Mask of Humanity

‘I understand,’ said Kleos after some time, and Nicolai relaxed. Slightly. The head’s words held a similar air as Nicolai’s own, picked with care, mulled over and spoken slowly. ‘I appreciate the apology. I am… glad that you feel better.’

Nicolai couldn’t help but notice that none of these words offered forgiveness, merely recognition that an apology had been made. For a time, Kleos was silent, but Nicolai saw it was thinking, words brewing.

‘Do you wish to speak of it?’ said Kleos at last, and Nicolai knew what the head meant by it.

Nicolai was utterly focused on his mask, trying his best to be the mask, and at this moment something strange happened. His mask couldn’t meet Kleos eyes. His mask hated that the head had seen him lose himself so. Kleos had seen something which he tried always to hide from the world.

‘No,’ he said, his voice thick, and he was no longer sure where he ended and the mask began. ‘I can’t.’

‘Okay,’ said Kleos. Its face shifted, the blankness fading as it frowned at the radio. ‘I hope you don’t intend to listen to that moronic child spewing unoriginal filth all night.’

‘There are multiple channels,’ said Nicolai. ‘Hopefully we can find one that’s more interesting.’ He clicked the radio back on and switched to channel two.

There was music. A little tinny and distorted through the radio’s speakers, but music nonetheless. He didn’t recognise the song.

‘When they saw me down there, I was sayin’, oh yeah! Come on down, get in here, wiggle and jump and hop, hop, yeah!’

‘Oh yeah,’ Nicolai mumbled, tapping his foot, a smile working its way onto his features.

‘And all the gods, they came right down, Zeus, Poisedon, that whole crowd! We were jumping around, we were bumpin’ around, even ol’ Hades, from way outta town!’

‘What is this… sound?’ rasped Kleos, an expression of disgust congealing on its face.

Nicolai shrugged. ‘The music of my people, I suppose,’ he said, smiling still, unable to stop tapping his foot. The happy, energetic nature of the song had found fertile ground in Nicolai, the misery within him reaching for it like a drowning child thrashing for a chunk of floating wood. It had been a long time since he’d been able to listen to music. GRECKON had plucked that privilege decades ago when his apathy had begun degrading mission performance.

The song rolled on and ended with a reasonably enjoyable bang, and a voice cut in after it finished.

‘And that was, uh, it was… Gods and Ladders, by the Olympus Parade. Never heard that one, actually. Not bad though, kinda catchy.’

The voice on the radio held a deep-south-American twang and sounded like it came from a middle aged woman, a bit of a rasp in her voice. Nicolai thought the accent was likely affected or the result of vocal augmentation, since natural accents like that had died out centuries ago. It was common, on modern-day Earth, for people to purchase historical accents from times they liked.

‘Anyways, sun’s headin’ down, and I hope you’ve all had a great day out there. Let’s see, let’s have a look.’ There was a brief pause. ‘The bridges are lookin’ pretty quiet. There’s a new body on one of them. Probably that sniper, not a friendly guy. Uh, yeah, that’s a sniper warning on the bridge, folks, watch out. Someone’s hanging out under the Kill Me tower, oh, he’s waving up at me. Hey, I think that was one of our call-ins!

‘Yeah, I remember him, he said he’d be heading there. He was… uh, actually he was quite rude. Let’s see… I figure it’s about time for a question from one of you! Hit those mic buttons! And there it is, you’re through, who’s this?’

‘Hello, I’m a big fan,’ said a voice Nicolai recognised. It was the woman who’d been trying to convince people to join the Chosen. ‘I would like to ask; how have you gained control over this channel?’

‘Heh, sorry honey, that’s a trade secret! Hey, I recognise your voice, have you been on here before?’

‘Please tell me, it is extremely important. Our message must be heard without interruption.’

‘That’s… I’m sorry. I can’t. I don’t think it’s even possible now, anyway.’

‘I see. To all those listening, join the Chosen. We are the largest group. You will have safety, you will have—‘ the voice cut off.

‘Ah, crap. Oops, sorry, cover your ears kids. I just, god, those guys really pis—oops, fuc—ugh, shi—god damn it! Sorry! They annoy me! I knew I recognised her! Those bloody Chosen! Don’t join the Chosen, they’re psychos. I see their bands rolling over the bridges every day. They’ve killed a lot of people. For those they recruit, they demand your Seed and everything else you have, then you have to work for them, going out and hunting others.

