Final Destination - Unknown Location

“Yo, Holt, you’ve got to move the buck bro.” “What are you talking about it’s not ready?” “I know, but the guards are sniffing around I’m telling ya man they’re gonna find it.” “Shit” replies Holt as he looks around the empty walled off recreation yard that consists of only one basketball hoop and a deflated basketball. “Where do you want to take it” says Holt anxiously. “I don’t care where you take it” replies Tig. “I’m not keeping it in my cell no more. It stinks bad!” “Has it started bubbling yet?” “Damn right! It started bubbling yesterday and every time I burp the bag a guard comes sniffing around threatening a lock down and search.” “Ok, be cool. I’ll send somebody to get it today.” Getting frustrated Tig sighs then says “Fine. But if you don’t come get it I’m drinking my share and flushing the rest.” Abruptly Tig turns and walks away calling over his shoulder to Holt as he heads for the door, “I ain’t going to the box for your dumb ass.” After entering the prison Tig lets the heavy metal door slam shut behind him and it creates a loud noise that fills the rec yard then echo’s from wall to wall before dwindling into an eerie silence.

Holt, wearing an orange jump suit runs and kicks the deflated basketball sending it sailing into the fence that looms above the tall concrete walls. The fence ceiling supported by a steel structure connected to the walls casts a shadow onto the ground and onto Holt’s bald head as hundreds of small squares. Feeling more pinned in then ever Holt walks over to one of the walls and leans his back against it. All out of cigarettes he can’t even smoke and as he grows more depressed by the minute he slides down the wall into a sitting position. Trying to figure out what to do with the buck he places his tattooed hands on his head and imagines what the dudes that already paid for the brew would do to him if he didn’t give them any liquor. I knew it was a bad idea to take payments before the buck was done he reminds himself, but he had no choice because he had gambling debts to pay.

Daydreaming about what it is going to be like getting shanked in the back or worse, while in the shower, Holt happens to look up toward the sky. Looking through the holes in the fence he is shocked to see something big hanging in the sky just to the left of the sun. “What the fuck is that” he murmurs to himself aloud as he climbs to his feet. With One hand shielding his eyes from the sun which is high in the azure sky signaling the time is around noon he gazes at the mysterious object. Holt rubs his eyes thinking that he may be smoking too much marijuana then he looks back at the sky. Squinting to see through the holes in the fence to his disbelief he can still make out the object. It’s about a quarter the size of the sun, brownish gray in color and unmoving from his perspective. Is it like nothing he has ever seen before and his mouth drops open as he begins processing the implications of the object.

After staring at it like a crazy man for what seems like eternity Holt takes off one of his tan sandals and throws it at a camera that is positioned in one of the corners. Usually the guards react quickly when the cameras are abused so Holt continues picking his sandal up and hitting the camera with it. After several direct hits no action is taken from the guards and Holt finds this to be very strange. Finally giving up his attempt at signaling the guards he puts his sandal back on his foot. Now thoroughly pissed off he heads for the door to find out what the hell is going on. As he walks a reoccurring thought runs across his mind that keeps asking him was the object there earlier when you first came outside or did it just suddenly appear? As he yanks open the door he is smacked in the face by a blast of cold air and he tells himself no, the object wasn’t there an hour ago or I would have seen it.

The rec yard connects to the rec room which is a large cavernous space filled with red metal tables that have similarly painted benches attached to them. The tables are bolted securely to the concrete floor and mounted on one of the white concrete walls is a small TV that is currently switched off. On the opposite wall on the other side of the room are several phones that allow the prisoners to make collect calls upon entering their D.C. number. There is a small brightly lit walkway that leads to the individual cells of each inmate as well as the shower and the main door leading out of the cell block. High above the red tables near the ceiling a room with glass walls called the control station overlooks the rec room. This is where the guards typically sit monitoring the camera feeds, opening and closing doors remotely, making announcements over the intercom, and even controlling the TV with its remote controller. As Holt walks into the rec room he immediately looks up toward the control station to see why the guards didn’t respond to his misconduct with the camera as they call it.

