Saturday, March 17th, 2029
There are sounds I’m unfamiliar with. Sights I cannot see, there isn’t anything but darkness and a small peephole through the darkness. I then see a second beside it, and notice I can look through them as if they were binoculars. I see the ground below, and I recognize my shoes, my gray converse that I’d always worn, right here as if they were miles away. They’re standing in what seems to be handfuls of sand, maybe a beach?
My view changes as it rises, and then I see a city in the distance, the same city I’d seen when I’d looked out of the crown of the statue. “Hello John, it’s time for you to see what we’ve become,” a voice calls out. I back out of the peepholes and look around. “No, no. I’m not in there, those are your only connection to the outside world now, and they are your own eyes so that you can see the beautiful destruction that is fated to happen.”
“Beautiful destruction?” I ask. I look back into the peepholes and see me turning around, behind me is the Statue of Liberty. I see my hand rise and the fist tightens, in another moment I see the entire statue beginning to shake and tumble. Next, it begins crumbling on itself until it falls to the ground with a debris cloud large enough to break the ozone layer.
“What are you doing?” I call out.
“Getting a job done. I know Micah’ll be out of there in no time flat, but I’ve no longer any need for the others.”
“How many people were in there?”
“I don’t know exactly, maybe a few hundred.”
“A few hundred?”
“Yeah, give or take. The silly puppet President was in there too. It’s a shame his story of a comeback was so short, I guess he won’t be running for re-election.”
I watch as the remains of the statue of liberty settle and the dust clears. It’s just rubble and rock now. My body shifts around and begins walking into the city.
“Let’s go wreck some havoc, shall we, John?”
“No! Like hell I’m going to let you do that!” I scream out.
“You think you actually have a choice, that’s a good one,” Reinhardt says. I’m silent as I look around me for anything at all, but besides the two holes it’s completely dark. “Don’t worry, I won’t do anything…yet. It’s not the eighteenth yet, John,” he asks.
“You’re just going to sit back?”
“No, no, not all of the pieces are in play yet. There’s a certain…way the pieces all have to fall.”
“What are you going to do now, then?” I ask.
“We need to prepare for the big party, of course. And what good is a party without party favors?”
“Why, yes, John. Every attendee shall receive a rather generous dose of Radical-9. Everyone is invited to the party, of course,” he says.
I hear a sick sense of contentment from his voice. “So….on the eighteenth…”
“Everyone shall be infected.”
Just what I didn’t want to hear.