[Anomalous Message, May 23, 2043]

At 11:49 AM, May 23, 2043, televisions, cellular phones, and both optic and aural augments worldwide received the following message:

{Halcyon System Enabled}

{Sol-Three has been infected. Initiating self-defense protocols. Enabling System interfaces. Allowing Anomalous/Sapient interactions with System approval. If bonded with an anomaly, please enter a resting state to enable System/Sapient interaction.}

A second message arrived a minute later, shortly after SHOCKS technicians began deleting the first, and was intercepted before it could be completed.

{Initiating Anti-Interference Countermeasures. Time to brea—}

The Phalanx Threat Hunter program cut off the rest of the message. Shortly after, the program was digitally attacked violently enough to physically damage the servers hosting it. The full message ended up in the Broken Shade protocol’s holding system.

{Initiating Anti-Interference Countermeasures. Time to breach: ten hours.}

Intense efforts by SHOCKS digital warfare specialists have extended the likely time until Ostrich and Wiretap fail to just over seventy hours while simultaneously working on a new protocol to clear the anomaly, designated 0-G-4/U1-Beta, from communications systems worldwide. Unfortunately, no progress has been made on a solution. Further, Beta is a highly adaptable anomaly and will likely find backdoors through Ostrich 1’s firewalls that increase vulnerability in Ostrich 2.

[Update]

On May 26, 2043, SHOCKS digital warfare specialists announced that Beta would defeat Wiretap, Ostrich 1, and Ostrich 2 within six hours. Protocols are in place for post-communication SHOCKS operations, including read-only air-gapped files, paper record-keeping, and increased director autonomy.

[Back]

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Victoria, British Columbia - May 28, 2043, 1:34 PM

- - - - -

My throat feels dry, and I can’t help but stare at the other three Recovery and Stabilization Team troopers in the armored truck’s rear compartment. Sergeant Strauss keeps fiddling with the half-dozen gizmos in his go-bag, and L4-2 and Lieutenant Rodriguez pretty much ignore me. With L4-4 driving, that leaves me by myself. I play with my helmet’s buckle and try to remember who the other two Lambda-Four troopers are.

They introduced themselves as the truck started, but I forgot their names. I’m usually not bad at remembering, but I’ve got a lot on my mind. Trying to figure out SHOCKS’s interest in me, their Level A personnel thing, and what the hell’s going on outside. Puzzling out the Halcyon System. And, of course, plotting ways to escape, or at least to get a message to Sora or Dad.

Rodriguez—L4-1—looks up at me, or at least her visor does. Before we boarded, she made sure everyone’s helmet was set to filter against memetic anomalies, whatever those are, so when she looks at me, all I see is a silvery shield covering her whole face. If it weren’t for the breast patch labeled ‘L4-1,’ I wouldn’t even be sure it was her.

Mine says ‘L4-3,’ but underneath it, it also says ‘Level A.’ It’s velcroed on, not sewn.

I have no idea what we’re about to see. There hasn’t been a briefing yet, or at least I wasn’t invited if there was. Instead, Doctor Twitchy dropped me off at my room/cell, and I stayed there until Rodriguez picked me up. From there, it was right into the truck. How can I trust Lambda Four if they won’t tell me what we’re getting into? How can I trust SHOCKS to keep me safe when they seem to think the whole team’s expendable? Strauss sure thinks we are.

I looked up the slang ‘greenie’ and ‘reddie’ while locked in my room. Greenies are troops with no business being in the field. Reddies are dead. I look at Strauss, but he doesn’t return the look. He’s busy with what looks like a fluorescent lightbulb in a black steel cage. The cage and power supply have a dozen warnings scrawled across them—like ‘do not point at people’ and ‘avoid skin contact.’ He doesn’t trust me on this mission, so I can’t trust him either.

My aural aug pops, and a familiar, British-sounding voice fills my ear. “Hello, L4-3, Claire Pendleton. This is James. I’ll be running your personalized briefing. This afternoon, Lambda-Four is investigating an instantaneous merge that left behind something in the View Royal area. Level is between Geren and Xuduo-Danger, depending on how many people have been affected. We got the Merge Warning a day ago, but this is the first time we’ve been able to do more than remotely monitor the area, and there’s a memetic anomaly. Normally, that wouldn’t be an issue, but with Vased Flower protocols broken, researchers can’t risk watching the footage until we develop countermeasures.”

