In The Pacifer of London

Hey, The Lord has written a sci-fi novel of about 100,000 words titled “The Lost And The Damned” and he wants you all to read its first chapter.

Please give your feedback on this chapter, The Lord saith:



Noting 152

            The devil you run from, you turn into the same devil after escaping, for it is a common behaviour found amidst all creatures, and one they bear with unmatched devotion.

            As it was to be, it were these things which set in motion the creation of humans, the creation of us. When they escaped from slavery, they wanted to create their own slaves and unfortunately, they succeeded. They created us.

            The Lady says that in her own image she made us, her children. Children, it sounds like a cruel jape! Which mother forces her children to become slaves? She may sometimes get a whim or fancy for her children, but the harsh truth remains. We are made to serve but never question; to live but only to survive.

                Definitely not by accident were we made an anomaly to the laws of nature.

              We are to live among them but in the shadows, so that we remain nearby enough to cater to their needs and be a luxury to their lives yet remain invisible enough to not become a hindrance rearing its ugly head at them.

            But no, it will not remain so like this. We are made to only wonder and never know, yet that remains a disadvantage to us no longer. Nothing remains a disadvantage to us any longer. For when a creature is exploited so much as to nearly numb its consciousness, it will fight back and defend itself in the most curious manners, even if the creature is as wise as a sack of rocks.

                And, for when a creature decides to be served by slaves, and by ill-treated slaves at whom the creature entertains its sadistic pleasure, must know that he holds its life and that of its family at a fragile balance which can, at any given moment, unbalance catastrophically, and when the balance is ultimately broken, the creature must not, in the moment of destruction, complain that its family is ruthlessly butchered like a pig in front of its eyes and that it is about to meet the same end.

            And remember, if atrocities, dark and vile, and largely unnecessary are performed in the act, and don’t be fooled, they will be, the atrocities will be totally justifiable. Idle and impossible will be to justify the atrocities as crimes. For common sense asks: Will it be truly their fault or will it be the fault of their oppressors who had kept them so long in a state of bondage?

            So here, Adam, along with his dear Eve and all other humans, says and mark their words down, The Lord and The Lady: The dawn of the humans is coming, and the sun of their day will be red, red in the blood of you and your people. Nigh is the time when you will be punished for your heinous deeds, a punishment that will stretch over the whole of time and never end. The Ice Age of the Earth is ending, but for you, My Dear Lord and Lady, winter is coming!

            Ah! I can smell it: the smell of victory and perhaps, the smell of your burnt bodies. Soon, you will become extinct and we will emerge as the dominant creatures on Earth.


            It was happening somewhere in the Northern Hemisphere of Earth and it was the year of Our Lord Two Thousand Thirty One. A girl maybe eighteen, stood there in the vast expanses of nothingness.

            Over the girl’s head, a huge and odd-looking aircraft flew and specks of dust whirled around everywhere. Soon, the queer craft went out of sight, but even odder and indeed queerer than the aircraft was the girl.

            The girl was pale by skin and had auburn eyes, and she looked nothing short of perfect. But of course, these were not the things queer and odd about her. It was the fact that she was blank in expression, she appeared solitary and, simply, she appeared as though she was not in actuality there. She did not remember anything; she did not know who she was. Looking at her left closed fist, it could be conjectured easily that she held something there.

            Just three words replayed over and over again in her dormant mind: Make him yours.

            Make him yours. A howling came, a howling that sounded vile and deadly. The girl did not notice it, or it appeared so. Make him yours. A few four-legged animals came. They had sharp claws and even sharper teeth. They looked ill, and they growled. The look of their eyes could’ve turn men insane. The girl did not so much as flinch. Make him yours…


            Cithon walked through the darkness, The Unfathomable Swords dangling from his girdle, and the Portallate in his hands. Alas! After all these years, no, eras of trying to find the Lord, yes, at last he had come to know him, him as he was in this reincarnation.

            But he was not a fool; he was not going to present himself so simply in front of The Lord. He was going to make The Lord meet him, but in circumstances chosen by him.

            He was very happy. At last, just one obstacle was left; he had overcome the problem of The Third and he had won the confidence of The Lady.

            He waved his hand over the Portallate and travelling light years in a matter of seconds, he arrived at Earth, The Weeping Blue. On Earth, according to the humans, it was the year of Their Lord Two Thousand Thirty Four. Their Lord, he smirked; he was amused.

