Chapter Text
It emerged from its confines bruised and broken. Shrouded in dark distortions, it retched, its back bending in cruel contortions alongside its arms, which flexed to further hoist itself from the monitor. Its motions were labored and weighty, slow, with a distinct lack of strength that rendered its emergence a truly herculean task. And through its struggle, grizzly, guzzling noises echoed from the pits of its chest. Terrible, despicable noises, accompanied only by the wet slithers of its miserable shape, which couldn’t seem to pick a state of being. Cold then hot, smooth then boiling, its black skin was alight with the accumulated properties of things not at all akin to bodily normalcy. Its visage twisted back and forth, glistening, rippling like water, flailing like hair in the wind. No piece of it made any semblance of sense, not even the vaguely humanoid shape its upper body managed to uphold.
Its breaths were hollow, heaved through holes that had no ends. Teeth, eyes, lips, arms, they all spiraled in nonsensical circles across its form. And it spoke. The thing somehow spoke , managing to move and stretch itself enough to choke out a foreign, ugly noise. A noise that was a word. A word that was as visceral and mighty and angry as the rest of it. Its eyes, putrid and bloody red, burn as it bellows.
“TELAMON! ”
The comforting silence of sleep turned bittersweet the moment John Doe’s alarm reminded him that life was waiting.
Blaring, beeping, John’s betrothed, that being his job, felt more like a burden than anything worthy of occupying 90% of his time. When it wasn’t going into the office, it was working from home, and the day it wasn’t either of those, Builderman himself would have had to be dead. Sometimes, John prayed for a day like that.
He rose from the pleasant embrace of his comforter, arching his back as he strained his arm to silence his morning alarm. Another exhale; his hand rubs the stubborn stubble clinging to his chin and lips, then his eyes. Then he succumbs, and John rubs his face up and down, skin stretching in his vain attempt at waking himself up. He leans back, and his pale skin is bathed in the grayish light of the morning sun, seeping through his open blinds. John’s eyes squeeze at the brightness, a sting he’s accustomed to, and he hesitates. His hands grip the blanket draped over his front, testing his admittedly lacking impulsivity.
‘Do I really want to go to work today?’
His mouth falls with a sigh, his slouch tightening before he gives his back another stretch. A shower would wake him, and maybe distract him enough from the monotonous day ahead for him to get ready without a scowl.
John’s routine was plain and simple. He brushed his teeth, combed his hair, and poured 3/4ths of his coffee kettle into a thermos, for later. The last quarter was for the work he had to do when he got home.
But he continues. Monotonous. Mundane. John Doe straightens his tie, his glasses, and checks his pockets for his keys and wallet. Moments later, he’s on the road, pulling out of his sleepy little neighborhood and heading into the city just over the river. His body feels heavy as he grips the steering wheel.
And this was what he woke up for. Every morning, every night. He slept, worked, and ate, and that was all. He’d be the first to admit how boring it was. How dull it became, how much it dragged every day just to continue the cycle he’d wound up in, all while trying to make something out of his life.
John’s shoulders slumped, his back pressed flush against the car seat as he drove the route he took every morning to get to work. His eyes, trained on the road before him, strayed on occasion. They darted to passing trees, clouds overhead, and people in neighboring cars and on the street, going about a day far more interesting than his own. They’d be heading to the mall or a friend’s house. Maybe they’d just gotten laid off, or they’d gotten a promotion. Regardless of that, their lives were all shooting off in different directions, like stars soaring through the heavens, on a crash course with destiny.
Childish thoughts. John scolded himself for getting distracted, shaking his head as he refocused on the road. Even so, his curiosity got the better of him. What would happen if he took a different route to work? He surely had time; he was always efficient in the mornings, eager to get out of the house as quickly as possible. John could forgo the morning muffin he always got from the office’s eatery, as long as it meant taking a ‘wrong turn’ wound up being worth the effort.
His eyes dart to a shift in the road. A left turn he’d always pondered but never taken until today. With a firm and decisive turn, John’s interest was fulfilled. His car peeled from the route previously burned into his memory, the sidewalks and neighborhoods giving way to trees and lush brush. John’s digits tap incessantly at the leather steering wheel, eyes suddenly wide, lips pursed with anticipation.
