Tholos

Chapter one

Agar Fletcher

Agar gazed at his shackled hands; he never grasped till then how worn and beaten they looked. Every nick and scar told a story and now he can add murder. Boom! The gavel shocked him into awareness.

The judge glared and said, 'Agar Fletcher. With the overwhelming evidence against you, I hear by find you guilty for the murders of: Mathew Fletcher, Charles Fletcher, Alayah Fletcher and Jarmain Fletcher in the first degree.' The judge shook his head disapprovingly and continued. 'I have come across some brutal cases in my long tenure in the judicial system, but this one is up there with the worse. A man who, so callously destroyed these four lives--your family. The inhumane acts you performed on the victims, the young boy alone is unfathomable. I have no choice, and will happily sentence you to life in imprisonment without parole, and sent to Deadwood.'

Boom down the gavel came, harder, faster. He could see the contempt in the judge's eyes. Agar went numb, he knew his fate for a while; mentally tried to prepare the best he could. But no one could be ready. The harsh words spoken aloud, the abhorrence for him throughout the courtroom; misery and loneliness engulfed him. Worst of all, the whole truth will never be acknowledged. Agar will forever be known as the man who brutally murdered his family.

But his fight for the truth was over. A new and more terrifying one dawned on him. Deadwood. A place he would go and die the slowest death. The punishment was born two hundred years after the death sentence was prohibited worldwide. He would be put into a chamber, but to stop him ever escaping, his hands and feet are surgically removed. His body placed in a cylinder cage and fed through tubes. All the while conscious; induced sleep forced for four hours, the rest you slowly went insane. As disturbing it was, the companies and governments federated, as they saw potential huge saving to fatten their pockets. Such disregard for human life was reciprocated throughout humanity.

Agars legs went weak, pure terror. He thought about deadwood many times, but refused to accept his fate till then. The thought of him in a small cage, simple pleasures of conversation or stimulation torn from him. Only him and his thoughts. The government said it's, so he can solely "reflex on your crimes" for the rest of his dejected life.

Agar was tough, his life hard, and lessons he learned harsh. But he knew he would crumble. His mind raced: could he escape, or kill himself before he got to Deadwood; did he have it in him to kill himself. Dazed with thought he suddenly was jolted upright by two guards. The two rigid guards hauled him out to a deserted hallway; separated just for the convicted.

I need to do something! He thought.

He rallied all the strength in his legs and pushed against the smaller guard to his left. But the guard didn't even loose his footing. It was a pathetic challenge as the guard didn't even acknowledge his efforts. That angered him.

'No! No!' Agar shouted, this time he used his anger to gain more strength and tried to jump backwards away from the guards, slithered as best he could from their iron grips. Panic and bile rose in him, he tried to shout more but was choked by his own tightening throat. The dread in Agar when he saw the opened door at the end of the hallway was palpable. Now violently kicking, elbowing, even biting to get free. When the smaller guard lost his grip, Agars hope surged. He snatched the opportunity, faced the small man, jumped and with both legs kicked him in the chest into the wall, the momentum propelled Agar in the opposite direction using his body to smash the other guard into the opposite wall. For a glorious moment he was free, but nowhere to run.

As the larger guard grunted reaching for his taser Agar kneed him in the face, knocking him clean out. He twisted to run but his legs were swiped away by the smaller guard, Agar felt confident he could take the little prick; when a baton cracked him on the back of his head nearly knocking him out, his confidence dwindled. As he lumbered up, a few more cracks of the baton brought him down on one knee, but with a deep breath and the horrid visualisation of him in Deadwood looking out of his little tube for the rest of his days ripped out a roar from him and he charged the guard so hard Agar took him off his feet and smashed him into the ground; the little man wheezed; no doubt with a possible punctured lung. Then pure rage. Agar on top of him started to hit the guy; fist raised, his whole body drove behind his blow as he contacted with a crunch. He got into a rhythm; every hit broke bone, the guard was motionless. He didn't know or cared if he was dead.

