Soylentville: (Faith 3/1.) Read online

  Gabriel Wolf

  Soylentville

  (Faith 3/1.)

  Written and translated by Farkas Gábor (aka Gabriel Wolf)

  Contact: [email protected]

  www.gabrielwolf.webnode.hu

  ©2017 Gabriel Wolf ProductionsTM

  All Rights Reserved

  Synopsis

  The cult classic of a cult leader, finally in English!

  What would you do

  …in a world where people are killing each other on a daily basis?

  …in a world where you cannot trust your own family?

  …in a world where even children are not safe?

  …in a world where your collauges steal from you every day, or they attack you just because they had a rough morning?

  …in a world where no one will protect you?

  …when instead of protecting you, the government starts bombing your city?

  Where would you hide from all these threats?

  Where would you hide from an atomic bomb?

  There is nowhere to hide from that, well at least not in this world.

  But there is another one that other people don’t know about.

  There is a world behind the mirror.

  This story was written by a guy, who was born and lives in Hungary.

  Part of this writing is autobiographical; the rest is science fiction (with an artistic touch of horror and humor too).

  Opinions are very divided about the writer of this story.

  During his career, he was already called an artist, a witchmaster, a taltos, a multitalented genius.

  He was also called insane, paranoid, the voice of Satan and a deceiver.

  Which one is true?

  If you read this story, you’ll be able to decide yourself up to a certain level.

  One thing is sure: he has his own exegesis (interpretation of Christian religion and Creation of the world), he has his own faith, that he truly believes in.

  His theory (the “0-1-0”) deals with other dimensions, alternate realities, vicious circles, illusion and reality… it’s a parallel universe, called the “World Behind the Mirror”.

  This is Gabriel’s faith.

  And this writing is the first part of the Trilogy of his Faith.

  Contents

  Disclaimer

  Aknowledgements

  Chapter 1. (A New World)

  Chapter 2. (Soylentville)

  Chapter 3. (A Dying Age of Suicide)

  Chapter 4. (enihcamxes)

  A message to my Readers

  About the Author

  Also by Gabriel Wolf (books)

  Also by Gabriel Wolf (music)

  Disclaimer

  (that nobody ever reads)

  This is not a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, planets, species and incidents are absolutely not the products of the author’s imagination. Everything is used in a non-fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual machines, persons, living or undead, or actual events is not coincidental. I wrote about these authentic historical facts and existing persons because I hate them so bad. I wanted to piss them off and make them suffer, like a dying slug on a dusty road, on the hottest and driest day of human history! I hate everything in this story. Including myself. Because yes, I’m in this story too and I’m just telling you quietly…

  that I’m not completely normal…

  and I’m writing all these completely naked!

  …Just kidding! Honestly. Let’s take a deep breath and relax! Nothing scary, violent or shocking will ever happen on these pages. Just keep calm, stay cool, keep smiling and keep reading! This is a quiet, moderate, relaxing reading (almost as much as a tranquillizer dart).

  So, there’s nothing to be afraid of.

  This story is actually about faith.

  It’s the first part of my Trilogy of the Faith.

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks for the greatest song of all time! I wrote it.

  (Because, yes: It’s an understood thing that I’m not just a very talented writer, but a genial music composer too.)

  Soylentville by Infra Black

  ©2009 Hellektro Holocaust Records

  throw away your nightmares

  a new world has come

  new chemical warfare

  mankind is on the run

  necrophilistic love

  between the undead and machines

  hell breeds mechanical genocide

  dying age of scaref*ck suicide

  I came from Soylentville

  I'm a cannibal warmachine

  a radioactive sheen

  a hellf*cked sexmachine

  enihcamxes

  Chapter One

  "A New World"

  September 2, 2077, Soylentville city, F. Carolina county,

  Second United States, 8:28 am

  “Thank you for watching the Morning News! Please join us again tomorrow!” said the anchor woman. She was in her twenties, blond and beautiful. “And do not forget!” She became serious. “The end of the world is coming tomorrow!... Again!” Her beautiful smile turned into a sinister expression as she made a frown with her tattooed eyebrows in a funny way. “And this time we are really going to die! We can guarantee that!”

  “Hey! Turn that off!” Said Nola, my wife. “Come on! Seriously? Did we really have to hear this end of the world bullshit again? Why do they lie all the time? Okay, okay… very effective closing line, but it’s still the Morning News, isn’t it? Shouldn’t it be more serious? Why do they lie every morning into our face?”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t keep lying all the time.” I asked back instead of responding. “You lie even if you ask a question. Yesterday you asked me what time is it and I could easily saw that you didn’t even fucking care. So much for that!”

  “Oh yeah, because you never lie, Mr. “I have to do overtime so I’ll have to stay and sleep in the studio for the night”… where there isn’t a single bed around anymore… for fuck’s sake!” The anger and hate made her lips as narrow as razor blades. At the end of the sentence her voice started shaking in a young girlish way, which was never on the strong side anyway.

  “Come on! The record label said I had to deliver the finished album exactly at 3 am, I already told you that!”