Something different today. Something new. The flora around him, the skies far above. What could happen now? What bright, ambitious, and interesting changes could-
THERE’S A CAT IN THE ROAD.
John nearly yelps, his heel slamming into the brakes. His wheels skid and the car lurches, coming to an abrupt stop the moment he sees the little brown spot nestled atop the rugged black asphalt. He pants, heart pounding against his ribs as he recoils from the sudden halt. His eyes dart over the hood of his car, trying to make out the little thing’s image. Is it hurt? Is it dead?
Terrible questions. John needs answers. So, he wastes no time, putting the car into park and turning on the hazard lights, checking for oncoming traffic before quickly hurrying to the kitten.
It’s loafed into a tight ball, tail curled around its rear as though pleasantly enjoying the warmth of the road beneath it. Its eyes, slightly crusty and gross and layered with pus, don’t manage to open as its ears flick to meet the sound of John’s feet. The feline doesn’t even manage to unloaf from its comfy spot before John scoops it up into his hands, holding it out in front of him. “Oh, hey there, little guy,” he coos, turning the thing over in his palm. It mewls as he tries to get a better look at it, coming up empty. “Or girl.” He shrugs. “What are you doing out in the middle of the road, huh?”
Another pathetic, whiny yowl. The kitten’s tiny limbs flail uselessly, paws stretched wide, claws bared—typical, feisty spitting and wiggling, trying to free itself. John restrains the cat effortlessly, slowly maneuvering back around to his car. Nobody seems to be coming from either direction, so he hops into the driver's seat and slowly pulls over to the side of the road.
The kitten continues its tiny protests, even as John sets it to rest in the passenger’s seat beside him, its brown fur standing on end as it bats at his fingers. John leaves it be, a long sigh breathing past his lips as he pats his thighs with his hands. “Oh, what to do with you, huh?” The urge to pet and comfort the little thing was intense, although an idiotic idea. Who knew what diseases and pests it could be carrying? Plus, he’d already touched it and would certainly need to wash his hands the moment he got to…
The office. John checks his watch, huffing as he sees it’s a quarter to nine. Only forty-ish minutes before he’d need to clock in. Another cumbersome breath escapes him as his eyes shift between the accessory and the angry new addition backed into the corner of his passenger seat. “I can make a quick trip to the vet. In and out—drop you off. You’d be in good hands there, huh, bud?” John testingly waggles his finger at the kitten, yelping at another frustrated spit. “Okay- sorry!” he squeaks, leaning back into his door.
He turns, buckling himself in and twisting the key to start the car again. “Yeah. Quick vet trip. I can make that and be at work in half an hour! No chance I’m late! N-o chance.”
“Three. Goddamn. HOURS, Mr. Doe! Do you understand that?! You weren’t here for three whole hours- I didn’t think you were coming in at all!”
A verbal beating from his boss wasn’t something John was used to. More often than not, it was someone else facing the heat; this was his first time out of the frying pan. Needless to say, it was seriously making John reconsider his whole ‘destiny awaits’ schtick from that morning. “I apologize, ma’am,” he stammers, head hung low as he sits across from his superior’s desk. He can’t raise his head even a centimeter more to meet her demanding gaze, not when she looks ready to burn golf-ball-sized holes into his scalp. “It won’t happen again.”
“It’d better not.” She sneers. “You have a clean record, Mr. Doe—a rarity in this department. Try not to mess it up, or else, get written up. And trust me, my seniors are far less forgiving than I am!”
“Yes, ma’am.” Another stern huff signaled he could go, and John was out of that office in record time. A chill runs down his back as he hastily shuts the door behind himself, careful not to slam it as he settles into the chilled atmosphere of the office.
Roblox HQ was far more robust than it had been in past years. Expansion was everything, which meant that many unimportant tasks were delegated to lower departments for disposable employees to manage. That was John’s work: pointless filing, day in and day out. The best part of the job was telling people he worked there, and not disclosing anything else.
Regardless, it paid well. And that was all he cared about in that moment in time, even if his boss really got on his nerves. A subtle refresh at the water cooler, and John was off to his cubicle to catch up on three hours of work.
‘Hooray.’
