Anthony DeCosmo - Parallels

Three different exits led away from the room. He chose one at random, pushed open the metal door, and transitioned into a tight passageway. As he moved along, he realized that Ashley had led him to a maze of what might be maintenance tunnels. The corridor he traveled felt like a 'back-stage' passage meant to bypass the main areas of the building, maybe for workers, or security, or perhaps these halls were once used to aid in the construction of the entire building, the way scaffolding is used on the exterior for such purposes.

In any case, the tunnel discreetly channeled him behind offices and shops, out of sight from guards and workers. However, he needed to move carefully for what the tunnel offered in access it subtracted in lighting. On several occasions he banged a knee, elbow, or shoulder and needed tremendous willpower to suppress curses of pain.

As he dove deeper into the complex, he grew conscious of a hum permeating the building. A hum not unlike one would expect from machinery. It was low but constant and, at times, felt as much a vibration in the walls as a sound in the air.

After a while, he heard voices and calls. The hoots and orders and complaints of workers in a factory. At one point he gazed through a ventilation duct into a small workshop where maintenance personnel inspected ordnance such as artillery shells and rifle rounds. At another he saw a bank of seamstresses putting the final touches on battle suits and uniforms.

Not long after, Johnny was forced to find refuge in a supply closet while two laborers enjoyed a smoke break. He was not sure if they smoked cigarettes, cigars, or something more potent, but the fellows took their time and savored their puffs.

After clearing that hurdle, he exited a side corridor and crossed a metal catwalk hanging from the ceiling above a variety of chambers. Here he saw his first clue that Ashley spoke the truth. Below him, scenes of brutality. He flinched at the crack of whips and grimaced as forlorn moans found his ears.

However, he could not stop. One of the guards below need only glance upwards to find him spying. Therefore, Johnny proceeded forward with care not to rattle the metal bridge below his feet or otherwise attract attention. If discovered, not only would his life be endangered, but so would the life of Ashley if, in fact, her words proved true.

Ahead, the skywalk ascended a ramp toward an open archway. As he passed through the opening, a light wind blew across his face, the coolness of which contrasted sharply with the hot, moist workshops he left behind.

As he entered the open space, he had a feeling akin to walking from the vomitory to the seating sections of a sports arena. Not just any arena, one of the super-sized fields like "The Big House" of Michigan football or Camp Nou in Barcelona, except with a vaulted ceiling overhead.

Tiered rings circled the area, tasked with some arcane industrial purpose. They resembled bleachers lined with valves and vents flapping open and shut releasing steam and vapors. More walkways as well as safety railings lined the complex between those tiers

Johnny moved out from the ramp and across the concrete terrace. The valves and steam vents whistled and clanked open and shut behind and above.

In front of Johnny stood a short railing overlooking the heart of the building; the heart of Thebes. He walked to that railing in measured steps, fearful of the sight Ashley warned of; fearful of what it meant about these people, about the Trevor of this world.

He reached the railing and took hold with both hands, staring out at the immense area in front and below him.

His eyes adjusted, taking the sight below and breaking it into digestible pieces but even so, the consequences of this truth threatened to overwhelm his sense. His hands clenched the rail with great force, his eyes widened, and a sharp cold sweat broke out across his body. Try as he might, Reverend Johnny could not even muster an Old Testament passage to capture the moment.

The truth about the legacy of our Trevor Stone.

Johnny tore himself away from the sight only by forcing his mind to action; the action of finding Trevor. The action of taking him away from this cursed place.

He turned to hurry away, to escape, but stopped as Director Snowe and two soldiers blocked his path.

Snowe's stoic expression did not change. The man did not flinch — not even a little- as he drove a blade into the Reverend’s gut.

The victim offered a weak gasp unfitting for a man so big and strong. Reverend Johnny’s voice and vengeance once sent the minions of Voggoth running in fear, his machine gun had cut down demonic Wraiths at the polar ice cap and his hands had smashed Viking skulls at Five Armies. He had dispatched dozens-hundreds-of humanity's enemies with energy, confidence, and zeal. Yet he died with barely a sigh, hardly more than a whimper, all with stunned shock carved on his face as if he gazed upon Medusa.

He collapsed to the ground not from the jaws of a monster or the guns of an alien army, but at the hands of a man.

Reverend Johnny’s eyes saw no more.

"Now looky here. You making yourself at home and whatnot there, Trevvy?"

I am dreaming.

"Of course you dreamin'. Whatchya thinkin'? You don’t belong over there. So I’m sendin' this here special de-liver-ee straight from me to you. Can you hear me now? Hehe."

Fuck off.

"Ah, now, see, that just ain’t very nice of you considerin' how I’m tryin' to be all easy an shit. I could be bendin' your ear telling you how you gone off the reservation, but I’m figurin' you know that. So the question is, Trevor, have you had enough ass yet? You work off that big piece of pissed-off you’ve been carryin' ‘round? You ready to hop the A-train for home?"

They need me here.

"Need you? Wake up ya’ moron! That ain’t your place to be. I told you ‘bout them rules."

I have power here. I can make a difference. The others can get along without me.

"Ahhh, poor Trevvy been feelin' not wanted and all. Boohoo. But let me tell you somethin'; your pals back home are havin' a rough time, things startin' to go squirrelly."

I don’t want to hear from you any more.

"That won’t do Trev. You ain’t supposed to be there."

I’m stuck here.

"We both know that’s bull poop. Maybe you’re just tryin' to fool yourself. Foolin' yourself into thinking you should help these folks. Foolin' yourself into thinking that lil’ blondie is your lost love. Looks like the same model, don’t she? Tell me Trev, is the ride the same?"

Shut up.

"Now I went to a lot of trouble to show you the way home. But you got to do the work, Trev. You know what to do."

Shut up!

Trevor’s eyes opened to an explosion of brilliant light.

"Hey, what’s wrong? What’s wrong?" Came Nina's voice.

As his eyes adjusted to the morning sun blazing in through one of the few windows, so did his mind. He was in the penthouse- his penthouse-at the top of the skyscraper. He had moved up in the world, in more ways than one.

Jolene Crawford strolled into the bedroom from the adjoining bath with damp hair but otherwise dressed for the day while Nina sat at the end of the bed in a white robe.

It came back to him.

Everything.

"Is he okay?"

Nina answered for Trevor. She did so with a sly smile on her lips. "Yeah, sure. I mean, he’s just got to work on his stamina a bit more."

Jolene pondered, "Hmmm…I don't know. He seemed pretty-"

"Don’t you have somewhere to go?"

Trevor’s harsh tone stopped her mid-sentence. Jolene hovered for a moment then slipped her jacket on.

"Yeah. Sure. I got duty in an hour."

I’m done with you. Leave.

"I guess I’ll see you guys around. It was fun."