  “Of course, how silly I am!” Nola nodded as if she almost believed it. “But I’m not talking about this. I’m just a saleswoman, and you’re a musician, or what the crap is that you think you are. Nobody cares about what we think. Nobody cares what you say… you, the mighty “Mr. Machine-Rock star”, or what the flying fuck is that you call yourself when you’re playing in your studio and acting like a real musician! We can say whatever we want, but this is the top-rated Morning News! Shouldn’t somebody do something to prevent them doing this to us, viewers? Scaring the shit out of us with these lies, without any reason?”

  “Do what?” I asked with sincere incomprehension. “Has anybody ever done anything if he was ripped off, cheated or threatened by somebody? Stop kidding around! I don’t even understand… why is this whole thing bothering you? Lying is funny if you ask me. At least we have something to think about… to ask ourselves why did he say this and that? Just a little brainwork, exercise for our intellect! Even you need some brainwork sometimes don’t youuuu??” I winked and I was smiling viciously, raising my pitch at the end of the sentence intentionally just to piss her off. But I couldn’t piss her off (more).

  “I don’t know, somehow it worries me, if I hear something like this in the TV news. I feel threatened by it.

  “Did you also feel threatened when the electrician guy came by last week? We shouldn’t go into this babe!” I waved with my hand and smiled. “Sometimes you o
verreact things just a little bit, we all know that.”

  “That was completely different” She cleared her throat in a confused way. “He tried to rape me.”

  “Since when is that a problem? You never mind when Dave does it, even if he does it on a daily basis.”

  “Yeah, but he’s a neighbor at least and he’s a cool guy. He hates kids for example. He would never make me one and would never make me pregnant, ‘cause I’m really fed up with all that!”

  “Well, sometimes I’m also fed up with this child-hating tantrum of yours, and I’m fed up with you too, just to be honest.” I waved again resignedly and stood up from the armchair to start walking towards the stairs. “Oh, by the way children! Is Johnny8 awake? Why hasn’t he come down yet? Why isn’t he having breakfast already? Isn’t it school day today?”

  “He doesn’t feel well, I guess. He’s whining all the time.” She turned her back to me and continued doing the dishes. However, it sounded more like clattering, intentional noise making without the complete, obvious lack of cleaning purpose. She knew that this noise could highly irritate my senses. Being a musician/sound engineer I have very sensitive ears. “Go upstairs and wake him up if you miss him so terribly! You can also drive him to school. I’m fed up with his bullshit anyways! Just wake him up, if you can!” And she was already on her way to continue doing the so-called dish washing… or rather hitting and threshing the plates and glasses with unnecessary force.

  “Okay, then I’m waking him up. Johnny!... Johnny!” I was jogging up the stairs to his bedroom a bit annoyed. Why has he been still sleeping? “Johnny? ... Johnny??! What the…?! Oh, for fuck’s sake! Nolaaa! What have you done?! Are you insane?! Have you murdered our child?!

  Chapter two

  "Soylentville"

  “Have you really killed this one too?” I yelled down to my wife from poor late Johnny’s upstairs room. “Whyyy are you keep doing this all the tiiiiiime?!!”

  “I told you I had enough of him! He was sniveling all the time! Mommyyy… Mommyyy… A-ga, a-ga, a-da… The little bastard got on my nerves!” My wife shouted from the kitchen without the slightest sign of remorse.

  “But this is our… our eighth freakin’ child! I cannot fucking believe this! You’re bat-shit crazy, you know that?”

  “Why do you care so much? Take out the body, hug it for a little while and cry like a baby, I don’t give a shit! We’ll have another one! Johnny9 will come in a week, that’s all, end of story! And stop crying like a baby! That fake musician, fake celeb tantrum makes me sick!”

  “But this whole thing will cost you your good shape and health! Even if they can grow us a ten-year-old child with the new InfraB test-tube baby program within a week, but still… you’ll have to be pregnant again for a whole month and it will still put as much strain and stress on your body as if you would carry out the child for nine months the old way! Even if everything’s faster nowadays it’ll still leave all its marks on you, silly! You’re completely out of your mind, seriously! You’ll ruin yourself! You’ll ruin your great body!”

  “I told you to take out the corpse, or just give it to the neighbor as charity! He can do anything he wants with it. Eat it. Sleep with it. Do you think I care? I don’t mind. Not anymore… I’ll rather carry out another one, but I couln’t stand his whining anymore! Mommyyy… Mommyyy!” She cried out loud on a scarily life-like child voice. “I’m glad I finally swatted him with the coffee maker. You just don’t worry about my body shape! Nowadays Dave spends more time on my body anyways. Don’t give me the romantic hero bullshit, like you would care about my health or my feelings! So, just shut up and leave me alone at least for a couple of hours, you hear meeeee?!” She screamed like a maniac, this time using her own voice again. “Compose something nice! Or when you stopped playing like a retarded child, you could also finally make some real money!”

  “Okay-okay! Just stop screaming! My head already hurts of your “dish washing” rampage!”