He could already feel the wear of it all bearing down on his features, tugging his lips into a frown as he settled in at his desk. Signing onto his computer, joints aching, rolling his wrists to fight off the throb of assured carpal tunnel. Another day of this mess, plus unpaid overtime, to ensure he got everything done he needed to at the office for the day.
And all for what? A vet bill? A cat? A prayer that something cool and interesting would happen? “Who am I kidding?” John groans, rough palms dragging down his face, tugging at his eyelids. “Nothing interesting is ever gonna happen to me.”
“Nope.”A nagging voice, prodding drearily at John’s ears, alerts him that his coworker stood at his side. Six, a Guest with pale skin and white wicks, who wore a hoodie over her button-up and enough piercings to make a hedgehog jealous, was the only coworker John ever found himself talking to. Mainly because their cubicles were right beside each other, but also because Six happened to be untainted by the vices of the job, and John found that endearing. “You work in the filing and storage department, which means nothing cool will ever happen to you.” She smirks. John turns in his swivel chair.
“Every time you say F&S department, it sounds less real.”
“That’s cause it isn’t real!” Six laughs. “It’s a fake department, made by fake people to shovel all the junk away for us peons to deal with. Just be happy we get paid for it.”
“Yeah, well, this ‘peon’ has to catch up on three hours of work. So, how about you go clog the men's toilets again?” John shakes his head, ignoring the grin smeared all over Six’s face.
“I could do that.” She snickers, leaning around to stare into John’s eyes as he turns back to his computer. “Or I could ask why you were late. I straight thought you died.”
“I sort of wish I did,” John mutters, hands back to mindlessly typing.
“Jeez, what happened?”
“I found a kitten on the road. Took it to the vet.”
“Bills. Yeah, I’d want to die too.” Six’s laugh is almost obnoxious enough to be contagious. It’s obvious she’s faking it, playing it up to try and get a smile out of John’s cheesy, corny sense of humor. But he doesn’t budge. He’d rather not work longer than he has to. Six’s smile falls, her lips pursing as she nudges him. “Hey. Joe. Hey.”
“What?”
“...wanna be nosy?”
“No.”
“Yeah, you do. You just said you wanted something interesting to happen to you. Being nosy is how you do that.”
“Yeah, well. I also don’t want to get fired, Six.” John turns to face her finally. She seems partially satisfied, though not entirely. Her hands shoot for John’s, suddenly pulling him to his feet with a hushed yelp.
“Hey, you’re not gonna get fired.” She grins toothily. “You can say it was my idea. I’m already looking for somewhere else to work anyway.”
“Please don’t. I wouldn’t be able to stand this place without you here.” At John’s plea, she nearly barks out a laugh, quickly stifling herself as the keyboard clicks in the next cubicle over stops. Six shakes her head, giving John a firm pat on the shoulder.
“I like you too, m’kay?” She grins. “Now c’mon. Destiny awaits .”
What started as the blossoming possibility of something intriguing happening if John abandoned his duties as a bottom-ladder employee quickly soured into something far less joyful. He and Six wandered into the lower levels of the office and ran straight into a supervisor, who immediately instructed them to start recovering files from a leak.
John assumed they meant a data leak or something, but upon following said supervisor into a filing room, he was astonished to see the ceiling, damp and worn with age, had entirely caved in. The pipes above had burst somehow, and John and Six could only look on as some poor groveling coworker of theirs desperately salvaged what they could of the room’s soiled documents. She turns, eyes full of tears, with fistfuls of damp paper, smeared ink trickling down her creased palms as she desperately clung to what was left of them.
“Wow,” Sixer mutters, red eyes glancing from the girl on the floor to the rest of the room, which is just as ruined. “This is a mess.”
“You’re telling me…” John mutters, the supervisor at his side just shaking their head.
“Look. A significant number of items in here were scheduled to be shipped out to another facility. Most of it’s useless junk, but take whatever you can recover to the truck outside. I’ll check back in an hour or two.” And with that, Six and John were left to watch their peer crumble into tears on the floor, groveling at their feet. John couldn’t even imagine how long the poor girl must have been there, struggling to put together everything that’d been lost in the leak. Her yellow hair had been pulled back so tightly that her scalp looked as though it was about to detach itself from her head; her green eyes floundered amidst her thick, globby tears. John approaches her, quickly attempting to help in the gathering of the damp papers scattered across the dirty carpet. “Hey, here, let us help.”
