Clyve's Important Mission (Part 2)

Read Part 1 first, or else you will be very confused (you will probably end up being confused anyway even if you did read part1)

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Clyve choked on musty air as he stepped over shards of broken glass inside the decaying interior of the building. Something slithered around the corner in the back of the room, but it moved too fast and it was too dark to see exactly what.

Logically, the easiest way to travel to floor 178 was going to be by taking the elevator. He was not in any shape to be climbing up 178 flights of stairs; his legs would prbab ly snap in half by the third flight. He looked around the room to see if he could spot any obvious signs of an elevator. Towards the back of the room, next to a large round wooden desk, he spotted the golden sliding doors with many floors embroidered on the wall above them.

As he confidently strode over towards the elevator doors, he noticed a strange looking figure sitting behind the large round desk. He was wearing a strange red suit with gold embroidery all over it, and he looked to be in very excellent physical shape. In fact, he didn’t appear to have any fat or skin whatsoever covering his bony white face.

“Greetings, you are looking excellent today I must say!” Clyve said happily as he walked by. The man did not respond.

There was another man waiting in front of the elevator, dressed in similar attire. Clyve could tell he was not a very motivated man, as he couldn’t even stand without the assistance of a rusted chain hanging from the ceiling. It looked very uncomfortable, as the man’s feet dangled above the ground. It must be a very tiring job, standing in front of the elevator of a dead building for so many centuries.

“Floor 178, please” Clyve said as he approached the elevator. The man did not move. However, to Clyve’s surprise, the golden doors of the elevator began to screech open automatically. He watched with an impressed grin on his face as the doors slowly, very slowly, slid open. Several minutes later, he still stood in the same position with the same stupid grin on his face as the doors were almost halfway open. Sparks scattered everywhere under the tremendous friction of the squealing doors that hadn’t been serviced for probably hundreds of years. Several large beetles with deformed human hands growing off of their shells scurried out of the elevator and past his feet.

He squeezed into the elevator through the partially open doors.

“Floor 178!” he shouted, hoping that would do something.

“Please repeat your request” said a monotone female voice. Clyve jumped in surprise.

“I, uh, floor 178!” he said again.

“What?” came the voice.

“178!” he said, losing enthusiasm.

“Ok” said the elevator. “Going down”

“Wait, what? No!” but it was too late. The elevator started to plunge downwards rapidly as he was lifted off of the velvet floor and banged his head on the ceiling.

“Enjoy your ride” the elevator chimed in over the noise of the screeching elevator, as if this was supposed to make him feel more at peace with the concept of hurtling downwards to an unknown destination at lightning speed. He noticed thick black smoke venting in through the walls of the elevator as he cowered in the back corner, waiting for this terrifying experience to be over with.

Finally, the elevator started to screech to a halt. Clyve sighed with relief. However, right before it came to a complete stop the elevator started right back up again, this time plummeting even faster than before.

“Going down. Going down.” the elevator voice was saying repeatedly, the voice growing more and more distorted. Clyve tried to scream but no sounds came out because he was moving too fast. For some reason flashing red sirens had been activated and lit up the dim interior of the elevator car with a hellish glow. He slowly faded out of consciousness.

He woke up with a start to loud pounding coming from the outside of the elevator door. The metal of the door was vibrating and denting in with each furious blow. After a careful moment of calculation, Clyve decided that his only option was to open the door of the elevator. He pressed the “door open” button.

The doors of the elevator dramatically slid open. It took about 3 minutes for the unserviced doors to grind their way completely open. Clyve stood there patiently until a loud beep signaled his arrival.

“Arrived at destination: Floor 178” chimed the elevator. Floor 178 smelled like a combination of wet socks and dirty oven. The pounding of the elevator door had ceased, mostly because the door was now open, but also because the source of the pounding had disappeared for the moment. Clyve stepped out of the elevator into the darkness of floor 178.

Floor 178

As he took his first step into the room, an electrical hum kicked to life and several hundred futuristic blue lights switched on, temporarily blinding Clyve and sending him crashing to the floor.

“What the smokin’ hell is this sorcery!” Clyve yelled to nobody in particular.

“Inbad argitor glubular ish” said a very strange muffled voice. Clyve looked up but didn't see anybody else in the room.

