Interlude - Reality Distortion Phenomena

September 2061. A member of the newly formed RDP division chases an anomaly in the dead of night. An anomaly that seems to be connected with the massacre of Northern Algol.

I load my gun again, after emptying my magazine. That thing was fast, I didn’t even land a shot. Well, dammit. We gotta do some overtime, I guess. I push the button on my earpiece, until I hear a familiar buzzing.

“Michio, it’s running in your direction. It seems immune to projectiles.”

“Understood.”

A one word answer is what welcomes me. So typical of Michio. He speaks very little and, when he speaks, it’s to say something meaningful. I kind of like the guy, despite him… well, being a sort of frigid asshole. One that would kill his nephew with his own hands, if he was tasked to. That always give me the creeps. I quickly check my weapon. Locked and loaded, good. I pick up the pace, run around the corner, trying to track my target. It shouldn’t be hard, but it’s night – of course it’s always night, when something like this happens, right? – and the lights are disturbingly low. Rows and rows of flickering lampposts, eerily staring at me from the sides of a long stretch of asphalt. The harbor, of all places. That thing has a sense of humor.

The intermittent lights are unsettling. I’m instantly reminded of that weird story, of the man-eating lamppost. I’ve never believed it, but Michio says it’s true. It was his first case, they say, but no documentation remains. I wonder what the truth is, but – hey – sometimes ignorance is bliss. I gaze at the road, trying to find my prey, to track it wherever it’s hiding. Yet, I can’t. It’s nowhere to be found. I start running, as I push the button on my earpiece again.

“Michio, I can’t get visuals! What does the scanner say?”

“Go straight on.”

I curse under my vanishing breath, as I stride forward, carefully avoiding stepping on the light spots. No chance any of those lampposts is haunted, but a little bit of paranoia always helps, in this line of work. When you are part of the RDP team, paranoia is the standard – not the exception. And, trust me, when you see a school bus suddenly turning into spider-like monster after eating all its occupants in a shower of blood and entrails, you learn why you need to be paranoid, in this bizarre world of ours. Paranoia saves your life, a simple case of adapt or die. It hasn’t always been like this, though. Those frickin’ abominations emerged somewhere in the ‘20s, gradually. First, it was some harmless weird stuff, like car keys floating in the air or a dog meowing like a cat. We didn’t get the hang of it till the ‘40s though. That’s when the serious shit started to happen, every year more frequent. I wish we had an explanation for it, but we don’t. We simply accept that these anomalies exist and we try to cover them up. The general public doesn’t need to know about them, or things would go insane. Fortunately, we can still contain them. They aren’t so numerous, but they can be annoying. Such as this specimen here, something resembling a floating cloud of ink, bending light to show a distorted and disquieting panorama to all onlookers.

On paper, we could have let it live on and prosper, but God only knows what can come out of it.

No, wait, not even God. Because I refuse to believe RDPs were stuff He wanted to create. These things look more like hallucinations of a neural network trained on cracked pictures of the world, or something the devil could come up with – and I’ve yet to see a RDP that resembles a human being at all. Yet, the impact of these freaks isn’t even remotely comparable to the evil that men do. I mean, Northern Algol docet – that was one hell of a feat, for a single human being. Wiping out a whole city in one night, good grief. Reports are still coming from the survey teams, but the number of survivors is abysmally low. On the bright side, the whole nation now knows what a chrysanthemum is. I didn’t, until three days ago – just knew the name and that it was a funeral flower in some cultures, but nothing more than that. I guessed a chap called Rosenmaester would use, well, roses. So much for stereotypes, huh? When you see an entire road covered in corpses, with flowers germinating from their bodies, though… it’s hard to let it go. Chrysanthemum. I will never forget that name again. Will never look at flowers the same way. After witnessing that gruesome spectacle of bloomed, bloodless human corpses, how can I, how can we really care that much about RDPs? That’s such a bunch of BS, I tell you. Instead of chasing small scaredy smoke puffs, we should watch out for all those eggheads bastards that secretly come up with biological weapons, I tell you. Those are the real danger, not some bizarre creature that just committed the sin of not being supposed to exist. Again, sorry if your kid was on that bus or under that lamppost, but twenty children ain’t worth a million people wiped by blood-sucking flowers. Yet, I’m doing this thankless job to pay the bills and such… and because I was selected for it. Good aim, good at making decisions on the fly and – I quote – with no family or loved ones to take care of. That part would have scared every pisspants, but that’s highly exaggerated. RDPs are dangerous, sure, but so is taking a cab in Shard. Guess which one made more victims?