“Us?” Six points to herself, earning a solid frown from John, which immediately pulls her from her resignation. “Okay, okay.” She holds her hands out defensively, glancing around and scooping up a relatively dry cardboard box. John watches as Six haphazardly starts tossing stuff into it, his brows furrowing behind his glasses at her less-than-graceful approach. The girl beside him wipes her tears, finally finding her voice.
“Th-thank you. I-I’ve been here for an hour already- I just don’t know what to do- they can’t fire me over this, can they?” She stumbles over her words, lips quivering just as much as her hands, as Six saunters around her and John, scooping up another pile of paper to shove away into her box.
“No, of course not,” John reassures. “It’s not your fault. Let’s just work on getting this cleaned up, and-” He stops, eyes wide as he watches Six grab the girl’s ponytail and yank it out, earning a startled yelp from her.
“H-hey! What the-”
“You’re stressing yourself out more with your hair up that tight.” Six tosses the hairband down to the girl. “Something loose will be fine.”
“O-oh.” She swallows. “Okay, then.” John wants to scold Six for being so abrasive, but she’s already moved on to sorting through all the wet papers. The girl between them does the same, and John settles on finishing the job as soon as possible. Not like it’s gonna finish itself.
‘An adventurous day, indeed.’ John’s thoughts are reluctant and dull, matching the subtle drizzle pattering against the back of his head the moment he steps outside. In his arms, a hefty box, overfilled with trinkets and documents and whatever else Six stuffed in it before handing it to him. John eyes the sky above, watching the sun as it nears the horizon, searing the clouds above a lustrous orange. The day’s already almost over, and he’s barely even gotten done any of the work he was supposed to.
A particular sense of resignation washes over him. Of course, one vain little attempt at doing something different from routine wound up costing him a whole day. John would be backed up for weeks unless he felt like pulling an all-nighter, both at the office and at home. He groans, his breath tight as the box in his arms feels considerably heavier.
Following a cautious walk from the back door of the office to the tiny loading bay, John descended to the parked truck just outside, its back open to the building. He and Six had already brought several boxes of whatever they could to it, loading it into the back to be taken wherever. John could hardly care about that in the moment, but a momentary lapse in his steps sent him careening to the asphalt ground.
Six comes outside just in time to see John fall, watching as the contents of his box go scattering across the wet road. She can’t help but crack an amused little smile at the disgruntled groan John breathes out, coming over to set her box in the truck before helping him up. “Careful. Don’t wanna ruin this stuff any more than it already is.”
“Yeah, yeah.” John rolls his eyes, taking his glasses as Six hands them back to him. “Just distracted is all.”
“By?”
“Hm?” Six laughs, rolling her shoulders before bending down to help John pick up the displaced junk.
“What are you distracted by, dude?” Six grabs a few files, shaking out the water before handing them to John. He holds them neatly, brows furrowing as she continues. “You’re like, always on task, on routine, so focused! It’s weird to hear you admit to being distracted.” John purses his lips.
“I don’t know,” he mutters, breathing heavily as he absent-mindedly flicks through the documents in his grasp. “I think I woke up on the wrong side of the bed or something. My head’s been in the clouds all day.”
“Office work really numbs the mind, huh?” Sixer asks, picking up the last sheet of paper, biting her lip. “Yikes. I don’t think that’s salvageable.” John shakes his head, quietly sorting away the documents among the rest of the boxes.
“Don’t worry about it. Or me, please,” he says. “I’ll be fine tomorrow, like always.”
“Dude, if you need a break from the routine, we have vacation days for a reason.” Six plants her hands on her hips.
“Yeah, but what if I get in a car accident and need the time off?”
“Well-”
“Or what if Jane comes back from overseas and I want the opportunity to spend time with her?”
“I’m just-”
“I can’t just use my limited breaks willy-nilly, especially for no good reason. Tomorrow, I’ll be back to routine. Strict. No funny business.”
“John!” Sixer practically yells, snapping her fingers in front of his face. He squeaks, flinching back before locking eyes with her, watching as she shakes her head. “I’m just saying you should take care of yourself. You can’t keep burning the candles at both ends, and, if your brain is craving something new, maybe that’s a sign you should change things up. Y’know?”
