Unhinged

As It Moves Itself

At last, at last, at last.

I can hear Silence.

It buzzes inside my cranium

and the lack of noise is nothing short of terrifying.

It slowly shifts through me,

Robbing me of my remaining senses.

Sight. gone. Ocular windows open but

dead. Touch. Gone. The tingling of deprivation is gone too.

Taste. Gone. The roof of my mouth is empty of taste.

Smell. Gone. And my head fills with a cold

freshness. Like a wave of spiralling

hands, the deadness moves through me,

mixing into my body and killing it slowly

and I decay like a weed free from soil,

And my soul is released into an

endless black void.

Where it, I, lies softly and silently,

Humming faintly with heat and inaudible sound,

But it, I, will not be alone for long.

For I shall take others with me with my mind’s spiralling

wave-hands that move like worms through the smallest cracks in others

and up, up, into their minds where they begin to unhinge as it,

I, covers the internal oval windows in their brains,

So they, too, feel the

buzzing of

complete Silence.

 

And when their soul becomes an it,

them, my own will grasp it softly, hands touching

without sense on either of their, our, souls.

Come with me.

And be free.

At last, you can know what it is to live forever,

At last, you can feel the deistic bliss only reserved for Gods,

At last, you can be sure that there is land

beyond this senseless and tingling wall of Death.

II: Human Carriage

I: Human Carriage

 

Emptiness leaves, replaced by a vague feeling of comfort. For, see, I have inserted things into space. And that leaves me happy.
Six of them, well, five and a child in their mother’s arms – I am even worse at judging a baby’s sex – fill up the space and I climb into the carriage behind the last man to enter.
Here we are.
All full in here. I am happy with this.
So I lock the doors as I do every time.
Can’t have that kid leaping off to his life. That would be backwards.
Oh no!
Can’t have that.
So I lock them tight.
-If you’re comfortable? I say. I speak in short sentences. Like I do every time. Simple. Short. Disconnected. Easy.
-If you’re comfortable? repeat I, just to ask again. But their eyes are still the same. So I give a hollow smile with full cheeks. -Alright. Sit loose. I will leave you now. A few minutes. To tell the Driver to go.
So I leave, just like that. I tell the Driver to go.
Or, I find my way to the Driver. It’s not an easy feat sometimes. He tends to leave empty coke bottles lying around. He seems fond of the stuff.
Only in glass bottles though.
Never plastic ones.
I hear he collects the caps. The metal caps you could cut yourself on. Maybe
his scars on his knuckles are there for a reason?
Because obsession is painful. Right?

Still.
I steal my way through the forest of upwards snouts.
Bottles, three here, five over there, all huddled like penguins.
Or… sardines, I suppose.
Hah!
What.
-Evening, I say to our Driver.
-Awright? he says to me. Not drinking a coke. Surprisingly. Maybe he doesn’t need the sugar boost just yet.
-Alright? I say back. I didn’t mean to.
He has a smile, just a little few seconds of a smile to ease me. He’s been around me long enough to
know my foibles. Know what I can be like sometimes. Echoing things. Screaming things. Repeating things. Copying things.
-Awright? he says again, but I keep mute this time.
Don’t want to make a fool
of myself.
Do I?
-We off? he says.
I tell him, -Yes. Everyone’s on. Settled. Sat. Comfortable.
-Everyone’s fine.
-Yeh. ‘Kay. Go sit. I’m moving.
-Alright, I look around as he swings to face the forwards direction. I don’t know how he Drives the train.
I suppose he presses forward.
I stare on the floor, at all the empty bottles, I ask if I can take one.
-Go mad.
Does he mean it literally?
I do not ask, merely pluck one off the floor. By the neck.
I don’t want to touch what has the Driver’s spit on it.
-I’ll sit.
-Yeh.
-Okay.
I leave him. No matter how awkward the conversation sounds-
or ‘convo’ as he’d say-
I never really come away rolling my eyes at myself.

So I find my way to my own seat with the bottle.
I want to wipe the opening. Quite
badly.
I don’t want to know where it’s been.
Really.
It might be dusty. But.
There isn’t much to wipe the snout with here.
So I have to use my glove. Very disgusting, especially when I imagine it all.
Oh.
No.

I rest the bottle between my knees and look over my shoulder. I cannot see the people.
There is a wall between us.
But somehow, looking their way is a comfort. For some reason.
I look their way. Are they alright?
My people?
My six?
My five and a child? They’re alright?
They’re awright?
I look back to the bottle. Just resting there as the train begins to shift a little. Like a living thing. It shrugs this way… and that way… before picking up speed it never seems to possess.
To me, to the me who has ridden the train the amount of times as unbent metal bottle tops in the world, it shouldn’t be surprising – should it – the speed the train has. But it is, every time it is.
Just starts off so slow… so slow indeed.
But then.
Two seconds.
Sixty- seventy- eighty!
Fairly skipping along the sleepers.
At least, I think there are sleepers.
On this track?
I actually cannot remember.
But.
Not important.
We are skipping though. And I look at my bottle for a few minutes.
Look at its emptiness.
I should do something about that.

