Tales from the Hound - The Escapist

May 2067. After an unexplained Reality Oscillation Phenomenon causes a ruckus in a research facility, Veckert Rainer is tasked to hear the eyewitnesses and make sense of the whole ordeal.

I gulp down my coffee, all in one go, without even trying to savor its taste. I need caffeine. I need to stay awake. As I fight against my ever-heavier eyelids, trying not to fall into Morpheus’s soft embrace, the woman sitting before me observes without talking. I’d say she’s a couple years younger than me, maybe five, six at most. Pale skin, red eyes, fiery red hair, arranged in a long braid. I hope it’s not dyed, it would be a shame and detract a little from her charm. Well toned body too, I wish I had muscles as defined as hers. I wonder how her abs look like, how her lips taste… or I would, if I weren’t on duty.

I take my job seriously, I can’t let lust and personal circumstances interfere with it. So, I issue a restraining order on my emotions and put down my mug, silently staring at that figure that seems to have more questions than me.

“Renne Marina Schellenzeier, I take it?”

“That’s right, sir.”

Sir. That brings back memories. St. Patrick SHIELD wasn’t the most progressive city, back in the

‘50s – well, it still isn’t, seen what happened in Sector 2 last week. But, yes, having a lesbian woman quickly climbing the ranks in the precinct brought up the worst out of my then-colleagues.

They used to call me sir in a mocking way, due to my sexual orientation. I didn’t like it in the slightest, but I can say with a certain pride that, when their (now ex) girlfriends and wives called me sir, in the middle of our hot nights together, I felt vindicated. Still, the s-word is something reserved for my swear jar. I’ll excuse her just this once, because she couldn’t know.

“Detective Rainer. Or even just detective. Not sir, please.”

“H… huh, okay, detective.”

I take a good look at her again. That uniform she’s donning shows the logo of Shard’s military hospital. Yet, I couldn’t find her name anywhere, in the list of registered employees. Neither hers, nor that of Jean Crawford, the blondie currently waiting outside for her turn to come, with Blame taking care of the security. They both said they worked for a special department called Die Fledermaus, the bat. Now, I’m one hundred sure there isn’t a military police unit with that name – a name that I’ve seen more often associated with a sort of Freemason lodge which acts like a criminal organization. Rumor has it that even General Boost himself is involved. If there’s any merit to it, tough cookie to bite – good luck finding out something about it without ending at the bottom of the Thames with concrete shoes. I’ve asked a couple questions around, at the higher floors, but the answer was akin to we can’t either confirm or deny. The fact these two women were even allowed to be taken into custody and have a chat with me means that, whatever this Fledermaus is, it is of secondary importance compared to what happened there, in Ward 40X – even for the higher-ups involved. Still, this doesn’t mean I have to give it a free pass. I’ll have time to deal with it too, at some point.

“Let me set this straight, Ms. Schellenzeier: If things are as they look on paper, Ms. Crawford and you might need a very good lawyer. Helping three inmates break out from a government facility, beating six guards senseless, plus the head of research... and I haven’t even read the reports on the damage caused by the fires set by that pyromaniac arsonist you freed yet. In normal circumstances, your colleague and you would sit behind bars for the next five to six years, at least…”

I make a small pause, to let that sink in, to let her understand the gravity of what has just happened. But that’s not the full story, isn’t it? There’s much more to it than it meets the eye.

“… in normal circumstances. Which… don’t seem to be the case, here.”

Ward 40X didn’t officially exist. It was a facility that nobody inside the ROPES team had ever heard of, a well-kept secret to which millions of pounds of public funding were funneled every year – a black hole that didn’t let any shreds of information get out or get in. But that’s the beauty of being the specialists in Reality Oscillation Phenomena: When one happens, you can’t just ignore it and hope it’s a dud – you need to call the people who know how to deal with it and let them handle the case before things get ugly: No state secret is worth covering up the outbreaks.