“Huh?” he asked.

“Up.” the voice came. Clyve looked up.

There, suspended from the ceiling by chain wrapped around its neck, was  some sort of human, but without any skin; a skeleton of sorts. It wore a strange helmet made of reflective material, and nothing else.

A strange figure suspended from the roof, resembling some sort of skeleton

“Klorkle mcliffin triket” the skeleton muttered. It lifted one arm as it said this, then dropped it limply back to its side.

“Now hold on. You knew how to say the word ‘up’, so why are you still talking in that jibberish?” asked Clyve. The skeleton man stared ahead blankly.

Clyve looked around floor 178. On the far side of the room, there were monitors covering the wall above desks with complex looking computers flashing with red numbers and data. He had no idea what any of it meant.

“What do all these strange symbols and lights mean?” Clyve said aloud.

“Yugbad ish gringle traxon, lopush ish triggle” came the strange ancient voice of the skeleton. Clyve looked towards it, and saw that it was pointing a bony yellow finger towards a spot on the far side of the room.

Clyve walked over towards where the skeleton was pointing. There were lots of buttons and levers, beyond the comprehension of Clyve’s simple mind. He observed all the various switches and controls for a moment. None of them were labeled in any obvious pattern, so he started pressing a bunch of random buttons and pulling various levers. The monitors on the walls scrolled through lines of red text and numbers that had no meaning to Clyve whatsoever. He soon became bored and directed his attention to a hole in the wall.

The hole was covered by thin strips of plastic hanging down in front of it. It looked like an adventure waiting to happen, so Clyve excitedly climbed in without hesitation.

He found himself sliding down a metallic ramp headfirst. It was a deceivingly slow journey, as the ramp had not been properly lubricated in a very long time. He pushed himself along whenever he got stuck. The dark passage grew more confined as he traveled down further, to the point where he began to panic.

He tried to climb back up the way he came, but he was in too deep. He had no choice but to continue downwards.

At last, he saw a light at the end of the tunnel. He squeezed through the last of the passage and fell through the hole, landing on the floor 3 feet below the exit. He looked around from his position on the floor, and laughed softly. Somehow, he had ended up in the same place he was in before, on the opposite side of the room.

He walked back towards the wall with all the computers and gadgets. As he did so, he noticed with a start that there was another man standing with his back turned to him in front of the controls pressing various buttons and pulling levers. He was about to say something, but as he opened his mouth he noticed that the man was wearing his pants.  

His pants.

The pants that he had spent many weeks assembling from patches of fabric scavenged from various decaying corpses found in boarded up houses. Those pants were one of a kind, and there was only one explanation as to why this stranger was wearing them.

The man was Clyve.

Clyve pondered this conclusion for a moment. How could Clyve be standing in front of himself in the same room? He squinted his eyebrows and rubbed his eyes in deep concentration, but was unable to come to any sort of logical conclusion. As he pondered, the man that was apparently him wandered over to a hole in the wall covered in strips of plastic and slid in head first.

The other version of himself was copying his former actions, meaning that in a moment he woukd slide out of the same hole he had just come out of. Clyve knew he had to move so as to avoid encountering this man that was him. What would he say to himself? He would wait until he had a valid explanation for this mess to talk to himself.

He searched frantically for a place to hide on floor 178. On the other side of the complicated computers that made no sense, he spotted a large metal door. The handle turned surprisingly smoothly as he stepped into the next room.

To Clyve’s disbelief, he stepped right back into the same room. He was now standing at the far side of floor 178 looking at two men that strangely resembled himself. One of the men was about to plunge headfirst into a hole in the wall, while the other was staring in bewilderment at the man who was about to plunge headfirst into a hole in the wall.

He searched around frantically for another hiding option. He searched all around the room, then checked the floor, then looked up to the ceiling. He saw no viable options and was about to give up and face the horror of meeting several alternate versions of himself.

He suddenly gave up standing and crashed to the floor painfully. He let out a pathetic sob. Then, he opened his eyes and noticed a strange door next to the one he had just come out of. He stood cheerfully like nothing had happened and opened the new door just as the door he had already come out of opened simultaneously.