‘Not a good life, believe you me. Some of you might remember, a little while ago we had that ex-Chosen on here, spilling the gory details. Vikrum is completely insane. The guy claims he’s god, and the Chosen are dumb enough to believe it. I mean, well, to be honest I feel quite sorry for a lot of them.’

The radio host’s voice grew a little quieter, more serious, further departing from the up-beat vibe she’d been attempting earlier.

‘I think Vikrum and his inner circle are very good at suckering people in. And once you’re in there, and you’ve given up your Seed, given up everything you managed to scrape together in this hellish place, well, what are you gonna do then? Not a lot of options.’ She sighed.

Nicolai nodded slowly. The radio host struck him as a wise woman.

‘They threatened me the other day, you know, said they were going to find a way to come up here, said they would… well, this is a family-friendly broadcast so I won’t go into details. They tried, too, they’ve found guns, somehow, this past couple of days, and some of them have found a way to fly, but that big bird, well, as many of you have probably seen—it ain’t friendly. But in it’s defence I’ll say that it ain’t biased, neither. Normal people or cultists, whatever, you come flying up or climbing around these towers then it’s gonna get you.

‘Anywhoo, I think it’s about time for another song, and, as always, in case you don’t hear from me again, I wish you all the best of luck. Keep trucking on guys, keep surviving. Please don’t give in to the urge to kill people for Seeds, or food, or anything. I’m sure we can all find another way. Let’s all just work together. Uh, ok, ok, I’m gonna play it for real, here we go.’

Another song began playing but Nicolai barely heard it, sitting back with a frown. He felt… how did he feel? Oh, he felt nothing, as usual. But his mask was still in place and it knew that he ought to feel guilty, was doing its best to simulate that guilt. He knew of a way to feed his Seed without killing other humans. Through the radio, he could share that information. Likely that would save a lot of lives.

But he knew he wasn’t going to do that, at least not yet. There were many weak undead around right now, because Soul Traps weren’t common knowledge. People saw no benefit to killing the undead, so they avoided them. If he told the radio host about Soul Traps, she would spread the knowledge rapidly.

What then? The weaker undead would start to vanish, permanently killed by humans eager to feed their Seeds. He would be left with only the stronger undead to kill, and where others had guns and augments and numbers, he had only his fleshy body, his unreliable mind, a ring for flying, and a few melee weapons.

That wasn’t enough to overcome the skeleton and the mages of the gauntlet, not yet. He felt he could possibly handle one of the patrols if he spent all day at the task, setting traps and such. Which wasn’t truly an option considering the increasing activity he’d been encountering in the living quarters.

On top of that, he wanted to grow strong quickly, he needed to grow strong quickly, and as such he had to use every advantage he could.

The knowledge of Soul Traps was valuable. He could trade it for resources he needed, but only so long as it remained relatively unknown. Better still, if he could finally master the creation of Soul Traps, he could create more and sell them, thus holding onto the knowledge and having a repeat source of income.

By mixing unnecessary fake carvings amidst the proper ones, he could make it very difficult for someone to copy the runes correctly to make their own, especially considering you needed to alter the number or shape of the runes depending on the shape of the item you were carving them onto.

In fact… he could make Soul Traps then advertise them on the radio. No. He shook his head. It was too risky. He was too weak. A group would come to kill him. He frowned, thoughtful. If they weren’t too numerous, he could set a trap. Set up well, he could make some real gains.

Plans and possibilities spun through his mind, and he realised after some time he’d forgotten that he was meant to feel guilty. Once I’ve completed my Seed, then I’ll share the knowledge.

Maybe.

His mind returned to the present, listening to the music on the radio. He’d only had the radio on for a short while but he had learned much. The Chosen were a danger he was glad to be forewarned of. The woman on the radio said they had recently found guns. Perhaps the woman with the sniper had been one of them? And some of them could fly, so they must have killed some of the archers and taken rings for themselves, or found other ways.

There was apparently a giant bird flying around the towers, which he’d yet to see, but it was a warning to be wary of if he felt the need to try and fly up there himself. He’d heard people mention the Kill Me tower a couple of times, an oddly named landmark he was unfamiliar with, but supposedly visible from wherever the woman doing the radio show was, which was a place with a view of the bridges. He’d have to keep an eye out, see if he could spot her. Though if she was wise, she’d keep her head down.