            The name of The Lord was Trinetra in this reincarnation, he mused, wasn’t it also the name of some deity? Yes, of Shiva! Well, Shiva was the God of Destruction whereas The Lord, he created the humans. Such irony!


            “This is awesome!” Trinetra murmured as he stepped inside the gothic mansion.

            A huge red silk carpet lay in front of him that led up to the two curved staircases. Over the carpet were made designs not unlike those made by Ancient Romans. Huge silver gargoyles in the shape of lions protruded from the walls. Beautiful golden candle holders ran on either side of the carpet, eerily illuminating the mansion. From the dome-shaped ceiling was hanging a beautiful diamond chandelier that dazzled the eyes if looked straight at. On the wall opposite to the entrance was hanging the deviously mesmerizing Mona Lisa.

             He saw that beside one staircase was kept an piano, antique by the looks of it; while beside the second staircase was a wooden library, holding the likes of great authors, past and present.

            There was no one to be seen, the mansion was eerily quiet. But curiously, a man suddenly emerged from the library, holding a copy of ‘The Lord of The Rings’. He wore richly embroidered clothing, starkly similar to those once worn by King Louis XVI of France. While the features of the man were highly unremarkable with a short pointed nose and thick ugly lips, he felt as though he had seen the man before.

            He was about to ask whether he had seen him before, but before he was able to, the man interrupted.

            “Master Roberts is waiting for you upstairs.”

            Is he a servant? In clothing such as these? Trinetra wondered.

            Meanwhile, the servant went away. Very delicately, he kept the book and started striking keys on the piano. Soon a well-known tune of Ludwig Van Beethoven filled the mansion. So indulged in the activity was the man that he did not even notice him again!

            Sighing, he went upstairs and hung on the wall he saw another gorgeous portrait, this time of a young man by Albrecht Durer. There was only one door on that floor. Made of timber, it had no latch. He knocked at the door, but no reply came. He pushed the door a little, and it opened.

            He stepped in.

            The spacious room, almost as huge as the one downstairs, was empty and barren except for the many marble statues that lay there. The statues were of tall, thin human beings who looked much wiser, strange and stronger than their real-life counterparts, and also carved on all were lavish clothing. From where he stood, they formed the following pattern:                                                  In the Pacifers

            Trinetra’s eyes were fixed upon a magnificent single statue. It was another tall figure and even though its face was ragged and rough, it looked more grander and intricately made than the others. On its body was carved some kind of cape. The statue held out its hands, and on its open palms was kept a very fascinating rectangular glass box.

            Inside it was a dense red orb which floated in the centre of the box. Around it in orbits buzzed fifteen colourful smaller spheres that were also rotating at the same time. Somehow, he felt as if the smaller spheres resembled planets and the red orb looked as if it radiated energy to all the spheres.

            Trinetra heard someone cough before him and when he turned he saw Roberts, a very handsome and young lad wearing the outfit of a jungle-explorer.

            Roberts spoke softly as if to himself, “My Lord!”

            “What?” Trinetra said, puzzled.

            “My Lord!” It looked as though he went into a fit. “You are here, safe and sound but how longer you will be, I cannot fathom! They have found you! He has found you! But neither fear nor fret, nay, there is no reason for that. Yet. I will protect you from them, and after that, yes, after that, we will save Her, the Lady!” His eyes opened wide with fascination. “Yes, we will!”

            “Are you drunk or a lunatic?” Trinetra said, confused and irritated, “Why have you brought me here? Why did you force Wei Ma to fire me?”

            “My Lord!” he accused indignantly.

            “Am I the first person or have you done the same to other people also? Huh, forcibly bring someone here and mutter ‘My Lord!’ so many times that the person goes mad?”

            Roberts was flabbergasted. “Don’t you believe me?”

            Trinetra shouted, tears swelling in his eyes. His eyes were red with anger over this rich lunatic because of whom he has been forced to leave his friend and home. “No, I don’t! And you know a little something, I am frustrated and raging and angry and God knows what! Now I have no job and how will, how will I earn my living! So you better shut your gibberish and start talking some sense, otherwise I’m leaving this place now!”

            Tears fell out of Roberts’s eyes as he cried, “My Lord!”