Tears came down Agars eyes, he didn't even see the guard anymore. At that agonising moment he saw his past, his regrets, all his failures leading up to this moment; he fought it, beat to a pulp, and when his arms failed he started to use his head. He could hear screams in the background; in was his screams. Whack! Agar saw bright light, then pain everywhere. He saw multiple guards were over him taking their turn; he instinctively moved into the fetial position, exhaustion struck him the hardest, as he wept.

After they decided he had enough, Agar was peeled off the floor. He tried to open his eye's, but they stung tremendously; as he wiped them his hand was smeared with clotted blood, possibly more than blood because he saw the body he was over with the head caved in.

Did I do that?

Agar zoned out for a few seconds dumbfounded that he couldn't remember what he did just minutes ago only to realise he was being carried to the open door. This time he stared at the ground and conceded to his fate. When the floor changed to dark tiles he knew he entered the room. He was thrown onto a seat like a ragdoll. Every limb ached in pain. Agar could see the hatred in the guard's faces, all eight of them. Four held him down while the others stood with their batons, wet with blood ready for round two if only he would give them an excuse.

'Hold him tight' a woman said from behind him. She sounded scared; he couldn't blame her. Then Agar twitched when he felt a prick on his neck. Warmth filled his neck, then his body and head. His vision started to fade as did his consciousness, and with it his hope.

**

Agar awoke from a deep sleep but wasn't rested. Confused, he slowly tried to take in his surroundings.

'Need them up and ready asap!' a deep male voice said.

'Sir' multiple voices replied. A door hissed opened then shut, followed by busy footsteps. Movement was impossible, as if he was paralysed, he couldn't even twitch his fingers. He understood instantly; this was Deadwood. Fear slapped him into focus. An individual hovered over him; Agar was laid down in a tube of some sort.

The man must have seen the panic in him and said, 'Don't worry it's all going to work out.' Something in the young man's smile and tone suggested it wouldn't. He wore all black, smart but practical. With a few pushes of his wrist-pad Agar swung up and faced a metallic wall. 'Welcome to Tholos, Agar Fletcher.'

Tholos? He was confused more than ever. Within his peripheral he could see a few other men dressed all in black moved with purpose. The whine of other tubes echoed behind him made Agar think he wasn't the only one. Then without warning a warmth filled him, reminded him of the scared woman that pricked him before; sensation creeped into his body, first his blood coursed through his veins like hot lava, then his whole body tinged, throbbed with life. More importantly he wiggled all ten of his feet and hands. He laughed with elation, then just as quickly stopped himself. Maybe they haven't gotten to that part; dread bathed him. It was public knowledge that Deadwood was in space just past the moon were gravity was absent; since Agar noticed gravity working its magic he was somewhere on earth or on another planet of sorts, either way his anxiety spiked, but managed, 'Where's Tholos?'

'Where doesn't concern you.' The young man retorted, he didn't even look at Agar as he was typing on his wrist-pad, his eye-contacts busy with information.

He instinctively tried to crack his neck but was robbed of it by a claw type restraint holding his head, once his body stopped throbbing he felt the same claws gripped every part of his joints. Agar could hear other prisoners piping up, asking questions themselves, some questions were followed by threats. One guy with a heavy accent threatened one of the men in black right behind Agar. He heard scuffing of boots halt were the restrained man was and answered his threat with, 'I like a bit of spark in em', makes the reward taste ever sweeter.' He was whispering by the time he finished his statement.

Silence followed, Agar learned quickly just as he suspected the others did that threats were not the best course of action, at least not at this moment of time. A hiss of the door opened and soft, but deep thuds like heavy rubber hitting the ground--bipedal cyborgs; one marched past Agar, while unnerving black eyes observed its new guests, all six eyes equally spaced around it's head to give a three-sixty-degree vision. At six-foot-six and with a size that mirrored that of a heavy build man, well they were nothing short of terrifying. And that was the point.

They were named Drogson after the engineer Helix Drogson who was there creator. Built for war, a Drog was controlled by a soldier in a bunker nearby through neural connection; man interconnected with machine made them the most diverse and deadliest weapon around. With them being the most expensive tech, Drogsons were only found in time of war or were the affluent used them for their multitude of talents. The one he saw was unsurprisingly unarmed, as even a group of armed soldiers wouldn't stand a chance against it. All this strength and power in just one Drogson. He thought it was overkill when three of them wheeled each prisoner into the next room one by one.