Because more will come. And more. And more, until the situation gets really out of control, as it happened in Aubépine, no longer than five years ago. Such is the nature of ROPES (yeah, I know

the acronym doesn’t make any sense – it should have been ROPs, but whoever was in charge of their official denomination liked the symbology of literal, physical ropes between what we know and what we don’t). Before my time as a Hound of Yard, they used to call them RDPs too – as in Reality Distortion Phenomena. I’m glad ROPES stuck, it rolls better on the tongue. We still don’t know exactly what they are, we just know that they manifest as any sort of event or creature that cannot be explained with traditional physics and whose mere existence cause bifurcations in causality: Two different people witnessing the same ROP could produce two wildly different reports about it. Most times, the differences are minimal but in around one percent of the cases…

let’s say the eyewitness reports are stunningly inconsistent. Some believe that the combat techniques developed by ESPDeC are connected to ROPES, and I tend to agree with them – ever witnessed a man oscillating between a human and an electric blue energy lion form?

Well, I have. Several times. And I’ve even worked with said guy on many cases, including that last one about the flower shop blooming, barely two weeks ago. The fact that Simmerik was dead all along and that Baal was just… something inhabiting his skin…

A shiver down my spine. Not the moment for thinking about him. Better focus on the work at hand.

I grab a sheet of paper, with all my notes jotted down on them. I wish I could use tablets or any modern devices, heck even my phone, but – once again – my bosses don’t want me to leave any digital trail of this interrogation. Which means that I have to rely on pen, a notebook, print-outs of the official documents, a hand-held recorded and a end-of-last-century display where CCTV

footage from that night is featured on loop. The current segment shows the head of research, Dr.

Zvonimir Zojimbo, having what looks like a stroke and falling to the ground after all the security agents were savagely pummeled and put out of order. Funny how this guy keeps popping up in the weirdest places. First time I met him, we were both at EiN’s wedding. Truly a weirdo, with his obsessions with spheres and the perfection of pi. I didn’t know he was recruited by the British military. So klein ist die Welt, as EiN would say.

I stare at Ms. Schellenzeier once more, as the footage highlights a seriously heavy punch to one of the guards’ guts. My hand reaches for my belly almost automatically, I can feel the pain from the other side of the display.

“Did you really need to smack them that badly? One of the guards got his arm broken in three different places.”

“I’m… sorry, detective. We got a little bit carried away, b… but Dr. Zojimbo wanted to…”

I don’t need to wait for her to finish, I know exactly what she’s going to say.

“Euthanize the subject known as Vay Finnegan, yes. She was considered a liability for the structure, not useful enough for further studies and too dangerous to be kept alive. This is what triggered your rampage, right?”

“Y… yes, you’re correct.”

The memo I received from the army was heavily redacted, but one thing was clear: This girl, Vay, had some sort of psychiatric problem, living in her own fantasy world and believing she was an alien coming from an inexistent planet called Entelechia. Unfortunately, not the first time I met a young person with such delusions. It hurts to watch them, to see them unable to adapt to reality –

just because their brains tick in a different way.

Yet, the whole reason why this girl was kept in Ward 40X was because of a very unique trait –

oscillation amplification. I almost couldn’t believe what I read, but Vay Finnegan is what I can only describe as a walking lure for ROPES. Whenever she goes, the number of recorded oscillation phenomena skyrockets by virtue of her just being there. It doesn’t seem like she has any control on it, but she is able to suppress this trait if she really wants to.

Ward 40X researchers considered her as an asset, until they found out she can’t cause ROPES to appear out of her own will. She just, somehow, attracts them, as flowers attract bees. So, termination it was. But, hey, looks like the warden of her block was down bad for her, and thus the ruckus ensued.

“It was beyond reckless, Ms. Schellenzeier… but I sympathize with you. Seeing your loved one being taken away, while knowing you won’t meet her ever again…”

“Wouldn’t you have done the same, in my place, detective?”

I close my eyes. I understand Renne. I would have done the same, if I knew what my father wanted to do to my little Nyu. I would have moved Earth and Heavens to save her.

But I couldn’t.

I didn’t.

And that’s why I’m here, where I am. Because I won’t stand idle in front of abuse, not anymore.

And I see it, the spark, the same spark in Renne’s eyes. She knows what she did, she knows she has to pay the consequences of it, but she doesn’t care. She fought for what she thought was right. Yet, I need to set things straight.

