Silence. Steel, glass, and concrete stretched to the endless horizon of this flat world as I walked down the center of a four-lane road of flawless asphalt. The uncanny, groaning structures cast me in shadow, each one no less than six-floor tall and packed close enough together to give off a sense of claustrophobia despite the perpetually empty roads. A large obnoxious witch’s hat with a tangling tag still attached blocked the reflections of the lifeless sun from my eyes as it lazily crawled across the windows. Billboards with dream-like images and advertisements with unintelligible words from the ground floor storefronts accompanied me on my journey, made all the more eerie with the ambient noises of air twisting around the too-large buildings towering over me. Pure freedom turned unrelenting monotony ate away at my wandering mind, filled with adventures and characters until the line between truth and fiction became-
I turned to the empty space to my left. “Did you know that some studies say that the human brain would rather torture itself than be bored?” The words snapped my wandering mind back to the cruel, comforting reality. Normally I’d use music, but I was too scared of overusing my ipod.
“I believed those studies before, especially as it pertains to adhd doom spiraling, but now that I’m here I think I can pretty much confirm it. Unless rolling off the bed and getting isekai’d into another dimension adds some other variables that ruin the experiment.”
My imaginary friend quirked an eyebrow in questioning.
“Yes, yes, I have often fantasized about escaping the clutches of our crumbling society and exploring strange worlds many many times. And sure, it was a rather exciting and scary adventure at first. The scenery was amazing, and unlike anything I’d ever seen before, and I had no clue what kinds of threats could be lurking around the corner. There’s only one, teensy weensy problem.” I held my thumb and index up to my eye, holding them real close together.
“Everyone here is fucking dead.” I deadpanned, dropping my hand.
Ah, yes, I suppose that is indeed a bit of an issue.
“Thanks, Imaginary Friend. So yeah, I thought I was the protagonist but now I’m just a statistic, one tragic fate among many. Surprise! Was it a good story?” I spun around and began walking lazily backwards, my hands behind my head.
No.
“Thanks for the criticism Imaginary Friend, but your opinion is invalid. Anyways, I’m also no architecture enthusiast, but the building styles here don’t really feel… coherent, so to speak. Maybe this is one of the now hundreds of levels of the infamous “back rooms” I’d heard about? Oooh, or maybe I’m isekaid’ into a fanfiction of Outsider Whatsit, that-uhhh, that one lesbian Eldritch horror manga I read!” I laughed like a pervert and wiggled my brows, imagining myself in a smuty polyamorous relationship with the female leads before shaking my head.
Lewd! Go to horni jail.
“Oi, aren’t you the lewd one for reading my private lewd thoughts? That’s what I thought. So yeah, given that I’m not dead or rescued already it’s probably not the latter, sadly, and if it’s the former it’s probably the version that has no spooky monster ruining the atmosphere, less sadly. Honestly though, the more likely explanation is that I’ve been swallowed up by a spooky “phenomena” and am going to die a slow and horrible death like everyone else. Not for the lack of trying, of course.”
Yes, I’d prefer you to remain alive, considering we share the same brain at the moment.
“Daw, that’s so sweet of you, Imaginary-.”
Please come up with something else already! That name’s way too long.
“Sure thing, Friend! So anyways, now that you’re caught up, I’ve been thinking. Given infinite time, even the smallest chances of deviation are guaranteed right? In the void of heat death, one in a gazillion chances happened to spontaneously birth the universe after all. That or known reality itself is one big phenomenon, which I don’t doubt.” I tapped my chin and hmm’d in curiosity.
“Either way, both of those options are deviations, so both prove my point. If I just keep surviving and keep walking, something eventually, statistically, has to give in, right? I just have to make sure that deviation isn’t my timely death. It’s not the gambler's fallacy, it’s logic I tell you! This world seems to be totally randomly generated to my eyes. The sky seemed to be variable too at first, but after the first month or so I quickly realized it was playing on loop with the same four lengths of clear sun, two lengths of fog, and one length of rain. Then it would repeat the same but at night time with all the city lights turned on…over and over…”
This sounds awful, can you just let me go back to non-existence now?
“You’re not allowed to die yet; you have to be bored with me for now. Anyways, that was a tangent. The point is, with so much randomness, something weird has to happen eventually. Maybe said randomness will let me wake up in a better woooorld!” I jumped and cartwheeled, dropping my hat as I turned to face i with a victorious look at my perfect plan.
