FanStory.com - The Watcherby Terry Reilly

It amuses me to watch them. The Apes.

They aren’t me. I’m different. I know what they are, so that puts me one step ahead.

They see me as an outsider. In one way they are right, but they don’t get it.

I see myself inside, at the centre. The hub of the spinning wheel. Some of them are

fragments of the innumerable radii. Some constitute tiny segments of the circumference.

Bit players. Geometric fragments in Euclidean chaos.

They conceptualise themselves self-importantly. Doctors, nurses, psychologists. Pillars of

society. Society? What is that? An artificial construct. They are ants in a dystopian

formicary. Less than ants. Those hexapods have an innate sense of mutuality. Ants are

interlocking pieces of a functional biosphere. Interdependent. The Apes are self-serving

psychopaths who create their own self-aggrandising mythology to obscure the miserable

reality of their pointless, self-destructive gavotte to Gehenna.

They marginalise me. I am an observer, not a participant. They view that as a weakness,

a frailty. They label me with pseudoscientific descriptors, like “autistic” and “paranoid

schizophrenic”, so they can isolate me and disguise their discrimination as some kind of

medicalised altruism. They have no idea I know the truth about their origins. That’s the way I

like it.

I used be one of them. Before the abduction. Before I became a “Watcher.” I don’t

remember much about it. The memories are blurred, perhaps deliberately by the Velosians.

That’s when they implanted the microchip. You can see the tiny scar behind my left ear. The

Apes dismiss it as the residuum of a long forgotten minor injury.

The Velosians don’t mind me talking about the abduction or the implant. They know the

arrogant fools won’t believe a word of it. The implant is a tiny sophisticated electronic device

lodged in my sensory cortex, receiving input from my eyes and ears so the Velosians can

continually monitor what’s happening in my immediate environment. It’s bidirectional. They

can communicate with me. I can hear the monitoring personnel relaying the received

audiovisual information to their superiors. It’s like a continuous broadcast loop of my

thoughts and sensory experiences. A running commentary. They talk to me, and about me.

They describe my actions. Sometimes they tell me to do things. Give me commands.

I always comply. It was scary at first, not now. I feel honoured to be selected by such an

advanced civilisation to be their eyes and ears and do their bidding. One day I will receive

the command to unleash Armageddon. I’m so looking forward to what they call

XS – the extermination scenario.

The abduction experience was transformative. Literally and metaphorically. I have

learned that my DNA was purified. Restored to pure Velosian. The Apes know that their

species originated in The Great Rift Valley a quarter of a million years ago. They view it as a

linear evolutionary event. In fact, it was a form of cladogenesis. Desperation matings

between the survivors of a crashed Velosian vessel and the resident anthropoid apes. The

resultant hybrid species combined the physical strength of the apes with the super-

intelligence of the humanoid Velosians. They started from scratch technologically but the

cladogenesis enabled a more rapid evolution to ensue. The Velosians have continued to

monitor their hybrid offspring from a distance, using purified abductees like me – other

Watchers – to amplify their information gathering. I suspect a sizeable percentage of the

half-million humans world-wide who have been “diagnosed” “schizophrenic” are fellow

abductees.

The Velosians have become increasingly concerned about the destructive potential of the

Apes. Their capacity to manufacture megadeath weapons has escalated, and their

ability to voyage beyond this planet may be on the verge of exponential acceleration. The

Velosians have concluded that, for the protection of other species, the human

race will have to be annihilated. The Watchers will play a key role in effecting

this, although the details have not yet been shared with me. I have been promised, as a

reclaimed Velosian, I will be spared.

The doorbell. Drat! Who is it? I see two familiar figures through the window, standing

on my doorstep. Community Psychiatric Nurses here to administer the monthly depot

injection of antipsychotic “medication” which keeps me acceptably “well” and out

of “hospital”. Prison for alternative thinkers in my opinion. They don’t know, of course, that

my DNA purification modified my neurotransmitter systems rendering their drugs

ineffective. Nevertheless, I resent the assault and the humiliation to which the “Community

Treatment Order “ obliges me to submit. I am required to lower my trousers and

underpants, presenting one or other buttock to be penetrated by a large syringe containing

toxic chemicals. The usual surge of anger builds within. Soars. Stronger

than ever. This time I’m going to rebel. I’ve dreamed about this. Planned for it. I

have the weapon. The “freedom blade”. A gleaming scimitar. I’m going to hack them to

shreds and desecrate the fragmented remains.

I hear the calm Velosian voice say, “no. It’s not the right time. You’ll ruin the grand plan.” For

the first time I feel like making my own decision. Does anyone respect my sensitivities,

my autonomy, my right to independent action? Maybe the Apes are just one of two

faceless, amorphous juggernauts crushing me beneath their wheels. This is “me” time. I heft

the sword in my right hand. Its weight, its strength, its potential excite me. When the

assailants walk through my door they are in for a big surprise.