“What I believe or what I would have done bear no weight on the matter at hand. But, if it can make you feel better, I have already opened a formal inquiry on Ward 40X. Disposing of people the way those eggheads did isn’t something we can condone, here at Yard. The army will have to produce a very convincing and detailed explanation, if they want to come clean and keep Yard’s trust intact.”

The CCTV footage is now showing moment from the escape after they rescued Vay from Zojimbo.

Two wardens – Schellenzeier and Crawford – running together with three inmates – Vay Finnegan, an arsonist whose name was redacted in the documents, and, lastly, the crux of my worries.

Desdemona Lagrange.

Inmate of Ward 40X for the past three years, taken into custody after it became clear that her hyperfantasia was producing something more than just trivial hallucinations. She could see and interact with inexistent people and, always according to the reports, some wardens even swore they could hear voices coming from her cell that weren’t either hers or her cellmate’s. Her file is heavily redacted, there are more black lines than text, but I can see that, for the whole duration of her stay, she was kept in the same cell as Vay Finnegan. My hunch is that whoever was in charge of her admission wanted to see how Vay’s amplification interacted with Lagrange’s condition.

Seeing how Lagrange was able to unleash what looked like a beam of light from her hands during the escape, I guess the experiment was largely successful – except not in the way the higher-ups wanted. But, then… this is where things become complicated. I look at the monitor again, waiting for that moment, the one reason we’ve been tasked to deal with this case. The black and white CCTV feed is shaken by ripples, waves that aren’t simple recording artifacts or random noise.

Then, it emerges.

A dark silhouette, shrouded in a bright glow, with something that looks like long, savagely styled hair flowing around its body, levitating above ground. A shining shadow, towering on the escapees. Renne Schellenzeier’s bargaining chip, the one reason she decided to turn herself in.

She knew she could kick the hornet’s nest in a way Yard couldn’t ignore and the army couldn’t deny. The existence of this ROP, of this very ROP that formed in the main hall of the building, was confirmed by several independent floating sensors spread around the country. If it happened in the secluded underground cells, we probably wouldn’t have picked it up. But we did, and Renne must have known it. With both her witness report and the readouts of the sensors, the army personnel couldn’t deny me access to the footage anymore, even if they wanted. Renne couldn’t know that those military nuts are so scared of ROPES that, whenever one emerges, we are on the phone three seconds later. Still, her assist was much appreciated. Normally, getting the tapes in my hands requires a couple days – this time, it took less than two hours.

“Now, Ms. Schellenzeier, I recognize a ROP when I see one, but it seems like both Ms. Crawford and you realized it immediately.”

She nods, her gaze is still confident. I like her demeanor.

“We were specifically trained for that, due to our… line of work.”

Her eyes wander to the display, to the anomaly shown there. A construct resembling a shadowy woman, hovering ten, twenty centimeters above ground. I have gone through the video several times already, and every single time I find myself gasping at it. That ROP was sentient, acting in a very deliberate way. Even when it faced Lagrange’s “beam of light”, it did so by finding creative ways to minimize damage. And then…

I pause the tape. That’s where my confusion stems from. That’s what she’s here to explain.

“Ms. Schellenzeier… what did exactly happen here?”

On the monitor, the ROP has changed shape. It looks like a human woman, naked, covered only by long hair. The resolution of camera feed isn’t very high, but it’s still good enough to recognize something… uncanny. Something I hadn’t seen happening yet, despite all my experiences as a Hound.

Renne nods once more, her eyes are focused on the still frame.

“The ROP turned into an almost exact copy of Desde… and started communicating with her. They talked for a while, a long while. I have… I’m not sure I have understood everything, but what I got was that Desde… was convinced of the existence of another reality, one she would belong to, while the ROP was trying to make her realize that this is the only existing world. In the end…”

She pauses for a second, almost as if her brain needs time to find the correct words.

“In the end, they… they both disappeared, in a flash of light. Desde’s clothes remained behind, but her body… their bodies…”

“Gone without a trace.”

“Yes.”