“What’s a memetic anomaly?” I ask. Rodriguez’s visor shifts toward me, then back to her weapon. She’s got a submachine gun. The whole team does except for me. I’ve got the Revolver instead.

James responds. “It’s a visual symbol, typically, that’s highly contagious. They get in your brain and mess with you. Since we haven’t gotten visuals yet, we can’t be sure what class of meme you’re up against, so we’ve loaded up your augs and helmet with the standard antimemetics suite, plus some heavy-hitting countermemes in the truck’s database. You’re perfectly safe.”

I roll my eyes.

“As for the job itself, you’re heading into one of the big tower complexes. We think that’s where the meme —or whatever created it—is. Lambda-Four’s mission is to destroy the memes’ scripts, stop anything that’s drawing them, and deploy mobile Universal Reality Anchors to restabilize the area. Questions?”

“Yes.”

“Pick one. Thirty seconds until deployment,” James says.

“What makes memes?”

“Several options. Incomprehensibles usually don’t. Usually. Type Fives and a few others do sometimes, but you don’t have to worry about those. Most of the time, we see cults stumble on a meme or Eldritch anomalies creating them. When it’s an Eldritch, hope for a One, Two, or Three. Higher than that, and it becomes a problem. Then there are Memetic Infohazards, and self-perpetuating memes. And finally, weaponized ones, but that’s not what we think we have here.”

“They’re not like the memes kids at school share, though?” I ask.

“Ha. Yes, but also very much no. They’re just as viral. Much more dangerous, though. Five seconds,” James says.

The truck falls silent except for the massive engine humming. It lurches to a stop, and the back door lowers to form a ramp.

“Perimeter!” Rodriguez says. I hear her voice through an earbud in my unaugmented ear, and I hurry out of the truck. While Strauss gathers his go-bag, the rest of us peer through the street-level smog or up into the concrete facade of the apartment tower looming over us. There’s not a single person on the street.

Up about fifteen floors, though, all the shades are open. All of them, on the whole floor. Rodriguez points, drawing our attention to it. “That’s our target. Order is Four, Three, One, Five, Two. Weapons secure, standard rules of engagement. Confirm your targets are hostile, less-than-lethal first. Be ready to go weapons-free.”

L4-4 hurries into the lobby, submachine gun pointed in front of him. It’s plain concrete inside, too. Time hasn’t been kind to it. “Elevator?” he asks.

“Negative. Stairs up to the thirteenth floor. Two, keep our backs safe. Four, we’ll alternate covering stairwell entrances. Three, stay cool,” Rodriguez says.

I put my hand on the Revolver’s grip and pull it out, but keep it facing the floor. Something’s going to attack us. I just know it. We hurry up the maintenance stairwell, feet pounding on the metal grate steps, with Rodriguez and L4-4 taking turns covering each door until we’re all past. And, somehow, nothing happens until we reach floor thirteen. I’m out of breath, panting even though I have a rank or two of Endurance.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

The thirteenth floor is dark, just like the ones below, but we stop at the landing anyway. Rodriguez clears her throat. “James, plan?”

James’s voice fills my aug. “I’ve gotten the best blueprints I can, but it’s tough without internet access. You’re looking at, potentially, several hundred residents on the fifteenth floor. Maybe up to two thousand if everyone in the building’s there, but most likely less. The anomaly could be everywhere by now. All filters are functional.”

“Got it. Up two more floors. Two, Four, keep the door secure. Three, you’re on Five cover duty,” Rodriguez says. I wince, and Strauss’s head flicks toward me for a moment before he nods.

The team heads back up the stairs. As they do, I glare at my visor. I haven’t been trained for this, and I’m supposed to be covering Strauss? How do I do that? Make sure no one gets near him? I try not to shake, but I feel like such a liar—just going through the motions and copying L4-4 ahead of me.

Then we hit the fifteenth-floor landing. L4-4 opens the door, and my visor lights up.

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A dozen warnings flash across my visor; ‘Overload,’ ‘Memetic Threat Detected: Countermeasures Engaged,’ and so many more I can’t read them. My vision goes blurry through the visor, and I can hear James typing. Then, one by one, they disappear until only ‘Memetic Threat Detected: Countermeasures Engaged’ blinks in yellow in the top left.

“Bringing your vision back to normal. Ignore the staticky bits. We’re projecting a pattern that should neutralize the memes,” he says.