Clyve found himself in a dark space. The heavy door slammed shut behind him, leaving him shrouded in a heavy veil of never ending darkness. He could hear the sound of a man sobbing gently.

“Who is it?” asked Clyve. He noticed a painful ringing in his ears as he said this that spread throughout his head.

“The envelope..” said whoever it was that was inhabitation the dark space with him. Clyve suddenly remembered the reason he had gone through all this madness in the first place. The important message! The contents must provide some sort of explanation to this state of disorder.

He reached into his pants pocket where he had left the envelope. His fingers found themselves awkwardly grasping at empty space as they slipped through the hole in his pocket. The hole. How could he be so foolish!

Clyve slammed his fist to his own forehead, which sort of hurt. As he did so, a single fluorescent light flickered on inside the room, illuminating the dark dusty space with peeling gray walls. Sharing the room with him, was himself. Clyve rubbed his eyes to make sure what he was seeing was correct. He saw at least three living versions of himself sitting among a mass of shriveled up manikins.

No, those weren’t manikins. The floor was littered with corpses in various shriveled states of stinking decay. The Clyves that were still living looked up at him with desperate gazes on thinning faces. One of them reached his bony hands towards him and fell over on top of the rotting skeletons.

A speaker suddenly crackled to life in the room, startling Clyve.

“Trial 455, failure.” spoke a monotone robotic female voice, followed by a loud buzzing alarm. The door clicked behind Clyve, and he spun around to try and escape. It was too late, the door was locked. The flickering fluorescent light fixture blinked out, leaving Clyve shrouded in a fatal darkness.

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Boozok the Mystical took a sip of his juice, then spit it out immediately because it was nearly boiling and tasted disgustingly fermented. He looked inside the cup and saw at least 3 maggots squirming around and a fly floating in the bubbly liquid.

He glanced at his wrist to check his watch, which was shattered beyond repair and hadn’t worked for at least 50 years. With a flick of his right hand, a projection of the watch appeared above the physical version of it, which accurately informed him of the time. It had been exactly 12 hours and 7 minutes since the last trial began.

Boozok walked down the creaking wooden steps to his basement. A large beetle with a human face growing on its back scurried out from beneath one of the steps and squealed miserably as he crunched it beneath his hard leather boot.  

The automatic lights flickered on as he entered his lair. On the opposite wall, a station of complex computer terminals with green data flashing across the screens buzzed to life. On the far right monitor, a video monitor of floor 178 played on repeat.

Boozok's lair, with many complex technologies

Trial 455 was playing. Not that it was any different from the previous trials. Boozok leaned over the desk and smashed his fists on the surface. He would have to adjust the variables once again and start the process over from the beginning. The message must get delivered.

Clyve's Important Mission (Part 1)

The man whimpered pathetically as he tripped down the steps in front of the plain looking building. He dropped his bag, which was an old dirty paper sack from Gurche’s Grocery. It ripped open as it tumbled down the steps, sending the contents spilling all over the dirty bricks. As he crouched over to gather his excessive collection of the book “Don't Forget to Breath: A Collection of Useless Life Reminders That You Already Know”, of which he had at least 6 battered copies of that he carried around daily, his nemesis Stive Krillson happened to walk out of the building.

“Nice work, CLYVE. You better hurry home before I burn your house down! HA!”

“Leave me alone, Stive! I'm only trying to make a buck for good fortune!” Clyde pleaded. But it was too late, the damage had been done. Clyde's feelings had been crushed. He carried his books in his arms, dropping them every few steps and picking them up again. He also kept losing his glasses, which only had one earpiece left, as the other side had melted in a fire, the fuel for which was his former cat Roxy.

The night came on quickly, as the smog in the sky covers up Celari, the dim blue sun that provides most of the daylight. This left Clyve stumbling home in the dark along unlit alleys and shit-covered sidewalks. He cried in dry sobs the whole way there.

When he finally reached his house, he reached in his pocket for his keys. However, he failed to remember that his only pair of pants, which were stitched together out of uncountable types of fabric, had a large hole in the pocket. He always put his house key in that pocket, but as he reached for the key his eyes widened as he realized for the 30th day in a row that it was not there. Damn! He would have to stay up all night sculpting another one out of scrap metal.