I cross my hands under my chin. Seeing it on screen is one thing, being told about it by an eyewitness is another. Two sides of the same coin, which strengthen each other. Sensors can fail, a video can be doctored, eyewitnesses can be bought, but what is the chance of all three of them happening at the same time? No, this has to be real. It’s not the first time a ROP causes a person to disappear. Some ROPES even go so far as eating people – like a certain flickering lamppost still roaming out there. I rewind the tape. Play it again. Rewind. Pause. Play. The bright flash, the clothes falling off, keeping the shape of a human body for one last instant, before bending to the tyranny of gravity. I’ve seen enough, I’ve heard enough.

“Alright, Ms. Schellenzeier, everything seems to point in the direction of an isolated anomaly. This ROP was one of a kind, probably amplified by Ms. Finnegan’s latent qualities...”

Her eyelids twitch as soon as I mention Ms. Finnegan. I taste Renne’s nervousness, feel it in my bones. I can almost touch her fear.

“… which means that we’ll need to keep her under surveillance. One isolated case isn’t that worrisome, but if this was really due to her…”

Renne stands up, throws the chair away, slams her fists on my desk. I keep my hands crossed, adjust the position of my eyes to meet hers.

“It wasn’t! Vay has no fault! She’s innocent!”

“Well, we need evidence of that. Can you provide any single logical fact that disproves the Ms.

Finnegan unconsciously conjured an advanced ROP that deleted one person from existence hypothesis?”

Silence. She’s breathing heavily, gazing blankly at the ground, her fists still pushing against the low-quality wood that makes up my desk.

“I…”

“You can’t, right? This is why I have a proposition.”

I see doubt shaping her expression, a general incapability of foreseeing what I want to achieve.

It’s time to play my winning hand, Veckert style.

“There’s no evidence Ms. Finnegan created that ROP, and there’s no evidence she didn’t. For what we know, it could all be something connected to Ms. Lagrange. Yet, a chance persists that this isn’t the case and I can’t leave any stone unturned.”

I stand up too, even though my size pales in comparison with Renne’s, her build shadowing my less than imposing one meter and sixty-five centimeters figure (five feet five inches for the annoying neighbors I’m working for). Still, I’m the one leading the talk and no difference in height will change this.

“Ms. Schellenzeier, I want you and everyone involved in this case to join the ROPES division of Yard, under my and detective Kristhhoffer’s supervision and tutelage.”

She blinks, twice, shakes her head, her eyes contracted to small slits.

“Wh… what? I? Join the ROPES division?”

“You and your escapee friends were due a fairly long prison sentence, but our ROPES unit is understaffed and I could make use of… someone who had to deal with them on a semi-regular basis.”

She scans me from head to toes, in silence, ponders for a while, her chin resting on her hand.

“With everyone, do you mean…”

“Ms. Finnegan too, yes. Since there is no evidence for or against her involvement in the appearance of Ward 40X’s ROP, it is adamant that we keep her under scrutiny… without limiting her freedom, that is.”

A spark in her irises.

Hope.

I can’t stop a tired smile from spreading on my face. It’s always beautiful to see people opening up to you, after so many troubles and obstacles.

“So… we won’t be arrested?”

“No.”

“And Vay won’t be… put in a lab again?”

“You have my word.”

Suddenly, she crumples on her knees, her eyes to the ground. Sobbing. She’s… crying, crying softly. I stand far, don’t hug her, can’t hug her – even if I wanted. I am a Hound. I have an image to uphold, even if I’m genuinely melting inside. What living outside of a walled city does to a motherfucker, huh? Old Veckert would have kept her stoic façade without a second thought – and now, here I am, struggling to fight the urge of hugging this woman I’ve met less than five hours ago. C’est la vie, Michelle would say, with her perfect French accent. Still, Iron-Bitch Veckert it is.

Despite that, I can clearly see no fear or reservation in Renne’s eyes – only gratitude.

“D… detective Rainer, where do I have to sign?”

“Nowhere. I’ve already sent the documents for your enrollment to the relevant office three hours ago. Your pyromaniac friend gave me a headache or two, but I’ve managed to convince the higher-ups to add her to the program too.”