I: Human Carriage

Always several unreal things cross my mind when I encounter empty things.
Be them… muraled bottles… or cans…
Theatres… cars… terminals…
Train carriages? Train cars?
We tend to call this type of thing a carriage. Though it is, technically, a car. Not a carriage.
But everyone calls them carriages.
Just makes it… easier. Carriages carry. Except
they don’t when they’re empty.
Do they?

That is what I mean. Unreal things – like the unrealness of the whispers of people who have sat there and who will – cross my mind when I encounter empty things. I have great desires to fill the space.
But that’s another thing, I can fill this space. In this carriage, I can fill it.
Make the collateral whispers into screams as physicalities take form.
And I can serve them their lukewarm waters, point them in the direction of the on-board shoddy bathroom.
While they wait and stew in the Human Carriage.
Because! -you see, you see!
I am the Human Carriage Maestro.
They bow by my hand, holding the unprestigious door open for them.
I guide them with a flourish of gloved fingers to their direction of seat.
And I tell them to have a pleasant trip.

I get the most gruesome duty of all though, too, which is picking up after the people. And that’s less mundane than it sounds, especially once you consider the emptiness. Because the carriage can be full but the emptiness can be more vivid than ever at that point too.
The contrast, see. So difficult to see through. It’s like a fog.
But.
But! Come and view my Human Carriage. Look at the colours if you’d like, the red
handles on the doors. I re-painted them with my own hand the other week.
And the paint’s already flaking.
Dreadful shame.
Did I just waste
my
time?

Well. That answer looks to be a stout but firm yes from the audience. The crowd. The gameshow contestant. None of which exist anyway. But. Either way.
Leave the handles here, the red will flake off on my gloves if I should touch them anymore.
God.
I’ll touch them up when I stop being depressed about how I wasted my time.
But with better paint.
Certainly, definitely, better paint.
I sigh as I walk.

Rounding the edge of the platform – or rather, going through the rusted chainlink fence to the corner and leaping off with a little shriek of enjoyment on my part – I begin to notice the breathy huddle I have come to be familiar with.
They’re mostly the same this season. About five to eight potential passengers, always huddled together like sardines. Or is it penguins that huddle?
Both perhaps. One in the ocean. The other, terra firma.
Before I make my prescence known – they’re slightly raised above where I stand, they’re on the first, second, third and fourth steps up to the platform real, whilst I am beside it near all the nettles and mulberries and goarses – I have a quick look at them all.
Mother and child, that’s two of the six I have this eve.
Then we have two men, wearing similar shirts.
But they’re standing apart from each other. Either they are strangers – probably – or they are…
Enemies?
Possibly.
Both in sort of pinkish-red plaid. I’m not sure I like it.
Who are the others, a young man – not in plaid – with sandy hair. And a girl.
Who seems to have a suspicious moustache-like thing. Dark hair.
She looks very odd. I cannot take my eyes off her lip. Her upper lip.
Very strange.
But nevertheless! These people are my people for now. All mine.
And soon they’ll be my carriage’s people.
And I’ll be their Maestro.
I do love being the Maestro.
Despite the cleaning up after them.

I know already these people have been briefed for the journey. Not too long, at least, they won’t know it is. For me, the journey seems to lengthen each time.
Or sometimes it shortens… maybe sometimes I get used to it and sometimes I am tired.
But for them it lasts no longer than half an hour to forty-five minutes. Usually.
Well. It depends how quickly they all go. Or how quickly I get around them all.
After all.
I am their Maestro.

I make myself known to the stupendous six, adding myself into their midst to bring the total headcount to seven.
If the child can be counted as a head. It’s very small.
Six months? Less? More? I’ve never been good at estimating age with babies.
Or did I call it a child?
It matters not.
I sidle up to them either way, pulling at my wrists. Where my gloves come down.
The white palms so pure.
But slightly stained with palm-sweat of the months.
Very much in my size.

I draw their gazes with a slight –ahem and by throwing my arms wide.
Six pairs of eyes on me.
I am their Maestro.
-Good evening.
-I am your Maestro for the next few hours.
I offer them a bow, very sleek and elegant. As I return their transfixed gazes slowly, I see how they all possess the same watery-looking sleep in the corners of their eyes. All breathing slowly, all calm, all with hair slightly out of place.
I smile, -Welcome to the Human Carriage. We are set to board. So. Do follow me, say I, before turning with yet more intense flourishes. I hop-skip-jump up the stairs, landing on my toes, all too happy to lead yet another group into my carriages.
It’ll be nice to take the journey again, I always think that.
Even if it does become lonely after a little while.
After about half an hour to forty-five minutes.

 

II: Human Carriage

 

Skullplay

Could I

collect up the

remnants of

perhaps

a few scattered

and empty shells

of animal

existance and

by sheer and

frightnening luck

have some rope or string

either will do

nearby?

But why

but why

you’d like to know?

Here’s why.

I would

with the string,

attach each skull I discover

on my short treks out

into the

cold

and

frosty winterness

maybe a hare’s skull

complete with teeth

or a crow’s beak

with plucked feather

still stuck to the carrion?

into a long

and stony

bony

rope.

With each interval of

admittedly rotting

bone, it would feel marvelous

absolutely

to have them concealed for a time

not too long

just enough so don’t become…

uncomfortable

up inside myself.