‘This one's a little better,’ said Kleos, wearing a thoughtful expression. The newest song was quite a change from the other. It was classical music, and Nicolai recognised it. Piano Sonata Fourteen by Beethoven, also known as Moonlight.

‘My people used to make similar music,’ Kleos added.

‘Did you listen to music often, before they put you in the jar?’ asked Nicolai, the words coming easily. The radio had calmed him, rejuvenated his mental energy, and he closed his eyes as he listened to the piano. It was a melancholic and thoughtful piece that settled his mind and made him want to be better than he was.

Kleos was silent for a time, listening. ‘No,’ it said at last. ‘No. But I wish I had. It’s easy to forget to actually live your life, in a world like this, driven always by the need to grow stronger. It’s easy to forget yourself. To turn into something you didn’t intend to become.’ Nicolai opened his eyes and saw Kleos was staring at him. ‘Something you should be wary of,’ spoke the head. The music lent a profundity to its words, allowing them to bite deeper than they might normally have.

Nicolai swallowed, frowning at Kleos and feeling oddly on edge, almost as though he were being pressed in a fight, but not in a good way. ‘If I don’t keep fighting and surviving, I’ll just die,’ he said, disliking the defensiveness in his voice, his simulated humanity feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

It looked away from him. ‘I know.’ For a moment it seemed the head might speak again, its face twisting as though considering something. It shot a glance at him and he saw it decide against whatever it had wanted to say.

They didn’t speak again, listening to the music together in the darkening room. It was, Nicolai felt, a relatively comfortable silence, though he recognised that may have been optimistic of him.

The radio host resumed speaking when the song ended. ‘Well, the sun is lower and lower. I’m guessing everyone is in bed by now. I certainly hope so. I’ve seen glimpses of the things that come out at night from up here. Very hard to get a good look at them. Just shapes in the dark. But, yeah, they are… uh, not very nice looking shapes! Anyway, that was piano son-ata fourteen, by the band Beethoven. Interesting name, pretty confident to just call it number fourteen. But hey, it’s a good track! Who needs a good name when you’ve got a good track, right?’

Nicolai felt a minor pulse of rage, his teeth clenching and fingers curling into fists, when the radio host referred to Beethoven as a band and butchered sonata. He calmed himself. It’s not her fault. Humanity had recorded billions upon billions of songs. It was easy to forget the masters when they had lived so long ago.

He hoped she would play some more. Classical music had always been more effective than most other types for calming his mind and unclenching the grip of his madness. He intended to listen to her radio again the next day. Her voice would help ground him, help him improve his pretence of humanity.

‘Now, for those who’ve tuned in for the first time, for those who are out there uncertain about what they ought to be doing come nightfall, here’s the collected knowledge: you want to be in a locked room, or at the very least a well barricaded room. Bigger and stronger the door, the better. Be quiet in the night, and don’t make any lights, if it’s at all possible you’ll be heard or seen.

‘I’ll be leaving the music on overnight, but that is only for folks who are lucky enough to be somewhere a bit more secure, who are confident it won’t be heard by the creeps in the dark. Tune in tomorrow morning when I’ll be going through What We Know About This Place, as always.’

There came a yawn. ‘Yep, it’s bed time for me. Sorry about the other day, by the way, folks, I forgot to plug the solar charger in. This is gonna be what I’m calling the “sleepy time” playlist. I did my best to only put relaxing and happy songs in. I hope you enjoy it! This has bee-een Channel Two Radio, and this is your host, Maxine, signing off! Farewell! Sleep tight! Be safe!’

Maxine. Nicolai would remember the name. The next song was not a classical piece, but it was calming enough. The torch turned off and Nicolai didn’t bother with the fire. He turned the radio down until it was just a whisper, returned Kleos to the jar, and lay down in his nest of blankets with the radio close to his head.

At first he found the music calming, but that soon changed. It clouded his ears which pricked his paranoia. He worried he might miss the sound of the door being broken in.

Nicolai switched it off and the music was gone to be replaced by a faint knocking at the main door, the distant sound of something turning the handle then rattling it, and the formless whispers of the beings outside. It was an unpleasant reminder of his earlier hallucination.

That night he made himself replay the radio hosts words in his mind, conjuring up the tones of a piano alongside them, keeping his thoughts focused on these imaginary sounds until eventually sleep claimed him.