In this episode, Sam is left stranded on top of a very large building to fend for himself. In his plan to escape he is confronted with a very intense situation that gets violent fast.
The Most Amazing Story Ever is a tale about the birth of a modern God. This action-packed, emotional, whirlwind of a story takes the listener through a dramatic and dark process as Sam seeks out the light and attempts to claim the title of God Almighty. But his path out of the darkness is filled with peril as he confronts his inner demon, Malice. This beast consumes Sam’s soul and takes control of his body in an effort to bring death and destruction to the world.
Don’t miss out on this high powered tale of sorrow, struggle, and redemption. The Most Amazing Story Ever will remind you of what dwells within us all and show you the true power of the human heart.
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Standing there, hundreds of feet in the air, atop the roof of one of the largest buildings in the city surrounded by the massive amounts of air conditioners and things that hummed with the sound of productivity, Sam began to ponder his current situation. This dream had taken an interesting turn, he thought. How do I get down from here? He hadn’t been able to brush his teeth, and he was quite anxious to get out of these blood-soaked clothes. First thing first. How to get down?
Since this was a dream, he could simply jump from the roof. However, he was kind of enjoying this dream and was afraid the fall would stir him from his slumber. Then he thought that every roof has a door that leads to floors below. A quick pan and scan of his surroundings revealed such a door. A few steps later and Sam placed his hand on the handle only to discover the obvious. It was locked. Sam thought this was the silliest thing ever.
“Why would you lock a door that goes nowhere?” He thought to himself. Even if someone were to find their way up here, what would they steal?
The moment he finished his thought his head filled with a ridiculous amount of answers. Suicide, base jumping, sabotage, snipers, activists, graffiti artists, the list went on and on. Now he understood why the door was locked, but it did not help his situation. He placed his hand back on the handle and gave it a quick jiggle, only to have the knob come off in his hand. He had peeled it from the door like it was made of tissue paper. Looking down at the handle in his hand, thoughts began to flood his head. The first was amazement. He was still completely unused to his new-found strength and the fact that he could do this so easily was rather amusing.
The second set of thoughts shot through his mind faster than the first. These were thoughts of irritation. He had just ripped the handle off the door. How the fuck was he supposed to open the door now? Sam shook his head side to side ever so slightly. With a massive burst of power, he spun one-hundred-eighty degrees and threw the handle as hard as he could. It rocketed away like a missile out of sight. His tantrum didn’t stop there. He screamed at the top of his lungs, “MOTHER FUCKER!!!!!!!!”
Sam once again spun one-hundred-eighty degrees and kicked the door in anger and frustration. While he was expecting the door to make a loud sound and sting his foot, it did something much more dramatic. With barely an effort at all, he had kicked the door so hard that it became concave as it rocketed from its hinges and bounced down the 20 stairs behind it. It did indeed make a loud sound. Far louder than he had expected and it made a lot more of it. Sam placed his hands on top of his head, eyes wide and posture crouched. Two words slipped across his lips. “Holy shit.”
He knew he was going to get busted. So much sound was bound to set off an alarm. But as far as Sam was concerned, this was a dream. And a rather lucid one at that. The chances of there being an alarm were slim to none. At least, that’s what he had convinced himself of, just before the alarm began to scream. With ear-piercing volume, a building-wide alarm cracked through the wind-whipped air. Swiftly, Sam’s hands covered his ears in pain as he dropped to his knees. The sound shredding his eardrums was utter Hell. He couldn’t hear anything beyond the soul-crushing shrill of that goddamned alarm.
He knew he had to get off this rooftop, and he wasn’t about to go over the edge. The only way out was down those stairs. Staggering to his feet, hands still covering his ears as if it made a difference, he darted toward the door and down the stairs. His feet rapidly negotiated the steps one after another. The concrete muffled the sound from the outside, but the ear-shattering racket continued to echo down the stairs as if it were chasing him one flight at a time.
If this were a perfect dream, he would be able to make it to street level without being noticed. However, nothing in this dream had gone as planned or as it should have, and he expected trouble at any moment.