Each skull

scratching away with its

rotting canine teeth or

even

a beak?

at my colon. But don’t

make too much

fuss. After all

they’ll be tugged out after a little while.

To bring me to ecstasy.

As if at pistol-point.

And I’ll shriek my way through hell and back.

With the blood and the leaking.

And the bodily cursing.

As my eyes water.

As my lungs contract.

As my stomach turns over.

And I pull them out.

Each skull

readily

ruined but

completely

fulfilled in its

their

job.

And next time

when I’m more

aware

of my ablutions

I’ll keep the child-skulls.

I’ll keep them.

Clean.

Gather more rope.

And enjoy myself

once more

just entirely once more

despite the blood

they have less teeth

again.

I Told Him

I told him. Didn’t I tell him. You know. Of how it would be. Not how it was. I swear I told him. I might’ve told him. I’m sure I told him. Though if I didn’t tell him I’ll… no, I told him, I told him.

 

Sitting next to me, he clutched at his knees while muttering. Thoughts like a merry-go-round, but less a merry- than a confusion-. Muddle. Muddle-go-round. I mentioned it to him, though he didn’t actually respond. Just kept on sitting on my pillow. As he did. All the time. I said this too. I told him how it annoyed me now, but he was too occupied to move. So I moved. Rooms.

Because of the way it’s laid out, his room wasn’t more than a few steps down the way from mine. Same look, of course. The white grime on the walls. I just wanted some sleep and I couldn’t very well sleep with thighs on my pillow. I lay on his, looking at the white grime. The walls weren’t white by origin. Cream paint thinly over cinder blocks. Cinder blocks that seemed to trap cold air between them, so lying with your back to them was the only way to preserve any body heat. You had to curl into a ball with your hands between your legs some nights, just to keep circulation. It was harder to do on his bed. I’d worked myself a little rut-hole in mine, the mattress suited my shape now.

 

If only he’d get off my pillow.

 

I stood again and moved back to my room. I was going to sleep on my bed tonight. It’d been two days. And they didn’t care if people swapped rooms. They only cared that there was one person per room. They’d do a little walk around, not really caring to notice if the room number matched the person in it’s number. As long as it was one per room, and all rooms were occupied.

So I stood in front of him.

 

It wasn’t me, it was him, I told him. But he didn’t listen. Not my fault. Not my fault.

 

Crazy words. Still going round and round. Yoyo head now. Because with each syllable his head was going down, then up, then down, then up again. I told him to move. I liked him. But not enough.

 

Can you move?

 

What, why. I’m not done. That’s what I said. I’m done. I’m completely done. I told him, I swear. But he didn’t listen. I just… did it. I said I would. I told him I was done.

 

Can you. Move? Now. I want to sleep. I want to sleep now.

 

Oh, God.

 

He wasn’t about to move. For anyone. So I walked out of my room again. Not defeated, just thinking. I was about three storeys up. One below me, another below that, then the ground a long way down from that. If you walk out any of these rooms you see the big space they can look down and watch. Communal area, for walking around, policed from above and the sides. It was a bit calming to watch how far I was above everything else. If I looked up I could see the floor above mine, then the ceiling. Complete with cream-painted metal beams. To support the ceiling. All metal. One barred skylight. Nothing in particular. To stop anyone breaking it, I suppose.

I tapped my fingernails on the bars I was leaning against. I wanted to sleep. Every muscle was telling me to sleep now. I could try to sleep in his room but it was too cold. And the bed didn’t fit me. At all. And I could try to wait until he left but I was already annoyed. I wanted a few minutes on my own before they’d come and lock the doors.

 

I walked back in.

 

Can you get out please. I want to sleep.

 

Can you get out, I’m not done.

 

Yeah well. I’m done.

 

So I grabbed his shoulders. Stepped back and pulled him up. Or tried that but his knees were still bent and he fell on to his side on the floor as I let him go. But he offered no resistance. Probably a little surprised his friend was forcing him out the room.

 

I told you, I wanted to sleep.

 

No but I.

 

I wasn’t really listening. I just took his arm again, but this time he got to his feet. Muscle was there now, he was something. That was okay. I didn’t mind. I was still angrier. I walked backwards with him near me, hands pushing weakly at me. Not wanting a fight to start. But still.

I got him out my room, and went to push him back into his, a few steps away. He kept pushing at me. Palms on my chest. It wasn’t really okay, I didn’t really like it. I shook my head at him, told him again to leave me alone in my room. Not to come in again.

 

But it’s my room.

 

No, that’s your room. Behind you.

 

That’s not my room. That was my room.

 

So I pushed him again. To make him let go of me, which he did. And I moved and he followed me, keeping his hands up to push me. But I pushed him again from a different angle. And he didn’t try to push me anymore.

 

I went back to my room. To prove myself, I sat on my pillow, where he’d been sitting. I could already hear something happening from beyond my cinderblock walls but I didn’t mind now. I had my pillow and my bed back. All that off-white. My pillow. Sort of lilac but not quite. Lilac that was ill and pale.

I felt my own head spin for a minute. Put it down to sleeplessness. He’d been in my room for fifteen minutes before I’d got him out now. Very irritating.

