Grant had spent the last 5 minutes of the work day engaged in stretching exercises. His back was acting up again and he was making an effort to make a habit of taking stretching breaks at the end of every hour.

While he was doing this his emails sat open on his desktop. He hoped nothing came in at the eleventh hour. He knew he would do it if it did. Now that he was working from home 4 days a week he felt obliged to make up for his lack of commute.

Not that he actually owed his company that time. He couldn't convince himself of that on an emotional level though. Working from home still felt like cheating somehow.

The clock ticked over to 4 and he closed his email. Then he shut down, closing the lid on his laptop until tomorrow.

The early hours construction management required him to put in was a lifestyle that suited him rather well. He usually slept from Midnight to 6. He enjoyed having the late afternoon/early evenings to himself.

4pm felt early enough to go out and do something in a way that 5pm did not. Though he mostly just stayed home since the Andemic had begun. Still it was nice to be able to beat the rush of shoppers out to the grocery store.

He traded his work polo for a t-shirt and put on pants. A quick look in the mirror showed that his buzzcut was in perfectly good order. His scruff could use a trim though. In any case, his entire head would be hidden beneath the hood-like mask anyways.

Looking in the mirror was an 'old normal' way of thinking. A vestigial social norm that no longer made any sense. It didn't apply with the new normal.

He put the mask on. The whole world was tinted magenta now. The grown up sensible reasons to wear a mask were obvious: to protect from exposure to anomalies, and to avoid citations.

The childish reason, and the reason Grant had chosen this particular black mask, was that it made him look and feel a bit like a ninja.

The hood stretched over his whole head. A magenta view port lined with soft foam rested comfortably on his nose and cheekbones. This filtered out the blue green anomalous light.

Thicker portions covered his ears. This provided subsonic protection; there was a tone emitted by some of the anomalies.

A portion that was even thicker covered his mouth. There was a replaceable cotton filter insert that went in there. When clean and assembled correctly this offered an AN95 standard of protection against anomalous particles.

He grabbed his keys, wallet, phone, and knife before stepping out the door.

Most people didn't carry a knife. It certainly wouldn't be useful against any Anomalies. This was a habit that Grant had developed pre-Andemic. It was in no way meant as a means of self defense.

It was just that it was an incredibly useful tool to have. Instead of fumbling with tape and packaging, Grant could cleanly open up a box. It was also good for taking cuttings of succulents, something Grant did semi-surreptitiously on his walks through the neighborhood.

The knowledge that it was only a tool didn't stop the childish ninja mask wearing part of his brain from imagining endless scenarios where he defended himself from sentient anomalies. That they were exceedingly rare and powerful did not stop these fantasies from playing out.

This is exactly the line of thought that played through Grant's mind as he walked down the street. He imagined fighting one of the 1000 tentacled Anomaly 12s. As he walked along the sidewalk outside of his cottage home he slashed with the 2-½” blade taking a tentacle with each swipe.

His neighborhood was a nice quiet neighborhood in Berkeley California. It was filled with small houses, duplexes, and the occasional 3 or 4 plex. One of the main draws of the neighborhood for Grant was the small market area only a quarter mile away.

At one corner there was a produce market, high quality, low prices, and no elbow room. On the next block, all lined up in a row, was a butcher shop, a cheese shop, a fish shop, and a pizzeria. There was also a bottle shop but Grant wasn't much of a drinker.

As he made his way the fantasy of him facing down an Anomaly 12, a task that required men armed with tactical weapons, continued to play out in his head. It was interrupted by a cheerful voice from behind him.

"Hey neighbor! Have you heard the good news?“

The man's voice startled him. He hadn't heard him approach. Grant wheeled around, perhaps more aggressively than the situation warranted.

He saw there were two people, not one. They were missionaries. He knew this in an instant because each of them was wearing the exact same outfit. Those plain white shirts of a strange cut, simple black ties, and straight black pants were a dead give away.

Perhaps more telling, but what he did not process immediately, was the phrase the man had used and the 'literature' they were holding. The tri fold pamphlets were covered in a skyscape of glowing pink and gold clouds with the sun shining through a gap beneath them. Beneath the setting/rising sun was a pastoral green hillside being grazed upon by a flock of sheep.

