text: Silence surrounded us in an unnatural haste. This special brand of silence can only be manifested, created, by man. Not mankind, not you or me, but by one man. I steeled myself against the encroaching fear and readied to plant my Black Rose as the saying goes. Footsteps of death broke the silence in which they themselves created; a duality in existence that only Life and Death possess. Despite the arid desert on this wasteland of Mars, a Black Rose can bloom like a weed in the Graveyard of Earth. The Graveyard of Earth is where the first scientists were buried. With them, marked the death of a society that would usher humanity further into our greatest potential. I always think of those scientists on the 40th day of the month. For when Death enters the prison wielding The Final Mask me and my fellow inmates living in the Purgatory sector of the prison wondering who death will take today. But, what would those scientists do? They fought against the impossibility of life on Mars. The Universe threw death at them the moment they left earth sailing through space for a new beginning. They shouldn’t have made it off Earth with the wars and all, but they outsmarted death. They shouldn’t have landed on Mars, but they were more prepared than death. They shouldn’t have built a successful civilization on Mars before the dust storms took them, but they were faster than death. Doesn’t matter though, death still wins in the end. The Final Mask hung lazily in the hand of the Warden, his own face hidden behind a sheer black mask with the constellation of Gemini in the center. the Final Mask was meant to be humane. An inmate was killed without pain as they were slowly lulled into sleep. Sleep is the cousin of death, after all. As the final mask was thrown into a pile of identical masks we would all don at once and as the Warden activated his remote switch the Final Mask would pressurize and send someone to sleep for good. When we lined up and took our masks the sound of a sudden thud as someone hit the ground would tell who was unlucky enough to have worn the fated mask. How would Mars’ first scientists handle this? They would fight back against death. If we can kill the Warden we can escape our death sentence. What was the point of it though, death comes for all of us in Purgatory. As the masks were mixed and then passed out a voice whispered into my ear. “Zane, my mask is warm, man. My fuckin’ mask is warm.” “Good for you. I’m freezing my ass off.” I said grinning to myself. “Is your shirt warm too? I’ll trade if it’s such a problem.” I heard a small chortle to me right from another inmate eavesdropping on us. Joking was how we got by living in purgatory. The only way to deal with this inescapable feeling is to simply laugh at it. “Think about it. My mask is warm. It feels like someone’s been holding it.” At this it began to sink in. I glanced at the cart whose mechanical arms continued to mix the masks move automatically down the line. “It’s my turn to plant the Black Rose. Shit, Zane this isn’t exactly as humane as they say it is. I’m not exactly sent from sleep to death here. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.” Panic was setting into his voice now. His attempt at a joke fell short and only doubled the sound of fear in his voice. But, he’s right. I stared at the Warden’s mask, the Gemini twins radiating a soft glow, and considered how he would feel knowing death was coming for him with certainty. It didn’t matter that they tried to build a death penalty that was 100% humane and successful when the Warden probably sat on the mask beforehand just to feel a little power over us. As if he didn’t have enough already. I thought of the scientists that left earth so long ago. “Give it to me. Trade.” I was speaking hastily now as the cart was nearing the end of the line of inmates. “What? Fuck no. That makes me no better than the Warden. Why would you want this shitty thing, Zane?” His voice quavered with a mix of relief, shock, and residual fear. “Trade. I’m getting it eventually. Might as well get to choose when I die. That’s humane, right?” I meant it, but my eyes didn’t leave the Warden as he sauntered to the start of the line where he would check mask seals before activating the killswitch. I moved my manickled hands carefully so they didn’t disturb the manifested silence that still surrounded us. I grabbed the Final Mask from his hand, although I pulled harder than I needed there wasn’t much resistance taking it from him. I am the master of my fate, not the Warden, and if he thinks he can dangle fear over us I’ll gladly correct him. How does this guy live with himself? The whole point of the Purgatory Sector is to deliver a peaceful and humane end to a prison sentence. He began checking seals down the line. Each inmate repeating the phrase to verify seal integrity. I felt the warm embrace of my mask as the Warden of Death moved down the line. I wouldn’t just take the fear away from the man next to me, I’d deliver it back in kind. “State your number.” The Warden’s distorted voice echoed from behind his mask sounding both ominous and distant. “280-61914” “I, state your number, have violated the New Laws of Mankind...” I repeated the Wardens words with a stoic disdain as to not betray my thoughts. “...and am graced with a humane death, though I am unworthy.” The Warden repeated the phrase the same way he did every 40th day. Each and every soul in PurgatoryBut, this is no humane death. Is it humane to know your final hour? I admit, I haven’t felt so charged with life until now. A surge of thoughts and meditations of the original scientists who escaped death at every corner just so the whole of humanity could continue on. Are these inmates to my left and right also human? They deserve the same selfless act. Sruely, it’s selfish if I don’t do something. Pushing firmly against the left and right breathers the Warden nearly concluded his final checks, so I took my opportunity. I took my life into my own hands, even for a moment. Tackling him and pinning his torso hard we began to struggle in our duel against death as each man, master and slave, became equal as death loomed over both of us. The Warden was nearly at the killswitch on his hip. I didn’t relent. The robots that normally oversee the death penalty were not responding, though they probably registered my masks signature and assumed I was killed already.None of them know they wield death like I know, today.\ I caught his left arm between the cold concrete ground and my knee. None of the other inmates would join in. Why would they? People fight back all the time, but death always takes them. The Warden sent his right elbow down into my liver as I reached to take my mask off. The blow doubled me over, but men fight hardest in this final hour. I tore the Wardens mask free and in one swoop shoved the Final Mask in place. I pushed the killswitch and hoped the mask was sealed. While I loomed over the Warden I kept my face in view so he would see the face of death as my own. His body went limp and the line of prisoners roared and tore their masks free. That was when chaos erupted. The robots watching the precession are clearly on some sort of timer or routine and we had just violated it. I grabbed at the Warden’s mask, the Gemini twins still glowing a soft-blue hue, and put it on. The robots began subduing prisoners with mechanical efficiency; neither emotion nor malice in their actions. I vaulted for the exit as I escaped Purgatory. Frantically searching for a way out I considered the Warden must have personal items. I could be free of this place, my sentence has been served. Finally, I had stumbled upon a small room with a neatly folded white button down shirt, trousers, and a pair of sharply cleaned leather shoes. Rifling through the pockets searching for anything of use I found a key card and opened a locker in the corner of the room, my mask illuminated the interior dimly. A screen was staring at me with an ID reader built into it. I tried the Warden’s card hoping the computer had access to the communications network on Mars so I could begin to form a plan. Inserting the card a prompt appeared. Warden number: I keyed in the 7 digit alphanumeric number on the back of the Wardens badge. Termination Sequence Successful? [Y/N]: Termination sequence? Is that all this is? Just a routine, a policy or procedure, to be carried out with the same monotony as a janitor cleans a trash bin or an accountant punches numbers into a spreadsheet. I typed in Y anyway. Didn’t want to throw any alarms so close to freedom. Gemini Mask In Place? [Y/N]: I hesitantly typed Y. Must be an inventory check. You are free from the guilt of murdering another soul. An eye for an eye; death is the great equalizer. Thank you for keeping it Humane. My mask tightened and the world went black.