Agar was next as one moved him from behind and the other two flanked him. In the next room another two Drogsons stood side by side in front of an exit. He was surprised to see men and woman, in Deadwood it didn't matter, but in typical prisons it was significant for obvious reasons. Just another observation that made Agar think he wasn't in a prison or if he was, no prison he's even known. The clawed grips released him, and he stepped out of his tube, to his surprise the air lingered of sweat mingled with metallic lubrication.

All the new comers including Agar was dressed in simple grey overall's, the trepidation in the room was tangible as the drogs lined them up in four columns like cattle. One line just the woman and the other three men. One Drogson stood in front of each column were as the fifth stood in front of them all and said in a male's voice, 'Gentleman--ladies. You may have realised you're not where you expected to be, and that's ok with us. Let me be clear about one, but important fact. We own you. You obey. If you don't there will be consequences,' at that moment a Drogson gripped a man's wrist, a high-pitched noise drilled through Agars ears forcing his hands to cover them and eyes clamped shut.

The noise subsided, and he opened his eyes to the man being electrocuted to unconsciousness, blood gushed from every orifice while certain parts of his body randomly jerked. When the Drog released its grip, one of the men in black appeared from behind to take the man away, Agar forced himself to look straight ahead not knowing if he was dead or alive. Then the Drog simply commanded, 'follow your designated Drogson.' Turned on its heel and walked out the room.

In the next room was a hanger bay with small four transport ships at the ready, each column got into a ship. They were each shackled to a cold uncomfortable seat, as the rear ramp of the ship closed the Drog melted into a part of the wall and shut down. Muttering that filled the room was silenced by the rumble of the engines, when they ascended, gravity dissipated. His arms started to drift, his stomach in knots. No chance they just went through atmosphere that smoothly; artificial gravity meant he was certain they weren't on earth. He had never been on another planet before and hoped that when he did leave earth, his home, that it would be under better circumstances than this. At this point curiosity overpowered his fear and he just wanted to know what the fuck is going on.

The ride was smooth enough, as they landed, the cargo door opened as the drog came to life. They exited the ship and walked through a hallway into a mundane room, but the company was anything but. Five armed Drog's lined up the back wall. Ten men dressed to intimidate in front of the Drogs; layered with tough, streamlined, expensive body armour and assault rifles. At the head of all this firepower was a young man sporting a sharp navy suit; what caught Agar off guard was the blonde ponytail.

This guy wouldn't survive a week in prison. Yet Agar couldn't deny blondie had all the control, his posture commanding, a look of a man who would enjoy ordering someone else to do you harm. He counted fiftyish inmates including himself lined along the room two rows of ten. He glanced around and saw every man stared ominously at blondie, waiting to hear what he's got to say.

'Welcome. Welcome.' Blondie began in a warm business manner. 'My name is Kalus Voklure. You are now occupants of Tholos, as you have probably concluded this will be your new home till you wither away and die.' Paused and smiled, he started to amble along the line of inmates and continued. 'Now all we ask of you is three simple rules: conform to order, obey the rules and work hard.' Hands spread suggesting this to be the easiest task alive. 'If you break any or all rules. Well I won't go into details, I like to surprise people. But! You have control of how your lives play out, and you won't be wasting away in a cell, no, no. You will have purpose! We don't just punish, but also reward. We are doing mind-blowing work gentleman. The kind that will force you to rethink your understanding of the universe.' He stopped, grinning from ear-to-ear. 'I could tell you--but it's probably best to show you.'

Kalus ended with a nod to a Drog that opened the massive, metallic door that laid in front of them. The Drog that led the inmates began to lead again through the doors. The unusual setting took him by surprise. They were mid-way up a massive dome on a walk-way, blocks of cells side by side jutted out from the dome; hundreds of cells, Agar quickly tried to count how many levels there were, but was forced along by the time he got to twenty or so, he concluded roughly about thirty levels. A quick glance at the base of the dome made Agar think of a maze leading into larger rooms, mice replaced by men. All the walls were parapets for the guards to patrol from what he could decipher, about seven meters high and two meters thick. He even noticed rudimentary lavatories had no privacy as there were no roofs; people were busy moving everything away from the centre and into the dome, everything was portable by the looks of things, kitchens, rec-room tables, tables folded up as to be easily moved, even lavatories were moved; Agar squinted at the thought of who had the job of cleaning.

