a
pause as Jink squinted, trying to recognise the figure. He was just
about to tell the figure his name was Jink and ask who he was, when
there was a soft buzzing noise. The man removed a small mechanical
device from a large furry coat. It had a glowing orange light,
lighting up his face. Jink saw the face of a weathered ageing man.
And this was hurricane weathered, not a light shower on a Sunday
morning countryside stroll. The small machine spat out a scrap of
paper which the figure tore out and inspected whist returning the
machine back into a sea of fur.

“It’s okay, we
know who you are,” said the old man.

Jink was lost
for words and somewhere at the back of his mind, he was
contemplating that he might be dead and he was experiencing an
afterlife of sorts. The scrap of paper was screwed up and tossed
onto the dusty mosaic floor.

“You’re known
as Jink although that isn’t your birth name. What is known to be a
post-Deimosgate survivor. You live with your acquaintance, Jad the
third.”

Jink was just
about to query on how this mysterious man knew so much when another
question was fired at him.

“How have you
been?”

Another slight
pause on behalf of Jink. He was only just beginning to start the
though process of answering the question when the soft buzzing
noise struck again, and the small machine with the orange glowing
diode was revealed again, ejecting another bit of paper for the man
to read.

“It’s all
right, we know where you’ve been!” he said triumphantly, “You’ve
been out hunting for the Requiem. Driving the car whilst your
acquaintance fills the weapon full of shells. Egotistic fuelled
minds cause the crash. And now you’re stood right in front of
me.”

“Where am I?”
Jink spat out the words as though they were toxic on his
tongue.

“You’re inside
the old subway,” the second bit of paper joined the first.

“The what?”

“The subway. It
is a fast method of transport over long distances. Essentially a
long car that ran on a guided track. It used to be the connection
between all the cities, before relations crumbled. A war broke out
between the three major cities, Union, Elision and some-other one
that slips my mind now. I think it began with J. No, H. Defiantly
H. Not that will matter to you at all, no, no, the war broke out
and the subway was closed, much of it filled in. Everyone from that
moment on was essentially a prisoner.”

Jink stared at
the rambling man, unsure what to say and unsure what he was on
about. But he heard one word that made his ear prick up. Union. The
rumoured safe haven, the land of plenty. Jad had always slagged the
rumours off as nonsense. But he talked rubbish. Utter rubbish. Jad
knew nothing. He was dead and it was just Jink now. And Union
sounded like a place he wanted to be.

“Union? Have
you been there?” asked Jink, beginning to get excited.

“I’ve had my
fair share of residence there. Inherited this coat from there
actually from a strange man who supervised a pipe factory. Isn’t it
cool? Real beaver fur apparently. From the last ten beavers ever.
Why do you appear to be so thrilled about the thought of
Union?”

Before Jink
could utter a word in reply, the buzz was heard again, machine
taken out and paper read.

“It’s okay. We
know why you’re so thrilled,” chuckled the man, “You’re thrilled
because you are under the illusion that Union is Requiem free and
has plenty of food. This illusion was ignited by whispered rumours
and your acquaintance’s apparent refusal to talk about such
matters. Well, you’re right in thinking there is no Requiem or lack
of what they call ‘food’ over there... but your sort are not
allowed into Union. That aside, you wouldn’t be able to get your
fix for Requiem meat over there.”

Jink wasn’t in
the mood for riddles, “Do you know how to get there?”

“I do, but I’m
not telling you,” replied the man, adding to his pile of screwed up
paper, “You’re too caught up in the System here.”

“Why won’t you
tell me!?” screamed Jink, his Requiem driven ego furious that it
was not getting its own way.

“Because human
beings are not allowed into Union anymore,” replied the man, “They
slipped quietly into extinction many years ago.”

The thought of
feasting over the Requiem re-entered Jink’s head. He hadn’t had his
fix yet.

“I’m going
now,” said Jink, heading over to the ruin of the car, “Goodbye
now.”

In one swoop of
the arm, the man prevented Jink from walking past him and threw him
back near the rail tracks.

“What the-”
began Jink.

“I’m sorry, but
I can’t let you do that.”

“Why!?”

“You’re part of
the System. And in a System, old parts need replacing with old
parts. That’s why you’re here. You’re going to be replaced. And
you’re going to be a new part at the very same time.”

“You’re not
making any sense! Let me go you loon!”

“Listen to me
Jink,” the man continued in his monotonous drone, “You were all
fooled. Even your supposed great land’s father was conned. We
conned them. We introduced the Ninety-Nine, and turned this sad
patch of land you call Elision City into a parts farm for Union.
Union won the war. And greater still, we won the war for Union. So
basically, we win. And you’re land’s father sits in his castle,
looking upon this mess every day and trying to convince the
surrounding cities that everything is A-Okay. And maybe the other
cities are convinced. But not Union. We created this paradise.”

Jink still
didn’t understand, “What are you?”

“Let me ask you
a question Jink,” said the man, “What did you dream?”

Jink had no
intention of answering the question, but before he could even utter
a syllable of disgust, the buzzing had started again and the man
was reading another bit of paper.

“It’s okay, we
told you what to dream! You dreamed of killing the acquaintance you
once held so dear to you. All triggered by your addiction to
Requiem. Don’t you see it yet Jink? Elision fell right into our
trap, just as Union had. We created this mess so we can repair
ourselves.”

“What- Are-
You!?” screamed Jink.

“We’re the next
generation of humans,” was the reply, “You’re version one. You’re
out-dated. You still rely on procreation. You are riddled with all
sorts of shortcomings. We are version two. And you live in our
parts replacement facility system. They did mention a vermin issue.
And you have just saved me from having to catch some parts myself.
I can just use you. You’ll be compatible enough. So welcome.
Welcome to a world run by Copland. Welcome to the System.”

There was a
loud bang. A gunshot. Jink flinched, tempted to scream out in pain.
But there was no pain. He hadn’t been shot. Jink glanced up to see
that there was now a rather large hole in the man’s head, which was
dripping a strange luminous green liquid. Jink felt the liquid
against his own face, the force of the gunshot had sent the man’s
internal objects and liquids splattering against Jink’s face. A
silhouette appeared in the shining headlight in the gap in the
man’s head. It was Jad. He was alive!

“I, I,
I-I-I-I-I-I-IIIIII- am coooooool,” malfunctioned the man,
“E-e-e-enncroaching onnn mmmmy p-p-p-pppersonal spacccce-
I’dsoonerdiethandresslikethat. That.”

And with that,
he collapsed to the ground, introducing the glowing green fluid to
the dusty tiles. Jad pumped the weapon.

Jink was
totally lost for words. Jad had saved him. He’d left Jad for dead
and Jad had saved him, despite it being obvious that Jad’s ego was
inflated by Requiem, he hadn’t gone as far as Jink had. Suddenly,
Jink felt awful. What had he become? A monster. Worse than that.
Jink looked at his hands. They were practically see-through.

“Whoa. Green,”
said Jad, who had now walked over and was poking the remains of the
supposed android.

“I don’t feel
good,” said Jink, looking up at Jad’s translucent figure, “Can we
go home?”

“What? No ya
can not,” said Jad, heading back to the wreckage of the car, “Come
on, let’s get our food. Look, we gotta move, it’s a wonder the
Requiem ain’t come for us down here already. Who was that guy by
the way? I’ll tell ya summat, he has green blood. Dunno how me
managed that one.”

Jink didn’t
move, grabbing his hair, he was close to tears, “Some nut job. He
was going to kill me so thanks. Now please, I’m begging you we need
to just go home. Can’t you see what eating this stuff has made
us?”