  I closed the door of Johnny8’s room and left the boy there with a deeply dented skull, bloody, lying by his bed on his little carpet. There he used to play with his colorful, asimo-termi robots, the ones that are covered with special living tissue on a metallic endo-skeleton.

  “In the end, she’ll take out his body when she’ll start to regret the whole thing…” I thought. “But not today!” I laughed a little sadly and resigned nodding just to myself agreeing how right I am. (Usually I was right, anytime I wanted. For example, right now. I’m right. Am I not? I know I’m right!)

  “Nola is a kind girl by the way.” I continued thinking. “I really don’t understand why she’s doing this to herself all the time and why she’s massacring our children one by one. She’s not a bad person. She rarely uses weapons of any kind. Even if she does, she uses them only against strangers. Maybe she’s too much of a worrying type. Maybe this could be the reason. She has a restless nature or something like that. Who knows? I never understood women. My wife was the woman I understood the least of all. To be honest I didn’t even care about it too much. But I still find her body irresistible, it’s awesome, even if Dave indeed uses it more often than me nowadays. I still adored her secretly, even if I enjoyed pissing her off. I mean I adored her body. I never cared about her feelings too much. I never was deeply empathetic or the emotional type. “That’s just gonna give ya an ulcer anyways!” I always said that.

  I stepped out the house without saying goodbye and I slammed the door quite hard (because I was really a bit angry on her and also because I like to act theatrically, like a real-life drama queen). Then I got into my car. I looked out the windshield… I tried to, but I couldn’t because just like it happened yesterday it was fully dotted with blood-spray again. I had to turn on the infra windshield cleaning system to get rid of it before departure.

  “Dave’s in his funny mood again.” I yawned annoyed. “I really don’t understand why is he rampaging right in front of our house all the time? In our garden, instead of his own?! His own car is still in mint condition of course, snow white and clean as a mountain stream, just as always. Fuck him! Maybe I’ll put a little scratch on his beloved car with a pointed stone on my way home after work. During re-polishing the entire surface of his car (because he’s that thorough), maybe he’ll occupy himself for awhile. Then hopefully he won’t hoard all the dirty shit onto our lawn and won’t spray everything in front of our house with blood at least not for a few days.”

  “You’re starting to really piss me off, Dave!” I thought. And this time seriously. “Maybe this time I won’t just scratch the side of your car, but your boyish, cute little chubby face too! Maybe tonight baybeee! He-he!” It depends how good this day turns out in the end and how bearable will be my day at the office.

  This thought of scratching Dave’s “properties” immediately made me happier and spent the rest of the journey with whistling and humming famous melodies, well-known song hits. My own songs. (Well, I only believed they were song hits, because in fact nobody ever liked them, but me.) “The power plant has melted down baby!... I have lost you baybee, but I just don’t give a shit!...”

  I arrived to my office at 9 am. I worked at Finsterniis Studios. This was the biggest and most well-equipped music studio in Soylentville. I spent a lot of money on it. Everything. All my heritage. Not just mine, but my wife’s too. I waved bye-bye to that one too, when she didn’t pay attention. I think I overdid it a little, I admit that. In a small town like this, with only two famous bands, one small recording place would have been completely enough. Instead there were two other quite well-equipped places to record music in. So, when I opened my studio, we can say that, in those times there wasn’t even need for a third studio at all. But I don’t care, because this whole thing was a mania for me, I took it really seriously. I mostly worked as a sound engineer and I helped recording, mixing and mastering the materials of other bands. However, I had a band of my own too. Actually, more than one. I think I had seven “projects” altogether. I called t
hem like that. In truth, neither of them ever had a name, nor a single finished (especially released!) album to be honest. Well, one of them did have a name, but I mostly mentioned it silently just to myself, this bandname wasn’t a publicly known fact.

  I called this project of mine “Sexmachine”. This was my favorite rock band (with one member) that I appreciated and was proud of the most. The style that I was trying to play (at any price) was “machine-rock”. I was struggling with it on an unthinkable level, because I neither had the intelligence, nor any talent to compose real music. The thing I least had was a unique personality to be an artist of any kind. I had a lot of ideas though! But only terrible ones. However just as my originally studied sound engineering profession (that I did for a living) I also took this Sexmachine project just as seriously. Too seriously. It’s a quite common symptom of my “condition”.

  I was already wearing full face makeup (painted it to a witchmaster, demonic warrior) and lighted up tonnes of candles when I just sat down for a few minutes to write sheet music. This was very important to me. I called it a spiritual getaway from the cruel reality, an opening of my mind to the “dimension behind the mirror”. I also called it the “Gore Galaxy”. Sometimes I tried to talk about it to Nola, the deepness of this thing and its importance to me. I tried to tell her about my secrets, my true self, that is a spiritual being which feeds from the energy of a different world beyond our knowledge. But in these cases, she always responded very shortly, something like: “I don’t give a bloody crap! Make some real money, you jerk! Then maybe we’ll have something to eat once in a lifetime!”