INTO THE BLACK

Previously on INTO THE BLACK

Google and the hang have just collected the first piece of the three-part Trinity Key. With directions on how to get the next two pieces, things are looking up for our heroes, but surely Prince Mykur can't be beaten that easily. And so far, if this story was a chocolate bar, there'd be no need for the warning: May contain traces of Cher.

Now we rejoin the action...

The celebrations and back patting were still going strong on-board The Love Crusader. For once even Liberty was letting her hair down – allowing herself the chance to imagine a time when Mykur may be defeated and Google safe. The only ones that didn't seem to be partying it up, were Abe (who had retreated to his room – tired of hearing about other people's success) and Google, who sat alone in a corner of the cockpit reading The art of war by Sun Tzu. Jupiter got up from his recliner and made his way over.

“Your bodyguards can't handle their alcohol, can they?”

“Are they drunk?” asked Google, not looking up from his book.

“Yeah, Justice is blind. And Liberty's on her way, too,” Jupiter said. He studied Google a moment, then added, “What's up with you?”

“I'm not drunk, relax,” he replied.

“No, it's not that. You've barely said a word since we got a piece of the key. I thought you'd be happy. This is what you wanted, right?”

Google glanced up at Jupiter, “I didn't want any of this. I never asked for it. I'm going to get us all killed is what's going to happen. You should leave. You should all get as far away as you can.”

“Whoa, what's brought this on?”

“The closer we get to the Trinity Key, the closer we get to Mykur, and the closer we get to my showdown with him... it just all suddenly feels real. And I realised something today... I can't win.”

The declaration hung in the air. Before Jupiter could counter, Google continued, “Justice risked his life a few hours ago and didn't even blink. I couldn't do that. When Miller pulled a blaster on us, where was I? Hiding behind Justice and Liberty, messing my pants. Same as always. Can't anyone see – I'm not a hero! How the fudge am I supposed to defeat Mykur... I'm just a kid. How can I succeed when the prophecy says real heroes like Justice and Liberty would fail? There's no hope.”

Jupiter rested his hand on Google's shoulder.

“You're just a little scared, that's ok. It's not a crime to be afraid. Well, except for on Delta 7.”

Originally a inhospitable planet, Delta 7 was terra-formed in the late 22^nd century by Jedi Fundamentalists who, based on the teachings of Yoda in the prequel testament (“Fear leads anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to the dark side”) decided to make fear a crime. Coincidentally, Delta 7 was now almost entirely covered in prisons – with citizens living in constant fear of being put in jail.

“So just relax, the prophecy...”

Google scoffed back a laugh, “The prophecy says I'm the only one that can fight him and live. Key word: can. Not: will. The point is, I'm no hero. I don't even know who I am yet. I don't think I could kill someone. I just want to be nobody. To live a normal life - I've never even been in love or kissed a girl.”

Jupiter laughed. Google glanced across, annoyed.

“Forget I said anything.”

“No – sorry I wasn't laughing at you. It's just... you're scared of the wrong things. Trust me, there are worse things than death.”

“Like what?”

“Women.”

“So you are Arty.”

“For the last time, no. I'm attracted to women plenty.”

“So you've just never been in love then?” Google asked.

“I didn't say that,” Jupiter answered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“What's it like?”

“I don't have time to talk about it,” Jupiter replied before getting up. Google looked back down at his book, still clearly depressed.

A sigh from Jupiter, and then, “Just one night with someone you love... it's like... it's like your whole life is worth it, just for those few fleeting moments. That there's a greater power behind it all.”

Google looked up at him, “That doesn't sound so bad.”

“You got a lot to learn kid.”

Jupiter made his way back to his quarters, hoping for a quick nap before they made plans on getting to Atlantis. He'd barely closed his eyes when he sensed a light coming from inside his room.

“Your 24 hours are nearly up,” said a hologram of Prince Mykur.

“You said I had 48 hours.”

“Did I? Well, I changed my mind. Now, let me use the remaining time to tell you a story, in case you finished school before I made my biography part of the curriculum. Do you know why I'll rule the galaxy?”

Jupiter thought on it a second. “Your massive conscripted army?”

“No. Simple will power. In life, you need to dare do what the other man won't do. If he'll kill one billion people, then you must be prepared to kill one billion and one. My parents didn't understand that principle – they let our planet be downgraded to a moon. You can see why I had to kill them.”

“I'm sure if they were still alive, they'd be very proud, your majesty.”

Mykur smiled, not picking up on the sarcasm. “I like to think so. My point is that you need to think the unthinkable, do the un-doable. That's how you become great. That's how you become legend.”

“Why are you blessing me with this lesson?”

“You and I are, we're not so disimilar. Normally, in this position, I'd threaten to kill someone you love – but I can't find any record of you loving anyone. Your file shows time and again that you'll chose money over all else. It warms my heart. But that won't save you if you disappoint me. Now, kill Google and enjoy untold riches.”

