The Cube

This story was written as an entry in the 2014 NYCMidnight Short Story Contest. I had 7 days to write a <2,500 word story with the following prompts:

Genre = Fantasy // Subject = Mathematics // Character = Professional Athlete

* * *

I watch Subject 309734 through the foot-thick glass. I’ve named him Bob. It’s easier to remember than a number, though I would be reprimanded if I told anyone this. You aren’t supposed to personify the Subjects. It creates experimental bias.

Bob kneels in the center of his Cube, a ten-by-ten room with white walls and white floors. He wears only a tight blue jumpsuit revealing his muscular physique. His living conditions are identical to all other Subjects. He receives the same food at the same times, thrice per day. He is taken to the excrement room five times per day. He is given the sleeping draught at the same time every evening. Nothing changes, not unless it’s testing day.

I wish I could talk to Bob, let him know how we are a team. But I can’t. I’m an Observer. To him, I’m simply the one who delivers the food.

A green light flashes in sync with a siren inside Bob’s Cube. “Subject 309734, please report to Assessment Arena X,” a gentle voice echoes over the loudspeaker. A hidden door opens in the back wall of Bob’s Cube and a small vial is dispensed through a porthole beside it. Bob drinks the contents of the vial—a potion concocted of unicorn blood, zenith flower root, and dragonfly wings, seasoned with raspberry honey—before walking through the door.

My heart races as I make my way to the observation tower. No one has ever been tested in Arena X. Still, I shouldn’t worry like a father; the potion is clearly working. Bob hasn’t failed in three years. Why would he now? It’s the longest any Subject has ever survived.

I climb the glowing stairs of the tower with increased angst at each step, clenching my clipboard so hard it might break. Finally, I reach the top and swipe my ID badge at the door. It slides open automatically. A crew of Testers has already arrived, along with several other Observers simply here to watch, and—

—I nearly let out a terrified screech.

The Warden. He stands at least a foot taller than anyone else, dressed in shimmering silver robes, accented with deep blue silks. His arms are almost permanently folded across his chest, letting the long sleeves flow down to his feet. But what is He doing here? He has never observed an Assessment, not once. Yet here He is, to see my Bob.

Suddenly, I hear footsteps behind me that tickle my spine like spiders. I hesitantly turn to see, but it’s only Observer John. He smiles at me in his usual way. Unfortunately, my face must betray my terror, because he immediately frowns. “Looks like they’re expecting quite the show today,” Observer John says, nodding toward the observation deck. “Good luck.” He slaps me on the back, finally squishing the spiders.

I build up a mask of confidence and follow my colleague through the door, my eyes averted from The Warden. No one ever looks Him in the eye. Once at my designated podium, I peer into the Assessment Arena. My façade immediately crashes to the floor as I take in the awesome scale of the gauntlet below.

Outside the starting gate is a pit of bubbling purple liquid, most likely some experimental corrosive acid. Beyond that are a series of small holes in the floor, which undoubtedly contain retracted spikes. Even further, is a wheel of flames spinning in a massive maelstrom. These are the only traps I can make out; others are surely hidden throughout the Arena. Near the end, a giant pool of deep water rests before the Triumph Circle. Usually the Triumph Circle contains a podium with a button that signals the finish, but I notice this one does not. My palms feel clammy. Do they expect Bob to fail? I look again and notice an electric fence surrounding the Triumph Circle. I don’t know what it means, but it can’t be good. I wish I could warn Bob.

A buzzer sounds as the entry gate opens in the Arena. Bob walks out and stands on the starting platform.

“Subject 309734,” I announce to the people in the room with me. “Elixir 7-B, once per day. Variable affected:  Cunning.” The Testers scribble down notes.

Another alarm sounds and a timer begins. It’s time for the Assessment.

He accomplishes much of the Arena with relative ease. Observer John cheers with each success, but I won’t be satisfied until Bob is back in his Cube. I look over to The Warden who has a curious left eyebrow raised. 

Finally, Bob is standing beside the giant pool, so close to the end. I can almost see the suspicious gears in his head moving. It’s too tranquil, too peaceful. He always seemed smarter than others, calculating his decisions before acting. I remember my Subject before Bob. He would have simply jumped in and swam to the other side as fast as possible, likely to die along the way. Instead, Bob dips his hand in the water and creates a series of ripples, then steps back. He waits. Within seconds the ripples blend into churning waves and several dark fins break the surface. I can almost see a smile on Bob’s face as he runs and dives over the shark-like creatures. Before his hunters can react, Bob is already climbing out the other side of the pool.

A mirroring smile forms on The Warden’s face.

Suddenly, the floor begins to open up inside the Triumph Circle. A lift rises from below carrying a gargantuan beast. Everyone but The Warden gasps audibly. I feel sweat trickle from my armpits down the sides of my ribcage, and my heart trembles like un-tuned guitar strings. The beast is like nothing I’ve ever seen. Its crimson hide undulates as it lets loose an overpowering roar. Bob looks like a tiny thumbtack before the monster, waiting to be pummeled into the floor.

“This isn’t fair,” I yelp impulsively.

Everyone in the room turns to me. My eyes meet with The Warden’s—jet black with no whites, accentuated by His pale skin. My stomach clenches as if He’s squeezing it with His fist. Maybe He is… Another roar interrupts us.

Down below, I only see Bob’s feet disappear beneath the surface of the water. The beast collapses in after him, displacing a wave that douses the flames on the other side of the Arena. Bob reappears and clambers back toward the Triumph Circle, but the monster bursts up as well. I close my eyes tight. I can’t watch Bob die.