The words 'Have you heard the good news' were printed on them.

The font was the bastard child of gothic typeface and comic sans. The lacking question mark was an unusual source of irritation for Grant. Really in this situation he should not have even noticed such a thing as there were much more irritating things going on.

Chief among them was that the two people were unmasked. One, the young man who had spoken to him, was younger in his early twenties, slightly younger than Grant who was nearing 30.

The other unmasker was an even younger woman. This fact had only just now registered with Grant. His immediate impression had been that they were two young men. He had thought this because she had the exact same clothes and hair cut as her male cohort.

This realization was accompanied by a brief flare of optimism that perhaps this proselytizing church was a bit more progressive on gender and sexuality then those he was used to hearing from.

"The apocalypse is upon us, rejoice in his final judgment." The woman said with a bright smile on her face.

All good vibes washed out of Grant at that. He gave them his prepared response for people looking to engage him in discussing adopting their religion, how the Democrats were behind the Andemic, or the pros and cons of mask wearing.

"Not interested."

He turned back and kept walking. Hoping that-

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"Hey I get it, who wants to talk to a couple of strangers about religion? But actually, we're your neighbors! We're having a barbecue later, would you want to come? All the hotdogs you can eat." The man said in a saccharine tone.

Grant sighed realizing his tried and true strategy wasn't going to work. At least not yet.

"Not interested. Have a nice day."

There. Persistence plus a new twist. That oughta-

"God's light can't reach you through that mask. All those who perish in hellfire will add to Satan's armies." The woman said.

Her tone had lost all sweetness and fake friendliness. He turned back around, slow this time. Both their faces had lost those bright winning smiles. Now they wore cold looks on their faces.

"If you're not with us, you're against us." The man said, drawing a taser from his pocket.

It was the kind that arc'd between two contacts that protruded like horns. Grant could see through the man's grip that it was emblazoned with a metallic cross.

Before his brain could catch up his feet were in motion. As he was pivoting away to run in the opposite direction the man lunged forward. At the same time the woman reached into her pocket for something else.

Grant threw out a half hearted hip fake that somehow fooled the man. He adjusted his lunge while Grant shifted the other direction dodging the crackling, snapping device. He was running then.

He felt and heard a spray that was hitting the back of his head. Before he thought it through his hand was reaching back and touching it. His hand came back bright orange.

Mace.

He coughed as some of the aerosol caught up with him. Even through his mask! That was some potent stuff! He realized that it was probably intended to tactically force people to remove their masks. You couldn’t breathe through it if it was covered in mace.

He could hear the missionaries (murder cultists?) running along behind him. They were coughing and sputtering worse than him.

They must have caught even more aerosol than him. He almost laughed as he imagined them running forward into a cloud of their own mace.

He risked a glance backward, they were faltering. They began to fall over. Their faces were bright red.

Turning back he saw a problem ahead. A van had pulled up onto the drive ahead of him. He hadn't heard it. This was not too surprising; he had been distracted.

He was only able to stop himself by running full into it. He put his arms up to cushion the impact, doing a push up into the van before he thudded against it. He immediately broke right towards the street.

"Help! Call 911!" He screamed.

He was embarrassed that it had taken him so long to think of this. His voice was muffled by his mask. He doubted anyone had heard him. He didn’t see any other pedestrians or cars around, most people were shut-ins these days.

Two more cultists got out of the back of the van. They also wore ill-fitting business casual uniforms. They were also a man and woman pair.

Grant tried to evade them. This man was quicker with his taser though. Grant tasted ozone as his body was wracked with pain and he hit the ground.

Complete paralysis was not a new sensation to Grant. He had waking nightmares where he could not move his body. Sleep paralysis was part of the later stages of his bouts of insomnia.

He lay on the ground unable to move. Sensation returning only slowly as pins and needles climbed up his limbs. He looked out through his mask at the ground, getting a close up view of the cracked sidewalk.

"Let's get him up, quick. Come on you two get in." The new man said.

Grant felt hands grab him at the wrists and ankles. He was lifted up still facing down. His body sagged in the middle. He was capable of weak movements.

