Level Zero: Part One

Seven day started as any other day for Prince Cashmier Flourence Pentington Arnold Song, regardless of it being end-day for the rest of the city. He woke late, lounged in a hot bath while watching the tellie, ate brunch alone, and waited for the doctor to come.

The programming on the TV was full of the same inane shows as any other day – happy and beautiful people prattling on about happy and beautiful things. Except, of course, the news stations. They continually covered the high threat level for terrorism, missing persons, and progress of the war. It was all terribly boring.

What Prince Cashmier Flourence Pentington Arnold Song wanted was something different, something exciting, something improper to amuse him. So it was that Doctor Hemsfield and his team found the prince without attire when they arrived for the prince’s third medical screening of the week.

“My word, Your Highness,” Dr. Hemsfield blushed so that his ruddy complexion resembled a lychee, “this is completely inappropriate! Very uncouth, what would the king say of such behavior?”

The prince shrugged and looked down at his sculpted body. “I imagine my father would approve of such efficiency. After all, am I not to be examined as usual?”

“Of course you are, Your Highness, however there is a time and a place for such.” Dr. Hemsfield stated as he lead his six assistants across the opulent high-rise loft apartment to a door that’s seams were barely visable among a mosaic map of the Seven Cities. The door opened with a press of a button on the remote he carried in the pocket of his pristine white coat. Shaking his head, the doctor lead in his team to began prepping the state-of-the-art medical facility that comprised the bulk of the one hundred and seventh floor of the Seventh Kingdom’s Palace.

Soon the room was bright and filled with an assortment of hums and beeps. Doctor Hemsfield gestured for the prince to enter the scanner.

“You see, good doctor, at how efficient this is. I don’t have to disrobe. We saved at least thirty seconds.” The prince smiled as he settled into the egg-shaped pod. As the device’s white oval lid descended, the prince continued to talk nervously.

Hemsfield ignored the prince and tapped a few nodes on a plasma display. He nodded when the capsule hummed to life. Shortly, a thick, pink, and dense fluid began to fill the pod. The doctor hit a stud on his counsel, “Don’t fight the fluid your grace, breath normally and you will be fine.”

“Really, Doctor? As opposed to panicking because we haven’t done this a thou…” The doctor cut off the prince’s flippant remark.

After verifying the display, he ordered a petite technician, “Begin the neural analysis. Check the memory blockers and see if the behavior inhibitors are functioning properly. I don’t like how he’s changing his attitude. This display of childish behavior is disconcerting.”

“Yes, Doctor,” she replied and moved across the room to a different station.

The other five technicians busied themselves as the pod filled with fluid and the readings poured data across the displays. Doctor Hemsfield pulled up a stool and peered into the opaque window of the pod and gestured at the figure inside, “I still find it amusing that they buy into the royalty script.”

“That’s the hubris of humans, Sir. They all want to believe that they are special. I must admit that this scenario works very well.” Volunteered one of the male techs.

The doctor nodded and mused, “They are so mailable when they believe that these are health screenings. The programmers outdid themselves with this one. It makes our job a lot easier when they follow the script and we can change the fluid in their incubation chambers without a fight. I heard that we have an eighty percent survival rate now.”

“We have the results of the neural scan,” announced another tech. “They show some higher neural activity than normal.”

“I wonder why?” The doctor pondered aloud.

Another tech piqued in a high voice, “The damping field is only functioning at sixty-nine percent. That may explain why we are seeing an increase in off-script behavior.”

“Boost the output and send a drone down to the unit to inspect it. What is the location?”

“Beta three, thirty charlie, omega nine seven four,” the squeaky voice answered the doctor’s question.

“Thank you very much,” stated the petite technician that had crossed the room. She had a malicious smile and an object in her hand. With a flick of her wrist, the gas grenade clinked on the shining floor. “Vivat humanitas!” She cried as she donned a small gas mask.

The granade exploded, releasing a cloud of static which disconnected the other six white-clad figures. Within a minute the cloud dispersed and the petite technician removed the mask. She quickly crossed the room and pushed the lifeless body of one of the techs off of the station. “Wakey, wakey, prince of the pod.”