Clyve's Pants

Clyve closed his eyes and pathetically punched at the glass in the front door, which he had to keep replacing because he always broke it to get into his house. Glass was expensive around these parts; he had to hop the fence to get into the Black market down at the pier and buy it from Gretta, the only glass dealer he knew of. He generally spent his entire paycheck from the check firm, where he worked 4 days a week from 3-3:30pm, on replacing the glass to his front door. It would probably be more cost effective to just buy a new pair of pants with a quality pocket, but he just never got around to it.

As he walked over the pile of broken glass in the doorway, which consisted of 30 days of glass that he had not yet cleaned up,his mother yelled from the other room.

“Who’s there! I have a police!” she threatened.

“It’s just me, mother!” Clyve said. There was a pause for a moment.

“I don’t know any me! You got 6 seconds to get the hell outta here!” she shouted. Clyve ignored her and walked into the sofa room, where his mother sat stationary on the dirty sofa. She said nothing as she stared blankly at the dark wall. Large flies with human faces buzzed around the ceiling.

In the kitchen, Clyve searched for some food. He opened the stained cold box that had long ago lost its function to keep anything cold. A large insect with a shriveled human head growing on its back ran out from inside and under the counter.

The only scrap of food he could find was an old army ration cracker on the floor. He wondered how many soldiers’ pockets it had gone through to get here as he nearly broke his teeth trying to chew it. After he had finished his meal, he curled up on the kitchen table and cried himself to sleep.

He woke up 3 hours later to the daylight pouring in through the windows, despite being covered in newspaper. (It is important to note that Clyve’s watch has never functioned properly so this is only an estimate of time. It might have been less than 3 hours.)

He didn’t have to go into the check firm today to work, so he just walked outside. The heat was already visibly radiating off of the cracked pavement with weed showing out of it. Clyve groaned dramatically. Even though this was the typical weather around these parts, he acted like it was the worst thing ever. He turned around and went back inside the doorway to grab his radiation goggles. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in one of the shards of broken glass that littered the ground.

“Lookin’ sharp, Clyve!” he said aloud, to no one in particular.

Outside, a place filled with corpses and radiation

Clyve walked down the street. He passed by many abandoned houses with holes in the roofs and boarded up windows. Nobody else lived on this street. He didn’t blame them, it wasn’t a very pleasant place to live.

At the end of the street, Clyve took a left. He didn’t know what the name of this street was, as the sign had been beaten to the ground and painted over many times. He stopped for a moment on the corner to admire the view. There wasn’t much to see except for some burnt down houses and dead plants. The air smelled strangely like rotting meat. It was a completely normal day.

As he stood on the sizzling pavement, Clyve noticed an unpleasant sizzling sensation in his feet. He lifted his foot to take a look, and observed that the ground had burnt right through his shoe! Angrily, he ran to a nearby house that looked like it hadn't been completely destroyed yet. The way he ran was similar to that of a one legged kangaroo on steroids.

The door was boarded shut, so Clyve took a few steps backwards and stomped his foot in the dirt a few times like an angry bull. Then, he ran full speed towards the door.

A house, in relatively good condition as far as the standards go in these parts

It didn't work out like he had planned in his head. He made contact with the door and bounced backwards 15 feet like a chunk of brain hitting an electric fan, landing in the dirt. As he tried to catch his breath, he heard the door creak open.

“Who there” said a creepy voice. Clyve looked up suddenly, startled as he was used to being alone all the time. He said nothing as he stared open-mouthed up towards the dark figure that peered out of the cracked doorway. As he lay there, the door opened a bit wider and four tiny figures scurried out. They ran over to him, each one lifting a corner of his body to carry him inside the house. He squirmed around as he realized what was happening, but was unable to escape. This was likely due to his lack of any muscular mass and years of malnutrition.

The tiny figures, dressed in dark robes without any obvious facial features, carried Clyve into the doorway then dropped him suddenly on the hard wooden floor. They ran in a single line into a small hole in one of the walls, disappearing from view.

“Well then, what do we have here?” said the same raspy voice he had heard before. Glass crunched as the hooded figure stepped into view above Clyve, who was still lying on the ground. This person looked exactly the same as the little things that had carried him in here, only in regular person size.