John’s brows furrow, and he sighs, shoulders slumping with the weight of the day. “Yeah, I know,” he answers. Sixer smiles, pleasant and far less taunting than normal. She gives him a firm pat on the shoulder.
“I know a good bar in the city. It’s not too far from here, so if you want, we could head there after you clock out,” She suggests. John shakes his head, taking off his classes and wiping away the rain with his sleeve.
“I appreciate the offer, but I do have a lot of work to catch up on.” Six frowns, and he sighs. “Sometime soon, though.” John smiles. “A drink sounds nice.”
At that, Sixer nods, turning to head back inside. John watches her for a moment, debating her offer a moment more, testing whether he wanted to go tonight. Another exhale, and he decides not. He does have a lot of work to do, and besides, he’d enjoy a night out more without obligations hanging over him. Still, as John glances over the boxes they’d loaded into the truck, a question bubbles to the forefront of his mind. “Hey, Six, where do you think this stuff is being shipped to, anyway?”
Six turns just as she opens the back door. She shrugs. “Dunno. Supervisor said it was junk, though, so probably either a storage unit or the dump.”
“But why would Roblox just toss so many files? Even if they are all ruined?” Sixer just laughs at John’s question.
“It’s probably best if we stay curious, John.” She says, turning away. “Bottom-rung employees, remember? Answer won’t be anything cool anyway.”
John huffs, watching Six disappear back into the office. Her response rang true, and he decided not to dwell on any potential curiosity buried among the soiled documents. That was until he stepped away, giving a sly box the chance to fall out of the truck. John hops back, hissing in agitation as the container’s contents are once more scattered across the wet road below.
“God- dammit.” He curses, running a tense hand through his hair as he bends down to pick everything up all over again. As John scooped wet paper and boxed junk into his arms, he gave pause, his eyes settling on a tiny shape glistening in the rain—a flash drive.
He set everything he’d picked up aside, digits curving around the tiny body as he stood back up. Its black case was sleek and simple, smooth in John’s palm as he examined it. He dabbed it carefully with his sleeve, drying it off as he held it up to the light to get a better look.
The drive had nothing distinct about it, purely inconspicuous aside from a single red X shape plastered on its side. “Huh.” The curious sound escaped John involuntarily, and he found himself glancing about before carefully slipping the drive into his pant pocket.
It was like Six had said, right? It was just old junk, getting taken somewhere to be thrown out. The rain probably fried the drive anyway, so it wouldn’t hurt if he just took it home, right?
John didn’t give it much thought in the moment, finishing up by the truck, before turning to head inside. It would surely be a long night.
On the way home, John was quiet, his hands idle on the steering wheel as rain pittered across his windshield wipers. He contemplated the day, eyelids weary and heavy at the sheer magnitude of how badly everything had gone. One mistake led to a disruption in his work schedule, which would then lead to a disruption in his paycheck, and John knew for a fact that being short on money was gonna come around to bite him in the ass sometime down the line.
But what could be done about that now? ‘ Nothing,’ he mused. ‘Nothing at all.’
John has half a mind to go right to sleep when he gets home, the dread mounting on his shoulders growing exponentially heavier the longer he gives it thought. Maybe Six was right, and he needed to give himself the chance to relax and settle after all the stress. ‘But life doesn’t wait for anyone.’ John reminds himself, steeling his will to focus on his work despite how enticing it sounded to go to bed early.
He pulls into his driveway, parking the car and rising from the driver’s seat. He treks to the front door, unlocking it with a distinct click before stepping into his dark house. He flicks on a few lights, mindful of which ones, so as not to waste electricity, as he makes his way to the kitchen. There on the counter, the last quarter of his coffee pot waits, ready to be warmed up and drank to keep the candle burning. John wastes no time, his mind dead-set on finishing as much work as he can before he conks out. He’s hoping to finish it all in time for bed, but as he sips at the warmed mug of liquid caffeine in his palms, John finds himself struggling to figure out where to start.