 

I folded my knees up to my chest to keep out the cold as I rested my thighs on my pillow. Picked at a loose thread on my trouser knee. It came off. Left a slight hole.

 

Oi.

 

I looked up. Someone standing there in my way, in the way of my thinking. I kept my hands on my knees calmly.

 

I saw what you just did. C’mon. Up. Off the bed. It’s not yours. Anymore. Not now you did that.

 

I blinked a little. Dressed like me, was he, the man in front of me. I opened my mouth.

 

I told him. Didn’t I tell him. You know. Of how it would be. Not how it was. I swear I told him. I might’ve told him. I’m sure I told him. Though if I didn’t tell him I’ll… no, I told him, I told him.

V: Suicide Room

IV: Suicide Room

 

Disclaimer:

This file is not a pre-approved Suicide Room Case. However, it has become available to the public. It was discovered, and has been encrypted in such a way that hacking attempts have only managed to reveal unwilling words that do not work within any context. It is clearly a well-hidden file.

It has been released to the public under these conditions:
1) The main goal of releasing this file to the public is to recruit a larger number of people who could potentially figure out what it inside the document.
2) The contents of the document may not be used publicly until pre-approved by the Suicide Room.
3) Any readable and understandable contents of this document, if discovered, are to be reported immediately.
4) Any contents found unreported will be met with stern punishment.
5) Any names or assigned numbers within the document will be thoroughly investigated upon report and discovery.

To attempt to read the document, please select it below:

ENCRYPTED_DOCUMENT

Your co-operation on this endeavour is appreciated.

 

 

Hint: Pay special attention to the words used in III: Suicide Room

IV: Suicide Room

III: Suicide Room

 

A series of memorable cases from the Suicide Room. All information included in these documents is shown only for the purpose of exposing the weakness of the human mind. Together, with the right technology and purpose, we can overcome these weaknesses and create barriers to stop the impulses taking over. Together, we can create superhumans, immune to persuasion, obedience and oppression. But we can only do this with subjects willing to submit themselves to the Suicide Room. Through failure we will succeed. Through death we will live. Through the weakness of others we will strengthen ourselves.

 

–Case File 0103, Subject 0103–
–Pressuriser: 0071, Male, Experienced
–Status: Completed – Failure – Moderately soon suicide through a combination of drugs and self-amputation. Death caused by blood loss and shock.
–Case eligible for public viewing. All information contained within this document has been recorded for the purposes of scientific curiosity and for the sake of furthering the human race. All information was logged from physiological, audio and visual aids, plus the memory of Pressuriser 0071.

–Open Case–

During the initial meeting and setup of Subject 0103’s visit to the Suicide Room, several important discussions were recorded. Subject 0103, a young female, expressed the urge, which she has reportedly felt since she was a child, to become an amputee, or to amputate one or more of her limbs. She made the distinction between acrotomophilia and apotemnophilia – acrotomophilia is the sexual interest in amputees, and apotemnophilia is the interest in becoming an amputee, which may be linked to a deep spiritual or sexual desire. Subject 0103 made it clear she has never been sexually attracted to amputees, but that she has, since a young age, wanted to have at least one of her limbs amputated. She expressed a desire to remove, or have removed, her left arm from the elbow down.

Because of this desire, which, from society’s point of view, is often seen as eccentric, odd or perverse, this has brought on a strong depression for Subject 0103, as she feels cast out from the norms of society, due to the reactions she fears she will receive upon revealing her spiritual and human desire.

Because of the environment, she expressed she felt both comforted by the absence of judgemental stares, but also intimidated by the process of interviewing for a eligibility into the Suicide Room. The latter point has been raised both by potential subjects and indeed one Pressuriser, though the absence of people and use of communication directed towards the potential subjects is too precious to risk changing.

Once Subject 0103 became more comfortable speaking, knowing her information would remain anonymous and only used for scientific exploration and purpose, she opened up further.

Because of her depression, she had tried twice previously to remove her left arm, as a desperate attempt to experience happiness. These failed and foiled attempts have only made her desire stronger to achieve her goal. However, she is rarely left alone, always having a family member whom she resents near to her, so she has not tried for a third time. She also spoke of how she gets periods where her urges are so strong she considers running away, and urges where she is so low she contemplates suicide because she knows she is not happy.

Subject 0103 did seem reluctant when she arrived for the first time, as cameras captured her behaviour. She was reluctant to move, always glancing around for an escape should she change her mind. This sort of behaviour is very interesting, and always looked for when considering who should be a Subject in the Suicide Room.

Subject 0103 was chosen as she displayed several traits. She showed and expressed desire to end her own life, though her drifting and reluctant behaviour throughout the initial stages of setup provided a crucial contrast that is rare to find in those who come. Often, it is those who are definitely going to commit suicide who want to take part in the Suicide Room. Perhaps this is a way of abstaining from a guilty feeling; although they are leaving their family behind without warning, they are instead contributing to science.