My eye keeps getting drawn to the static all over the screen, but after a moment, I get the hang of things. By constantly moving my eyes, it’s less obvious where they are. The floor’s a standard habitation set-up, with a long hallway of apartments leading to an open central area. There’ll be elevators there, a few benches and chairs, and some overpriced vending machines. I know; I’ve lived in buildings like this since I was seven. We’re in a basic living housing project, after all.

Aside from the hall-and-commons construction, there’s one more tiny thing to note.

“What the hell?” L4-2 says.

I agree. There must be three hundred people packed into the hallway and courtyard. They’re all pressing in around something in the middle, but it’s impossible to tell what through the mass of people. It’s like passing period at West End, but no one’s moving.

“Follow me. Don’t fire. We can’t fight this many people, and they’re likely infected by the anomaly. Two, Four, you’re still on stair guard duty. Three, keep Five between us,” Rodriguez says.

Strauss nods slowly. His voice sounds tight across the radio. “Standard meme cult?”

“Eldritch Class Two,” James confirms. “I’ve analyzed the meme, deleted a key component, and am projecting the deletion over all similar images in your field of view.”

As he speaks, the blurry, static-covered spots disappear. Instead, etched on every scrap of rusted metal and painted on the walls, is a pentagon with twisting, braided edges and a symbol that looks almost like an eye in the center—but one with teeth instead of eyelashes, maybe? Something right under the eye’s covered by a black bar on my screen.

There must be hundreds of them on every surface.

Rodriguez speaks into our earbuds. “Two, Four, don’t let anyone leave. It’s a Class Two-Propogating Meme.”

“Copy that,” L4-2 says.

Rodriguez pushes into the crowd. No one reacts to her, not even when she shoves people out of the way. Strauss follows right behind, go-bag on his back and pistol in his hand, and I follow him. My heart pounds in my chest. I’ve been in basic living for a long time—the smell of despair and frustration isn’t a stranger—but that’s not what I’m feeling here. “Rod—One, what’s with the people?”

“Propagating Memes take over people’s minds,” James says before Lieutenant Rodriguez can say anything, “and compel them to reproduce the symbol or sound where other people can see it. Class Twos are pretty bad. They override all nonessential thoughts, which is why everything’s covered in the meme. But, they self-contain if they start inside, since ‘open the door’ isn’t an essential thought.”

“Right. So, we’re going to walk through the crowd, get some idea of how much of the floor this is on and whether it’s leaked out, then call in an amnestics team,” Rodriguez says.

“I hate this shit,” Strauss mutters into his mic.

“Easy, Strauss.”

I’m having a hard time taking it easy, but we push through to the center, where a railing-lined walkway circles the cage-like elevators and a wide, open space leading down to the ground floor. Both lifts look like they’re at the bottom, but what catches my eye is the thing on the ground that everyone’s staring at.

It looks exactly like the etchings around the room, but it’s been burned next to one of the vending machines. Rodriguez shoves an old man out of the way. He staggers but recovers, not even noticing the woman in full body armor—or her gun. “Five, this is it. James?”

“Five should be able to erase it, but there’s some risk with the Phenomenon - 237-V-13/MP - Alpha victims nearby.” James sounds uncertain. “It’d be best to call in an amnestics team and work through the crowd before you try.

Smith’s voice takes over. “Denied. Amnestics teams aren’t available for another five hours, and SHOCKS needs Lambda-Four for the next phase. We don’t have time to control this mess for that long.”

“Understood. Fire up the editor.” Rodriguez brings her submachine gun to her shoulder. “Lambda-Four, weapons free. Lethal force is acceptable. Keep the stairwell and L4-5 safe.”

Strauss kneels and pulls the steel box out of his go-bag. I grip the Revolver’s handle, my finger pressing hard on the trigger guard as he pushes the keypad over and over, then sets it over the burnt meme. Something’s off. I watch as the residents’ eyes shift from the picture to Strauss. He presses a green button. A humming fills the air as the device starts up.

Then someone screams. A moment later, they’re all screaming—every single resident. They rush Straus, and Rodriguez’s submachine gun opens up in a rattling burst that rips into the oncoming wave. She’s swarmed under by the crowd, which tears her helmet off and shoves her face right at one of the scrawled pictures on a wall.

“Strauss, Claire, get out of there!” James shouts. But there’s nowhere to go. I aim the Revolver, but don’t fire. Strauss’s device hums louder and louder, and he picks up his pistol.

It fires three times. Then he shouts loudly enough that I can hear him without the earbud. “Greenie, move! We’ll be okay, but go!”

