[SHOCKS Internal Communications Log] VVI Control Zone, May 26, 2043
Researcher Catherine Edwards; Director Adam Smith; Head Researcher Andre LeClerque
- - - - -
Smith: Cutting the formalities, because time is ticking. With me are Catherine Edwards from Digital Anomalous Warfare and Andre LeClerque from Stabilization and Field Containment. Estimated times until failure?
Edwards: As far as digital warfare is concerned, failure happened three hours ago when cyber attacks overpowered Ostrich 1 and 2. Following protocol, SHOCKS Victoria is cut off from the rest of the network.
LeClerque: Field Containment is failing in the Sooke, Duncan, and Albert Head areas. We’re holding the city center for now and evacuating as many civilians to the SeaTac Control Zone or farther inland into Canada as we can. Call it four days? Maybe five?
Smith: Damn. Anything we can do to stall?
LeClerque: Not particularly. We need more Recovery and Stabilization Teams. Lambda Four’s field losses left us in trouble. We don’t have the personnel without them. Even with them, I wouldn’t count on more than an extra day or two.
Edwards: No. But as long as the Victoria Site doesn’t connect to the internet, its intranet system is air-gapped. We’ll be cut off, but Beta won’t be able to subvert the Joint Anomaly System.
Smith: So, to sum up, we’re cut off, not enough people, four days. Get back to work and try for a breakthrough. I’ll look at our Gutenberg Protocol options.
Silence. Log ends.
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Location Unknown, Date Unknown, Time Unknown
- - - - -
I’m becoming more and more convinced that I’m not in a hospital.
On the first day and most of the second—or at least, for the first four meals that slid onto the tray table next to my bed- it felt like maybe I was in an ICU or something. And I couldn’t move well, so I spent my time in bed and slept. My arms, face, and legs were nothing but bandages, and the beeping, humming machines and sterile lemon smell threatened to drive me crazy. Sleep felt better than that.
But now, I’ve had time to take a closer look, and the whole thing’s fake.
For one thing, I can’t text out of here. I’ve tried, of course. A quick message to Alice, just in case she’s paying attention, to let her know I’m okay. A longer one to Dad. He’s not paying attention, of course. But mostly, I send messages to Sora. When I started sending them, I didn’t pay attention to whether they sent; I just wanted someone to hear me.
Claire -
Claire -
Claire -
But as time’s passed, it’s gotten to be less about whether she’s listening and more about lying to myself that she is. An unread messages diary. My most recent one looks more like this:
Claire -
I guess it’s more like a diary.
I’ve run the equation a dozen times, and it keeps coming up the same. If X is the fact that no one’s actually visited me to check up on me while I’m awake, Y is the massive plexiglass wall on one side of my hospital room and the doctors constantly watching me from behind it, and Z is that when I took off the bandages on my calves, no one stopped me, but the moment I tried to remove the IV in my arm, I fell asleep and when I woke up, it was taped down even more, the math always comes out the same.
It’s not a hospital room. It’s a cell, which means I’m not in a hospital. I’m in a prison.
I’m up and about. The doctors don’t care if I move around as long as the IV stays in my arm, so I cart the stand with the bag full of whatever they’re pumping into me along behind me as I pace back and forth. My room is white, with white tiles, a white ceiling, and white walls. My bedding is white, the hospital machines are a mix of white and chrome, and even my hospital gown is white.
More importantly, it’s boring. I don’t have a book, my phone, or even a TV to watch cartoons or something. I can’t write anything down, make a paper airplane, or throw spitballs at the glass—though I tried that with some napkin paper the first day. All I can do is pace, think, and worry about my family, Sora, Keith, and myself.
Or I can watch as they experiment with the Revolver.
Yeah, it’s here too. It’s in a little clear box with a door on either side. One door on their side unlocks with a code, and they’re constantly fiddling with it. I think the code is 839123, but I’m not sure. It’s almost impossible to see, but watching the doctors is my only entertainment, so I’ve been paying attention for about six hours straight. The other door is on my side. It does not have a number panel, and I doubt 839123 would work if it did.
So, that’s the stalemate. I don’t talk to them because they’re definitely SHOCKS doctors, and so was my therapist. I tried a couple of times at first before I got my panic under control, but they ignored me. Instead, I pace back and forth, wishing I had my glasses.
A buzzer goes off above me. “Subject - 573-V-1/1O-Alpha, this is Doctor Smith. Do you recognize my voice?”
I freeze. I’m not sure where they dug up my therapist, but the voice is the same—older, yes, but the same painful, talk-down-to-the-kid voice from when I was five. He’s a liar, and I refuse to talk to him, but he’s also the only human voice I’ve heard in what I think is three days.
“Subject - 573-V-1/1O-Alpha, would you prefer your given name?”