Another sip, and frustration settles in. John paces, back and forth over the kitchen tiles, fingers clenched tight around his drink, warmth seeping into his palms. The quiet of the night sits, embracing him as he finally wills himself to lean back against the kitchen island, easing the workload on his legs. His lungs deflate with an elongated sigh, and he closes his eyes, soothing the ache that had plagued them ever since the rain had begun.
In truth, he was lost. John’s mind raced with about a dozen thoughts each seconed, followed instantaneously by a dozen more. Things to do, people to talk to, responsibility, need, want. They clashed in a noisy, blaring cacophony, blurring together into a tangled mess of obligation John was seriously starting to loathe. He couldn’t help the deep-set frown that molded into his features, lips curving down and brows knitting with agitation.
“What do I do?” The question escapes him, as does the answer, as he runs a hand down his face, tugging at his eyelids to keep them open. “God, I’m just…exhausted.” He surely can’t deny that for much longer, his admission of the fact only serving to ignite his desire to settle into bed for the night. John glances down, eyes meeting the rippling surface of his mug of coffee. He’s already drunk half of it, and the rest goes down just as quickly, a naive prayer that it’ll be enough to wake him up. A deep gulp. Another sigh. “Just finish the work, John,” he mutters. “Finish it, and you can sleep in tomorrow morning. Just a little.”
With that quiet reassurance, John trudges to his office, empty coffee mug clutched numbly in his hands as he sits down at his desk. In the dark, his computer monitor glows a fluorescent blue, stinging his eyes as he signs in and gets to work. The next minute or so blurs together, fading into obscurity as John’s gaze flounders about a busy, bright screen. He has half a mind to adjust the brightness, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. Only a moment, he’s sure. But as he reopens them, he finds that his head has settled against his keyboard, keys jabbing tenderly into his plush cheeks and sticking to his skin as he lifts himself from the desk. John rubs his eyes, grunting as he adjusts his skewed glasses and eyes the clock in the corner of the screen.
Midnight. He’d fallen asleep for two whole hours.
John’s face falls, and he groans, deep and disgruntled as he his head falls to his hands. “What the hell am I doing?” he huffs, nearly succumbing to sleep again before shaking himself awake, attempting to focus again. But he can’t. He’s exhausted, barely managing to keep his eyes open as his thoughts drown in a flood of useless white noise. Another pathetic groan, and John’s ready to give in. His bed yearns for him, as he does it, but just as he’s about to rise from his chair, his hands brush over his pant pocket. An obstruction momentarily draws his attention, and as his palm dips into the denim, he finds himself grasping onto the flash drive from before.
He looks down at it as he produces the object from his pocket, his eyes suddenly widening with inquisitive thought and feeling. John had nearly forgotten he’d grabbed it from the back of the truck, the tiny drive having gotten lost amongst the clutter of the rest of the day. But now, in this moment, tired yet intrigued, John’s mind immediately thinks to see what’s on it.
Caution rears its head, and he pauses just before pressing the drive into his computer’s USB port. ‘Is it smart to put a random flash drive into my computer?’ John purses his lips at the thought. ‘I found it at the office. It’s not like they’d keep a dangerous flash drive around, especially if it’s unlabeled.’ He reassures himself, his brow furrowing. In the back of his mind, he hears Six remind him to stay curious.
But that’s precisely what John is. Curious, and thanks to his fatigue, impulsive.
The flash drive slots into the PC with ease and a tiny snap , and after a moment, nothing seems to happen. John’s computer wasn’t turning off spontaneously, which meant it wasn’t a USB killer, which was his biggest concern. So, relieved, John reaches for his mouse, just as something pops up in the center of his screen. His expression drops.
“...uh oh-” he swallows, brows furrowing at the sight of a black box perfectly centered on his computer monitor. He hovers his mouse over it, watching the little white dot vanish behind the shroud. “Dead pixels?” That’s John’s first thought, though it’s soon dashed as he notices the black box expanding . It extends, blinking and glitchy, but certain, spreading across John’s monitor in mere moments. Soon enough, it’s swallowed up his apps, the taskbar, everything. He can do nothing but watch as the screen goes dark, leaving nothing in its wake. Not even the subtle glow he was accustomed to.
John frowns, tilting his head. This was a computer virus, for sure, though he’d never encountered or seen anything quite like it before. He clicks around with his mouse, finding the PC entirely unresponsive. John can’t even be sure if the monitor or the computer itself is still working, and the reality of the situation hits him like a brick.
