The Coffin Club Presents

Broil remained silent until four more cards joined their sibling in the hat. No clearing of his throat, no preamble.

“This is what it can be like, forever. You and I are special, all us former Terrans; we live until we choose not to. Time stops meaning anything. In here? It means even less. They have me watching you for two reasons. First: so you don’t go crazy from isolation. Doesn’t work, plus it’s not helpful or good for you. I’m your lifeline to the outside world. Second: we’ve got a lot of monitors. I am, hands down, the most patient.” His smile was confident. “I have opinions on ranked competitive grass growing, I can make paint drying into an epic poem. I can keep my head in here, whether or not you open your mouth or not.”

Wrench stared at him. His grip hadn’t loosened on his knees at all. He no longer felt hunger, or fatigue, or even lactic acid in his muscles from this position. Nothing at all, unless he thought about it, and even then. Memories of past experiences, recalled through a filter.

Broil continued. “Tell me what’s on your mind. Tell me where you’ve been. Ten thousand years is a long time to have been a Trooper. If you have to tell me in real time? I can listen and wait. You want to figure out how to alter this place? I can be persuaded to teach you. You and I can do a lot together in here. But. You don’t get to leave. Not with how you are right now. You’re in with the Angels now, bud. You want out of the machine? Earn your wings.”

Wrench coughed hard and spat at Broil. It passed harmlessly through the chuckling man.

“Have it your way, then.”

Broil fanned out the remaining cards and sighed. “You want to pick the ones I throw next, or nah.”

Wrench huddled closer to his knees, and Broil nodded and resumed practicing his throwing.

Broil threw the entire deck into the hat, twice, before Wrench spoke again.

“Who are the Angels.”

The monitor’s lips pursed in a knowing smile. “Well.”