Subject 0103 was not at this stage yet, so was selected relatively quickly to take part in the Suicide Room. She was assigned Pressuriser 0071. Usually, male pressurisers are not assigned to female subjects, as the male pressurisers display aggression more obviously than the female pressurisers. However, all female pressurisers were inconvenienced at the time, so Pressuriser 0071 was selected. Unfortunately, he presents a stark contrast to the 17-year-old Subject 0103, and this was taken into account when the data was analysed. However, after statistical tests and comparisons with other Suicide Room cases, Case 0103 was cleared as useful, and it was ruled Pressuriser 0071 would meet with her.

Precautions were taken immediately after clearing the case, and it was marked as a very possible potential failure. This girl fit all the criteria for wanting to end her life already, and the addition of the atmosphere and freedom from judgement, the law, or treatment offered would certainly do the opposite of deterring her from that conclusion. Pressuriser 0071 theorised it would not be hard to get Subject 0103 to take her own life. In his eager way, he only half-jokingly mentioned a bet when talking about the case. However, the bet was turned down, as it was believed she would almost-certainly take her own life.

Subject 0103 arrived three hours ahead of her scheduled time, which meant she had to sit and wait. Usually, subjects are merely kept an eye on, but Pressuriser 0223 happened to pass her an hour and forty-five minutes into Subject 0103’s waiting time. Pressuriser 0223 stopped to perceive the subject, but did not talk to her. However, after she had moved on past, and returned to her routine, she did note down her thoughts on what Subject 0103 looked like. This is second nature to her at this stage, as one of her strength is reading a person and remembering what she felt they meant as a whole. Although her notes were never officially turned in to be recorded, they were found and, as they are beneficial, will be recorded for scientific and memory purposes.

Pressuriser 0223’s Notes (written simply on a single sheet of notepaper found in the laboratory)

– Girl didn’t seem to have the look of finality around her. Simply by sitting where she was, she should have known she was almost certainly going to die, given the stigma around the SR [Suicide Room].
– Girl’s eyes were clear, no sign of tears or of crying.
– Posture suggests she’s been there a while.
– Compared to my memory of other subjects, she is alert. Not gazing into the middle distance or trying to block out the world.

Pressuriser 0223’s notes, while short and hardly relevant, as she has not received any information on Subject 0103, do raise interesting points about the subject. Perhaps it is beneficial that Pressuriser 0223 passed the subject and noticed what she was doing before she entered the Suicide Room, as subjects’ behaviour usually goes unrecorded outside, as most subjects present the same actions.

This information was passed onto Pressuriser 0071 who came to a potential conclusion that the subject was so calm and prepared because “she will possibly be able to fulfil her wish of removing her left arm”. As such, he took the hour before he was due to enter the Suicide Room to mentally prepare himself for the sights of bodily mutilation.

 

–Transcript–

This transcript captures the events leading up to, but prior to, Subject 0103’s decision. Throughout she was aware of the consequences of agreeing to be a part of the Suicide Room research, and, although withdrawal was impossible at this point, her permission and consent were given multiple times through the debriefing sessions.

While in the room, Subject 0103 showed the same calm demeanour she displayed outside.

[…]
0103 – Will I get to do it?

0071 – By ‘it’ I will assume you are talking about multiple things. If you refer to your apotemnophilic tendencies, then you are certainly not exempt from that. If you refer to suicide, you are certainly not exempt from that either.

0103 – You know what I meant?

0071 – It is my job to know.
[At this point, Pressuriser 0071 was informed via earpiece to heighten intimidation techniques. The Suicide Room is not a counselling suite.]

0071 – How did you develop apotemnophilia? Have you had it as long as your can remember, or was your perversion triggered somehow?

[Subject 0103 appears surprised by Pressuriser 0071’s questions]
0103 – I can’t rem–

0071 – I would assume, given that you’ve been shunned over this by people you should love, that it’s from birth. I will also theorise that your younger self, unable to control what she said as most children are, made it startlingly obvious at some point, either by trying to carry out your deep-set wish or by becoming obsessed with it, or with perhaps other amputees you knew.

0103 – I can’t remember. But…

0071 – You can’t be left alone anymore.

[Subject 0103 does not respond for a while, and simply looks at the pressuriser]

0103 – I… my mum didn’t want me to try again. She didn’t let me–

0071 – “didn’t”? She “didn’t” let you?

0103 – Yeah. No. No… doesn’t. She doesn’t let me… be on my own.

0071 – Don’t treat it like a mistake. A Freudian slip, maybe, but certainly no mistake. What makes you say didn’t, what makes you speak about your own mother in the past tense, a women we know to still be alive and connected to you?

0103 – She’s not–

[Pressuriser 0071 lowers his tone. On the cameras, it is clear his head tilts to the side as his voice softens.]
0071
– You know your connection with her is broken, don’t you? Just like you want it.

0103 – Yes, but… She’s… I hate her anyway so… I know. I’m free like this. Well, sort of. I mean, I’m not going to see her again, and it doesn’t matter, I’ll go.

0071 – You’re here. You’ve already gone.

0103 – That’s…

0071 – That’s not what you mean, is it? You might have thought about going, about leaving, at some point. You could have run away. But you never tried, because so many people were looking and watching you at all times. But yet, you managed to get here on your own, but you never managed to run away. Because, by “go” you don’t mean, flee to somewhere geographically different, do you?

[At this point, Pressuriser 0071 is urged via earpieace to have her make the final recorded consent. This is usually received before further verbal interaction within the room, but Subject 0103 began talking instantly.]