“…Eventually.” I hedged, picking up my beloved hat again.
“Also assuming I don’t get spit out at the bottom of the ocean making my struggle pointless but ANYWAYS.” I shouted, followed by definitely-not-nervous laughter.
“Anyyyways, as for why I say “lengths” and not “days” is my already shitty sense of time was further fucked up by the monotonous liminal space of this strange dimension. Like, I’m pretty sure I’ve caught a glimpse of about one dead body on average every… two weeks, or so? But that could be off by a week for all I know. I count three meals as one day generally, but I also forget to eat sometimes.”
Dead bodies!?
“Mhm, and the standard deviation between their appearance is also pretty large. It kinda feels like finding an easter egg in a game. The record longest is three months, and the record shortest was a few minutes apart. They’re pretty much my only form of entertainment in this hellscape. Sometimes I’ll even see traces of their old stuff, or open doors and ransacked buildings, but the rate that I find those really doesn’t match up to how often I find the bodies themselves, so maybe most people are dead on arrival?”
Maybe this world reverts back to an untouched state after a certain length of time, or “reloads”?
Stolen story; please report.
“Could be, but doesn’t explain all the weird death positions I find sometimes. Some people obviously just killed themselves, but others are hanging off a balcony like a drunk, or crammed inside a cupboard, with zero signs of decay. Tallying up each of the positions though, I think it was one in four out of five.”
…You seem very nonchalant about the whole “finding a dead body every month” thing. Should I be concerned for my safety?
“I have a right to remain silent. Really though, it was maybe creepy the first half a dozen times, but it got all sam-ey pretty quickly after that. Maybe being an apocobaby has something to do with it? Actually hold on one sec, Friend, I forgot to do my daily routine.”
I turned and looked at the empty space to my right. “If I’m in a manga, you audience better make a fanfic of me getting transmigrated out of here or I’m coming after you, whatever dimension you are! And also, Pokémon, Mario, Legend of Zelda! I’m setting Nintendo’s copyright lawyers after you, you sadistic author fuckface! Ugh, I read too much fiction. Or well, I did. It’s hard to get through the day with no meds if I don’t have a constant source of dopamine, and webnovels used to be my fix. Heh. Fics. Like fiction, get it? Hehehehe.”
I wheezed a loud laugh from my stomach and stumble in my steps. “It’s funny, because fix is like fics, like fanfics, like fiction, get it? Get it? Pshhhh.”
Friend paused in her stride to look down at me concernedly, her hand held out as if she wasn’t sure how to help. Before she could decide I suddenly stopped to take a deep breath in, and out. My face dropped and my shoulders sagged, feet dragging behind me. I needed to focus on something else. It would be easier if I still had my tiddy skittles. This beard sucked, and the hormone crash thing almost made me kms for the first year. A story idea? Should I give Friend some character development?
…Whatever, my feet hurt. I should find somewhere to set up for the night. I took a left turn abruptly, reached in my pocket and grabbed everybody’s all-time favorite silicone best boi Mr. Like and Subscribe Jr. with all my might to smash the glass of the storefront. Then I unclipped number-one waifu best t-girl Mrs. Stick from my backpack to sweep away the glass to make sure it won’t cut my feeble skin suit.
What- what are you doing all of the sudden!?
I turned left and explain to Friend, “Mrs. Stick a t-girl because my health teacher put a condom on a broom once in middle school but I already had Mr. Like and Subscribe Jr (yes you must say the full name every time), so I needed some gender diversity to not get canceled by all of humanity if I end up in the afterlife with them.”
That answers nothing!
My short skirt hiked up to flash the cutie with my pantsu as I swung my long leggy over the windowsill with performative flourish.
Wha- you jus- you can’t just do that! She squeaked and blushed furiously.
“It’s not sexual harassment if it’s my own brain.”
Glass cronched under my non-brand running shoes as I swung the other leg over and stepped into the store. I would’ve tried to parkour it, but you know, glass. I already had a few badass scars from being too reckless traversing the abandoned landscape to drive away the monotony. I won’t live to see the Grand Deviation if I die of stupidity.