Holt has been locked inside this prison for a little over a year now slowly building up resentment day by day toward the corrupt systems that put him here. For the first time ever upon looking at the control station he can see no guards. Immediately he makes a connection between the strange behavior of the guards and the mysterious object in the sky. The prisoners are only allowed into the rec room once a day for about two hours and only five of them at a time. Sitting at one of the red tables 4 black men in orange jump suits (Tig being one of them) are engaged in a competitive game of tunk. Because Holt’s crime is violent he was placed in this cell block with other violent offenders, but because Holt is white and his crime was violence against police officers the guards chose to put him in the rec room with known gang members of another race. Holt surprised the guards by not only surviving, but also by getting along well with the other inmates even befriending Tig who taught him much about surviving in this kind of environment.

Holt hurries over to the men and calls out “Where’s the guards?” Holt is ignored as one of the men stands up and shouts “Tunk Nigga.” Then he slams his cards down onto the table showing that he has threes aces and three twos meaning that everyone must pay him double. He grins wildly exposing some gold teeth while the other men grumble about his tunk. They throw him extra poker chips which are not actually poker chips, but old torn playing cards that have been recycled into poker chips. Holt, trying again to get their attention says loudly “listen up, something is going on.” The men finally acknowledging him look in his direction curiously and Tig asks “What is it?” “Where are the damn guards, the guards are gone and there’s something in the sky” shouts Holt. The men dawning confused expressions on their faces look amongst themselves wearily, but Tig is not fazed he just replies calmly “Good, if the guards ain’t around go get the buck and move it somewhere else.” “Fuck the buck” says Holt as he climbs onto one of the other tables and starts jumping up and down on it creating a loud banging noise every time he lands. Tig stands up and looks at him while one of the other men asks him “What are you crazy?” Growing extremely angry because he is losing and doesn’t want the game to end until he recoups some of his losses another man nicknamed J Rock stands up and screams, “They’re gonna lock the pod down mother fucker.” Holt stops jumping and looking into the eyes of J Rock he bellows “They ain’t gonna do shit because they ain’t here.” Pointing to the door leading to the rec yard Holt says “Go look for your self. There’s something in the sky.”

After an awkward moment of silence that involved the men looking at one another then back at Holt Tig finally begins walking toward the door. “Where are you going” calls J Rock. “To look at the sky” says Tig as he continues walking. “What your gonna listen to him” growls J Rock as he sits down and picks up the deck of cards saying loudly “Let’s play!” To J Rock’s dismay the other two card players get up and follow Tig out to the rec yard letting the door slam shut behind them. J Rock stares at Holt with a look of pure hatred as he considers attacking him. Holt, still standing on the table which is also a misconduct is lucky that looks can’t kill and he stares back just as intensely not backing down. “So what is it then” questions J Rock with hostility still looming in his voice. “I don’t know I’ve never seen anything like it” responds Holt as one of the card players opens the door and calls for J Rock to come outside. Highly annoyed J Rock gathers his few remaining chips, gets up, and heads to the door without making further eye contact with Holt who watches him exit the room. Holt hops off the table and runs over to the TV and standing on his tip toes he manages to press the button turning it on. (another misconduct.)

Flashing onto the screen is a pretty young reporter who is about to give an update about the object. Her hair blows in the wind while her shaky hands grasp a microphone. Behind her, the brownish grey object can be clearly seen in the sky along with multiple military helicopters that are flying around in the distance. She begins speaking, “I am Janet Heyworth with N.B.C. news and I’m live in California where we have a clear view of the asteroid scientists are calling Nibiru. You can see that the asteroid has nearly doubled in size since early yesterday morning when it was first spotted by Dr. Noel and his research team at the starlight observatory in Maine.” A picture of the object flashes onto the screen from yesterday and Holt wonders how it could have gone from being so small to being so big that quickly. She continues “The white house has released a memo saying that martial law will not be put into effect and that further rioting will be dealt with using deadly force. The home land security level has been elevated to orange and the White House is advising for everyone to remain in your homes or proceed to your local F.E.M.A. camp. N.A.S.A. scientists are saying we have nothing to fear from the asteroid because its current trajectory and velocity indicate that it will miss earth by approximately ten thousand miles. We go now to the director of operations at N.A.S.A. for his debriefing.”

