The Bureau of Corpse Disposal wants all citizens to always keep the following in mind when dealing with the deceased:
1. Make proper arrangements for corpse disposal.
* A corpse that is not properly disposed of in time will manifest a zone of unreality.
* It takes up to two weeks for a corpse to manifest unreality, so if you see an unattended corpse, call the corpse disposal hotline immediately.
* In a pinch, one can delay the manifestation by covering the body with salt, but that is only a stopgap. Only those with Oracles can properly dispose of a corpse.
2. If you see a zone of unreality manifesting over you, stay still and stay silent.
* 85% of corpses that manifest into unreality are properly disposed of within the next 24 hours.
* Only 5% of zones manifested are rank 4 or higher.
* Odds of survival are increased by 68% for those who find a safe spot to bunker down in. If you can find some food and water within the first five minutes of the manifestation, hunker down and do your best to wait out the incursion.
3.Do not engage with anyone that is not authorized by the Bureau of Corpse Disposal. Unreality manifests in uncertain ways.
* Have pass codes in place for friends and family members, but be aware that the unreality may distort those.
* A licensed Corpse Disposal employee or independent contractor will have an unreality-proof id. If someone claims to be one and does not present an ID, run away.
Keep these three tips in mind at all times, and you too can help ensure that corpses are properly disposed of. And in the off chance they aren’t, you’re well equipped to handle those situations.
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“Work dammit,” he grunted. He slapped the washer-dryer, the machine rumbling as it went through its solitary cycle. It churned the clothing, noisily tossing them about as it finished up the drying sequence. It’d been displaying it had zero minutes left for the last five minutes, and the electricity it ran on wasn’t cheap. A radio bounced to the rhythm of the machine, a steady bass line plucking out into the air. The New Yorkers blasted their saxophones, threatening to give as much energy as the combo washer-dryer. The clothing pounded against the steel frame, concussive pattern setting a new tempo for the performers a few states over.
He stared at it, waiting for it to jingle its completion when another noise rang from his pockets. This would be the ninth time he’d heard it, but only the sixth time he’d act on it. Barring the first time, but it wouldn’t be right to track that instance with the rest.
He fished out his phone, almost dropping it as it slipped between his coarse hands. It displayed a familiar, if not irregular notification. A corpse hadn’t been properly disposed of, which meant it was time to go back to work.
With a wave of his wrist, the washing and drying machine split back into two distinct objects, noisily cluttering on the floor of the apartment. A banging came from below, but Jericho paid it no mind. The downstairs neighbors complained about everything. They didn’t deserve to be vindicated the one time their complaining was merited. So what if they periodically looked after Mordecai? That still didn’t justify their behavior.
“The laundry’s ready to be taken out,” he shouted to the kitchen. “You mind putting it away? I’ve got another corpse to handle.”
The murmured grunt from the living room was all the response he needed. He didn’t expect Mordecai to get up just yet—the kiddo was behind on his homework. Too addicted to gaming, and if it were another year ago, Jericho would have been ready to join him—but the acknowledgement meant things hadn’t gone wrong just yet.
Jericho tromped down the stairs. He stopped on the bottom step and put on his shoes. He reached for the hand mixer and pressed it against the footwear, the two objects merging into one. All he needed one was one last check to make sure everything he needed was on him. Shirt pocket, hips, side pockets. All patted, all present. With his final prep in order, he started for the scene of the corpse. He only hoped that it wouldn’t be too dangerous.
The improvised ‘roller skates’ carried him through the usually busy road. Each stride was boosted, making it effortless to glide down the empty streets. It was clear that the Bureau had already started funneling away any locals unequipped to dive into the unreality incursion. It only stood to reason that the capital would be well-prepared to deal with any unexpected pop-ups of unreality.
It was all too obvious that the reality incursion was present from the distorted air off in the distance. Buildings crept up from the ground, only to fracture upon reaching the outer perimeter of the manifestation. Hard angles split, edges warping far past the horizon. Glass glimmered with untold stories, impromptu visions into histories fabricated out of other times. If one stood too close to the perimeter, strange whispers in tongues familiar and foreign invaded their ears, telling stories with no start and no end.
The impromptu blockade sat right in front of the outer perimeter. The two government employees dispassionately watched Jericho pull up before them. They wore matching attire—white button down shirts, black slacks, and sunglasses. They were the very epitome of casual professionals. There was a conspicuous absence of guns, but it wasn’t as though he didn’t understand the futility in having them. Most conventional weaponry was ineffective within the unreality incursions, and anyone with an ounce of sense would do their best to not be trapped in the proximity of an improperly disposed of corpse.
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Now Jericho wondered if he was lacking in common sense, but given he was already at the blockade, well, it was likely a foregone conclusion.
“Please provide your identification,” the guard on the left said. It sounded like he smoked three times a day, but when one worked with the Bureau, it only stood to reason that one would have a vice or two. Unreality was a harsh thing, even on the border. In the background, a radio chattered, a north eastern girl monitoring the transit around the perimeter per the stray words that reached Jericho's ear. Her raspy voice indicated a similar habit, and in this economy? Who could blame her?
Jericho fumbled around in his pockets, giving a sheepish grin to the federal agents before finally fishing out the ID from his front chest pocket. He smacked the top of his head. “Sorry mate, forgot I put it there to make it easier to remember.”