Jupiter took a deep breath. “I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline your offer.”

A flash of anger appeared on Mykur's face, but in an instant it was replaced by a chilling calm.

“You will live to regret it. And then eventually die to regret it,” said Mykur.

“I don't know,” said Jupiter, sitting up confidently in his bed. “I'm starting to think this kid could take you down.”

“Oh do you?” said Mykur with an icy grin.

“Way I see it, we've not only got a prophecy on our side – but now the first piece of The Trinity Key, too. So maybe you should start treating us a little nicer.”

“Well then, seeing as we're sharing secrets – I think this might bring you back down to Earth 8: The eagle seen up close does not fly, so you see, your chosen one will die.”

Jupiter furrowed his brow. “Uh, what does that mean?”

“It is very vague isn't it... I knew I should've made them go with the cooking theme,” said Mykur.

“What!?”

“Your chosen one was chosen all right – but by me. If you want to make your own chosen one at home, first you need to separate him from his parents: I suggest you finely chop up the reanimation system on your selected child's ship. Then take your child - the miraculous survivor, and add a tattoo and scar artist to create a delicate birthmark on his shoulder. To finish, let him simmer for, oh, around ten years. I don't know about you, but I sure do find it delicious.”

Jupiter went a shade of white.

“You mean...”

“That's right, I'm afraid Google is no more the chosen one than you are. He was just a diversion I created to keep everyone occupied while I went about hunting down and killing the real chosen one. Oh, I do like surprises, don't you?”

In the interest of full disclosure, I should tell you I'm dead. In fact, I've been dead for over a day now.

“You're not dead. Will you stop with that already.”

That's Matt. He can speak to dead people.

“I'm not... I can't speak to dead people! Enough already!”

Poor guy. You can see the strain the gift places on him. Temper tantrums and such.

“Ok then ass clown, tell me how you died?”

I can't remember how I died. Of course, Matt still can't wrap his pudgy head around that – when it comes to ghost whispering, he isn't exactly Jennifer Love-Hewitt. Can you remember how you were born? It's the same with death. Matt's getting restless now, fidgeting in his seat.

“Why'd you stop taking your meds?”

Ah, well, I didn't think drugs could do me much good now, seeing as how I'm, oh, DEAD!

He stares up at the ceiling and lets out a silent scream.

“Ok, last question: how come, in this here cafe, the waitress saw you and took your order? You're eating food. That's not typical ghost behaviour, is it, Scott? How do you explain that? Does the waitress have the gift of seeing the dead, too?”

Of course she doesn't. Matt simply sees what he wants to see. He's in the denial stage of grief.

“Ah, for fucks sake, I'm sick of this bullshit! Keep it up, you'll lose all your friends, too,” he yells at me, before making a dash for the door.

That's good. That's for the best. He's moved onto the anger stage.

I finish my coffee then head towards the exit, just in time for the door to be shut in my face. Obviously they didn't see me. Well, of course they didn't. Guess no one ever said death was meant to be easy. The chill of winter grips me as I step outside. Times like these I wish I'd died in something other than my tennis gear – it doesn't offer much in way of warmth. I pull my socks up as high as they'll go and jog on the spot in an attempt to stay warm. Snow descends from the sky, bombs in a cold war, as I navigate the city streets. Ducking and weaving, I make my way through the crowd, avoiding people left and right as they push and shove their way past each other. More than a few times I nearly have people walk right through me. At least some things are the same in death as in life.

On the subway now, clatter from the tracks providing a background for my thoughts. If I weren't a local, I might worry I'd been cast down to hell. However, the smell that invades my nostrils is less brimstone, more urine and body odour. Yes, only the subway can make hell seem appealing. A map of the underground is posted next to the doors. From a distance the train lines look like arteries running through the heart of New York city; a heart that is surely rotting, going by what I can smell.

Back inside my apartment; finally back to a feeling of comfort and security. A feeling that's rare to find when you're dead. Yes, it's good to be home. My happy return is disturbed when I hear moaning. Diane. Poor Diane. I suspected she would take my death hard, but even I'm surprised by the great, heavy sobs coming from her. I make my way down the dark corridor into the kitchen. What cruel torture to watch her in pain – wanting desperately to comfort her, but being unable. I enter the room to witness my psychiatrist doing her doggy style.

His sweaty butt jiggles around like a novelty jelly dessert gone wrong. The moaning gets louder. She's faking it, I can tell. Lord knows she faked it enough with me. I stand there, painfully numb, a horrible contradiction of feelings as he continues his robotic thrusts. I move slightly to my right in an attempt to glimpse his dick. I really hope he has really small one. (He always did say I was emotionally immature.) I watch as he begins to slide it out of my girlfriend. And continues to. Still going. And now... no still withdrawing. Hmph. Well, I hear women care more about girth anyway.