I nod before I can stop myself and sit down on the bed. As I ball my knees up into my chest, I glare at the plexiglass. I can’t see Doctor Smith, but he’s in there somewhere. He won’t get anything out of me that I’m not willing to give.
“Clarice Alora Pendleton, we’ve been conducting experiments to separate you from the 573-V-1/1O anomaly. If we can do that, and you agree to a round of amnestics, we can return you to your family in a couple of days.”
My heart pounds in my chest. I don’t want to admit it, but I’ve missed Sora, Keith, Dad…and even Alice. I nod and look at the plexiglass box—and at the doctors on the window’s far side. He’s still not getting a single word from me. Not one. But I’ll play along a little if it means I can get out of here.
So, for the next three hours, I go through the motions. A door opens, and I’m instructed through it. They poke me with needles and check my eyes, hook electrodes to my brain, make me sit still in some spinning machine, and a dozen other things Doctor Smith says are necessary baseline tests. In between, the door shuts, and I’m stuck in the white room with nothing to do while they take notes on their computers and tablets.
And the whole time, I glare at where I imagine Doctor Smith is. I can’t see him, but he can obviously see me, so he’s in there somewhere, or maybe watching through a camera. I have to do what they say…for now…but I’ll never trust him. Never.
The intercom crackles, and his condescending, too-slick voice fills the room. “In fifteen seconds, the door on your side of the barrier will open. Please pick up the gun, fire it at the lit-up target on the far side of your cell, and place it back in its containment unit.”
I nod again. An LED light appears on the far wall, spiraling out to form a red-and-blue target circle on the otherwise-white wall. An alarm goes off, and shiny chrome barriers cover the plexiglass, cutting me off from the scientists. Then, after precisely fifteen seconds, the door opens, and I’m reunited with the Revolver.
I pick it up, its white ceramic grip comfortable in my hand, and aim it at the chrome barrier.
“Clarice Alora Pendleton, fire it at the target. This room has been built to handle you and your anomaly. The barrier is designed to withstand its estimated heat output, as are the walls.”
“Bullshit,” I mutter as I pull the trigger. They have no idea what it can do.
The fiery shot hits the target, but not quite in the center. I hold onto the Revolver, hoping against hope that its cylinder has spun and given me a tool the doctors weren’t expecting, but there’s nothing.
“Place Object 573-V-1/1O back into its containment unit,” Doctor Smith’s voice says.
After a moment, I comply. The speaker goes silent, and the blast barrier falls after a minute, letting the doctors see me. They’re busily typing away, glancing excitedly at the Revolver and talking to each other with animated arms.
We repeat the same process several times, with me shooting different things. I try out Bullet Time once before I think better of it, and when I pull the trigger, time almost stops for me. I get three trigger squeezes before all three shots fire at the same time, slamming into the target. Then I stop using it; they don’t need to know more about that.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
After the fifth shot, they stop me.
Then, the blast shields go up again, and on the far side, between the Revolver and me, sits a guillotine. It’s just tall enough to hover over the box, and it looks like it’s made from obsidian, with an edge so sharp I can’t see it—though without my glasses, it’s hard to be sure of even that. A dozen wires and sensors are hooked up to its every surface, and
“Thank you, Subject - 573-V-1/1O-Alpha. We believe we’ve gathered enough information to attempt to sever the anomaly’s hold on you. Please stand on the marked spot.”
An LED lights up the floor, and I drag the IV stand over to it.
“Experiment 573-V-1/1O-EX-56 beginning. Drop it.”
The guillotine drops. I don’t feel any different, and the Revolver is still sitting there, but all hell breaks loose outside my cell.
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The lights in the doctors’ room all go off, bulbs exploding. Computer screens burst out as well. The room looks filled with shards of glass that reflect the fluorescents from my room, and I can almost hear the alarm going off. Almost.
A moment later, the doctors flee as red emergency lights fill their side of the plexiglass. I’m not sure where they’re going, and I don’t care. They’re leaving me alone. That means one of two things.
Either I’m expendable, and they don’t care if I’m stuck during an emergency, or the emergency won’t affect me. Either way, I’m trapped in a box. I pound on the plexiglass for a minute, but none of the fleeing doctors hear it. The room is soundproofed; I’m an experiment, not a person to them. They’re the boogeymen, after all.
More interesting is the Halcyon System message that immediately follows. I haven’t seen one since I passed out in the counselors’ office at West End High. It’s good to know I’ve still got it, whatever it is, and since the power seems to be out and no one’s watching, I have plenty of time to explore it.