His expectations were met by an ever-so-faint sound that was made several floors below him. His newly-found, gifted hearing picked up on it the instant it was made. This sound was the sound of a door slamming open against the wall. There were several very large men rushing out of it and storming the steps aggressively. From the sound of it, they were coming up.
The rattle of keys and the friction of body armor on top of fabric quickly overtook the sound of the hideous alarm that had been pounding in his head. Somehow, he had managed to dial his hearing into all of the minuscule sounds that were echoing off the dull, thick concrete walls. The sound of material rubbing together, the jostling of full ammunition clips moving around in pouches. Sam’s ears could pick up the sound of air being pushed out of lungs as it flew past the mouth and from behind protective masks.
“This is amazing,” he thought to himself. He only wished more dreams were like this. The clarity and detail in this dream were far superior to any other dream he had ever had. So much so that he thought about what a shame it would be to wake up from something like this, only to go back to the supermundane life he was living in what he believed to be the real world. It seemed to be a no-brainer that he should push the boundaries of this dream world and find out just what he was capable of.
To accomplish that, he was going to need a serious challenge. Why not charge at the several men that were making their way to him via the stairwell. That seemed like an adequate challenge. Besides, what was the worst that could happen? If for some strange reason he was hurt badly or died, he would just wake up. His mind was made up. If he had in fact performed the dastardly feats Michael had told him of earlier, this should be a cakewalk.
Moments later, Sam rounded the corner in the stairwell and there stood his challenge. Five men in tactical gear. He had made a ton of noise coming down the last couple of flights in hopes that they were prepared for him when he got there. He certainly got his wish. The only thing that caught Sam off guard was the fact that they were so heavily armed. He honestly could not think of a single time in his short-lived life that he had seen a security guard in body armor carrying an M4 carbine assault rifle. It was a bit out of place, but then again so was he.
“Don’t move…!” shouted one of the armored guards.
“…Stay where you are and lay down on your stomach with your hands on your head!”
Sam smirked a little bit. He could see fifty ways in his head to get past these guys. Twenty-two of those ways sent them all to the hospital. The rest involved killing, at least one of them. The guard shouted his commands again, only this time, his intent was a bit more forceful.
“Get down on the ground with your hands behind your head…or I will shoot you!”
Sam’s smirk widened into a full-blown smile.
“You have until the count of three.”
Sam’s adrenaline was racing. He could hear the anxiety in the guard’s voice. He knew this guard was going to shoot him if he didn’t follow the orders being shouted at him. The guard was afraid as well, though. It was pouring out of his sweat glands and from behind his eyes.
Still not budging an inch, Sam tuned his ears into the heartbeats of all the guards. However, the one shouting at him had a heart that was racing. It paled in comparison to what appeared to be some of the most inexperienced guards in the group. To Sam, it sounded like a symphony of muted drums that were all out of sync.
Should he wait until three? He felt a powerful urge surging through his body. If he jumped the gun and attacked, they all might start firing. He felt very confident that he could move fast enough to dodge a single bullet, but dodging multiple bullets might be a bit tough.
Without a single second of pause, the guard pulled the trigger. His M4 discharged a single bullet. Sam could see it coming out of the barrel in slow motion, being propelled forward from the gun by a blast of hot air and fire. It was a very surreal experience. He had seen this kind of slow-motion on tons of shows on the Discovery Channel as well as the Internet, but now he was getting to see it firsthand with his own eyes. The bullet was traveling so slow that he could see the rotations and the air distortion around it as the ultra-hot piece of metal rocketed at him at a snail’s pace.
How exactly to handle this situation? Which one of the dozens of scenarios should he choose from? Should he side-step the bullet, then leap down the stairs with a flurry of punches and Kung Fu style kicks? Or maybe he should race down the stairs and steal all their guns before they can even figure out what happened? There were so many options before him, and it was hard to decide. He may never get an opportunity like this again. He certainly did not want to regret it later by thinking of some incredibly witty thing he should have said or done. Alas, Sam decided the best option was to wing it. Just freestyle through this event and let the chips fall where they may.