The two passed the card between themselves before handing it back. “Alright, you’re clear. We’ll tell you what limited information we can provide. This is a rank 2 unreality. It’s approximately 10 city blocks wide. There may be some lost civilians inside, but they aren’t the priority if you choose to continue in. It opened up around 45 minutes ago.”
“That’s a pretty quick response,” Jericho said, crossing his arms. “Who called it in?”
“Locals. We confirmed the unreality outbreak and set up the perimeter as soon as we could.”
“Seems like a regular case?”
“Are any unreality breaks regular?” One of the guards lowered his head, eyebrow raising above the edge of his sunglasses.
“Point taken. Did any of you go in?”
The right guard shuddered. “Only briefly, to confirm the strength of the unreality. Didn’t see any obvious creatures, but as you know, an absence when we scouted doesn’t preclude any hostile activity.”
“Right right, and you’re not liable either. I get it. Any idea who the corpse was?” The wind howled through the area, blowing down the empty street. The guards’ clothing billowed in the wind, but the pair remained unfazed.
“No one’s been reported missing, but as you very well know, it’s hard to know who’s missing until they’ve been noticed as being gone, and at that point—“
“—They could already be dead,” you conclude. “Was worth asking. The corpses are everything.”
“Yes, we all know that,” the left guard said. “We don’t believe it was purposefully triggered, but headquarters is sending down an auditor to investigate. Please don’t fight with them.”
“Unless they’re manipulated by the corpse?” Jericho’s shit eating grin spread from cheek to cheek.
“Please don’t fight with them,” the right guard repeated. It clearly wasn’t the first time he’d come across that line of reasoning. That, or his training had detailed measures for situations like these. Either explanation was perfectly likely as the other.
Jericho raised his hands in defeat. “Fine, fine. One last thing. Am I the first responder?”
“There’s no records of other entrants at the other gates, so barring anyone sneaking into the unreality, you’re the first.”
The independent contractor nodded. “Alright. I’m going in. Mind watching this for me?”
He pulled at his feet and the hand mixer popped out, the shoes back to their prior state. The guards nodded and motioned for him to deposit the item into a tiny black plastic bin. Jericho made a mental note: ‘Do not leave possession at the perimeter.’
“Good luck,” the guards said, soft words trailing in Jericho’s wake. He moved past the perimeter, towards the noises that made his skin crawl, hair stand on end. It was like thousands of little bugs crawling and writhing in his ear, their minuscule feet tickling the inside of his head. Nothing he could do would get them out, unless he continued on into the pocket of unreality or left it all behind, and that was the one thing he couldn’t do. He barreled on through the shimmering landscape and entered the all too familiar world.
The silence was deafening. Without the noisy tongue of dynasties past and future, there were no noises to cling to. No wind tearing through the buildings. No functional pedestrian traffic lights giving permissions to advance. No birds clamoring for attention. No cars struggling to make it five blocks down the road in twenty minutes. Nothing but Jericho’s breath, a slow and steady reminder that there was at least one person still alive within the corpse’s dominion.
He stared at the perimeter, taking in the surroundings. These first moments within the pocket of unreality were crucial as to understanding what he was dealing with. Even if it was only a rank 2 unreality, that didn’t mean he could relax, especially not with one that seemed as subtle as this. He wasn’t a regular of this part of the city—the shops were all too pricey, and honestly? the food was overrated. Some of the best restaurants were on the outskirts of the city and… that sort of thinking was a distraction. He had to focus. Just because things looked safe didn’t mean they were safe.
His feet slowly advanced, each step on the sidewalk placed with only half his weight. Something had to be wrong—there was an overarching feeling about everything being out of place, but he couldn’t put his finger on it just yet. The windows were dark, but if they were cut off from electricity, it stood to reason that they weren’t properly catching light. Wait, no.
Jericho jogged over to the nearest storefront, gingerly putting his hands on the glass. It wasn’t that the interior was dark. The glass itself was an inky well, no light passing through. On touch it felt like regular glass—it was probably a mistake to touch it with his raw hands, in hindsight—but his palms wouldn’t show up. And from there, he scoured the rest of the storefront, eyes drawn to the brand of the bank. The letters were reversed.
“That’s fucking weird,” he muttered. It wasn’t as though anyone else was around, but he couldn’t help but feel like he needed to be quiet. It was uncanny being in this fucked up version of the city. It was so empty. A city wasn’t meant to be this devoid of activity. Cities were meant to be filled with assholes going about their business, all single-minded in their goals and yet making the whole function like some sort of large organism. This city was dead. There was no blood running through its veins, no cells carrying necessary materials around. It could no more generate life than one could draw blood from a stone. This city was created on the back of death, and death was all it knew.
The theme seemed roughly obvious, albeit that was apt to fall apart once he made it to the mausoleum, but with any luck this was the worst of the incursion. Of course, if Jericho had good luck, he wouldn’t have even been within this pocket unreality in the first place.
As he continued down the uncannily familiar streets, something else rang out as wrong. Something had changed. He paused, looking around for any new disturbances, but nothing else looked like it had altered further. All dark storefronts, signage reversed, streets going the wrong cardinal direction. In terms of visuals all was the same.
The soft sound of others footsteps had never felt so loud.
His hand darted to his waist and withdrew the pistol from the holster, pointing it at the advancing people coming around the corner, past the row of presumably unoccupied residential homes. “Don’t move,” he commanded.
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