The figure before him wore a baggy black robe with an oversized hood that concealed his entire face. He stood above Clyve motionless without saying a word.

“Greetings” muttered Clyve, it seemed like the appropriate thing to say in this particular situation. The hooded menace still said nothing. He reached into a pocket on his robe, fumbled around for a bit, then whipped out a small vial filled with some sort of concoction. He slowly screwed open the vial without diverting his gaze away from Clyve, then dumped the contents directly into Clyde's mouth. It tasted horribly bitter for several moments until he felt very relaxed and fell into a deep coma-like slumber.

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Clyve was woken by a tingling sensation on the tip of his nose. It was horribly unpleasant, sort of like an extendable hairbrush tickling his nose. He opened his eyes groggily to find the hooded menace from before tickling his nose with an extendable hairbrush.

     “Would you please stop tickling my nose with that extendable hairbrush?” pleaded Clyve. He tried to raise his hands to deflect the unpleasant tickling, but realized that his arms were tied to a chair. They weren't even in a comfortable position to be tied in, his left arm was tied facing upright to the the opposite handle on the chair and his right arm was tightly secured to the back of the chair.

The man continued to tickle his nose for a few moments as if he was gaining some sort of demented pleasure out of the task. Then, he dropped the extendable hairbrush and in one motion dropped his hood to reveal his face.

The man beneath the hood was not at all what Clyve was expecting. He usually tries not to build up expectations about new people so as not to feel disappointed at any point, but he couldn't help but imagine an image of the face of his mysterious dark hooded abductor beforehand.

The man was small, much smaller than his oversized robe originally made him appear. His skin was pale, nearly transparent. His head was void of any hair, save for one uncomfortably long strand of wirey silver growing off of the right half of his face. His nose was a perfectly pointed triangle shape.

“My name”, he grumbled in a gargled tone, “is Boozok”. He followed this with an awkward bow as if Clyve was supposed to be impressed or something. Clyve stared at the strange man in silence. After a moment, Boozok cleared his throat.

“Why have you disturbed my secret lair, young heathen?” he asked.

“Uh. . . the ground was hot” Clyve answered. Boozok considered this for a moment, then:

“Unacceptable!” he shouted, growing suddenly angry. He walked to a nearby table, picked up a small plastic cup, and threw it on the floor as hard as he could. It was admittedly not very intimidating at all.

“Wha.. what are you gonna do to me?” Clyve whimpered.

“I will have to consult my wife on this matter” replied Boozok. “Shelly, what do you propose?” Clyve craned his neck as far as he was able in his uncomfortable position, but failed to spot anyone else in the room. In fact, the only other visible living creature was a potted plant with brown leaves in the corner.

“Hmm, interesting thought, my dear.” Boozok said. It was clear now that he was addressing the plant. He looked back at Clyve, then back at the plant.

“Oh, how rude of me! Prisoner, this is Shelly, my beautiful wife” Bookzok gestured to the plant in the corner. Clyve did not know how to respond, so he just stayed silent.

“How dare you disrespect my wife!” shouted Boozok. He reached for the extendable hairbrush.

“Oh, I uh, It’s a pleasure to meet you, plant!”

“HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO MY WIFE IN THAT TONE!” Boozok was furious. He kicked the wall, but yelped in pain and grabbed his foot.

"Shelly"

After a sorry moment, Boozok collected himself and addressed Clyve.

“How would you like to be in charge of an important- mission?” he asked.

Clyve’s face lit up.

“What kind of important mission?”
"A VERY important mission, one that only someone such as yourself can complete"
"How important is the mission?"
"Very VERY important" said Boozok, beginning to sound frustrated.
"Yes, but how-"
"Shut up!" Boozok exclaimed, then cleared his throat. It sounded like a broken garbage disposal. "Will you accept this very important mission?"
"Well, let me think. . ." Clyve proceeded to zone out for about 10 minutes as he thought.

"I've decided that I have nothing more important to do, so I will accept your very important mission!" said Clyve.
"Very excellent. . " Boozok said in a devious sort of tone, "First, you must deliver this important message” Boozok said as he reached into his robe and held out a yellowed envelope. It was dripping some sort of sticky looking liquid onto the floor. He held it out towards Clyve with a smug grin on his face.