"Look!" The first woman shouted, her voice strained from the mace.

Grant was dropped on the ground. The pain was a bright intensity but adrenaline overrode any reaction beyond a forceful exhalation.

"A visitation!" They all said in near unison.

Then they each broke stride into different exultations.

"Praise him!"

"The light shines upon us!"

"Let there be light!"

Grant realized that they must be in the presence of an anomaly. He had been very fastidious about avoiding crowds and had never seen one before. Not even through his mask.

Well, he may have been near a lesser anomaly. He wouldn't have known with his mask on though. Masks were capable of fully blocking out anomalies 1 through 6.

The missionaries devolved into moans and cries of devotion rather than actual words. One of them seemed to be muttering some sort of prayer.

Grant fell well enough to stand and possibly run away under his own power now. He began to bring his arms and a leg underneath himself. He fell to his knees realizing he was in no condition to run from these people. Maybe he could stagger away while they were distracted.

As he brought his head up he saw, even through his mask, what they were seeing without masks. It was an anomaly 9, a greater anomaly.

There was a hole in the air above them. A crazed starburst opening in space hung there. Reality was shattered. The edges were sharply defined but they shifted slowly up and down, seeming to breathe. Another place could be seen through this opening.

It was dark in there but points of light stood out. It took him a moment to realize, but those points of lights were eyes. A sea of eyes was watching him back. He knew he should be looking away, but he couldn’t bring himself to.

It was one thing to hear the descriptions, or see a video. It was another thing entirely to see it in person. The eyes all seemed to look directly at him. They were not pairs of eyes he realized, but singular eyes.

“Rejoice! God’s light washes away your sins!” the female cultist said in his ear.

He felt his mask sliding off his face in one fluid motion. This was enough to break the spell. He jerked his head away as the mask was coming off. Looking to his right, not at the anomaly, he was face to face with the cultist who had taken his mask off.

She was smiling. She half turned so she could see both him and the anomaly. Her face was washed in the green-blue light from the anomaly. Blood filled her eyes and streamed out like tears. In the anomaly’s light it shone inky black.

“We were chosen, all of us.” She said, her voice tranquil and sweet.

Grant froze for a moment staring at her. He wasn’t sure if she was in religious ecstasy or if the anomaly hadn’t induced some sort of euphoria. In either case she was too fascinating to look away from for a moment.

Regaining his wits he shut his eyes. Even though he wasn’t looking right at the anomaly the light was reflecting off everything around him. Including the light coming off of the pale skin of the cultist’s face.

As soon as he shut his eyes, he could feel a pressure. It was like nothing he had ever felt before. Something was pushing in his mind, trying to get him to open his eyes. To look at the anomaly. Something from within that sea of eyes wanted him to see it.

The pressure mounted. He resisted it. He groped forward. His hand grazed the cultist’s breast.

He was momentarily horrified with himself before it clicked that this was a person who had attempted to mace and abduct him. He managed to grab onto her shoulder and pull himself up and beyond her.

She remained kneeling, reverting to muttered prayers.

He took a few staggering steps forward. He was fairly certain the effects of the tazing had worn off, what he was feeling now was coming from the anomaly; it didn’t want him to leave.

His hypothesis was confirmed with his next step forward. The pressure doubled down. He could feel it drilling into the back of his head. It now felt like something physical was pressing direct onto his skull.

He forced himself to take one more step forward. The pressure was transforming into something else. It felt like the desire to scratch an itch and to slake his thirst. It felt like starving and suffocating. He felt a powerful desire to turn around and look back into that sea without his mask.

The only thing that stopped him from doing it was that he knew it wasn’t genuine. It was from within that place, something forced upon him.

He took one more step forward and the pain became too much. The world drifted into a black vagueness. He had a distant sense of his body falling to the concrete. He heard his face smack into the ground, but he heard it from very far away.

Buried deep in that sea of darkness he was drifting away to full unconsciousness. Once again he was paralyzed, asleep save for that small active part of his mind that couldn’t just settle down. Right before even that part drifted off, he sensed it.

It was there with him, in his mind, right behind him. It watched.