The Complete Collection – by Jericho James

The Complete Collection – by Jericho James

7:45 AM. Another morning about to be ruined.

Dennis Pearson sat in the parking lot of the Limited Run offices, contemplating if he would actually go in today. Pearson had been working in the shipping department for close to a month, filling the position of a prior employee that left without notice. Since starting at Limited Run, he had been taught the ropes by a senior employee named Woody Gellért, who had taken a particular interest in Pearson the very moment he had joined the company. At first Pearson was grateful for the guidance of an experienced member of the shipping staff, but as the days and weeks continued and Gellért's supervision had yet to wane, the constant oversight had now become a hindrance. It also didn't help that Gellért had an overbearing personality outside work as well. He was friendly and personable enough, but during their breaks Pearson would receive a barrage of questions about his personal life and routine. It was becoming a hindrance to the point that Pearson had lately, much like today, started considering other avenues of employment.

7:55 AM. Pearson allowed himself one exasperated sigh, and stepped out of his car to head into work. Mere moments after doing so, as if on cue, Gellért appeared as soon as he approached the warehouse doors.

“Morning Dennis!” Gellért beamed, pride evident in his eyes, despite what little could be seen of them underneath the stack of boxes he was balancing in his arms.

“Gellért. Are we sending out a new set of games already?”

“Actually these are for myself, they just arrived. You know me, I need to get everything Limited Run. Another step closer to my complete collection.”

“Ah, I see. I probably have a few things waiting for me then as well, so I should grab those.” Pearson weaved his way around Gellért in an attempt to leave the conversation.

“Wait, wait!” Carefully placing down his games, Gellért turned and called after him. He pulled out his phone and and began waving it in the air, beckoning Pearson to return. “I actually need you for something. I was told to get photos of the shipping team for the company website.”

“I didn't know we had a section for employee photos.”

“Oh yeah, they've always had it. Or they've always meant to have it, they're planning on adding it.”

This struck Pearson as odd; he didn't recall receiving emails about this proposed change, but then again he had trouble sorting through all of Gellért messages from his company account to discern all the other Limited Run correspondence. “Fine, just make it quick. Can we do it here?”

“Oh sure, here is fine. Just back up against that wall.” Before Pearson could walk there himself, Gellért dragged him into position. “Okay, I need you to turn slightly to my left, and put your right arm out with your left arm underneath, like you're holding a shipping box.”

“Why don't I just actually hold a shipping box, then?” Pearson commented, dubiously.

“Um, they're trying to go for something quirky. A bunch of people all doing the same thing would be pretty boring.”

Pearson complied, taking up the pose while trying his best to hide the contempt from his face. He really liked the rest of his co-workers, but dealing with Gellért on a daily basis had sapped him of any remaining whimsy left for this job.

Gellért quickly snapped the photos from a few different angles. “Ah, I knew it. This is the perfect pose for you.”

Pearson managed a grunt in response, leaving Gellért to admire his handiwork.

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Later in the evening, Pearson was printing the last batch of shipping labels to get ready for work tomorrow. In a rare turn of events, Gellért had gone home ahead of him for once, leaving Pearson time to complete his work in peace. A few others were still in the office playing games in the stream room, but otherwise he had the whole place to himself. The last of the labels came out of the machine in a spurt, and he bundled them together to drop off in the warehouse.

Pearson passed into the hall as the noise from the room behind him, the clatter of controllers and hollers from spectators, dwindled – everyone was returning home for the night.

He placed the labels on a pile to be used for outgoing parcels, and hit the lights as he went for exit. Halfway to the doors, he stopped. Didn't he turn off the lights here before heading off into the main office? He turned back to look at the light switch, catching movement out of the corner of his eye. Before he could register what he saw, he was struck in the neck, pain sent radiating through his skull as his vision shrunk away to nothingness.

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Pearson woke, already grasping at his head before he had regained consciousness. There was a ringing pulsing through it, worse than any migraine or hangover he had ever experienced. He reaches for his neck, feeling a deep puncture hole where he was struck. It took time before his sight returned, a veil slowly being drawn so that he could finally make out his surroundings. He was  laying in the middle of a large adorned room, plush carpeting underneath with glass shelving lining the walls all around, housing boxes of varying sizes. There were no windows, nor any visible entrance or exit in sight – the room was illuminated only by pink spotlights above.

Stomaching the pain, Pearson managed to climb to his feet and take a better look around. Among the shelving, there were what appeared to be dozens of large empty pedestals throughout the room. Some were accented with different colors, each type grouped together: red, green, blue; but only two were accented with gold. Despite the many empty pedestals accompanying the room, there was one, and only one, with what appeared to be a statue mounted atop.

