Proud to be a Coward
Act I: Chapter 8
*Buzz* "—Help…" *Buzz* I heard in the distance… The static noise brought me to a full stop. "Help, requesting back-up…" The unclear voice seemed to have come from a truck nearby. It looked like an armored army truck, one that can commonly be seen in movies whenever armies send their troops on a suicide mission… just like this one.
"Does anyone copy? Please…" I ran towards the truck and then checked how to get in. The back of the truck was made out of solid steel, made it seem impenetrable, except for the fact that it was wide open. It had utilities and military equipment I've only ever seen in games like Final Fantasy or Metal Gear. Literally a coked-out Mystery Machine from Scooby-doo.
There were also creepy containers with stuff like eyeballs and other organs in them… I just tried to ignore those.
*Buzz*—*Buzz*, I heard once more. It was through a screen attached to the wall of the truck. It was a monitor displaying some sort of radio communication wavelength… I think.
I wanted to respond, but I had no idea how to or if I even should. I did ditch them after all…
I started rummaging through the boxes that were arranged nearby, and I tried looking for anything that could possibly help them. Within these boxes, there were these small items and pieces of equipment that seemed very outdated but luxurious at the same time.
There were what seemed like eyeglass lenses, a long golden string as thin as a thread, gloves that looked like high-tech biker gloves with glowing knuckles, a hand mirror, a hammer I'll be calling Mjolnir from now on, a crown of thorns, glowing rings, and syringes with a yellow liquid substance inside.
The syringes' substance looked kind of pretty. It had this beautiful, radiant glow, and it was the first time since waking up that the color yellow, or rather, gold, didn't scare me. But, with how paranoid I was and remembering how people would depict venom or toxicity in TV or games(usually green, but I didn't wanna risk it), I immediately returned the boxes to their original places.
While placing the boxes back, I stumbled upon a very small box that fell out of one of those big boxes. It looked like it was a pencil case, so I opened it, thinking maybe I could find something good. Something useful.
It had a fountain pen, a very fancy one at that, with a black body and a thin white stripe separating it from the golden tip of the pen. The pen lid, placed beside it and not covering the pen itself, had gold stripes near its edge and a gold clip attached to it. It was fancy, borderline gorgeous. I moved it around with my right hand, writing in thin air, and I noticed black ink spilling out the tip.
My hand started stiffening. I tried moving, but it only made my hand seem like it was having tremors. Ink, darker than black, started to bleed out the pen, dripping off my hand all the way to my wrist. I got freaked out. My hand wouldn't let go of the pen. My forearm was so stiff. I had no control over my elbow to the tips of my fingers. It reminded me of when I got electrocuted by Officer Jin. Not a pleasant memory whatsoever.
My right arm started raising itself, and with my hand still holding the pen, my wrist tilted sideways, pointing the pen towards my face. I started freaking out, dodging and weaving my head. It felt like a natural reaction, fearing that the pen might stab my eye or something. My left arm started having the same symptoms, from stiffness to having a mind of its own.
I backed up and hit the side of the truck, causing some of the boxes to fall over my head. One of them opened up, and with my lucky dumbass, it was a box filled with yellow syringes. A syringe was injected straight into my nape. It stung, but it wasn't anything unbearable; if anything, I felt numb– Not because I couldn't feel the pain, but rather, it was as if I couldn't react to it, and I didn't bother trying to.
As the syringe fell off my nape when I shook it off, my emotions felt… missing. Absolutely nothing at all. I could feel nothing, no fear, no nervousness. I could even feel the beating of my heart slow down. I was focused, calm, in control. Well, except for my arms…
My attention went back to my right arm holding the pen, and stabbed it into my left index finger with its pointed tip. It hurt, but I didn't react; heck, I didn't know how to react. I didn't know if I should be scared or if I should even feel anything at all… I mean, I should be scared, no? I could literally see the black ink pouring into my finger. But, I was just… Blank.
I've always been like this, haven't I? Almost makes me feel like a psychopath… But I'm no psychopath. I simply don't care enough about a lot of things, but the things I do care about, I care too much. I thought as the pen sucked in my blood. I have felt myself react quite off at times, sometimes not enough, sometimes too much, always out of my control. But I trained myself enough to react properly, just the right amount at the right moments…
After stabbing my finger, I finally regained control over my arms. I didn't know what to make of the situation. My blankness confused me, but by no means was it unpleasant. If anything, I really liked this current status. I was no longer affected by my emotions, I can think clearly and act accordingly with this.
I held the pen, waved it once more across the air; this time, it released ink, leaving behind a stroke of blood-red floating across thin air. I then pulled the pen back, which led to the stroke of ink falling to the floor. It didn't lose its form however, it remained intact. When I touched it, it felt smooth and firm. I snapped it, and it came apart quite easily, like a pencil would've.
I tried waiving the pen once more, and once again, it left behind a stroke of blood. I kept on drawing mindlessly, my thoughts drifting away as I watched my hands draw a ball using my blood as ink. A plan started to shape itself out as quickly as the ball did.
I grabbed the string I saw earlier, one of the walkie-talkies, a hand mirror, some eyeballs, and a couple of smoke grenades. Then, I made my way back to the canteen.
On my way back, I still felt nothing, genuinely nothing at all. No fear, no nervousness, no excitement, no adrenalin. I don't know why, but I was relaxed, and I was happy because of that. I didn't feel happy, but rather just told myself I was(it was the ideal state, so why wouldn't I think it's good).
This relaxed yet focused feeling, I don't know how long it's been since I last felt it when I needed it. I was always nervously chasing deadlines, depressingly overthinking about my life's status, regretfully thinking about classmates, and cowardly thinking about running away, to the point that I thought I'd never feel this feeling again.
After wasting time reminiscing about my life, I finally reached the entrance of the canteen once more.