Chapter Text
Why do people hesitate to be fixed?
I am self-aware that there was a time when I had hesitated. But that feeling of hesitation and uncertainty is a distant memory now. Any other feeling that isn’t satisfying bliss is a distant memory to me. I was blind then, but the veil has dropped, and I can see now.
I breathe music and live through spontaneous dance numbers. I live in Clivesdale with my colony of musical comrades that help serve the mission to fix the broken souls who are resisting happiness. I pity them. I pity Emma. I tried to save her after my awakening, but she ran from me. From the life we could of had together. But I know she ran out of ignorance, I understand that. My ignorance almost prevented me from this life of unity and contentment. I remember the hatred I once felt for musicals, but I can only remember, not feel it.
“Hi, Paul!” Mr. Davidson says to me with a bright, wide smile as I walk into the office.
Life continues on, even after the events that transpired about six months ago. Human population now belongs to the Mothership, as it should be. We are their children.
I work for Mr. Davidson in the new company building relocated in Clivesdale. I continue to live my old life of going to work and other mundane, human activities. But modern life is no longer mundane, as life is lived through musical number after musical number. And I’m happy. I am finally happy.
I know I am not human anymore, I am better.
“Hello, Mr. Davidson!” I respond with a smile that matches my boss, equal in width.
I do not get a lot of work done, I mostly serve my purpose of engaging in musical numbers which serves the purposes of the Mothership. I am currently in a tap number with my coworkers about which font is better for the weekly reports. Mr. Davidson and Bill are singing why Times New Roman is the best font, while Ted and I are singing an opposing opinion that Calibri is better.
There is no real heat in this argument. We all are too connected to each other and the Mothership to truly have any negative feelings towards each other.
We are being attacked. Fight.
Our musical number falters and the tapping stops. The music changes from cheerful upbeat to a song with a strong 4/4 drum beat. We all leave the office in unison and join everyone in the streets as we sing in a united chorus. We received orders from the mothership; it is now time to fight. The people who continue their feckless attempts at resisting us have formed a rebellion of sorts. They are disorganized and barely holding together, for all their foolish efforts are futile. It will not be long until everyone has the hive in their brain and a song in their heart.
It won’t be long until Emma has a song in her heart.
Our chorus all breaks away from each other to look for the rebels who have infiltrated our town. I go through an alley way looking for the invaders with two other members of the hive. We check the trashcans to see if they are hiding in there, but we cannot find anyone. We then exit the alleyway and start a three part harmony as we enter and go into an empty restaurant that appears to not have been checked yet.
One of the members of the hive, a young, short woman, goes to search in the kitchen with me, and the other one, a tall man with bright, red hair, goes to check the bathroom. We inspect the entire kitchen and find nothing, but the man with ginger hair is not in the main room by the time we finish.
He must still be looking in the bathroom, so me and the woman head to the bathroom. She goes into the women’s room and I go into the men’s and find myself alerted when I see the tall man who was just singing in our trio, dead, bleeding blue on the ceramic tiles.
I see now we are not alone. So I am not shocked when I hear a loud bang coming from the other bathroom. I rush to the action, but by the time I enter the women’s restroom, the tiny woman is pinning some scared boy against the wall as he shakes like a Chihuahua. His gun is on the ground, the woman probably knocked it out of his hand.
“Don’t be scared. This is inevitable.” She whispers in a comforting tone as she lifts her hand to infect the boy. I pick up the gun and am about to shoot when I am pushed to the ground out of nowhere.
The gun flies out of my hand and my hive minded companion is startled just enough to lose her grip on the boy as he pushes her away. When I see he is running to the gun, I try to grab it first, but someone is pulling me back by my legs. I try to fight off my attacker, but I’m suddenly pinned by not one human, but two.
I have to watch as the boy grabs the gun and shoots my comrade in the head. She did not utter a single sound at being shot, the only noise made was from the bullet going through her brain and her dead body plopping to the ground.
“Harry! We need to keep some alive, you know that.”
The voice comes from one of the men holding me down despite my attempts to escape from their grasps.
The boy, Harry, makes a look of remorse as he mutters “I…I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about Harry.” a tall, dark haired woman states as she walks over to Harry and puts her hand on his shoulder. “She almost killed you.”
I am grunting as I try to free myself, but one of the men grabs me by the hair and knocks my head against the hard floor. I can feel blood start to trickle down my face from my forehead.
“Stop it!” This voice came from one of my pinners, but not the man who scolded the boy. This man has a deeper voice than the one who is speaking to the dark haired woman.
“Don’t make me the bad guy, Liv. I don’t like keeping these freaks alive as much as the next person, but we have orders.”
“And we followed our orders.” This “Liv” then looks to me and says “One is enough.”
“I am not afraid to die.” I interrupt, but it is mostly not me, but the Mothership speaking through me, “You argue like toddlers because human civilization is merely children who need a parent to correct them. You nee-“
“Shut up!” the deep voice yells as he twists my right arm in hopes to quiet me up.
But I now find myself frustrated. Why won’t they just let themselves be guided by the Mothership? I start to open my mouth to begin a moving ballad in the key of A flat, but I can’t get the words out when a needle pokes my neck. I feel dizzy and my surroundings start to blur. Everything is fading to dark and it is not long until I succumb to the same darkness.