“TAKE IT!” Boozok demanded. Clyve attempted to take the disgusting message, but his arms were still tied to the chair. “Oh, right, sorry” he said as he untied Clyve and handed him the envelope.

“Where do I take it to?” asked Clyve.

“Travel to the west outskirts of the abandoned waterfront. From there, you will receive further instructions.” at the conclusion of this sentence, Boozok pulled a small brown sack out of his pocket and poured some sort of powder into his hand. He threw the powder on the ground, creating a small cloud of dust. The cloud settled in seconds as Boozok ran into the other room. The cloud was probably supposed to conceal his movement, but it was admittedly not very mysterious at all.

Clyve still stood in place with the envelope in his hand. Boozok peered out from around the corner.

“I’m counting on you, young apprentice, do not fail me!” Boozok said. Clyve felt invigorated for the first time in his life with a sense of purpose.

“And do not, I say, DO NOT, look at the contents of the message!” he said. “Now GO!”

Clyve slowly turned around and walked out of the door.

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The abandoned waterfront, contrary to its name, was nowhere near any sort of water. There may have once been some sort of small pond, but these days water came only from brief rainstorms that lasted up to a minute at a time. Clyve trotted along the cracked road in the general direction of the waterfront, hopping around as the scalding dirt continued to burn his exposed foot.

Clyve wondered excitedly what sort of mission he had gotten himself wrapped up in. The hooded menace, Boozok, was clearly some sort of elemental mastermind with spells and chemicals and other things of the sort. He’d heard of this sort of thing by overhearing conversations at Turche’s Tavern, a small decaying shack that served as a drink place. Supposedly, there were mysterious men that spent their lives hiding in the dark and practicing strange ceremonies in solitude.

He looked a the strange letter he was carrying. It was shrouded in mystery, and Clyve wanted very badly to open it. He knew this would be a very terrible idea, so he dismissed it immediately, carefully sliding the letter into his pocket.

Once he reached the waterfront, he looked around for.. well, anything. He was supposed to receive “further instructions”, whatever that meant. All around him were the hollow shells of tall buildings, once busy centers for all kinds of activity like fraudulent schemes and excessive eating. Now they were home only to terrifying creatures with human faces that should not have human faces. He shifted around uncomfortably as the scalding ground sizzled beneath his feet.

Very tall buildings of a once thriving civilization, former centers of fraudulent schemes and excessive eating

Suddenly Clyve could hear some kind of distant high pitched whistling noise over the sound of his skin sizzling from the heat. He looked around, but saw no sign of any other living creature. The noise continued to grow louder every second.

The noise became clearer as some sort of deranged scream. Clyve looked up towards one of the buildings, shielding his eyes from the scorching blue sun. A small black speck was rapidly falling towards the ground.

Within seconds, the black speck had reached the ground level, hitting the ground with a loud crunch. It left a smoldering crater in the dry dirt.

Clyve walked over to the crater and peered down into it. To his bewilderment, there was nothing at the bottom. He felt a tug on his pants at the ankle. He looked down to see one of Boozok’s tiny hooded minions gazing up at him. It offered him a small envelope.

He reached down to take the envelope. As he took it the minion scurried away quickly. He watched the small hooded minion run away, noting that the strange little creature could move surprisingly swift for a small hooded minion. He looked at the envelope he had received. Written in bold red letters on the front was some strange word he had never heard of before. He stared at it in bewilderment for a good couple minutes before realizing that it was upside down. He flipped it over and sounded out the word “OPEN”.

He tore the envelope in half. Inside was a crumpled up slice of paper with a message written in cut out magazine letters glued to the page.

“CLyVE,” it read, “congratulations on making it this far. Yet this is only the first of your many tests. You must now travel to floor 178 of this very tall building. Good luck.”

Then, at the bottom of the sheet, “Love, Boozok” followed by some very unevenly drawn little hearts. Clyve shuddered at this.

Clyve looked up towards the very tall building. He had heard stories of men that had gone into those very tall buildings, never to be seen again. They had presumably been destroyed or decapitated by the strange creatures with human faces that should not have human faces. He walked towards the front door of the very tall building. He had no idea what to expect, or if he would even be alive at the conclusion of this very important mission.

To be continued. . .