0103 – Obviously.

[Part approved to be cut by three separate parties. Contained Pressuriser 0071 becoming increasingly stronger with his points and Subject 0103 gradually becoming less and less positive.]

0071 – This is what you meant by “didn’t”, clearly. You arrived here on your own, twice. And this time, you haven’t the foresight to go further after your visit today.

[Subject 0103 doesn’t respond. She is looking at her hands, though she has not yet shown the common symptoms of anxiety. As Pressuriser 0223 said, she is calm, accepting.]

0071 – You are aware of the aims of the Suicide Room and have consented willingly. Your final decision can be made at any time, and any wishes directly regarding it will be followed through. You have stated your preferred method of suicide is by ingesting quantities of paracetamol over a period of time. This has been already provided and is in this room with us. You will find it below the table, available for your use whenever, and if ever, you decide to use it. However, if a different method is favoured, it can be arranged. This information has all been provided to us willingly by you and is all correct.

[Subject 0103 looks at him surprised. She soon returns to a look of dull calmness however]

0103 – Yes… can I… can I do it now? Can I just… I just want to…

0071  – Is this the opportunity or an urge that’s led you to have just made your final decision?

0103 – Both, possibly. I can’t wait anymore, you’re right. Can I just… do it, finally.

0071 – Amputation or suicide?

0103 – Both, possibly.

0071 – Beneath the table, you will find the tools with which you can carry this out. As requested, there is numbing agent, rope, painkillers and a straight-bladed motorised saw which has been sterilised for your personal use. All of these materials you requested, and every effort has been made to match your descriptions with the products. You may proceed with your final decision however you deem suitable. Should you survive the process–

0103 – I don’t think I want to. Survive, I mean. I’ve been ready for this for ever.

0071 – Should you survive the amputation process you can walk out, or continue with your final decision in another way. However, I will still be present, even if you do survive. Everything you have experienced with me will still continue.

0103 – Okay. Okay.
[Subject 0103 visibly takes a breath, before reaching beneath the table]

-Transcript Ends-

 

The following scenes are best recorded from Pressuriser 0071’s memory. As he recalls, the subject did not move from her position at the table. She first took the painkillers before tying the rope around her upper left arm. Pressuriser 0071 notes how fluidly she moved while performing these actions. He theorises she’s either practised or is well-read on the subject of self-amputation.

She next applied the numbing agent, spreading it around her elbow, just above and below it. While she waited for the agent to work, she traced a line around the bottom of her upper arm, mentally working out where she should cut.

She began to stare into the middle distance. According to Pressuriser 0223’s notes, often the very broken do that either while waiting for their time in the Suicide Room to begin, or while they wait for the applied method of death to work for them. She says that, when this happens, subjects do one of two things. Either they recall all their life, think of who they will be leaving, but often have no regrets leaving them. Or, they experience nothingness, only a calmness, such as the feeling when drowning. Pressuriser 0071 could not tell which category she fell into, though suspected it was the first one.

Finally, she picked up the saw. Pressuriser 0071 admits that this is the point he was dreading. However, as he is a highly trained and highly experienced Pressuriser, he remained deadpanned both in expression and emotion.

Subject 0103 expressed her discomfort very soon after she started up the saw. As the teeth got through into her flesh, pulling out fragments of muscle, she realised the numbing agent wouldn’t take away the deepest pain. She let the handle go slightly, and the saw fell, slicing her skin further. She gripped her arm and screamed.

Pressuriser 0071, all the while, kept his stern gaze on her, his hands clasped on the table, cuffs of his shirt being dyed a dark red. She met his eyes after a few minutes. Searching for direction or comfort, perhaps. However, she got neither, but she pushed herself on to continue, desire and futility getting the better of her. She placed her arm back on the table and carried on, the hand holding the saw shaking.

She became more serious when the got to the bone, knowing her arm was too ruined to be saved. Pressuriser 0071 says he saw her tears stop and she pressed on, still making vocal her pain but refusing to cry. Because of the adrenaline, she had the strength to push through the bone. However, because she was removing her left arm through sheer force, she was losing blood fast. It began pooling on the floor, rippling with every slam of her feet on the floor to try and redirect her senses. Her limp left hand was stretched out. A single drop of blood rolled down from the tip of her pinky and ran into the crease of her hand.

It wasn’t long before her right hand let the saw fall to the floor, and her left arm turned over freely, separated from her body. She sat back, expressing nothing, no pain, possibly because adrenaline had taken effect. At this point, her heart rate was slowing down. Pressuriser 0071, who still had not changed his position or expression, felt his heart racing. The shock was getting to him.

Before his eyes, Subject 0103 raised her messy left arm. In hers, he saw a glimmer, and the corners of her mouth turned upwards. But that only lasted a second before her head fell back, her arm collapsed to her side again and her eyes closed. Blood pumped from the stump of her arm onto the floor.

At this point, she had not died. She had merely lost consciousness due to lack of blood and from shock. However, by the time Pressuriser 0071 had readied himself, stood up and moved to check her pulse, she was gone. As usual, he stayed in the room alone with her corpse for ten minutes, just to be sure nothing else was wrong.