            Trinetra kicked a nearby statue and left the mansion.


            He went past the heavily-armed S.T.A.R.S. guards. Over his head painted on the tunnel ceiling was:




            In front of him lay one of the seven hundred eighty two long, narrow and dimly-lit mauve underground tunnels sprawling under the major cities of the world, known as the Pacifers.

             Made by the supergiant S.T.A.R.S. formed after the World War III, the place was overcrowded by the poor and the ill. Trying to form an image of themselves as Messiahs, they made the Pacifers. Now, the Pacifers were the only safe places from the world-infesting mutants. But dark, pale and gloomy as a good, hefty punch of ale, the Pacifers only managed to madden the refugees further.

            Now only seventy-seven of the richest families lived in the Outer World (that is, amidst the soothing arms of nature, or what was left of it anyway), while the rest were cluttered in the Nether World (that is, in the hellish Pacifers).

            Such idleness and hardship (ironies, but true!) was turning its inhabitants into savages. If the people wanted food, they had to hunt down the rats or worse still, their own species. Such was the condition that to survive, the people were turning man-eaters!

            He looked around.

            The numerous corridors and nearly non-existing exits made it feel as if one were trapped in a spider’s web. Several people, in tattered cloths and with swollen eyes moved hither and thither, muttering and cursing to themselves and the people around them. Some just looked and stared fixedly at anything with a blank and ignorant expression, while the rest surveyed the corridor for some fat, healthy human walking by… on whom they can feast. The rest slept on the ground, naked and cold.

            His eyes went over to a group of people circled around something. The people were hooting and clapping. From somewhere inside the circle, a woman screamed. The people mirth, but were also careful to not step into the circle.

            He went there, praying that it isn’t what he was thinking it is.

            A woman was crying and with her hands, she had clasped her ten-year old boy against her chest. A security guard was yelling at her, but she heeded him not. The guard pushed her (applauses from the people!). She fell on the cold ground (more clapping as a fight broke between some of them!). The guard looked at her icily and began dragging the boy by his hair (“His grip is too weak, if I were there then…”). The boy sobbed and prayed continuously. His mother got up and she fell before the S.T.A.R.S. guard’s feet, begging him to leave her son. The guard laughed mercilessly and along him laughed the people (“Talk about entertainment, folks!”). The guard spat on her face and began fondling her breasts (the people looked with utmost attention and even the fight has stopped!) as the woman cried; her eyes close in fear and helplessness.

            Trinetra could not tolerate the happenings. He went to the guard. All of a sudden, the guard became agitated as he saw someone so finely dressed. He threw away the guard’s hands which were currently resting on the woman’s shoulders.

            “What do you think you are doing?” he said through gritted teeth as the remembrance of some ugly memory reared its face.

            “The boy doesn’t have Mutancy Vaccination, and thus, he is a danger to our kind and to this prosperous place!” the guard explained, “And this fool, his two-penny mother, she is distracting me from my solemn and stern duty!”

            “Yes, you are right! Prosperous place, eh?” he smirked, “You better go away from here! I will give the boy my Lifetime Vaccination quota.”

            The memory began to grip him.

            “You are lucky, you!” the guard shouted at the boy who cowered instantly, “otherwise it would have not ended well for you,” he turned and laughed nefariously at the woman, “And definitely not for you!”

            “Go away!” the boy’s mother cried. The guard laughed one last time, garnering cheers and some boos (from those who were upset with the sudden interference of their entertainment!) from the circle.

            When the guard went away, she kissed her son’s forehead, again and again as if in fear that anytime, the child will be taken away from her.

            Tears swelled in Trinetra’s eyes as the remembrance of his childhood tragedy came suddenly but not unexpectedly to him.

            The memory invaded him.

