"Roll your die."
Aidan's fatigue left him in a burst and he shivered, trembled, clutching his die in both hands and drawing it back to his chest. He dare not drop it back into his pocket. But, by god, he wanted to. What if he dropped it? What if that counted?
"Roll it,"the voice breathed, calm but commanding.
"No...oh my god no..." he could just wait. That voice couldn't watch him forever. He'd wait until it fell asleep then he'd-
Suddenly the contraption buzzed to life. The metal pulled itself apart with slow, screeching sounds, exploding into a cacophony of movement and noise. It was too much too look at, just a mechanic blur that screeched and buzzed with life and energy. He watched pincers appear and stab, spinning saws unfold themselves from chains, pendulums drop out of hiding. Barbed spikes like mighty stalactites shot out of the top of the contraption, glistening with serrated hooks.
"Roll your dice,"the voice continued, so very calm,"There's hundreds of weapons in the machine. Thousands. You need only face six. Roll your dice."
Aidan's hand shook but he stretched it outward. He couldn't shake the die. He couldn't. He turned his hand over and opened his fingers. The die dropped the ground with a deafening thud and the machine silenced.
Four.
The quartet of brilliantly black dots stared up at him, like tiny drops of ink. Black blood. Oil.
Four.
Aidan cast a glance at the machine.
All the weapons had gone, except for four. The stabbing scythe-like thing he'd first seen was spiraling around its axis, piercing the metal and causing clouds of dust and chips of rust to fly into to the air, coating its blade like old, congealed blood. A little lower down was a pendulum, swinging back and forth against the floor. It did not go any lower, but nor did it have to. The very bottom edge of it kissed the ground each time it centered itself with its handle. The danger with it was not in going under it, but passing at either side. And he would have to, it seemed, as it cut straight across the only open path to the curtain.
The third was worse yet. A swinging, barbed chain, strewn with razor wire. It was attached to some sort of rotating gear circling a hinge of the bars. It wrapped about the pipes, cutting deep into them as it passed by. And the pattern was erratic. It would speak up suddenly, causing the chain to whip outward and snag against a sheet of metal. It would bite deeper and deeper until the strength of the gear, rusty as it was, caused it to snap back into rotation again.
Fourth was one of the spinning saws, a smaller than the others he'd caught sight of, but my god, no less dangerous. It made its rounds slowly across the pipes, running across all of them as if traveling along an invisible track. It cut through the pipes, sending thick shards of rusting metal spraying across the contraption.
The machine.
Shaking Aidan turned away and picked up his die, pocketing it.
He couldn't do it. He'd never survive it. He'd...he'd just have to keep going. He'd find more water somewhere else.
"There is none."
Aidan froze, sucking in a sharp breath.
"I control the water, the food, the very air you breathe, Aidan. If you want to survive you will drink the water I give you. You will eat the food I give you. You will breathe the air I give you."
"What if I don't want to."
Laughter, but not the same deep, rumbling calmness of before. This time it was child-like. Innocent and playful, like the tinkling of bells. Light and childish. As sweet as chocolate. Memories flashed across Aidan's mind. Lillian giggling as he loomed over her, his fingers attacking her sides. She writhed, pushing at him with a smile on her petal-pale lips. A 'Daddy!' pulled itself from her lips.
"I'm not Daddy! I'm the tickle monster!"
She squealed.
Aidan was drawn back into the present with a snap, but that squeal continued. Just as high-pitched, but no longer beautiful and musical. He craned his head and watched as the barbed chain was dragged over a particularly difficult elbow, screaming as the little pricks of metal scratched the pipes.
"What if you don't want to?" the voice parroted. Aidan could almost see the smilesmirkgrin they coated the...person's face.
Aidan hung his head, curling his hands into fists at his sides.
There was a crackle of electricity and the voice was gone.
Black-white-grey, the spastic lighting returned.
Aidan turned toward the contraption. It towered over far over his head, buzzing and screeching angrily at him. The current hung heavily at the back, its tresses draping against the dirty floor. It sagged, like it was tired of this too. Resigned, tired, and melancholy. Aidan wondered in a moment of delirium if it, too, had children and a wife outside the confines of this maze.
He stepped toward it.
The saw buzzed passed him, shooting sparks. Below him the pendulum slashed the grown. The chain whipped outward and bit into a pipe, cutting it open. The scythe jerked forward, tearing open a thick plate of metal as easily as a warm knife slides into butter.
Aidan watched the saw make its way above his head. It turned a corner and careened into the mess of rusty piping, out of sight. Aidan hooked his hands over a bar, fully expecting it to crumble over his fingers or whip out and bite him, and hoisted himself up. He managed to slide his good knee over an elbow of piping, throwing his other leg over a v-shaped crook of metal.
Like a jungle gym. That's all this was. A jungle gym of rust.
He swung himself forward, onto a lower level of bars. Two feet in. The curtain wasn't that far. What was five meters? The span of a room, perhaps. Just a few strides. Two minute walk. He could do this. He could make it.
Black.
He froze, darkness surrounding him. He had nothing but his ears to rely on. He groped along a pipe, not moving, just feeling. The buzzing of the saw drowned out the empty, echoing nose of clanging hollow pipes. The pendulum whooshed and clunked as it bit into the concrete, singing as it swayed. The scythe cawed metallically as it sliced the air, ringing as it bit into a pipe.