I stiffen, pulled right back to Mom’s lie, and Alice’s at West End High. “It’s going to be okay,” they both told me. He’s saying it, too, and no one ever means it.

Then he grabs my wrist and pulls me with one hand while he fires his pistol into a door. The knob falls apart, and he shoves me inside, piles in behind me, and slams the door. “The deadbolt!” He yells through my earbud. “Get the deadbolt!”

I slide the bolt shut with a click and look around. We’re in a small living room—there’s enough space for a TV and a twin bed but no other furniture. Cheap toys, just like Dad bought Alice and me when we were kids, litter the floor. And, to my relief, the ‘Memetic Threat Detected’ warning has disappeared.

“Control, James, Five reporting in. the residents are hostile. Three and I are in a one-bed residential unit. One is down, either K.I.A. or infected by the meme. Two and Four, check in.”

“Two here. Four and I went back through the door. We’re in the stairwell. Please advise.”

James doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I hold my breath. Then, his voice fills my ears. “I’m assuming control of the mission. Your new goal is to hold the building, prevent escape attempts, and wait for extraction. Three, Five, you’re Alpha. Two, Four, you’re Beta. Alpha, there should be windows. Find them and report in. Beta, entrench as best you can. You’re at a choke point. Do you have drones?”

“Back at the vehicle,” Two—I think—says.

“One of you hold position. The other, collect the drone and any other defensive gear, plus the extra antimemetics,” James says.

I’m still on the ground, but Strauss has holstered his gun and set down the go-bag. I narrow my eyes at him as he talks. “Three, we’re okay. I’ve been in worse pinches. James, I’ve got three windows exiting back to the building’s center, but they’re too narrow to exit through. Checking the back room now. We have a possible exit out of the kids’ bedroom.”

A Halcyon System message pops up, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

{Skill Acquired: Memetic Resistance 1 - Decreases Stability Loss from memetic anomalies by 1/rank. Increases resistance to memetic compulsions}

It’s not much at all, but it’s something. “Strauss, what happened to Rodriguez?”

The man looks away. He’s checking the kitchenette, even though there’s no way there’s a window there. “We’re going to follow James’s instructions. We’ll extract, then come back with the right plan to form a perimeter and edit the original image.”

Something pounds on the door. I pull the Revolver, but don’t fire. “The door will hold, right?”

“Not sure. We’re going out the bedroom window. We’ll swing down to the fourteenth floor, make our way to the stairs, and reinforce Beta.” Strauss is all business. He’s already digging through his go-bag for something. He comes up with a rope and what looks like a hook with suction cups all over it.

My mind’s on Rodriguez, though, not his idea to, what? Jump out a window? She’s like the residents now, and I wonder if whatever’s happened to her counts as bonding with an anomaly. Will the Halcyon System pick her up, or is this closer to being a thinling? “Can you fix her?”

Strauss snaps. “Alpha, L4-1’s going to be okay, but only if we can finish the mission. Let’s fucking move.”

I follow him to the kids’ bedroom. It reminds me more of home than I’d like; toys cover the floor, a boy’s underwear sits piled on top of a mound of dirty clothes, and the two tiny beds are unmade. Are the kids out in the common area? Or—the thought hits me like a truck, and I try not to be sick—did Rodriguez or Strauss shoot them?

Then Strauss hands me a strap with a metal clip on it. There’s a lever on a steel device on the far side of the strap. I stare at the device. He clips it to my black chest armor, then fits his rope through the metal. He pulls his pistol, fires three shots into the window, and runs a gloved hand along the edge, knocking the remaining shards into the open air or the floor.

“Pull up on the lever to slow down. The fourteenth floor. Stop there.”

I take a deep breath, looking over a hundred feet down. I can see the armored truck at the building's base, but it looks more like a toy than the tank I’d thought it was earlier. It’s a long way down.

Then I drop.

My heart rockets up to my throat, and I pull on the lever to slow, then stop, my fall. I’m hanging in space, next to a window. It looks just like the one I stepped out of three seconds ago, but it’s got some sort of film on it, and I can’t tell what’s inside.

“Shoot the glass, then go feet-first through the window,” Strauss says. “Hurry up. The infected are breaking in.”

“Got it,” I say. I pull the Revolver and aim it at the window. As I pull the trigger, the flaming shot rushes forward, crashing into the window—and pushing me back. The rope jerks out of my hand, the lever braking me gives, and I start plummeting, screaming. Then, I swing into a glass pane, which shatters around me.