In the end, Subject 0103 did carry out the wish she had held for the longest time. However, this wish, this desire, something she could never deny cost her dearly, and caused her to feel isolated to the point of depression. She became weak, and succumbed to the basic human desperate response within the Suicide Room.

 

–End results: Subject 0103 failed. The results gained from her visit to the Suicide Room are certainly useful. Pressuriser 0071 reports that Subject 0103 really shook him. This has raised several questions regarding him within the process itself. In the end, Subject 0103 benefited to furthering the understanding of desire and suicide.

III: Suicide Room

II: Suicide Room

 

A series of memorable cases from the Suicide Room. All information included in these documents is shown only for the purpose of exposing the weakness of the human mind. Together, with the right technology and purpose, we can overcome these weaknesses and create barriers to stop the impulses taking over. Together, we can create superhumans, immune to persuasion, obedience and oppression. But we can only do this with subjects willing to submit themselves to the Suicide Room. Through failure we will succeed. Through death we will live. Through the weakness of others we will strengthen ourselves.

–Case File R3,0223, Review–
-Review Type:
Pressuriser
-Pressuriser:
0223
-Review eligible for public viewing.  All information contained within this document has been recorded for the purposes of employment and redistribution. All information is accurate and there are no falsified statements. Everything said by the employee in this record is what was said at the time of note.
–ATTENTION: Case R3, 0223 became corrupted. No backup review was written, as information can still be understood and interpreted from the data recovered in this file.

-Open Review-

Environment: This review was recorded inside the Suicide Room. This is territory every pressuriser is familiar with, and this is no exception with Pressuriser 0223. She was instructed to sit at the table, but in the seat usually reserved for subjects. All cameras and lighting in the room focus on the seat, and microphones are stationed regularly within the walls to pick up on all sounds. From here, her answers to questions concerning her review were seen and recorded. Every question and statement she needed to see were transported to her electronically via a small tablet device placed on the table. There was nothing else in the room with Pressuriser 0223 apart from all objects mentioned. Pressuriser 0223 is also able to request ejection from the review, should she not wish it to carry on. This is a last-resort request, however, and is often taken well within the process of reviews of Suicide Room pressurisers. This is standard procedure for all employees and is, of course, for Pressuriser 0223.

Pressuriser 0223 seemed calm upon entering the Suicide Room and seating herself at the table opposite the tablet. She sat formally, placing her hands on the table, the tips of her fingers touching. Very subtly, she began to take in her surroundings. Only her eyes moved, this indicated only the twitching of her eyelids.

She had been instructed to state when she is ready for her review to begin. After she has examined her immediate surroundings visually, she straightens the cuffs of her shirt, before returning her hands to their original position. She takes a few more seconds, simply sitting still, possibly composing herself. Whatever her preparation methods, they are hidden to any camera or microphone in the room.

She raises her head slightly, and looks at the tablet, “Begin,” she says, “I’m ready.”

 

-Questioning Begins-

Your time working with the Suicide Room has been described directly, by yourself, Pressuriser 0223, as “horrific exhilaration”. Would you please elaborate on this, including specifics and referring to any case which seems appropriate?

“Horrific exhilaration”, as a phrase itself, is probably meaningless. Anything can be described as such, provided it fits the personal response. What I mean by “horrific exhilaration” is that not the exhilaration itself is horrific. I mean that the horror I experience, the horror that I see first-hand, is exhilarating. You can see pain every day, perhaps even violent death. Death is not the horrific part. It’s the fragility, the fragmentation of the human… soul… for want of a better word. I might be able to clarify by referring to a case here.

I remember Case 0008 well, probably because it was my first one. It’s been explained to me that Case 0008 was particularly… messy. Perhaps that’s why it’s so clear to me. It was a man in his late 40s, I remember that much from the dossier, and he’d recently been involved in an incident that lost him his elderly parents and his job at the same time. He came into the process already broken in spirit, which I suppose is why I, the rookie that I was, was handed this case.

By the time he wanted to accept his final decision, and therefore his suicide, looking in his eyes was like staring through a man hanging right between life and death. Like staring a dying man in the face at the exact moment his body failed. Seeing the fullness of a story, of experience behind his eyes in its moment of fading. I could see how nothing mattered to Subject 0008 anymore, and how, because of his decision, nothing would matter to him in the very near future.

This in itself is the “horrific” which I mean. Not the blood, not the gore, not the fact he killed himself. Just the complete collapse of his mental world which meant his physical had to collapse too. And I realised, right when I saw his eyes like that, that I was experiencing something on the opposite end of the spectrum. A joy, not even fleeting. It was a long and slow experience, always hovering there behind my immediate thoughts. The “exhilaration”, as it were. No adrenaline, no fear within me, just endorphins waiting patiently to rush through me.

Perhaps another reason I remember Case 0008 is that the subject bled a lot more than I had ever expected a real human to. He had decided to use a knife, though he had no idea how to cut himself so he would bleed out. Yet, I could say nothing to him. I couldn’t tell him he had to pull it up the inside of his arm, not push the blade across his wrist. We are not meant to instruct or push the subjects to suicide, only supposed to direct them towards it. We never directly say “kill yourself” or the like…

Since Case 0008, I’ve realised that “horrific exhilaration” is indeed the expression that describes every experience I’ve personally had in the Suicide Room. Sitting opposite a person who would, most likely, not live to see another tree, another lamppost, another light other than these floodlights… that’s exhilaration. That’s superiority.