The store was one of those tasty bakery stores you’d never remember the name of. The shelves were lined with various sweets and snacks with no food labels, but I painstakingly ignored them out of concern for my healthy diet. Physical health is important for mental health and vice versa after all. That done, I moved to the break room behind the counter to set up camp with my sleeping bag with the help of Friend, who followed me out of the lack of anything else to do.
Arduous set up completed, I used the break room microwave to heat up one of my everything bagels for dinner, and plug my old-ass ipod into the outlet so I could cycle through the eight hundred songs I’d pirated by the time I ended up in this world. Most of them are jpop or game music of course because I’m a fucking weeb. I also took special care to just leave it on shuffle and never choose the bangers I actually want to listen to. Honestly, if I hadn’t had my phone in my pocket when I went to sleep, I don’t want to know how long I would’ve lasted. In this world… the only other sounds I ever heard were my own footsteps echoing the endless landscape, the pitter patter of the rain, and the sounds of buildings creaking under their own weight. The only wind seemed to be the passive ambiance of wind tunnels.
While I was waiting for the microwave, I reached for the side pocket of my hiking bag and popped one of the pens, which I proceeded to use to sign my name and social media on one of the bare walls with a little doodle.
Obake, no surname, followed by a little smiley face surrounded by a heart next to it. Thank you, Japanese half, for making this shapeshifter name slightly less cringe to choose. In a way, I was glad that whatever the outcome of this Phenomenon may be, I would most likely never have to use the last name of my sperm and egg donors again. And no one would be able to deadname me either unless I end up back where I started and wanted to reconnect with the past, which is more unlikely than me getting isekaid as a sexy hero in another world with shapeshifting powers to go with my namesake.
Popping the bagel in my mouth, I searched the rest of the rooms and cabinets in the building for anything of note. The only items of interest being a stack of paper plates on a shelf —and a motherfucking corpse I’d missed under the counter, Jesus fucking Christ.
“Goddamnit, that doesn’t count! Jump scares are cheap as hell!” I turned around sharply, heart still beating rapidly as I marched back to my sleeping quarters. Or at least I tried to, but…
My eyes unwillingly glanced back at the dead body despite my desire to ignore it. They were just a kid. A black teen who couldn’t have even graduated middle school, with freckles smattering his nose. He had torn jeans and his hands were buried in the pockets of a jacket too big for him. His empty eyes stared into the distance, the undersides bruised with deep bags, and tear streaks were visible on his cheeks. A small pastry on a paper plate lay untouched next to his side. The only signs of time were the dried bloodstains around his neck. And inside of the walls of the little space under the counter, was a letter to his little brother. Apologizing, hoping he’d never end up here with him, and warning him about the shadowy monsters that stalk his every move.
…Ugh, it’s creepy as fuck to just have him watching the hallway right outside where I sleep. Honestly, he had to die here of all places, and didn’t even bother leaving a diary for me to read. Those were my only real source of entertainment, and they were annoyingly rare; sometimes I’d even get all excited over finding one only to find it was written in another language.
“What do you think, Friend? What do I do with ‘em?” I asked.
She shrugged, uncomfortable. I don’t know, block line of sight if you don’t want to bury him? Aren’t you worried about the stalkers he mentioned though?
Unwittingly, I snorted, a gag from a cartoon I’d once watched coming to mind. I didn’t fully remember but it was something like, if you can’t see them, they can’t see you. And then they just blindfolded themselves and bumped into a bunch of shit. “Nah, I’m pretty sure they’re just hallucinations, I haven’t seen any and a bunch of people write shit like that in this world. Plus if they’re real I’m quite simply doomed as fuck, so the warnings won’t do shit at that point”
Hm, that does give me an idea though. I lifted the bag of paper plates onto the counter, thinking back to my first DIY costume as a broke ass kid with parents unwilling to spend on such frivolities. I drew a fun little doodle with an overly detailed :3 face on the plate with my pen and then ripped the handles off a random paper bag before taping them onto the sides. Then I cringed, and slowly slipped the mask onto the suspiciously preserved corpse and took a step back to observe my masterpiece.
There was a beat of horrified, fascinated silence as I processed what I had just done before I burst into loud, manic laughter. “Oh, oh wow, this is wonderful! God it’s so wrong, I hate it, I love it so much!”
If this were a game my sanity bar would either be plummeting rapidly or filling to the max, and I had no idea which was which. I don’t think I cared, either. I just held my stomach as I laughed, and laughed, and laughed again.