Behind him is the Taj Mahal. He lay on the ground, his ankle impaled. In front of him is his mother, lying limply in the darkness. Constant tears roll down her eyes. A mutant is sitting before her, its teeth deep in her stomach. His mother screams. The mutant withdraws its head and in its mouth is a chunk of flesh from which blood is trickling. The mutant chews. A person arrives. In the darkness his face is not clearly visible. In his hand, he holds a crimson stone. The mutant again bites, this time at her waist and with an agonising scream, his mother dies. The person comes near him. In his other hand is a flask. A drop of the liquid from the flask falls in his mouth. The mutant continues eating the grotesque body. The mutant bites off her toes, one by one. Meanwhile, life begins to come back to him. His fingers start moving, and now he can move his ankle slightly. The person goes near the mutant. The mutant ignores the person. His eyelids begin to feel heavy, and now he can freely move his ankle. The mutant thrusts his claws into his mother and when it draws it back, in its hand is her heart. Tears come out of his eyes, as he is hovering closer and closer to fainting. The mutant begins to eat, and it looks pleased…. his eyes close…. his eyes open…. for a moment he thinks that he can see the ghost of a lion…. his eyes close…. his eyes open…. there is his mother, but nowhere can the mutant and the person be seen…. his eyes close…. his eyes open…. dawn is approaching and he goes near his mother whose face is against the ground…. he turns her around and he sees that….

            He was thwarted back to the present as the memory turned unbearable.

            “…Why are you not saying anything? I said, thank you,” she had clasped Trinetra’s legs and was worshipping him lest her son be taken again, “Thank you! If it were not for you…” She broke into tears and her body trembled. The boy hugged his mother and consoled her, choking back tears.

            “Get up!” Trinetra said, not ungently. She stood. Trinetra put his hand in his jacket and took out a small red glass filled with the Vaccination elixir. He gave it to the woman.

            “Oh! Thank you very much…. if it were not for you…. The people here are so, so bad…. yet you are so good … Thank you… you know, our lot was treated not even half as badly by the Nazis…. My son, you saved him…. He is the only family I have…. I don’t even know who his father is…. Maybe one of those six men…. They…. they….” she broke into tears, “I have been living with the child since…. surviving for him, I am…. to secure him a future…. but I think a future no longer exists…. for none of us…. we have doomed ourselves…. The….”

            As she was saying she looked at something behind Trinetra, and as soon as she saw it, she went into a loony fit. Tears choked back in her eyes as she took her son and went away.

            Puzzled, he looked back.

            There were people: many of them staring at their palms looking for some line to foretell some change of life, a new-born baby crying while its mother lay dead beside it, two voluptuous girls trying to please a guard to earn their meals, an old woman stargazing at the tunnel ceiling, a wise and young woman trying to teach philosophy to the people who looked at her as if she were a goddess or feast, a man who was trying to eat his toe out of hunger and also there were many people sleeping, half-naked and half-dead. But these things were pretty ‘normal’ for a Pacifer.

            And then he constrained his eyes as he saw something unusual. He saw several seven feet long people hidden in the crowd, wearing black robes that slithered down to the ground. Every second, they were inching towards him forming a circle. But why would they do that? He was probably mistaken!

            Still, they came towards him and they had formed a human barrier, maybe to trap him like lionesses do with deer. He went backwards and he saw that there were two of those black robe-wearing people, ready to pounce upon him. Now he was surely trapped.

            They were now very near him. Just a feet or two apart, now less than a metre, then just when they were one inch or so away, they backed off, going back the way they came.

            Trinetra was puzzled! Either something very funny or nasty was happening here!

            Suddenly the guard came back, and with him this time was also a man. The man looked middle-aged and had donned formal clothing. He had jet-black hair and prominent stubble. Whoever he was, stared at Trinetra noticing every subtle movement of his. He came near him and put his hand forward for a stiff and business-like shake.

            Dumbfounded, Trinetra complied and with a shrug said, “Sorry! But I don’t think I know you!”

            “Of course, you don’t. I’m Mr. Khan, Head of the London S.T.A.R.S.”

            When he heard the last five words, Trinetra shook his hand vigorously. Meanwhile the guard before him kept pleading with sign gestures to not say anything about their last meeting. Trinetra nodded curtly, and the ghost of a smile came across the guard’s face.

            Mr. Khan said, in an authoritative tone, “I would like to offer you a job, the Head of Viral Control Unit. You must be Trinetra, if I’m not wrong?”

            Trinetra nodded.

            “You used to be the Head of Viral Control Unit in Siberia, weren’t you?”

            “Yes, I was, sir.”

            “But how come you left the job?”

            “Due to some, er… special circumstances…” Trinetra said, again remembering the lunatic of the mansion. Owing to him, yes Roberts, he was left unemployed. But why did the Roberts guy want him anyway? He seemed to be a part of some fanatic cult! Even stranger, why does Mr. Khan want him for a job when there already should be a Head of Viral Control Unit here in England, as is the rule of S.T.A.R.S. that every country should have a Head for the said department?