Drawn by this sole statue, Pearson approached it, soon admiring its grotesque beauty. The 'statue' looked anything but up close, instead it seemed to be a hyper-realistic wax human model. There were wires and tubes affixed to it in various locations, along with stitches across the mouth. The waxy material had a distinct smell of mold, or mildew. Against his better judgment, Pearson reached on to touch the model, surprised to feel warmth against the waxy exterior. He pressed harder, feeling the wax indent and squish underneath his thumb. The texture is a little unnerving, and Pearson backs away as a result. Upon doing this, he freezes in place, his heart nearly stopping when he notices a pair of eyes, eyes previously closed, now looking back at him. They are oddly realistic, almost... pleading with him. Desperate. Cautiously, he approaches once more, and the eyes take on a new look, but Pearson can't quite place it. They are moving now, bouncing continually to the right. That's when  Pearson realizes what the eyes are conveying: fear. He is then stuck from the right, again in the neck.

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Pearson woke, or rather, this time was surged awake by the growing pain in his head. He was lying on a cool surface, an endless abyss of black before him. He tried to gather his surroundings within the darkness, but couldn't focus his eyes – he realized now that he had been drugged. He sensed movement, and with effort managed to lift his head. A blurry figure was bent over his right arm, with what appeared to be thick metal wire draped over its shoulder. Pearson tried to free his arm from its reach, but was unable. He was bound, whether by restraints or the figure itself he couldn't tell, but he couldn't summon the strength to resist either way. Before he can conceive of his surroundings, a tingling emerges from his legs and arms, growing faster and faster in intensity. A high pitched noise drowns out his thoughts, increasing his ringing headache. The noise becomes more guttural, and only then does Pearson realize the noise is his own screaming. And then he screams louder.

The figure groans, rummaging for something out of view before plunging a needle deep into Pearson's leg. The impact of the instrument was lost on Pearson amidst the blinding pain, but in a moment he was lost himself, this time welcoming the overwhelming numbness once again coursing through his body as he slipped from consciousness.

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Pearson woke; he was beginning to become familiar with this repeating pain in his head. Sensations began returning to him – heat pressing upon his skin, a foreign tightness in his face, and... the faint smell of mildew. He forced his eyes open, an act requiring significant concentration as if weights were placed upon his eyelids.

In the familiar pink light of the large room he now recognized the figure before him: Gellért. A mixture of confusion and anger rushed to Pearson's tongue, but he was unable to find his voice. In fact, he was unable to even open his mouth, as if it was fixed in place. Panic rising in the back of his mind, Pearson struggled against his unknown confines, unable to move his arms yet again.

Gellért, calming stitching together what appeared to be a sweater, was unaware of Pearson's efforts until he glanced upward, a look of recognition spreading across his face. “Oh, I didn't expect you awake so early,” he said, placing down the sewing needle. “You have a real tolerance for the stuff I gave you. That's rather unusual, quite special in fact. You interrupted my work several times with your repeated awakening, but I suppose I can't fault you for your own biology.” Gellért chuckled, as if amused by a private joke. “Speaking of which, I'm nearly finished – would you like to see the result?” With an enthusiastic pace, he sprinted over to a full length mirror and wheeled it over to face Pearson. “Sorry about the indecency; rather crude, I know. It's my least favorite part.”

The sight before Pearson unearthed from him a silent scream, unable to escape from his throat. His naked self was hooked up to a series of wires and tubes that extended behind him, injecting and extracting fluids. Bulging scars lined the lengths of his arms and legs, his mouth was sown shut, and worst of all, his skin was encased in a thick wax; a musty seal preserving him from the outside world and any sensations of touch. Fueled by desperation, Pearson ushered every ounce of remaining strength to tear himself from his restraints... but was only able to muster a slight twitch of his wrist.

“Ah, ah, ah – I wouldn't do that. It took me so long to get you into position.” Pearson was posed turned slightly to the left facing Gellért, with his right arm extended outward and left arms trailing behind underneath. “The wiring I implanted in your appendages and spine allows me to place you in any stance I require, and provides structural support so your muscles won't become strained. Your return to consciousness is a little premature, as has been the trend with you, so the wax hasn't settled completely just yet. I would appreciate refraining from any attempts at movement for the time being.”

With urgency rising and his strength failing, Pearson's eyes darted across the room seeking any means of escape, falling instead upon the pedestals opposite of his direction. He hadn't seen them before, but the glass shelves housed Limited Run products... and Pearson now realized what the pedestals were for – and who the other 'model' is, or once was – the former shipping employee that came before Pearson.

“I still haven't finished your attire, but I just can't help myself.” Gellért bent down and picked up a shipping box, carefully placing it into Pearson's outstretched hands, completing the intended picture according to his reference. A genuine, unabashed smile formed across Gellért's face, pride evident in his eyes. “Another step closer to my complete collection.”