Spoiler, not the RDPs.

I run down the road as fast as I can, mentally think what kind of weapon I could try next or whether Michio has a plan. Well, of course Michio has a plan – he always has one. Yet, I can’t blindly count on good ol’ Mr. Funabaki to save my hide, that would be careless. I try to picture that thing again. Nothing more than a puff of smoke, a spot of darkness that moved erratically. It was chilling, in a way. It felt like a part of something bigger, if it makes sense. But whatever, I’m not good at philosophy – just at shooting things. A buzzing in my ear, again.

“It stopped moving. One hundred meters ahead of you.”

Meters. Bloody heck, Michio, you ain’t in your frickin’ Japan anymore. In England you use feet and inches, you can’t expect me to do the conversion myself!

“In proper units?”

“Three hundred feet, approximately.”

So, one meter is equal to three feet, huh? Handy, I’ll need to remember this. Or maybe not. The rest of the world can stick that damn international system up their arse: Imperial units are an absolute core tenet of our British excellence. Yet, for someone who lived in New Langdon for so long, you still seem totally clueless about local customs, Michio. Of course, such must be the life of a small, inconspicuous Asian man that looks a little like that old actor – how was it called? Ken Wata something? I’m not good with foreign names, they all sound the same to me. Yet, that can wait: I have bigger fish to fry, without chips but with a side dish of reality altering. And that’s it, that’s where I see it. The cloud. Well, not really a cloud, more like… a dark spot. Emptiness shaped like a blot, floating in the night, as light and sound bend around it. A shapeless black hole, or what a sci-fi nerd would identify as such. Standing still. Gazing at me. I watch it in awe, as it slides around with slow patterns, as I see several copies of the same background picture, akin to what would be caused by gravitational lensing. Then, only then, I notice it.

The shape behind it.

A human shape.

I instinctively raise my gun, aim it. This is no good news.

“Hey! This place is dangerous, scramble! Police operation!”

Yet, no response. Just silence.

I look at the silhouette again, so close to that distortion I swear I’m seeing multiple people. But it’s one, it has to be one. The wrong guy at the wrong time. The lights flicker all around, let me have a good look at their face. His face. Brown hair, neck-long. Pale complexion. Wearing rags, remains of what had to be a uniform not long ago. A policeman? That’s weird, I don’t recognize that fit.

“Have you heard me? Go away! If you keep too close to that thing, we’ll have to…”

To filter you. The absolute last measure, in case of accidental RDP contact. RDPs are weird, yes, and I’m not scared of them, but apparently Michio is hellbent on applying the standard procedure to whomever got in touch with them for a moderate amount of time. I wonder why, I think I’ve heard an explanation once, something something false vacuum something, but I didn’t understand it at all – just nodded to pass my introductory class and get into action. I push the button on my earpiece. I can’t decide this alone.

“Michio? There’s a civvy. Disoriented, it seems. The RDP is right behind him and seems inert.”

“That’s not good. I’m coming.”

A short pause, before the familiar buzz torments me again.

“Monitor the RDP. Don’t make eye contact. I’m not far.”

I keep my gun aimed at the mofo, the mofo that had the misfortune of taking a stroll at the harbor where an unclassified RDP just decided to pop into existence. I grit my teeth as I aim steadily. I don’t want to have to pull the trigger, not before I have wasted all other options.

“Hey, pal! Say something. That thing… I can’t tell it all, but it’s dangerous. Please, walk away from it!”

“… the night.”

I heard it. A voice. His voice?

“… my pure… night. So… beautiful.”

