Free The Acolytes of Crane "Updated Edition" by J. D. Tew

dark.”
     

5
lincoln: paperboy
     
     
    “Prisoner
eight-six-seven-six, stand against the wall, place your hands in the wall
restraints, cross your feet and put your head into the vise.”
    I
place my hands into the wall restraints, and I can feel them dismantling the
energy from my body’s Dieton cells. As the restraints suck the power out of me,
I straighten up and my head enters the vise. The vise grips my head firmly and
aids the restraints in further disabling my power.
    I
cannot help thinking the guard sounds like a goon, as always. He speaks into
his damn communicator. I cannot see him, but I know him by voice. He says,
“Open request for the scumbag prisoner, eight-six-seven-six. Warden is en
route. Guns at the ready. Guards, ready your cannons for turnover.”
    The
guard is apparently pissed off from a week ago, when I bested him. Obviously, I
failed. Now they have a squad to monitor me when the warden visits.
    I
can hear him pacing the corners. Again, I tire of the constant surveillance,
furious at how the hosts treated me, held in this sparse, cruel cell with no
possessions in the world to my name, save for the clothes on my back and a
threadbare mat on the damp floor.
    “Wardens
approaching. Go live! Charge your cannons, men. If he as so much as flexes a muscle,
take him down.” I can hear the hum of the cannons revving up.
    The
clap of space trendy dress shoes and the rustle of a tight suit let me know the
warden is nearing my cell. He is the number one king prick of all the assholes
in this joint. He asks, “Is the prisoner ready?”
    “My
name is Lincoln Royce,” I say, but my ability to speak normally is taken away
by the draining restraints.
    “Did
you say something, prisoner?” the warden asks.
    “I
said, my name is Lincoln, you imbecile.”
    “You
are only a remnant of Lincoln. Why is that so hard for you to compute?”
    “If
that is so, then why am I here? Why can’t you turn me off or destroy me?”
    “You
prisoners think privileged information is a something we offer. Well, it isn’t.
Now, the reason why I am here is that I want to know about the first time you
became acquainted with the multiverse, and who was involved. That is all.”
    “Why
do I care? I am not going anywhere.”
    “It
is simple. If you give me what I want. Maybe we can discuss your release?”
    “From
here?”
    “Hahaha—no,
of course not. We will end your existence. How does that sound?”
    It
sounds good to me. “And all I have to do is tell you about the day I met Zane?”
    “If
that was the first time you learned about the multiverse, then yes. When you
are ready to speak, just speak. We have fitted your room with a recording
device. Talk, and it will activate the recording sequence. I want to know about
the entire day from start to finish. Don’t leave anything out.”
    I
raise my finger to toy with the guards, and they fire a warning blast over the
shoulder of the warden. The plasma collides into the wall next to me, and I
smell the burn of its impact. Punks.
    “Think
about it, prisoner.”
    “My
name is Lincoln!”
    “You
deserted that name a long time ago. Close it up, guard,” the warden says. The
guards initiate their retreat.
    “Pull
back. Keep cannons hot!” the guard shouts. The vault of my cell starts to shut,
and I hear the clap and shuffle of the warden leaving.
    It
is easy for me to locate the file tucked away in my memory. Putting forward a
recollection will be simple. All I have to do is talk. I broke Theodore’s
ceramic flower pot by accident the morning we met. It is the beginning of my
story.
    My
restraints deactivate, and limply, I fall onto the ground. I hate that warden
and the Multiversal Council. I can feel my body recovering power, and because I
would like to get out as soon as possible, I speak:
    “Okay!
I am going to start talking now. My dad and I finished with our paper route a
few hours before he had to work. I slept for an extra hour, so I would not be
groggy all day.