He did not intend to hurt them. Even though they fired a bullet at him, he felt it was far nobler to just rough them up a bit and see to it that they still got to it go home for dinner tonight with their families. No sense in killing anybody. It is not as if the bullet was going to hit him or anything, he thought to himself.
As the bullet crawled ever closer to him, Sam figured it was about time to spring into action. He felt like a character on the big screen, like a newfound hero discovering his powers for the first time. However, something was bizarre. Though his perception of time was accelerated, his body’s ability to keep up with that perception of time was nonexistent. He was not able to move. He was sending all the signals from his brain to his body. Though they were moving at twice the speed of what they normally should, they couldn’t beat the two-thousand-nine-hundred-seventy feet per second that the bullet was traveling
He might as well have been paralyzed. All he could do was stand and watch as the bullet crept ever closer to him. It was traveling towards his left thigh. The guard had not intended to kill him, but rather wing him instead. Sam was once again in Hell. This bullet was going to rip right through the center of his thigh. He knew it was going to hurt. Nevertheless, that wasn’t what made it so bad. His brain was making a ridiculous amount of calculations. Throughout the dreadfully long time, it took the bullet to travel this far, Sam’s mind had told him that once the bullet made contact with his leg, the signal would reach his brain almost instantly. He knew that the speed at which a touch signal travels to the brain was about three hundred fifty feet per second. He somehow managed to remember that from his biology class in the tenth grade. A class he had slept through. But he wondered if this was going to happen faster due to his doubled state of being.
His brain was telling him the size of the impact wound, the amount of blood he was going to lose, how long it was going to take him to bleed to death from a wound like this and so on and so forth. Just then he remembered something. This was just a dream. The worst that would happen was that he was simply going to wake up and think about how wild all this was in the first place.
Then it hit him. The bullet that is. Square in the thigh, just as he thought it would. He wasn’t able to dodge it at the very last second. And he was right about a few things. The bullet made the same size hole he thought it would. He lost exactly as much blood as he predicted down to the drop. His theory that the pain would travel faster was accurate. It did indeed travel twice as fast as he thought it would.
But at that moment, when that bullet pierced his skin and began to destroy any and all flesh that was in its path, Sam came to a startling revelation.
This was not a dream.
He knew this because, in dreams, you can’t create new information. Your mind will simply regurgitate what it already has seen and experienced. Before this very moment, he could have rationalized anything he had seen and felt; the building, the fantastical experience with Michael, the stairwell, the gunshot and everything else. But this pain, it was unlike anything he had ever felt before. Broken bones, stitches, knocked out teeth, cuts, scrapes, bangs, and bruises. Nothing he had ever felt had been this tremendous. This was the first time he had experienced such a level of pain, and it was real.
Immediately Sam let out a scream that was louder than any human had ever screamed before. Twice as loud in fact. It vibrated the concrete walls and forced the guards to cover their ears in pain. Sam fell to the ground and began to writhe from the sheer agony of having his leg ripped open by a .223 caliber bullet. It tore through his skin like a hot knife through butter and left a splattering of blood on the patchy gray concrete wall behind him. He had no idea what to do. There he was on the ground at the top of the flight of stairs, hands clutching a hole in his leg, rolling back and forth.
His teeth clenched powerfully as he began to groan in agony. Those groans seemed to be forcibly pushed out from behind those teeth causing little bits of spit to spray from the corners of his mouth. If there was ever a time in his life when Sam was his most vulnerable, this was it. He had no idea how to process the situation. Only seconds ago he believed, with every fiber of his being, that he was in a dream. He was now having a true moment of realization.
It didn’t take long for his mind to start cranking out calculations and seeing possible situations despite the massive amount of pain that was radiating through his body from his leg. He knew that he was about to be in some serious shit. The guards that came to greet him were not your average, run-of-the-mill fat asses that usually don the disguise of an authority figure. No, these were professionals. He could tell by their posture before shooting him, that they knew what they were doing. It was almost as if they knew he was there. Like they were waiting for him. He needed to escape, but before Sam could rise to his feet, they had found their way back on to theirs. In the blink of an eye, they were on top of the stairs with rifles pointing down at his face. One placed his hand on his hip and depressed a button. It clearly triggered some kind of walkie-talkie.