Tig and the man who tunked come back inside just in time to watch the debriefing from the director of N.A.S.A. because he comes onto the screen just as they arrive. He is an older man with thinning hair and he has on a pair of thick eye glasses. He wears a grey suit that matches his tired grey eyes and he is standing in a classroom in front of a chalk board with advanced mathematics written all over it. A small microphone is attached to his collar and he begins speaking in a sad monotone voice, but his gaze is not directed at the camera. “This asteroid passing so close to earth could be one of the greatest catalysts we have ever received to further advance our space program. It is an excellent reminder to all of us that we are not as safe as we sometimes wish we were, but are in constant danger of bombardment from space debris. As Nibiru passes by Earth putting on a fabulous light display for us.” He pauses for a moment and looks toward the camera then looks away and continues, “We here at N.A.S.A. want to remind you that.” He stops again and stares directly at the camera his expression growing more serious as a tear runs down his cheek. “The asteroid is going to hit earth and you’re all being lied to by.” Suddenly the screen goes black and the words Sorry, we are currently experiencing technical difficulties appears at the bottom of the screen. Holt, Tig, and the other man stare at each other with shocked expressions on their faces as their minds attempt to process the startling information they just received.

Painted black fingernails dragged diagonally across her porcelain skin again, angry red scratchmarks left their trail yet again marring that impeccably pure cheek. And finally dark, thick lashes blinked twice over those icicle blue eyes bringing her back into the present.

The world was going to die and no one knew. No one cared. Or so it seemed. They all had the blinders placed upon them and even worse, they all were staring at a moving and shifting painting just out of their reach; a painting of a blue and green marble paradise rotating in outerspace all peachy keen and all happy-happy, joy-joy. It was all a lie. What a fucking joke. Some time in the near future the world was going to die and no would know anything about it.

Well what about the amateurs and all their thousands and thousands of dollars invested in their hobbies of geekdom and losertude? No, the rich had them taken care of. All the false signals and redirected imagery that the one percenters could buy would keep their lie intact. No one was going to find out. Noah's Ark was about to set sail and only the richest genes were going to make it out to create their own genepool out there, fuck you very much. No one was going to find out and by the time the wool was lifted from everyone's eyes it was going to be too late.

Painted black fingernails continued their diagonal descent, digging ever deeper. By the time those nails reached just neath her jawbone, angry red scratchmarks left welts in their wake. And finally drawn blood. The pain did not phase her. No. It was too late to even bother feeling pain right now. She was numb. But the spark of anger that had been born in her belly had been ignited the flames of something deadly, something unstoppable.

The world was going to die and no one knew. It was coming. And it was going to--

CRASH!!!!

Painted black fingernails had ended its bloody descent at just near her collarbone and had balled into a trembling fist. Like a jagged strike of lightning had that trembling fist driven in a single deliberate motion into the woman or whatever it was supposed to be's reflection in the mirror. A thousand broken images of the same woman, whose diamond blue eyes framed by deliberately smeared and dark make-up, stared back at her. Droplets of blood or whatever it was supposed to be, had splattered across her china doll face, across her cleavage and across her bare shoulders, lit bright red against her ghostly beautiful porcelain skin and white tiled walls behind her. Platinum eyebrows aimed downwards against each other forcing upon those thousand broken images the mother of all scowls.

No one knew?

Fuck that. She knew.

Fuckin' hell she had helped them, taught them how to interface with the giant birds and fly them like they were meshed together since birth. She helped them perfect their escape from the extinction of all life upon Mother Earth. And now here she was, guilt-ridden and trembling with rage, bloodied and feeling sorry for herself all because of a birth defect or whatever it was supposed to be.

Painted black fingernails spread wide. Beneath the blood and gore should have been broken knuckles, torn flesh, exposed bone and even more blood and gore. A humourless laugh scoffed at the sight. Already it was beginning to heal. Birth defect...

Or whatever it was supposed to be. Just what the fuck was she...?

That was why they chose her. She had a knack for controlling things. Some parts of her hair, the paired tendrils, could reach into people and make them do things. And she could heal so much faster than any other human out there. Just what the fuck was she...?

Then they found out she could control machines with the 'just-right-bio-mech-interface.' Then they used her and left her here to die. Why didn't they just kill her?

Because of the bio-mech failsafe programming. She was their little pet project. Birth defect, they told her. Whatever. They did something to her to make her this way and they got into her head to make sure she stayed docile. As much as she wanted to tell, to rid herself of the guilt and frustration, they had got into her head and made it impossible to overcome her failsafe.