It's then that I notice one other thing: no condom. She always made me wear one. She trusts him. Something about the whole scene makes me realise this isn't some heat of the moment Scott's-dead-so-I-need-company shag. No. Everything suggests it's just a run-of-the-mill shag from an ongoing affair. An affair that must have started when I was alive. The anger builds in me as their moaning increases and just as he seems past the point of no return, ready to shoot life into her, I explode. In a burst of poltergeist energy I send a chair flying across the room. She screams. My naked shrink turns in shock.

“Scott!”

“How long have you been feeling disconnected from life, Scott?”

How long you been doing my girlfriend, shrink? He sits in front of me, wearing a dressing gown and a smug I just screwed your girlfriend expression.

“Now, Scott, Diane explained the situation to you on Tuesday. You're not supposed to be here. You're meant to be staying with Matt. You have no right to enter unannounced. Technically you're trespassing.”

He's talking to a ghost and he wants to get anal. Well, too bad for him. I know that's the one thing Diane won't do.

“I can understand you wanting to lash out at Diane and me, Scott. That's natural. But this delusion – we need to address it.”

He keeps saying my name. It's so pompous, don't you think?

“Remember when you lost confidence in your painting ability? You came in worked up, convinced that your hand had fallen off, but that wasn't the case now was it?”

I clinch my new robotic hand into a fist. I don't see his point.

“My point is, breaking up is hard. It can feel like you've had your heart ripped out, but it'll heal. Your heart is still there, it hasn't stopped beating. This delusion of yours is your mind finding a way to avoid dealing with the real, underlying issues. The hard issues.”

I get up from the couch. I'm tired of all this talk. I want to leave before he decides to start charging me for his time.

I'm almost out the door when Diane approaches me meekly. Here we go. Here come the waterworks and the pleas for forgiveness. Maybe that's why she can still see me. I'm meant to haunt her. That's my unfinished business. She holds out her hand. Here we go.

“Please, can you give me your keys to the apartment?”

I really hate my after life.

“Don't make me change the locks, Scott.”

I hand them over. It's stupid. This is all just so stupid. Does she not realise I could just float through the damn door if I wanted?

Somehow I end up back at the cafe. I don't know where else to go. Nursing a coffee, I sit alone in one of the corner booths. Just me and my silent heart.

“Please tell me you're normal.”

Huh? I look up to discover a perky blonde girl in her early thirties, beaming up at me. The sort of girl that would've made my heart race, once upon a time.

“Sorry. It's just a thing my shrink has me doing – overcoming shyness. I have to approach a random stranger every day and start a conversation. This way, you end up defending that you're normal – ignoring the fact that what I'm doing is kinda bizarre. Brilliant, don't you think?”

She talks fairly fast, but that's the only noticeable sign of nervousness. Guess her shrink is better than mine.

“Thanks. So now you know my deal, what's yours? It's just, you seem kinda bummed out. Feel free to tell me to go away though, if you want – I know it's none of my business.”

I don't want her to go. I'll spill the beans if it means she stays.

“That's so harsh, boning your shrink. Well, I guess more, he was boning her. Did you have any idea?”

I should have, really. I mean things had been going downhill with Diane for ages. She always hated how much time I'd spend on my art. Or as she would call it, my 'art', the quotation marks implied from her tone of voice. I hoped things would get better when I caved and gave up painting to take on a soulless job at a bank, but really it just got worse. Maybe it was my fault – I started to resent what my life was becoming and she was an easy target to blame. Truth is, our relationship had been decaying for a long time. I feel like I've been sleepwalking through the last ten months of my life.

“Oh my god! That's awesome! Well, not awesome – like you're life's fucked. But this is your 'And then' moment. That's awesome.”

My what?

“In the movies, when things seem at their worst, it's always right before they change for the best. I think it's called the 'And then' moment. Like, um, in The Wizard of Oz, Dorothy is captured by the wicked witch and then she's like, hello bucket of water. Or in Ghostbusters, they're all about to get killed by the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, and then they realise they can save the day by merging their energy streams. This is just your 'And then' moment. Maybe you'll become a famous artist or meet the girl of your dreams. Or both. The point is, you've escaped a job and girl you don't love. That's got to be for best. Now just follow your bliss.”

I smile at the thought of it as she looks down at her watch. Could life ever be that simple?

“Oh shit! I've got to run. But hey, I'm usually here Friday lunchtimes chatting to randoms, so keep an eye out for me if you're in. Be nice to chat to someone who's not a stranger.”

It's funny. She doesn't seem shy.

“Must be something about you that brings me out of my shell.”

She quickly slides out of the booth.

“Nice meeting you.”

A kiss on the cheek and she's gone.

And then my heart starts to beat.

I step outside and the late afternoon sun warms my skin. I feel different; somehow set apart from the all the 9-5 office drones dressed in suits, all rushing along the streets so fast they never stop to see the breathtaking sunset on display. I pity them. I used to be them.

They rush down the street and keep the city pulsing, never slowing down to realise they're dying on the inside. Now I know the truth. Everywhere I look, I see dead people.

But I've never felt more alive.