Virgin desperately seeking help before world ends, T/Th 5:00, tap foot [Graffiti in a bathroom stall, O'Hare International Airport, 4/18/05]
Dick stumbled through the door into cool air and just swayed there for a moment, glad to be out of the punishing sun, glad to have a soft wooden floor under his bare foot. For a moment, just a moment he felt the comfort of being in a place with square corners again. There were no memories in his head to be awakened, no thoughts of any kind but this perfectly simple, perfectly harmless pleasure. He was allowed to revel in it for just a handful of moments.
There were rules that had to be followed. This was a game. Dick's universe had become a sort of game. It had rules.
'No'no, not now,' someone said from below him and it was over. The hunger raced up his spine and into his brain and he swung his head around, sniffing out whatever had made that noise. He stumbled against a table and metal crashed to the floor, bright sounds banging and crashing in staccato rhythm, turned and spun, the silvery grain of the wooden walls captivated him but no, he stepped forward and nearly trod on the very thing he sought.
Rule One: Dick will eat what Dick finds.
In a heap on the floor a nearly-naked man lay curled around one leg of the table, his head in his hands. 'I didn't hear you come in,' he said, a sad, gentle smile in his voice.
Dick didn't understand the words'words as a whole were lost to him. That was less of a rule than a condition of play. It was a relief more than anything. When people spoke to him he knew that they were trying to get his attention, that they were trying to communicate. He felt no frustration when he failed to get the point. There were rules in this world, but no decisions.
Dick sank to his knees. The food in front of him whimpered quietly but didn't try to get away. Dick felt no pangs of conscience. Sometimes food ran and you had to chase it all day, the hunger dogging every footstep, every moment that passed an agony of want. When the food just laid there perfectly still, that was best.
He bent lower, bringing his mouth down toward the glowing energy of the food. It looked a little thready, a little dulled as if this food was already wounded but that made no difference. Dick bared his teeth and aimed for the food's throat.
Stop now. Wait for my command.
The voice did not startle Dick, even though he understood it perfectly. The message was not made of words at all but of pure neural voltage. It slotted into his nervous system like a computer program loading from a disk.
Dick could more easily have stopped a moving bulldozer with his face than he could disobey that command.
Rule Two: Dick obeys the Voice. The Voice is the Voice of the Source. No further explanation is required.
The door opened again and an other came in. A shadow like himself, different in some way that didn't matter. They were one and the same and that meant she was competition for the food. They both played the game. Dick had seen her before but he was incapable of creating new memories and uninterested in connecting any dots. He stayed where he was.
The competitor moved around the tiny room in a flurry of action, faster than Dick could move, much more agile. She picked up something heavy and metallic from a shelf and came at Dick, her hand held high, her weapon ready to smash in his head.
You want to destroy him now? A perfect innocent?The words were not meant for Dick. He ignored them.
The competitor snarled and held her hand in place, ready to bring the weight down on Dick's skull. Dick felt no fear, though he understood what was happening in his own dim way.
Rule Three: Dick and death are old friends.
'He's a killer! A monster with no mind left!'
You have more in common with him than you do with that sick, living thing on the floor. The only difference between you is that our friend here can't be held responsible for his actions.