{Halcyon System Re-Initializing}
{Sol-Three has been infected. Initiating self-defense protocols. Enabling System interfaces. Congratulations on bonding with a passive anomaly. You are survivor number 7,359,104 to do so.}
{Firewall Protocols Overridden: 3/3}
{Air-Gap Found. Full Access Blocked}
{System Access: 90%}
{Affected System Features}
►Archived Anomaly Information
►Assistance Functions
{Recalculating Skills, Knowledges, Bonds, and Inquiries. Adjusting Stability}
{Claire Pendleton}
►Stability 6/10
►Skills - Physical Anomaly Resistance 1, Endurance 2. Revolver Mastery 1, Bullet Time
►Truths - Anomalous Bond 2 (-2), West End High 1 (-2)
►Inquiries (0/5)
I grin in the dark as the red emergency lights flash. I still can’t access Archived Anomaly Information or Assistance Functions—every time I try, I get the bonk-boing sound—but Skill and Truth information should let me fill in enough variables to understand how this thing works.
I decide to work down from the top, starting with Stability.
{Stability - You are a bastion of reality, but even the mightiest fortress can fall. Stability represents your mental and emotional defenses. They’ll be strained by Truths you’re not ready to handle and by the inexplicable things you’ll encounter. If you become unstable, you’ll merge with another reality—or another reality will merge with you.}
So, keep Stability high. It’s an HP bar from games like Knights of the Apocalypse. That sounds easy enough on the surface, but the West End High merge pushed mine down to nothing. There has to be a way to slow down Stability loss—like armor, but for my mind and emotions. I check my Skills next since it sounds like Truths aren’t going to help with my Stability.
{Skills - Knowing the Truth can come with benefits. Push your limits for more}
That’s cryptic, and not as mathematical as I was hoping, but it’s enough to know I can learn Skill from Truths or from working my body—and maybe mind—past its limits. I check my skills. Right now, there are only three.
{Physical Anomaly Resistance - Decreases Stability loss from Physical anomalies by 1/rank}
{Endurance - Increases physical endurance slightly for each rank}
{Revolver Mastery 1 - Increases skill with revolvers slightly for each rank}
“Defense, stamina, and offense,” I whisper. It’s precisely like Knights of the Apocalypse, except I’m defending myself against…thinlings’ screams and whatever the replicating anomaly was, not against their claws and stuff. “I’ve never touched a revolver before. I shouldn’t have been able to use it even that much.”
None of the cameras have recording lights on, and whatever knocked out the doctor’s room’s computers blew the power, too, so I feel okay whispering to myself. The equation’s starting to come together.
{Truths - Knowing the Truth comes with a cost.}
I grin wryly. That’s a Truth by itself. Then I keep reading.
{Realities, beings, and phenomena that refuse to mesh with your understanding of reality will cause your Stability to drop as you learn about them. However, the Truth is the Truth; you must live with it or stay ignorant.}
{Anomalous Bond 2 - You’ve formed a bond with an anomaly. You can control some aspects of that anomaly but have been branded as one yourself. Welcome to the Halcyon System.}
My throat tightens as I realize why I’m here. I’m not interesting because I can use the Revolver or because I’m helping them study it, and I’m not leaving if I’m cooperative. I’m part of the experiment, and after they’re done? What then? Will I disappear? Or is this my life now? Am I stuck in a box forever? My breathing goes faster and faster, and my vision starts to blur. I need something else to focus on. Anything else.
I mentally tap the next Truth.
{West End High - The Halcyon System has been depositing less dangerous anomalies on Earth for a long time. The Revolver is one of those. The Revolver is from a safe reality. You can accept other anomalous items from it.}
“Well, that’s super-trustworthy,” I whisper in the dark, laughing nervously and trying to push my panic down. Like I’m going to trust a blatant lie like that. But I’m not getting the lie feeling from it. I shake my head. Even if R-573 is safe like this Truth claims, the Revolver got me into this mess, and I don’t want to dig my hole any deeper than it is. I want out, not further in.
A flashlight flickers in the hall that the doctors all fled down earlier. I wish I could investigate; maybe it’s someone who can get me out of here. That’d be nice, but it’s not the Truth.
Instead, a soldier pokes the barrel of a black gun around the corner, pans across the room, and waves three other soldiers in. They each have an upside-down V, the number 4, and the SHOCKS symbol patched onto their arms; I can see the circles and arrows, just like on the pills I didn’t take and on my therapist’s coat. They check the room carefully, and then one talks into a radio, but I can’t make out the words through the soundproof barrier.
I go back to the System.
{Inquiries - Learning the Truth requires investigation. Questioning the world you know, those you don’t, and those who gatekeep that knowledge can yield incredible understanding and expose new pitfalls. Answering an Inquiry unlocks new Skills but also exposes your mind to Truths—some of which it won’t be prepared for.}
As a handful of doctors shuffle into the room, sweeping glass from their papers and clearing their seats, I work through what I know about the System.
If my Stability is six right now, and I want to learn what happened at West End High, or why I’m in a cell in—I take a wild guess—Victoria instead of at home or in a real hospital, I can afford to do some digging. The answers are almost certainly anomalous knowledge, so learning it will decrease my Stability.