“Fuck.” He hisses between his teeth, reaching to turn the monitor on and off again. Nothing. He goes to do the same with the PC. Nothing. “Fuck!” He curses again, gritting his teeth. “How could I be so dumb?!” John pleads. “I should have gone to bed, I should have stayed curious! Agh- god dammit!”
Had John not learned his lesson from the events of the day? Had he not thought that doing something weird or unwise would result in further consequences? Apparently not.
He pleads a little more, begging and praying that by some miracle, his computer will come back to life. But nothing happens, and John is left in the dark, mulling over the fact that he’ll not only be short on money from his lackluster performance at work, but that he’ll also need to invest in a new computer.
“Fuck…” a far weaker exclaimation compared to the prior few. John sits back in his chair, burying his head in his hands, running his nails desperately through his sweaty scalp. And in that silence, he’s defeated. Every last ounce of control he had that morning had ebbed away more and more throughout the day, and this was the final straw. And truly, John had no one but himself to blame.
So, with nothing more to do. He rises from his seat, limbs heavy and limp at his sides as he slowly turns and trudges to leave the room.
Crck.
John pauses. The sound, soft yet distinct, disturbs the still air, and he turns. The computer monitor is still dark, but…
Craek, chrch!
A crunching, crackling noise, almost like static, rings out, the monitor flickering the same way it would if someone were to press their fingers against it. John tilts his head, turning to face the desk. He takes a cautious step forward.
CRACK!
John yelps in shock, leaping back as he watches a white-hot crack splinter across the computer screen. He gets little time to process what’s just happened, as moments later, another sickening crunch rings out, and the cracks branch off into wider splinters.
John’s heart pounds, throbbing painfully in his chest as he staggers back into the wall opposite the computer. He watches as, with every passing moment, the cracks grow in number, spreading until the monitor is nearly white once again. He barely has time to think, to take note of the fact that the screen seems to be bending outward with each crunch, as though something inside was trying to get out.
Moments later, it did.
John shrieked, raising his arms to shield himself as with one final, defiant crash, the monitor burst apart. It rocked back and forth on the desk from the sheer force of it, plastic shards sent scattering through the air at unforeseen speeds, several shooting past John and leaving superficial cuts across his tender skin. He winces, back pressed into the wall as he feels a slice across his cheek, cherry-red blood dripping down his face before his eyes meet the broken screen again.
The computer monitor, its smooth surface now nothing but a hollow shell, harbored something unforeseen. An arm reaching from the dark, bony and lanky, inky as the night and far more wretched, twitched. Its wrist shifted back and forth, testing its range of motion before its fingers, thin and elongated into needle-like points, bent and weaved. Another twitch, and it seemed to distort, blocky masses jittering across its silhouette as it folded back, gripping the monitor it’d sprouted from.
John quivered, knees pressed flush against his front as the air around him seemed to grow cold. He watched as, just as suddenly, a second arm extended from the computer, flaky and weak, it fell limp against the desk and keyboard, before finding the screen rim opposite the first arm. John’s heart thumps with an aggression that urges him to run, to leave before whatever was crawling out of his PC fully emerges. But he was petrified, his legs and arms glued at his sides, and he could do nothing but watch as the muscles in the two limbs bulged with effort, and something more was produced from the inky depths.
A head. It rears back, its disheveled black hair swaying in what looks like a blanket of mist, before another distortion renders it thicker, like bundles of wires tangled in a matted jungle. And it bled. Dark liquid seeped across John’s desk en masse, festering in massive, globby pools that flowed over the table’s edges and down to the carpet below. John chokes out a pathetic little whimper at the sight, eyes watering as the creature pulls itself further.
It emerges at an awkward angle, its back, rigid with spines and ribs, bending to fit through the computer monitor. Its hand slips, sending its befouled body toppling into John’s desk chair and then to the floor below. It lands with a hard, wet thunk, its fluids pooling around it as it writhes, and a visceral squelching sound vibrates through its wicked form. A groan, a holler, and a childish squeal all at once, the rumbling sound sends shivers down John’s spine as the monster twists to pull itself upright. The monitor, which had fallen with it, is beaten against the floor as the thing’s lower half pries itself free of it.