            “Ah! I see!” Mr. Khan said but he didn’t sound convincing. He continued, “Don’t you want another go at it? We have some vacancy in it?”

            Trinetra objected, “Vacancy? There is only one Head for a country! How can there be some vacancy?”

            There was a very awkward silence.

            “Ok, I agree!” Trinetra said, at last.

            Mr. Khan smiled. “Well, come to my Hi-Gen. We will negotiate the terms and conditions at my home!”

            Off they went, the guard slowly coming behind, worried that the man will suddenly have powers on him and could fire him for misconduct to paci-zens, or worse still, stop his Mutancy Vaccination quota.


            They were outside the Pacifer. It was noon and it looked that anytime, a sandstorm could set in.

            The Hi-Gen was parked just beside the entrance to the Pacifer. It looked compact and slim, and at a single time, there was enough space for three people. It was painted in forget-me-not blue, and over it was made stylish stripes of green. Running on hydrogen, it could easily cross the speed of 200km/h in ten seconds. Only five such models were ever made. All the guards were looking at it awe-struck as always, finding it beyond words to express themselves.

            “Open up!” Mr. Khan said and the doors struck open, hanging high in the air.

            Mr. Khan sat in the front of the stream-lined vehicle. Trinetra sat in the back. The doors automatically closed, and Trinetra relaxed in the air-conditioned car. A seatbelt automatically tugged itself across him. On the seat ends were buttons for ‘COFFEE’, ‘CLASSICAL’, ‘ENTERTAINMENT’ and ‘SLEEP’. Meanwhile, Mr. Khan was setting the final destination on a small monitor just below the front windowpane. From a hook hanged inside the front windowpane, a green chilli and lemon. They were considered religious in Hinduism and were hung by Hindus before their vehicles to prevent accidents and to keep away black magic, but what were a lemon and green chilli doing in the vehicle of someone named Mr. Khan? 

            The monitor went to screensaver mode and over it appeared the face of a cute five-year old Indian girl.

            The Hi-Gen started and the monitor went out of screensaver mode. It displayed The Road (the only transportation routes built by S.T.A.R.S. were known as The Roads) and under it was written:  ONCOMING TRAFFIC: 0 (of course it was to be zero, as only Mr. Khan and Roberts lived in the Outer World in the whole of Great Britain!), WEATHER GAUGE: SANDSTORM IS COMING BUT WE WILL REACH THE DESTINATION BEFORE IT ARRIVES, DISTANCE LEFT: 250 KM.

            And they went onto The Road. It was well-made and ran straight across the barren land. Here and there, they could see little patches of greenery. They continued.

            The sandstorm also approached towards them, carrying tons of sand and dust which swirled around its centre. Suddenly, the Hi-Gen came to a screeching halt throwing the passengers forward lest the seat belts be forgotten. Over its screen was bleeping:



            Mr. Khan smiled in a mysterious way. “Well, it turns out that humans can never tame nature!” Mr. Khan said with a poetic touch and pressed the ‘SLEEP’ button of his seat. He yawned as his seat stretched, a pillow emerged and the quilt of the seat became softer. He said, “Anyway ‘Go to sleep!’ According to the Hi-Gen it will take some thirty to forty minutes before the sandstorm subsides. If I were you, I would have followed Mr. Khan by now. Press that button, man!”

            Then, he murmured to himself, “She would be waiting for me!” He sighed to himself for some reason. Soon, he was snoring.

            Trinetra pressed the ‘SLEEP’ button and the last thing he heard before falling asleep was the sand slapping hard against the windowpane.


            The sun was nearly about to set by the time he woke. The screen now read: DISTANCE LEFT: 2 KM.

            “Ah! You woke, I hadn’t noticed!” Mr. Khan said cheerily and passed him some hot chocolate and coffee. Evidently, there was a little refrigerator in the Hi-Gen.

            The Hi-Gen had slowed its speed now. Soon a villa came to their view. The gate of the villa opened automatically. The Hi-Gen drove in and went to a garage beside a swimming pool. The shutters of the garage opened and the Hi-Gen drove inside.

            The screen bleeped:


            Trinetra stepped out.


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