Great, now he’s delirious too. I can’t seem to reason with him. I scan him from head to toes, go up and down his rags. Late twenties, early thirties maybe. Hard to give him an age, in his state of disarray. His hair though…

My heart skips a beat. His hair is caked with blood, dried blood going down to his temple, in a circular pattern, as if something… as if something entered from that side of his skull. Was he shot? If so, how was he still alive? My goodness, this guy needs a hospital as soon as possible. I move my finger to my ear to call Michio again, forgetting about the RDP for a second. But that’s when it hits me. The blood isn’t even the strangest thing about him. His wrist. There’s a flower sprouting from his goddamn wrist. Half purple, half red. Where have I seen it already? Where…

“And the voices. The voices. I hear them. Don’t you? Can’t you?”

I’m starting to sweat. This guy sounds weird, out of the world. When he speaks, it’s like… hearing his words in so many different tones, from so many different points in space. Is the distortion influencing him? But that flower… wait, that flower. It’s that one, like those we saw on the news!

It’s that bloody chrysanthemum! A survivor? This guy’s a survivor?!

“Pal, move aside! I’m gonna call an ambulance, yes?”

I tap on my commlink again, without averting my gaze. The space looks even more distorted, the area is spreading. Not good, it will envelope the civvy soon.

“Michio, I need urgent backup. The guy is barely alive and has a frickin’ blood-sucking flower peeking out of his wrist! He’s a survivor, Michio! A survivor of Northern Algol!”

“No.”

His answer is immediate, hits like a truck. No. What does no mean? You can’t expect me to understand it, Michio! Say something more!

“How could a man with those wounds cross the Irish Sea?”

What a stupid question, Michio! The how is not important, this guy needs help, and needs it now.

I walk forward a little, with my gun still aimed. If this chap really is an anomaly, I’m pretty sure I can shoot him before he can do anything. So, I make up my mind and stride slowly. Slowly.

Slowly. Until the buzzing noise comes back.

“Don’t move. He’s no survivor. He’s the RDP.”

I blink in disbelief. Would that mean that that guy is the cloud… the puff of smoke we were following? That’s… are they the same thing? I bring my left hand to my pocket, take out the scanner, quickly look at the readout. The digits are still, background level of noise. That’s… weird.

It should at least pick up the black hole, by all means. Is this thing broken? I push the button to reset it. It beeps for a second, the digits go up and down, down and up again. Until they stop. On a number so high I’ve never seen it in my time as a member of the RDP unit.

“The purity of the night. Ah! All those voices! All together! Such a beautiful song! Don’t you think so?”

I raise my gaze. Only to see him. His eyes. Mere centimeters away from me. Staring at me. Purple irises, a crazy grin. And dry blood, dry blood all over his face.

I shriek, almost fall on my back.

My vision warps, the world warps, the stars turn and twist, the wind starts whirling. All around that guy, all around that creep. I get my composure back, get a hold of my gun once again. And I shoot. I shoot at the big target. The chest. Several times. One, two, three shots in the night, echoing as my aim steadies, as my eardrums explode. I see the holes. I see blood, fresh blood. I see his body twitching.

Yet.

He doesn’t.

Falter.

“You… you are making the night impure. Your whole existence is tainting her. You are not the night. You are outside of her. Outside… of us.”

He stands. In front of me.

“But not for long.”

He stands. Losing blood, like a fountain, three holes in his chest. And yet he stands. He grins, he stares. His eyes, oh my god his eyes. They are staring down my soul, I can’t stop them. What is this thing? What is this thing?! My hand is shaking, my gun too. I can’t. I don’t. I won’t understand what’s happening. This can’t be an RDP! RDPs aren’t sentient, not more than wild animals! What is this? Michio, where are you? Where are you?!

Laughter. The next thing I hear is laughter. My vision goes black and white, then the colors come back, then it’s black and white again. And again. And again. The flower. I see it, in my mind. I can’t think of anything else. The flower. The night. Help me, Michio! Where are you? I’m…

I’m screaming. Screaming gibberish.

“G… get away from me! O get away, Baalzabub, lord of the flies! Get away, Baal! Get away!”

I can’t control my mouth, I can’t stop it from regurgitating meaningless words, forgotten myths from my religious days. Yes, I scream. I cry. While he smiles.

