My body will go on and on, but who lives within this
flesh? Am I losing perspective to such a
degree that I’m prepared to become a monster to find my
answer? And perhaps it is even worse.
Was it really the answer I was interested in, or was it the
fascination of becoming a killer? This is why Qod
warned
me about being Orson Roth. Not because of who he
was but because my
choice might force me to face who I have become.
The hiss of hydraulic locks snap me from my
musings, and my hands and feet are freed.
Cables lower me gently to the floor, and I’m
grateful for the warm breeze against my face, as
though somehow I had been aware of the stale
atmosphere gradually building inside the
W.O.O.M. through all the years of my immersion.
“Would you like to go to the Observation Sphere?” Qod asks.
“Not much has changed in forty
six years, but I know how it helps you think.”
All I do is nod when the cables slide away. The metallic flo
or sticks to my feet as I head for the
exit of the Aberration Sphere, and at last I’m me
again, but I will never be able to forget the
murders I committed inside that man’s life. Even without my
enhanced synapses, those bloody
memories will leave a permanent stain. Zachary Cox’s glassy
gaze imprinting on my brain, Orson
Roth’s syringe in my hand, the stench of formaldehyde burnin
g my sinuses.
I stop, and my heart skips a beat. I can’t leave,
not yet. I came into this new sphere for a
reason, and Orson Roth had no answers for me. All around in
every alcove, a tiny light glitters—
each one a soul containing some sort of aberration. But what
are these aberrations? I have my
suspicions, and I have a lead, but the thought of where that
investigation may take me brings a
shudder of trepidation.
“Qod?”
“Yes?”
“I need you to locate another soul for me. His name is Keitu
s Vieta.”