Your past is, of course, of no interest to any event that is instructed of you. Though, as with every review, it is expected that employees, especially pressurisers, are not of the suicidal mindset themselves. It is also important that pressurisers have never been driven to seriously contemplate or carry out attempts of suicide. Confirmation of this is required now, as well as any doubts about the future of the Suicide Room processes or your personal future.

In previous reviews, you, Pressuriser 0223, have given these answers to this question:

– I have never seriously contemplated suicide or attempted it.
– Given how I work, and what I work doing, suicide has always been a constant in my life. Although, usually, with exposure, things become less intense, the stigma and constant reminder of suicide has not dulled my reaction to it personally. Seeing other people doing it raises thoughts of my own about it. However, I have never seriously considered suicide nor have I attempted it. Those thoughts have simply been small maybes that I have easily brushed off.

Are these answers still standing, or has your mindset on suicide altered since the last review?

I have never seriously considered suicide or attempted it. However, my view has changed. I said that, even with exposure to suicide, it has not become less intense. I still believe this. But I don’t think of suicide in the same way anymore. Where I used to take the cases in which the subjects committed suicide to heart, now I rationalise them. My amygdala is no longer involved in the processing of what I see, hear or feel while in the Suicide Room. I have realised that no case in which the subject has committed suicide directly matters to me.

Every subject is simply a number and a statistic. This is how I rationalise it. They are steps we take towards aiding the future of the human race, and I am glad I do this. On one hand, then, watching and being involved in suicides becomes an inevitable strain of the job. Or, rather, a “horrific exhilaration” of the job.

But, on the other hand, I see suicide as less of a threat. Knowing how broken one has to be in order to do it is… oddly comforting. Before I became affiliated with the Suicide Room, I was concerned over the tiniest issue I, or anyone I cared about, ever had. I was paranoid it would lead to suicide eventually. However, seeing the eyes of the subjects who have done it, and being able to record, read and remember them again… I realise that I, and those who I care about, are not broken in the slightest. Of course, no one I care about knows what my occupation is. So I would never be able to divulge to them my reasons for thinking that they are stronger than they even think they are.

It seems that personal involvement with the cases and subjects is nonexistent to you at this point in time. This is true?

Now, I hardly ever react personally to cases or subjects. I didn’t think I ever did when I started working on cases, but now I realise that I thought about every case a lot in the few days after it had ended. Now, I only live the cases at the time, and while the reports are being written and proofread. Of course, I know of them in my mind all the time. But to me, they are or little relevance – as much as remembering birthday cards. Nothing special, and they will continue in the future, but continue to be nothing special to me.

As an experienced pressuriser, you handle cases that are both suspected easy and hard. Have you any requests of cases you would not like to receive in future, or comments on how cases have been handled over your time in the process? Are there cases you want reopened for editing, improving or hiding?

I do not request any type of case to be blocked from me. I have no requests for editing any case that I have or have not worked on. I also believe that no information of any case should be hidden. Revealing to the public is not what I mean by this.

I refer to Case 0013 in particular.

You, Pressuriser 0223, worked on Case 0013 and you requested no editing of cases not five sentences ago.

Case 0013, or, I suppose now, Case B13 is [part of review lost due to corruption]

Case B13 is a sensitive case and, by request by you, is not open for editing.

The corruption of [part of review lost due to corruption]

Case 0013’s corruption was attributed to circumstances unknown. Its backup, Case B13, is sensitive. It has been revealed to the public for transparency purposes.

Case B13 isn’t [part of review lost due to corruption]

The full case, Case 0013, is lost to corruption and is therefore hidden because no scientific merit can be recovered. The circumstances were not investigated because corruption is an anomaly and it has only happened one time. There are many more cases that can be accessed that of much more use than Case 0013 was before corruption occurred. Its backup record that you, Pressuriser 0223, helped write is simply for organisational purposes.

It wasn’t [part of review lost due to corruption]

If scientific merit is lost, it is not unusual for a case to be hidden, as it is of no use. There is no point in making a corrupted case public within the process of the Suicide Room or public to the world at this stage.

Rule 5.2-B states that [part of review lost due to corruption]

No more discussion on Case 0013 will be tolerated and the review will be terminated if it is mentioned again. Please be aware of your words from this moment on.

If that is the case, I politely request that this review be over. I have answered several questions in detail, and, at this point I do not believe there is anything I can say that I have not already said.

Should you wish to carry on with requesting ejection from the review, it will be treated as an attempt to hide personal information and as refusal to aid the pursuit of knowledge that helps towards the main goal of the process. Do you still wish to request ejection?

I still wish to request ejection, and I am not the one hiding anything.

-Questioning Ends-

 

Pressuriser 0223 left soon after this, and she was noticeably irritated. Her request to be ejected was recorded. After the review, she left the grounds, despite researchers’ efforts to persuade her to continue working on writing up a case. Pressuriser 0223 has since been marked as Recalcitrant.

 

IV: Suicide Room