“Baal. We like it. That’s a nice name for this vessel, yes? What if we took it? What if I took it? Is there still a I? Oh, there has to be! There. Has to. Be. This body had an owner, after all! What was his name? Did it start with S? Oh, yes, it started with S! But what was it? What was it again? Baal will suffice, will suffice for now!”

I can’t understand his words anymore. Just random noises, mixing, melting, merging together.

The void engorges, envelopes him, me, everything, everyone. The street, the lamps, the water, the boats. The whole world falls into darkness, eaten alive, devoured by a mantle of spinning stars, as the Moon looks nothing but a paper mesh taped to a blue blanket. And yet…

A sudden bright flash, a loud noise, my body goes limp. The lampposts die, all fried, the noises end. The day has come, piercing the darkness. In the form of a middle-aged Japanese man, wearing a suit, glasses and his goddamn fedora. With another grenade in his hand.

“M… Michio!”

I’m not a firm believer. I’m not one. But if there’s a God out there, thanks! Thanks for saving me!

I’ll get to mass tomorrow, hear it all, I swear. Thank you, thank you, thank you, God!

As Michio steps forward, the creature, the weirdness, the singularity is still recovering from the first bright explosion. Yet, my vision turns black and white again. I feel something in my mouth.

Blood. My own blood. My nose is bleeding. What the hell? It must be an effect of the flashbang, yes, no other explanation. My ears are still aching too, but I hear, I can hear well. Except… s… since when… those voices? I… I cover my ears, but it’s no use. I hear them. I hear them too, now. Their voices. An endless, infinite choir of screams, of cries for help. What… is this? What’s happening to me? My vision doubles, I see double, I see two… no, four of those things. Of that RDP. But they all move in a different way, yes? They have small differences. Now they are eight. Now sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-four…

And then, there were none.

With a thunderclap that sounded like a cracking whip, they are gone.

But not the voices. Those remain. Haunt me. Whisper to me. Things that I don’t want to hear, obscenities that are piercing my spirit, my body. Then, they stop. All of a sudden. Leaving only silence in their wake. I gasp for air, as my mind takes control of my body yet again.

“M… Michio. I’m not… feeling that well.”

“I see.”

I fall on my knees, as I start wiping my nose from the blood. My vision is still blurry, I see two Michio – no, four – then one again. What even was that RDP? I’ve never met something like that, that’s way above what should be possible. And yet… yet it’s gone. Deleted, removed from reality, reabsorbed by the matrix as a continuity error. That’s it, that’s how it is supposed to go. RDPs violate causality, so they can’t live for long. But that one… I feel like throwing up. No, I directly do that, I throw up on the asphalt, on my suit. What is happening to my body? I feel like I’m being traversed by waves that are fucking up every single one of my organs.

“Is it gone, Michio? Is that RDP gone?”

“The readings are high. It’s still here.”

I stumble, trying to get up, look around without losing a second.

“B… but where? I can’t see it! Not even the distortion! He’s gone! They’re gone!”

Luckily, I may add. I’m still confused by all what happened, my head is aching like hell.

“RDPs. Reality Distortion Phenomena. A plague.”

Michio’s voice startles me. Calm, almost toneless, the kind of voice you would expect from someone reading the phone guide out loud.

“You know what vacuum decay is? What happens if a bubble of true vacuum starts spreading uncontrollably?”

Vacuum what now? I look quizzically at him, as pain is making it hard to coordinate my muscles at all. It’s like my body is almost moving on its own. Yet, I don’t meet his gaze, just the rim of his pushed down fedora. And, suddenly, my head aches even more, as I feel blood flowing down my nose again, as my muscles lose their strength, as hearing becomes harder and harder.

“Some RDPs, the biggest ones, are the same. If we let them spread…”

Then, I see it. His gun. Loaded.

“… it’s over.”

Oh, now I get it. I get it. Ah, ah. Ah, ah! This is why we filter people who came in contact with RDPs. This is the reason why, right? I get it. I get it now. And, as I stare down the barrel of his gun, as Michio gets ready to pull the trigger, as my body starts acting on its own, twitching back and forth, I have time for just one last thought.

God really has a twisted sense of humor.