White.
The flash blinded him and he jerked backward, blinking his eyes rapidly. There was a hiss, cutting through all the other noises like a whip.
Grey.
He cracked his eyes open.
The chain swung toward him. He turned his head quickly, squeezing his eyes shut and hunching his shoulder, wincing away. It smashed into his face and curled around the back of his head, causing the tail end to bite into the opposite cheek. He seethed, and jerked forward, but the chain clung to his skin, biting deep and deeper as he squirmed. Slowly the gear began to ravel it backward and it ripped itself violently from his head, scraping along his flesh. Blood welled up and poured wetly from his face, trickling into his eyes. The chained whirled around, ready to strike again. Aidan lurched backward, letting go of the pipes. His legs shot out beneath him and he found himself swinging over the bar, careening headfirst to the floor. He hit it hard.
Dazed a blinking he stared up at the labyrinth of piping through the blood and black pricks that blossomed over his eyes.
Black-white-grey
His heart racing he rolled onto his stomach and picked himself up, keeping his head low and legs close to his body.
"And the blood dripped decadently,"the voice chuckled again, and there was a soft whispery sound, like pages turning.
Aidan gritted his teeth and turned himself around to face the curtain.
Four meters. Not far. Just a few strides.
He crawled forward, aware of the pendulum swinging only a few feet ahead of him. Before he reached it he pulled himself shakily to his feet and clambered up over a set of pipes, balancing himself between them. High above his head the chain swung and the scythe whirred. The saw...where was the saw? He whipped his head around wildly, eyes straining to find it amongst the rusty pipes.
But he need not worry, it was far away, moving back and forth across a far corner of the machine.
Aidan let out a breath of relief and began to weave his way through the bars. His knee clanged against the metal, causing pain to shoot through his body, but he bit his tongue and carried on.
Not far...not far.
The pendulum swung below him. He could reach down and touch it if he wanted. Like stroking a viper. He wriggled his hand below the bar, letting them brush against the grain of the wood.
No time. Don't be stupid. What are you doing?
He jerked his hand backward and continued forward.
The scythe jammed down on a pipe beside his head, biting deep into it. The white flashed and he could make out the black image of its tip sticking through the bottom, rust falling like rain all around it.
Not far. Three meters. So close.
The saw's incessant buzzing drew closer.
Aidan's head whipped around. Where was it? He had to find it. He had to-
A scream tore itself from his lips and he jerked his hand back.
Black-white-grey. The colors flashed before his eyes and he lifted his hand to his face. Lefthandlefthandlefthand, no worries, not important. His right hand clutched the bars, his knees tightening around the pipes to accommodate.
He was missing two fingers. Most of two fingers. Bloody nubs jutted out at him, pouring blood. He could barely make out the red in the dim, flashing grey.
"Be careful, Aidan. You wouldn't want to lose a hand," like a father giving a warning to his boy to be careful of a butter knife.
Bile rose in Aidan's throat and his whole body trembled. The scythe pierced the pipes around him, digging the metal-flesh out of them and sending it spraying forward like a fountain of rust. Like red-brown snowfall.
Aidan swallowed and slid forward, like a worm inching its way along the metal branches. His hand, slippery with blood, clutched fruitlessly at the bars. He couldn't feel the pain. Not jet. Too much blood pumping through his veins, his heart hammering so hard it drowned out the other noises. Adrenalin rushed through his veins, forcing him to surge forward.
So close, so close. Two meters.
The pendulum swung below him, the scythe above him. The chain was far gone, meters behind. He could hear its constant whipping, but it was unimportant. And the saw....the saw had just left.
There was an intricate gridlock of bars blocking his way from the curtain, like a tall cage meant for keeping out rather than keeping in. He'd have to go down, face the pendulum, if he wanted to get out. It swung, back and forth, back and forth, beneath his knees. He backed away a little, careful of the scythe, and slipped down a level.
The blade flashed silver against the black-white-grey, swinging steadily back and forth. There wasn't much room between the blade and the pipes. Aidan would have to be quick. He crouched before it, curling his fingerless hand and using the other to clutch the bars. He'd use it as a pivoting point. Just one quick swing, and he'd be there. A meter away. Nothing between him and the curtain but pipes.
He watched it swing to the left, slow and steady. It paused mid-air and swung right, kissing the cement, peeling it open, as it passed. The right end tip of the blade scratched the nearest pole before swinging left.
Aidan watched it twice more, his grip tightening around the pole. Finally his hand clenched and he swung himself forward, squeezing his eyes shut and curling his body around itself, as close and tight as he could get without impeding his movement. He felt the cool steeled brush against his bare foot and jerked the appendage forward. The blade sliced into his toe, peeling off a layer of flesh. He wrenched himself forward, throwing his body against the opposite pipes. They swayed and shook, sending rust and mold everywhere. Its echoing metallic ring reverberated through the room, filling it, making it vibrate.
He was alive. Maybe not unscathed, maybe not okay, but he was alive.
Aidan gasped for air, gulping it down like water.
Water.
His heart thumped against his chest.
One meter. The curtain was right in front of him.
He crawled on hands and knees, ignoring the stinging pain, and dragged himself through the curtain.