'Agar Fletcher. Your cell.' The Drog announced. He was takin aback as he gazed at the ground not thinking he was being led to his cell about to meet his new roommate. In prison you are either an alpha or a bitch. A deep breath and Agar walked into his cell poised to dominate; this wasn't his first time in prison, so he knew how things went. Unfortunately for Agar he literally had a mountain climb, his cell-mate was nearly seven-foot-tall, a mountain of meat, wrists thicker than Agars arms. Eastern Asian, short dark hair nearly trimmed to the scalp, rounder brown eyes suggested he was possibly mixed race. He looked young, but looks can be deceiving; he had a gut but far from fat, muscles bulged from every other part of his body. He wore a grey loose vest if one can imagine a vest that big, the same light grey overalls as Agar but tied the arms around his waist.

The bouldering man leaned against the top bunk elbows resting on it, how it didn't cave in with his weight bemused Agar. He was in a relaxed state and Agar didn't know whether that's because the Asian didn't see him as a threat or was sincerely relaxed. 'Kantias.' The Asian broke in.

'Agar.' He retorted. Kantias gently pushed himself up, walked to the front of his cage and leaned his right forearm against it. He could see a dragon tattooed on Kantias head which spilled down his neck disappearing under his vest; sharp indentations around the beast depicted wind and numerous symbols. He didn't want to stare so Agar walked to the front of his cell next to Kantias. Each floor of cells had a walkway parallel to it; five meters from each other, nothing but air between them. Agar thought if anyone was afraid of heights then they were in for a treat. Equally spaced out along the catwalks were circular bays where he saw guards sat and observed by looking around over the bays or on screens. None armed with guns only peculiar batons; they donned less expensive armour, but were no less intimidating.

'How did you end up here?' Kantias asked still looking outward of his cell.

'I was sentenced to Deadwood then put to sleep and woke up here--what is this place.' Agar couldn't help himself but ask.

'A place were the dying meets the dead.' He got the feeling Kantias was trying to be poetic which irked him.

'Eh? What's that supposed to mean?'

'Any loved ones Agar?' Kantias said as he faced him leaning his shoulder against the cage with his arms folded.

A sensitive subject for obvious reasons made him tense up and growl, 'What's it to you?' Anger swept over him.

The big Asian just stared, an almost bored look on him and said, 'I'm guessing no then?' Agars hands morphed into fists, gritting his teeth. 'Don't get your panties in a twist little man.' Kantias growled, Agar was by no means small at six-foot-two. 'I know you don't have any loved ones because every inmate including myself don't either, it's the one thing we all have in common; who ever brought us here doesn't what anybody looking for us.'

'Ok fine.' He couldn't argue the point, but it didn't sting any less to be reminded of the day his family was ripped from him. 'So, why?'

'Kalus--as much as I would love to tear him limb by limb is correct when he says its best to show you.' Kantias nodded down towards the base.

Agar so keen to know, practically hugged his cage with anticipation. A screeching noise of metal grindings metal tore through the dome. Like an origami folding up; the walls and parapets folded into each other. It was a fantastic sceptical, within five minutes the dome's base was completely clear. It became evident the floor itself moved, long individual curved grooves ended in the middle side by side. Like long thick curved swords, they separated, an aperture expanded till the floor was no more.

'Bones! Fucking bones!' Agar blurted out. An archaeological site like nothing Agar had even seen. Bones clearly of different species lay strewed in this colossal pit. What looked like a huge ribcage jutted out by at least fifteen meters high from his judgement; Agar shivered at the thought. After a few dazed minutes he focused and noticed something peculiar. Many carcasses didn't look randomly placed in the ground, as if they naturally died there. 'Is this a mass burial site? Am I looking at dead...aliens?'

Kantais smiled, 'Hell of a way to find out we aren't alone in the universe.'