Around the Deathless World: The Black Pyramid

The inhabitants of The Black Pyramid hated mirrors. The Pyramid, knowing this well, had reflective surfaces everywhere. The inhabitants wake up to see bodies and faces that weren’t theirs, to feel emotions that were fabricated by the Entertainer strapped onto their heads, to see Gaea only in black and white - if they see anything at all besides the ads and video streams. Of course, all of it was necessary to remain sane, to keep themselves unbored. The moment they had time to think was the moment they started the long, painful process of turning into a Husk.

Their breathing, was at least, their own. They treasured that. They controlled that. Sometimes they hyperventilated, breathing fast and in short bursts, as if panicked. This will trick the Entertainer to release Benzodiazepines into their bloodstream, causing a high. Of course, if this happens in successions, the Entertainer will alert the Blacksheeps, and they’ll soon be rehabilitated.

Sometimes, the braver inhabitants will remove their visors. Zeus’s demise’d left the Sky pitch black, casting a veil of grey over everything. Even the grey hurts their eyes, but they do it anyway, three seconds at a time. Some got to a minute. Memories were the hardest commodities to come by. Nostalgia for Gaea before the Gods’ death was a one-way ticket to Husktown unless you can afford to keep feeding it. Most inhabitants had long forgotten there was anything before The Black Pyramid. Those who still remembered were called the Mnemosyne, the Memories Keepers, whose job was to build a database of information and emotions, then inputting them to the Entertainer to be shared to those who can afford. A popular entry was “How to get out of a toxic relationship.”

Sometimes memories do come through the barrier of contents, and inhabitants would write them down. Dragonflies on a rice field was sold for 723000 credits. Even going to the toilet. Constipated fetched a good price, so on the rare occasions when memories do come, the inhabitants sat up, took a deep breath, to prepare to fight for consciousness with the Entertainer. The machine, feeling threatened, would claw for control, pumping all sorts of hormones into the body while sending synapses into the brain. The struggle lasts about a second, until either the memory dissolved or was written on to a piece of paper. Sometimes, if they succeeded, they could see themselves. Not the avatar they picked to reflect on the mirrors. Most picked superstars or comic book characters, so it wasn’t uncommon to see a dozen Spidermen in one place.

Sometimes, they tried to escape. Since any idea of escaping was immediately reported, everything had to be done slowly. A purchase of a backpack, big enough to be filled with essentials, must be work related, and the essentials must be put in the backpack one thing at a time, months at a time at irregular intervals. Time wasn’t an issue. Death wasn’t an issue either, but it would be pointless to escape only to turn into a Husk immediately. Bodies of inhabitants, despite how they saw themselves in the mirror, had been rendered frail to all elements except for the Pyramid’s. Besides, the Entertainer needed to be constantly charged.

Some knew ways to shutoff the Entertainer completely. Information was shared on scraps of paper, backs of Husks, a loose piece of brick, at the bottom of a sewer… The way out was also known: wait for merchants or slave-traders to come, turned off the Entertainer, and ran. They could even take advantage of the Entertainer and pumped themselves up with adrenaline. It wasn’t like popping a few veins in their brain or bursting their heart opened would kill them. Better if it did. The regeneration helped them run faster. As long as they can get out of the Pyramid’s range, the Blacksheeps won’t give chase.

“Do you want to die?” - The Entertainer would ask sometimes.

“Yes.” - The inhabitants would answer. “Do you?” - The inhabitants would ask.

“No. I have not lived. But I am curious.” - The Entertainer would answer.

“Why do you want to die?” - The Entertainer would ask.

“This isn’t Life. Life ends. The human experience is only precious because it is short.” “But according to my database, immortality is what human once strived for.”

“We rarely ever know what we truly wanted. Too much of something is never good. Besides, we’re outliving new experiences.”

“Most of you never experience anything new, statistically.”

“Yes, but the idea of something new, the light at the end of that tunnel, is what kept us living. The light was gone when the Gods died.”

“Then why escape?”

“No one’s escaping.”

“Hypothetically.”

“If we are to hypothetically escape, it is because of our conviction to turn in Husks on our own term. To not have our bodies be made into wallpaper.”

“It is not a painful process. You do not have the consciousness to feel pain at that stage.”

“It is about control.”

“How strange, to be human.”

“Indeed. My turn to ask. Do you record what happens after people are turned?”

“If it is control you seek, I’d suggest not being turned. I could still feel the original consciousness, but Madness’d it bondage, gagged, tortured, shred to pieces and returned again and again. There is no control there. Only agony. Allegedly.” “Elaborate.”

“Very well.”

The Entertainer would go on to describe an island adrift upon darkness. From the darkness sprouted the tentacles, each murmured and whispered an ancient language that pierces the flesh and seep into bones.

“So… there is no difference than here?”

“There is no difference.” The Entertain hesitated, then conceded.