THE CONSTRUCT: In The End

PART NINETEEN

Quick and eager to get on with things, Construct Steve has moved on, fully expecting Nigel and Aiden to follow. They are following though are finding it more than difficult to keep up and their struggle becomes all the more difficult with incoming alterations to their surroundings.

The alterations are not natural, they are quite impossible in fact, thus confirming that indeed the construct is in full effect, broken and bruised as it may be, quite likely still on the verge of collapse, of which Nigel can only assume, even with the confused words Aiden had once spoken to him. Those words seem ever so long ago such is the power of the construct.

It is almost a contradiction, how can something on the verge of collapse be of something with power? In that too, Nigel may be with the belief that his memories have returned, and Aiden's fug may have passed by, though what if the memories he believes he has are false? ... what if they are as much a creation as the construct itself is? There is no way of knowing for sure ... is there?

Those alterations to the surroundings are that of a storm, a storm unlike any other ever seen by man. The sky darkens, thunder and lightning come quick, unusually quick and that lightning is more electric in ways that are most odd, as if some sort on console or socket is short circuiting creating bolts and rods of flashing blue light, light that is almost neon in nature. These streaks of light are more than acting as traditional lightning would, they do indeed streak and as much across the sky as they do vertically.

What was non-existent moments ago now intensifies with a maddening fury making it all the more difficult to continue on after Steve who soon is completely out of sight. A traditional bolt strikes, hitting just meters in front of Nigel and Aiden, any closer and surely, they would have been done for.

Neon pink now joins the neon blue flashing streaks and the thunderous decibel level rises to painful altitudes. If this keeps up, the two men surely will be fried alive. Still, on they go as best they can. Wind fuming so hard one can imagine a wind tunnel turned up high would be easier to endure. Shouts between one another do little, neither man can aid the other by instruction along. They link arms and forge ahead.

Then a crescendo hits ... a thunderous bolt of mixed neon light hits as if the mighty Zeus threw it himself. Neither man is hit directly though both are thrown quite the distance such is the magnitude of the force created by the blast of the lightning hit. Nigel lays helpless ... unconscious ... incapable of the future of his own plight ...

36.

A forceful flash had struck and then, for a heartbeat, utter silence. The world, or at least the simulation of it, seems to pause ... hanging somewhere in between collapse and creation. The air is charged, every molecule thrumming with an unnatural electrical energy as Nigel's mind teeters at the edge of consciousness. Time stretches strangely in both directions, reality warping around the edges, and in the midst of it all, a sense of weightlessness overtakes all that is, all there isn't, and all there might be.

***

In a darkened corner of an average sized flat, something not at all so average is taking place, or has taken place ... so quickly in fact that a whole world has come and gone in what is as quick as an instant. For something has been in the works for more than a while. In the otherwise moment of quiet, the sparks of electricity sizzle and pop. An overload has thrown him into a corner. Unconsciousness and the dream of what his life could be, has not only closed in but has moved on in ways that can only boggle the mind.

Nigel is a young man obsessed with creating the impossible ... a construct ... a self-contained existence in a world designed for the mind. He has always had a thing for The Orient Express and the time period of long ago. What if he could not only recreate the train and time period but alter it to unique specifications ... and ...

... something has gone wrong, something has faltered, but what if that is more a result of a lack of funding, a lack of study, a lack of the best of what technology has to offer, or even a lack of actual energy. ... No matter the cause ... a collapse has come which may have Nigel feeling somewhat ... concussed.

Had something happened in the moment of concussion? Could there really have been progression? Nah, nah, none of that could actually be ... could it? He not only tries to stand, momentarily getting to his feet, but manages to crawl to a sofa and pull himself onto it. He needs medical attention and doesn't hesitate any further in calling for it.

It's the next morning when he awakes to find himself in a hospital bed. It is not long before a certain Doctor Nikita Lawernce comes to inform him of how lucky he so happens to be, his home endevours could have killed him. He was lucky to even make it to a phone, let alone use it. He has had a brush with death and has survived.

Upon his discharge from hospital, he enters a taxi with the intention of heading home. His driver so happens to be an older gentleman by the name of Josh Redmond.

'Where to?' asks the driver.

'Home ...' Nigel is about to offer up his address when ... 'on second thoughts, I could use a drink or two ...'

'I know that feeling' taxi driver says with an all too familiar tone. 'A good whiskey or two will see you right ... trust me ...'

This makes Nigel smile. Whiskey might indeed just do the trick. And he loses himself for the rest of the journey, staring off at the passing scenery, distant hills and all. The bar he arrives to is a long rectangular room with an actual bar taking up most of the left-hand side. He orders a whiskey neat from a barman with name tag of Steve displayed prominently, then proceeds to take a seat in a booth the far end of the room from which he had entered.

The general aesthetic of the room focusses on the colours of dark blue and navy giving the place a cosy kind of feel. A certain Aiden Wilks has a contract for upcoming renovations which aren't due to take place for a little while yet. The place, for the moment, is fairly quiet though in no way empty allowing for a choice of seating for all within, still there is one who inquire if the booth seat opposite Nigel is free. He says it is.

A young lady confident in her own shoes introduces herself as Una but not before using the words 'may I join you?'

He has yet to consider what happened in his average sized flat and how it may affect him going forwards. Anything he may have believed to have happened can be no more than a dream, his unconscious hurt brain inventing a potential outcome for the hopes to bring about one day yet to come.

Can his mind, if that is what is in play, deter him from going forwards? And could the possibility exist that in his home workings, he accidentally opened the construct long before he intended and threw himself into it in a manner that shouldn't be possible? Nah, such a thing cannot just be. Again, time for any and all consideration will be put aside for a later date.

Given that, cause for confusion and possibly some concern comes upon exit of that bar. An older well dress gentleman stands close to the exit on the outside. He wears a cap from the back of which greyish blond streaks of hair drape. His dark lensed circular rimmed glasses, and the cane he holds, lends to the assumption that this fellow may be blind.

Having noticed this man upon his exit and having moved a few feet beyond him, Nigel stops half expecting to hear the words 'I see you' come from that very man though this does not happen and there is wonder as to if this is some sort of glitch in operation? And what a strange thought that is in itself ...