Not that I’m close to answering anything. I add the new one to my Inquiries, though.
{Inquiry: Where am I? What does SHOCKS want with me?}
Still, by the time SHOCKS’ custodians have the room cleared and new lightbulbs and computers installed, I’ve got a pretty good idea of which Inquiries I want to pursue and the whole loop the Halcyon System runs off of.
Every game’s got a loop. Usually—like in KOTA—it’s ‘fight enemies in the dungeons,’ then ‘level up and get equipment,’ then ‘fight stronger enemies and clear more of the dungeons.’ That game’s got a pretty simple loop, and it’s based around fighting and gear.
The Halcyon System has a loop, too.
I need to find the answers to Inquiries. Those Truths give me Skills but decrease my Stability. Some Skills increase my stability—or, more accurately, decrease Truth and encounter Stability penalties.
Luckily, I’m probably in the best place to find the answers to those Truths as long as I can maintain my Stability. The boogeymen have to know the answers to some of these questions—maybe all of them. All I need to do is figure out how to get out of this white, boring box and start exploring the place, and I can probably learn more than I need to.
“We will now continue with testing, Clarice,” Doctor Smith’s voice says through the intercom. “Please take the gun and proceed through the open door.”
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The door leads to a firing range, and I spend almost an hour there. A few doctors sit behind a massive bulletproof glass wall, along with a man in black clothes who holds a revolver. He walks me through every gun safety lesson ever, from how to unload the cylinder—which I can’t do—to how to make sure it’s secured on my body. I don’t have a gun belt or a holster or whatever, so I go through the motions until he’s sure I’ve got it. I only half pay attention, though. Most of my mind is on trying to answer my Inquiries.
The moment he’s done, the doctors take over. firing the Revolver over and over at different targets while a dozen cameras record each shot from every conceivable angle. I have to take a little extra caution not to pull the IV needle out of my arm after every shot.
I’m being watched, but even so, I can’t help use Bullet Time once or twice more, just to understand what it does. The whole world slows down when I use it, and the Revolver sings in my hand as it rapid-fires three flaming shots that seem to hover just past the barrel’s tip. Then I snap out of it, and all three fire toward their targets at the same time.
By the time I’m done, my wrist aches, I’m wobbly on my still-painful legs, and the Revolver’s barrel smokes after every pull of the trigger.
I’ve also ranked up Revolver Mastery to Three. After both rank-ups, I feel more accurate, and the Revolver feels smoother and smoother with every shot. I try not to take advantage of my faster reflexes to get more shots off; somehow, I get the feeling that SHOCKS would dig into my augs to learn about the Halcyon System if it knew I had it. They don’t deserve to know any of that truth, anyway. That’s just for me—and maybe for Truth Club.
As the last target falls back and I stretch my wrist painfully, Doctor Smith’s voice cuts over the intercom. “Clarice Alora Pendleton, return through the door and place the gun back inside its containment unit.”
As I put the Revolver back in its box and the door slides shut, the lights on the other side go out. I’m familiar enough with the routine to know that I’ve got ten minutes before mine, too, go black, and I’m left in the dark except for medical equipment.
Dinner is fast. It’s a pair of soft tacos and a paper cup filled with water. A second cup slides in on a similar tray as I finish it. I eat ravenously. The first day, I didn’t, and the food disappeared after the lights turned off. Then I brush my teeth, singing the ABCs in my head to get the timing right since neither my cell nor my bathroom has a clock, and I wouldn’t trust it even if they did. For all I know, it’s two in the afternoon. For all I know, time doesn’t exist anymore.
Sleep hits me fast. It has the last two nights, too; I’m pretty sure they’re drugging me, but it’s not worth the trouble to pull out my IV or try to hold my breath if it’s in the air. They’d just force the IV back in and add even more tape. I fight the sleep for a while, though. Sora’s out there. So is Keith, and Dad, and even Alice. I wonder what lie the boogeymen told them. Did they say I’m dead, or missing? Both would be believable. Or did they not say anything at all, and just disappear me?
Claire - There. That ought to get her going. I press send in my aug, but it stubbornly refuses to go anywhere except into my unsent message diary. I pull up my Inquiries, to distract myself as much as to plan for a future I might not see. ►Inquiries (1/5) ►Where am I? What does SHOCKS want with me? As my eyes close, I have one last thought. Tomorrow, I’m going to answer one of them. I need to fill in some variables to balance my equation. I don’t know enough about anything. Where my family and friends are, where I am, or what the Halcyon System’s really for—it’s all a mystery. So, I need to start solving for X. Tomorrow, I’m going to start learning the Truth. I’m just not sure which one yet. And what does ‘Halcyon’ mean, anyway?