I notice a gulp of surprise. She wasn’t expecting it. But I did. This is why I do my job – I can read people very well. I proffer my hand, now unable to hide my smile. I lost my face for years due to an incident, forced to wear a mask for so long. Now that I have one again I want to make use of it.

“Renne Marina Schellenzeier… you are now the leader of Team Desdemona and my direct subordinate. You are responsible for those three other gals, so be strong and don’t disappoint me!”

I put my hand on her shoulder, help her stand up, my voice becoming nothing more than a whisper.

“Now, go to your princess. She’s waiting in the hall with Ms. Crawford and my personal VORS

Blame. She kept on asking him about you for the last two hours on repeat. She was… very worried about you.”

I wipe her tears with a paper tissue, as she nods, whimpering like a little kid.

“T… thanks a lot. I…”

“Monday, here, 9AM sharp. Don’t be late!”

“Y… yes, si… I mean, detective!”

She straightens up, performs a military salute. Then, she slowly walks out of my office, lightly stepping as if she was running on clouds. I wait for the door to close with a slam, as I draw a

deep breath. My goodness gracious, keeping those four under control will be hard, especially if Vay Finnegan is truly able to amplify distortion phenomena as it looks… but no way I would have allowed them to die or be detained, despite all pressure from General Boost and his cronies.

Those army nuts can shove their threats up their arses – when ROPES are involved, Yard is the law.

I tap a button on my desk phone, wait for a couple seconds. The voice of a man comes out of the receiver, echoing in the room.

“Kroemer.”

“Hello, Werner, it’s Veck.”

“Oh, if it isn’t our friendly hound! What do you need this time? The phone number of that blond, single, lesbian cousin of mine you met at that party last week? I have my hands full in St. Patrick since you got busy with Yard, so, unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of time for listening to your relationship woes…”

I can’t help but smirk at that retort. Good old Werner…

“I’m surprised she didn’t ask you for my number first! Anyway, your cousin can wait. And no rants, I promise, it’s just about work. Could you look for mentions of an organization called Die Fledermaus or the Bat in the files of the ‘63 ENiGMA case, the ‘60 Tryadine case of and the ‘64

Helios case?”

“Dee Fleathermouse?”

“It’s German, I guess. Let me spell it.”

I do it, letter by letter. Why can’t the whole world simply speak English? That would make things so much easier, and I wouldn’t have to deal with EiN’s wife’s random French utterances.

“Huh, alright. Anything else?”

“Anything concerning Dr. Zvonimir Zojimbo’s movements from and to St. Patrick in the past three years. Ah, and General Heinz-Harald Boost’s too.”

“Heinz-Harald Boost?”

I hear him whistling from the other side of the receiver.

“Sounds like someone is digging real deep.”

“You know me, I’m allergic to lies and cover-ups.”

“And that’s why we get along so well.”

“You can say that loud and clear, brother.”

A short pause, the sound of a pen scribbling on paper.

“Alright, Veck, I’ve noted it down. Know you owe me one. And… huh, to be honest…”

“… your cousin already asked you for my number, right?”

“How do you…”

“Hush. A detective doesn’t share her secrets. But you’re allowed to share my number with her. I’m free this weekend.”

“I’ll.. huh, let her know.”

I thank Werner and put down the phone, chuckling like a schoolgirl that got a good mark in a test.

But the respite is just momentary. My attention goes back to the monitor, to the pictures still moving in loop. The ROP of Ward 40X, the mere existence of Ward 40X, the disappearance of Desdemona Lagrange, the involvement of Dr. Zojimbo and – potentially – General Boost.

If Desdemona Lagrange has really vanished to “another world”, provided this is even possible, chances are that I’ll never be able to solve this case. But if there isn’t any other world, as logic suggests, if this ROP is still around… I swear I’ll find it. A talking, sentient ROP. The first one in years. The piece that could seal the puzzle. No matter where, who, what, how or when. I will solve

the mystery and find out what is causing these phenomena to happen, what is causing them to ravage my reality every day more.

And lay the truth bare, once more, for the world to see.