A mass of darkness, cloudy and glitchy as the rest of its silhouette. It thrashes and squirms like a bundle of snakes and live wires, twisting and curving with shapes and sounds unnatural to anything living. John can hardly make it out, as though its legs are nothing but a clump of clay. But as he takes a closer look, eyes broken and bleeding tears, he sees…shapes—figures among the distortions, limbs that could be tangible, yet alien all the same. The tail of a serpent, coiled and twisting in on itself, quickly contorts into the segmented spine of a centipede, tiny limbs flailing and tapping at the stained carpet and wood desk. And then they elongate, and John can make out the thick abdomen of a spider, which soon splits into slimy tendrils with underbellies coated in suction cups.
And those changes continue, senselessly, uselessly. The creature’s body morphs, skin meshing and coming undone, momentarily revealing innards just as foreign and wrong as the rest of it.
But that’s nothing compared to what comes next. As John is distracted by the beast’s body, a terrible, guttural sound reverberates through its chest. Sick and wet, garbled by the bubbling of its own skin, it sounds like nothing at first. Garbage noise, which pierces John’s ears as the thing unceremoniously tosses his desk chair out of its way. He shrieks as it does so, nearly drowning out the mess of its vocalization.
“What the FUCK are you?!” John yells, his voice cracking in desperation as the being sprawled across his office carpet makes another jumbled mess of a sound. It heaves itself up by its arms, weak and struggling with its own body weight as its hair whips about, shifting between states of being. Clouds of mist, then smog, then fire, then wires, then something John can’t even describe. Its body hardly makes any sense, a melting pot of things that further serve to confuse and disturb John to no end. Its head, barely distinguishable from its wild mane, looks to have no features, only holes where a mouth, eyes, and nose would be. Its torso, seeming to be in a state of melting and reforming, writhes and slithers like its skin is made of serpents, bending and twisting, with sharp spines clattering against one another. And its arms flail wildly, occasionally splitting into more than one limb, before fusing back together.
It’s a mess. An amalgamation, bleeding, and making nonsensical sounds that, the closer John listens, begin to sound more and more like words. But that does little to soothe his terror. It does the opposite, further pushing John to hide, run, and beg desperately. “Stay back! STAY BACK!”
Another blabbering mistake of a noise, and John covers his ears, eyes darting frantically to find any source of salvation. But there’s nothing in the room to help him, only him, and it— the slithering, frothing beast, which draws closer with every breath. It continues to groan and sputter, reaching out with its stronger arm, vying for him, pulling itself closer and closer.
Then it rears back, gagging, its ‘lips’ falling open to hack up another chunk of black ooze. John wants to puke at the sight, watching the thing’s hair distort and billow in non-existent wind as it rolls its head.
A sharp twitch, followed by the sound of cracking bone, and the monster shrieks painfully. Its arms fumble upward, clasping to cradle its head, which abruptly splits open, producing three sharp horns from the cracks. They pierce the air, sharp and jagged and bright green, forming a crest around the being’s head like a dreadful crown. Its jaw splits open, and in grows a set of teeth, red and bright as the horns atop its head. It’s maw clicks and cracks, before snapping correctly into place, and John shudders, his whimpers falling silent as a distinguishable sound bleeds through the monster’s mouth.
“ Te…lam…on…!” A name? Not one John recognizes. He has little time to give it thought, watching the monster beat its fists against its head, swinging its upper body about as it howls. “ Telam…on! ”
John’s heart starts to pound again, racing faster and faster as the thing before him shrieks painfully. From its chest, ribs emerge, black as the rest of it, yet far more solid. Their sharp ends stab out of its skin, piercing the supple flesh and bending inward to form the cage. It crumbles to the floor again, bellowing deep and painful as its abdomen begins to glow a distinct, flickering green.
And finally, its eye, only one, reveals itself. Red. Bloody and deep as a pit, it opens to the dark and immediately dilates at the sight of John quivering beneath it. Like a black hole, its pupil twists and spirals, drawing every piece of him in, scrutinizing every detail with practiced disdain. Its hair erupts into black flames as it had before, hot and angry as it grits its teeth, and with a sense of finality, roars with all its might.
“ TELAMON!”