Chapter VI: Idioteque Creep. (Interlude)
“You understand that mechanical hands are the ruler of everything, Link II.”
September 15th, 1988.
10:20 AM, the radio displayed.
Music and chatter filled the car.
Link II only had one thought in his mind.
What were they gonna do to him?
Were they gonna use him as a snitch towards some gang?
Was he going to be called out for his adult-like mind or his child-like innocence?
Maybe even plant evidence on him.
But all he knew was that he wasn't safe.
As the officers drove, Link II stared outside in shame.
Thinking how wrong it was to kill somebody like him, almost innocent, but genuinely wanting good intentions to come out of their words.
Wondering if he was leading towards the wickedness in his DNA, or if he made the right choice in blowing her head up like a balloon.
Stopping the car abruptly, he was escorted by them.
Grabbing his collar and arms tight as they dragged him through the police station.
Darting to his left and right, he saw the confused glances of other officers.
Wondering why their coworkers were escorting a child like he's a weapon.
The men explained as they walked, mentioning words like “Melrose” or “Speed.”
Slowly letting go after seeing the blood on his shirt.
Their eyes glinting in the air with what felt like laughter.
Laughing at him like a clown from their stare.
The walls around him, colored dark grey and filled with bleakness as they got closer…
Closer.
Closer to death.
Again.
Devoid of any expression besides the systemic order of a police station.
Eventually entering the room, throwing Link II onto the floor as they commanded.
“Wait here, brown boy. Get yourself comfortable.”
Slowly limping to the chair with each step, ultimately sitting down in the bleak silence.
A light stood alongside two chairs that sat on opposite sides.
While officers began to grab his files and begin the interrogation.
Link II was left momentarily alone.
Glancing at the walls, his fear spiking like the taste of sugar.
The possibility of being arrested or killed rose in his mind.
Silence refreshed his fear in every quiet moment.
Just as two officers arrived back into the room with folders.
Speaking to him through the void, almost like he maintained a disguise of normalcy in reality.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…” -The officer looked at his face, no fear, no expression, but stern stoicism.
Despite this, he kept going.
“You have the right to talk to a lawyer for advice before we ask you any questions. You have the right to have a lawyer with you during questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you before any questioning if you wish to have one. If you decide to answer questions now without a lawyer present, you have the right to stop answering at any time.”
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By the time the officer was done, another officer stepped into the room.
“What the fuck are you doing, Thomas?”
“What? I'm just reading-”
“No, Tom, I mean, why the hell do you have a kid in here? He looks…”
Glancing at his stoic expression, his legs dangling from the chair.
The officer grabbed the files from Tom, reading them, unnerved by the details.
“Jesus Christ… Tom, he's five, why the hell are you interrogating a kindergartner?”
As they both read his files, they were astonished by how much potential he had for them.
Seeing his clean state.
But for them, a mirror towards promotion.
Whispering in each other's ear.
“You think we could ‘find’ evidence on him?”
Hearing the attempted small voices of them, he twisted his neck to the left and right.
Attempting to stretch properly before speaking.
Hearing cracks identical to him popping his bones.
Yet as he did, the officers to his left were unintentionally mutilated.
Eyes gouged out like cartoon nightmares, bones bent like metal pipes.
Blood spilled everywhere like a leak, splashing onto him.
The smell of metal returning to his mind.
During this, he thought.
“Oh god…
What have I done?
I killed again, god damn it–”
Yet before he could scream…
His vision blurred.
Eyes rolled back.
Body went numb.
Waking up in the void.
The dark, empty void.
All he could see was darkness incarnate.
Silence filling the void with empty tunes.
Thereafter, Willard showed up.
Bringing down his hand wave into a swish movement.
Summoning a couch.
A brown couch.
The leather couch of Link II's home.
Soon speaking towards Link II.
“Hey Snowchild, how was your first day of school?”
While Link II looked away, surprised by Willard's care.
Seeing the attentive eyes, his calm and poised posture facing him.
He spoke.
“Okay… I guess.
I mean, besides the alienation of feeling like the only real person in the room, yeah.
…and also accidentally clapping a teacher's head in.”
Whereas Willard's eyes turned disappointed, saddened by his small fact.
Asking.
“So… when you clapped her head in, did it feel good to murder?”
Link II responded back.
“N-No! Fuck no!
It's not good to kill…
But why did it feel good to get revenge?
She shook my arms like a crazy person.
I don't even know why I did it, I just wanted her to stop projecting herself onto me…”
He covered his face with his palms.
Hating the idea that revenge felt sweet.
Where TV shows said it was evil and wrong.
To him it felt like warm silence returning.
As Willard spoke.
“Most people do have that problem, don't they?
They assume before asking.
They speak racist remarks out of anger towards a partner of that race…
Well, Snowchild.
It's hard for you to stop what you've already done.
But it was not your fault.
It never is, is it?”
Link II nodded back, uncomfortable with the idea of somebody making a racist remark over their own anger.
Willard spoke again.
“You feel like most mistakes or problems are aimed at you, huh?”
Link II nodded again, asking.
“Willard, how come most people argue anyways?
Why can't people stay together forever?”
During the silence, Willard took a moment to answer the question.
Asking himself the same thing and saying.
“Snowchild… I could say the same thing.
But most people aren't deserving of it anyways.
People… are weird, kid.
Most people are the strangest, messed up people since the 1800s.
You'd ever think they would rather have something stable instead of quick satisfaction.
But unfortunately, we do live in hell.
And that's just what makes you.
Living in hell gives you an identity, not just pain and suffering.
It makes you who you are, snowchild.
So promise me this.
You control yourself for the rest of this day.
And if you can survive the walk home…
Maybe you'll find something worth staying for.”
Just as Willard hugged him, holding him while Link II sat.
Confused at first, till he heard the glockenspiel play.
Hearing the song "No Surprises" by Radiohead.
And from that single note, Link II cried.
He cried like never before.
Weeping like a baby.
Thrashing his arms around Willard.
While Willard stayed, letting the boy have his emotional meltdown.
During this, some entity tried to leak into their small circle.
A Eldritge entity.
Its hole of a face coming out in redness and blood dripping down its disfigured face twined with its uncanny smile.
Eyes intensely staring like he saw raw meat.
Screaming to Willard.
“You can't protect him forever!
You'll have to let him experience the trauma on his own sooner or later!”
While the song intensified, almost screaming.
“Get me out of here!”
“Get me out of here!”
“Get me out of here!”
As Link II's crying form calmed, he asked Willard one last thing.
“Willard, would the world be a better place if we took things more seriously?”
And yet, his answer was left unknown as he faded back to reality.
Feeling his tears dry.
Feeling the drenched blood on his body again.
And end right back up at the brutal scene.
But as he transitioned, he realized the answer.
“PRIDE.”
The same name that he used to kill.
The same emotion that affected an entire generation.
The fact of Pride being the key to everyone's demise.