“Target has been disabled. We are strapping him up and preparing to deliver the package to you, sir,” said the soldier.
Obviously, his response was to someone on the other end of the radio. Sam should have been able to tune into the voice in the soldier’s ear, but he was far too distracted by the pain in his leg and the multiple rifles in his face.
“You fucking shot me!!!! Mother fucker! I can’t believe you shot me!” he said in a defiant and incredulous voice.
The soldiers who stood over him said not a word. They reached down and forcibly turned Sam over onto his stomach. Prying his arms behind him, they cinched up a wire tie around his wrists. All he could do was scream from the tremendously painful sensations flowing from his leg. He could already feel the blood beginning to pool underneath his shorts as it continued to soak the already stained clothes.
Today was turning out to be a very bad day.
Normally in a situation like this, Sam’s first instinct would have been to cower. Give in to the authoritarian figure that was now hoisting him off the ground by the back of his neck. He would have followed along with the commands being given to him like “don’t do anything stupid” and “just cooperate, kid.” However, today was anything but normal. Today, Sam was not himself. The shooting pain coming from his leg was not as intense as it was even moments ago. The armed guards treating him like a hardened criminal did not intimidate him. He was not prepared to do as they commanded. He was not going to go willingly.
Dropping his chin to his chest, he took in a deep breath. On the inhale, he assessed his situation. Five guards, one in front, one on each side, two behind. A piece of cake. Though his hands were still bound behind him, he knew he would be out of this situation in less than ten seconds. On the exhale, he tore through the zip tie that was binding his hands as if it were made of play dough.
In a single motion, he brought his hands up and gripped the back of the guards’ necks that were on either side of him. In the same motion, he raised his right leg and delivered a chest shattering front kick to the guard in front of him. The kick, so well executed, sent the guard flying down the stairs without touching a single step. He smashed into the wall some twenty feet away making a thud that sounded like a bag of potatoes.
Sam threw the guard in his left hand up into the concrete underside of the staircase above them. He too fell like a sack of potatoes.
Dragging the guard in his right hand across to the wall on his left, he rocketed the poor guard face-first into the concrete. Pieces of his face shield and helmet exploded into the air followed by blood and teeth. The guard on his back left grabbed Sam’s shoulder as soon as he broke through the zip tie. But everything was happening so fast that he didn’t even have time to pull his hand away before Sam grabbed it with the strength of a vice, crushing all the bones in an instant. The guard on his back right was caught completely off guard by all the action that exploded in front of him. He was barely able to make a move before he caught the full force of Sam’s right elbow to his face. Again, potatoes against the wall.
Without relinquishing the guard’s hand, he brought his right hand back around and with a slight pivot on his left foot and he delivered a devastating punch to the final guard’s face. The guard flew backward and smashed into the wall without his arm. Sam quickly snapped back into a position of control and dominance. The twinge of pain overwhelmed him once again. His jaw tightened, and he began to feel the stirring of both pain and adrenaline coursing through his veins.
He dropped the severed arm.
“Six seconds,” he said to himself.
Once again, he tuned his ears to see if anyone else was coming up the stairs. What he heard was rather disturbing. Amidst the sound of his breath and heart, he did not hear anything else. No other footsteps or clicking and clacking of gear. No breath was coming out from behind masks. No rustling of fabric.
No other heartbeats. Besides his own, he couldn’t hear any at all; including the five men that lay motionless on the floor. No breath. No pulse. No motion.
For the first time in his life, Sam had taken life through a conscious decision of his own. His impulse reaction had cost these five men their lives.
“Five men,” he thought aloud. Five husbands, five sons, five fathers. Five lives. Gone in six seconds. The force of Sam’s blows was powerful enough to take lives, but the strength of his shame was enough to make him vomit…and then flee.
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