A flash of white pierces my eyelids, followed by an eruption of turbulence and a cry of pain. I force my eyes open and see the Arena hidden in a cloud of steam.

“What happened?” I ask frantically.

Observer John just looks at me, jaw dropped to his belt buckle.

“What happened?” I repeat.

“He… He put one hand in the water… And—”

“He grabbed the electric fence,” The Warden finishes. Everyone turns to Him. “Send a medical officer down there, if you will,” He says to one of the Testers.

We all follow Him down to the Arena floor. The steam begins to clear and I can see a figure lying in the center of the Triumph Circle, unmoving. In the pool, the flesh of the beast simmers and smokes, releasing a fetid odor. I plug my nose and run toward Bob. His clothes have melted off and his skin is burnt black in several areas. I place two fingers on his neck, the primitive pulse check. It’s weak, but I can feel a slow, distant thumping.

“He’s alive,” I whisper.

* * *

Days later, I find myself outside Bob’s Cube. He’s been acting strange since the electrocution. He’s moving his mouth as if to talk, which is useless—The Warden makes all Subjects forget that skill. I take note on my clipboard. It’s not fair. What they did to him… What He did to him. I flip back pages on the clipboard and look at my detailed notes of Bob’s behavior and his Assessments. I was so meticulous, so concerned with his performance and his scores.

I forgot to care about his life.

I let the clipboard clang to the floor and I kick it as hard as I can. It tumbles down the dark hall.

“Unhappy, are we?” a harrowing voice asks from behind me.

Startled, I turn to the sound. The Warden steps out from a shadowy corner, a smirk revealing His grayed piranha teeth.

“W—Warden… Sir, I was just. I—”

“You worry for Subject 309734. This is unnecessary.” He takes another step forward. “I will make him forget. He is no different from the others.”

I stand straighter. “It doesn’t change what You did to him.” A raised eyebrow taunts me to continue. “This is no longer about improving physical attributes and athletics. This is a Coliseum. You are trying to make him fail.”

The Warden casts a disappointed glare down upon me. “This is his purpose. I believe you have lost sight of what we do here. These Subjects are criminals. I take them here, make them forget the past, and turn them into experimental athletes. We are disposing of the spawn of society and learning a great deal in the process. With what we learn we can improve life for the people who matter. They will be stronger, faster, smarter, healthier.”

“I read his entry file. Subject 309734 killed an endangered chimera, but it was to protect his family. He doesn’t deserve this kind of punishment.”

“He does not remember.”

“That’s not the point.”

A long silence does nothing to ease the tension in the air. I can almost feel wires threatening to snap between us.

“What is he doing?” The Warden snaps, breaking the silence.

I spin and look into Bob’s Cube. He’s standing, facing the far wall. He touches fingers to his left forearm. Looking closer, I see that it’s covered in blood. He places his reddened finger against the wall and begins to write.

309734 + 00293—

Suddenly, The Warden is in Bob’s Cube, dragging him away from the wall. He presses a hand firmly against Bob’s face. His fingertips glow blue as they tighten their grasp. Bob arcs his back violently and slips to the floor. It’s over as soon as it began.

The Warden exits the Cube and stops beside me momentarily. “He will not remember. Now get someone to clean this up.”

I want to punch Him, to wring His neck, but instead I just nod. He walks away and leaves me standing, staring at an unconscious Subject 309734 who doesn’t even remember who he is. I look at the numbers on the wall and silently wish he could tell me what he was trying to write.

The next day, I walk to Bob’s Cube as usual.

“You have to see this!” Observer John yells to me from down the hall. He is standing with a crowd of other Observers outside Bob’s Cube.

I push through to the front and place my hands against the glass window.

“That’s not possible,” I murmur. “I watched his memory get destroyed.”

Covering all four walls and the floor is the same configuration of numbers Bob was trying to write yesterday. Hundreds of times, over and over again, the bloody equation is scribbled.

309734 + 00293732 = X

“What does it mean?” Observer John asks. “Do you think it was the electric shock?”

I ignore him, my mind already distracted by the reality of the situation. I look at my badge and flip it over, exposing my ID number. 00293732. “I think he’s trying to tell me something.”

“Is that even allowed?”

“I don’t kno—”

“What’s going on here?” a booming voice erupts from behind. The Warden.

He shoves people aside with his long arms and bursts through Bob’s door. I swear Bob looks at me and winks. Suddenly, I know what I have to do.

I follow The Warden into the Cube.

He already has Bob pinned against a wall. He holds a hand up in the air, fingers glowing blue, ready to strike. I sprint as fast as I can and push Him away. He glares at me, then goes after Bob again. I grab His glowing hand and shove it up against His own face, but He lurches out with His other arm and knocks me backwards. As I fall to the floor I see The Warden’s back arc violently. I hit my head and everything fades to black.

* * *

Everything is finally returning to normal these days. There are, however, a few slight differences.

“Thank you,” I say to the man standing beside me.

“No. Thank you,” he replies. Black burn scars are still visible over his face and arms, but he manages to force a relieved smile.

We watch Subject X through the foot-thick glass. There He kneels, arms folded across his chest, in the center of His Cube, a ten-by-ten room with white walls and white floors. He wears only a tight blue jumpsuit revealing His tall, slender physique. His living conditions are identical to all other Subjects. He receives the same food at the same times, thrice per day. He is taken to the excrement room five times per day. He is given the sleeping draught at the same time every evening. Nothing changes, not unless it’s testing day.

(c) Kade Kessler 2014

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