The towel, almost as white as her skin pulled from her body, revealling a very finely built and beautifully sculpted frame, goddess-like and almost too symetrical. Almost too perfect. Crimson screamed out from the towel as she wiped her neck, face and hands of blood. Into the tub did she cast away the towel. Turning one way with a slight twist in the hip, then the other, she scanned her powdery white visage. One again impeccable and pure was she. No bloody drag marks across her face yet again. No bloody fist. Ice blue eyes by the thousands stared back at her and found the soul in the woman or whatever she was supposed to be.

No, she could not tell. No, she could not kill any of them.

But she could find them. And take back what was hers. No, actually not hers. But a part of her.

"Mama's coming, baby..." she cooed gently into the air, just above a whisper with a melodic tinge in her voice.

She was going to take back one of those giant birds. The one that was meant for her.

"Just have to make a couple of calls first okay...?" the same melody played along, intertwined in her soothing voice.

Somewhere, a lifetime away, a pilot locked into the helm felt something 'hum' from the sensor array in her paired tendrils. She shrugged and did not log a report. Most ships will give out some 'ghosting' when not properly attuned to the pilot. But that was the first mistake.

One of many to come.

On the glass shelf to her left, painted black fingertips reached out and picked up her mobile phone. After a few taps and swipes, she found her way to the list. The first number she tapped and soon thereafter, she swept some loose platinum locks behind an ear. About a centimeter from her ear she held the device and cringed as the annoying metallic ringing invaded her hearing. Once. Twice. The ringing ended and there was a pause before the other person on the other end of the line greeted her.

"Yeah, it's me. It's Mo. Time to get live."

They programmed her not to kill any of them. But that did not mean that others could not do the job for her.

"Pack up and round up 'the kids.' Time to fuck 'em all up and get the fuck off this rock... yeah, that's right..."

Her voice was calm yet burning with something deadly. Something unstoppable.

"Time to get The Divonna."

Holt runs away from the blank TV and down the corridor leading to the exit door of the cell block. As he passes bored prisoners that are trapped in their cells they yell at him. One of the people he owes liquor to calls for him to come over to their cell, but Holt ignores him and keeps running angering the man. Finally, Holt reaches the exit door crossing one of the yellow lines on the ground they are not allowed to cross and he begins banging on the bulletproof plexiglass part of the steel door that is painted dark blue. He quickly realizes that this is useless and looking through the glass he sees nothing but an empty hallway. Tig and the other man catch up with him and ask what he sees. “Not a god damn thing” replies Holt angrily. “The fucking guards left us here to die.” Tig, pointing to the maintenance room, asks Holt, “Do you think there’s anything in there we can use?” Holt responds “I don’t know, but it's the only door around here we might be able to get open.” The maintenance room door is a normal wooden door painted white that has an electronic door lock with numbers on it that allows the guards to punch in a code unlocking the door.

The three men take turns kicking the door with all their strength until finally it cracks then breaks around the locking mechanism and swings inward. By now the noise has alerted all the prisoners in the cell block that something is going on and they all yell and shout hoping somebody will let them out of their cells. Holt flips on the light in the small maintenance room and is disappointed with what he sees. The walls and ceiling are concrete preventing an escape and it is full of mostly cleaning supplies and toilet paper. There is a cart with some tools on it and Holt opens up a tool box that is sitting on the bottom shelf of the cart. He finds a green blow torch and pulls it out of the tool box saying “Now this might come in handy.” The man who won at tunk nicknamed Gems asks Holt “What are you gonna do with that, weld a hole in the door?” “No” responds Holt quickly, “The door’s too thick and this isn’t big enough for that. I got an idea though follow me.” Tig runs into his open cell and retrieves a lighter from inside his pillow case then he meets up with Holt and Gems in the rec room.

Turning the knob releasing the gas and then setting it on fire with the lighter Holt crawls under one of the tables and begins cutting the bolts keeping it attached to the floor. J rock and the other man come in from outside and all four men stand around watching Holt as he cuts the bolts freeing the red table and its attached benches. “Stack it on top the other tables” he says as he begins working to cut loose another table. Before long the men have stacked three free tables onto two tables still attached to the concrete. Turning the almost empty torch off Holt climbs the tables until he gets to the top and is standing next to the glass leading into the empty control room. Using the back of the torch he hits the glass with all his might, but nothing happens. He continues hitting it repeatedly causing a slight crack to form in the glass, but growing tired he calls down to the men, “Find me something sharp.” Apparently breaking the glass isn’t going to be as easy as he had originally hoped and he drops the torch onto the table and leans against the glass catching his breathe.