Looking back on everything I would've done differently, I probably wouldn't have done much else except pay attention in school. Not that it matters now, at the edge of a blade.
I'm guided to my house by the tip of a weapon, giving a very lackadaisical excuse for bringing a new 'friend' home unannounced when I should be at school. We make our way to my room, knife point still pressed against me, and enter the door.
At this point, we haven't spoken about my room. This was intentional.
My room is at the peak of personality. I have a one-person bed with patterned covers - not a race car, unfortunately. One desk with a single calendar, pencil pot, and PC monitor on top. The desk sits away from the window to enhance my gloomy aesthetic and poor stature at home, and most of, if not all of my clothes are on the floor. Few posters on my wall depict epic battles throughout fictional history. Goku fighting King Piccolo, Spike Spiegel's gun drawn on Vicious, a picture of a bulldog looking gruff with a caption saying "Bad to the Bone".
A boys room. As traditional as one gets.
We make our way to the PC to insert the USB stick, fire it up and look inside to see what secrets await. Keep in mind, we are in the year 2000, so technology is not as advanced wherever you may be reading this - presuming one is reading the memoirs of a lunatic. The PC takes up to 10 minutes to boot up, load AOL, attempt connection to what we could call 'decent' internet, and open said USB drive. Unfortunately, is wasn't just secrets hidden on it. This single stick contained more 'truths' than we had ever anticipated. Folders upon folders of files, videos and pictures. Surveillance footage, documents, authors notes, theories that have been reread and debunked by the author themselves. If this is what Raphael wants me to see, either he really trusts me or he knows that I could never truly be a threat to whatever scheme he might have in mind.
"I'm going to start clicking now." the man says,
cold and unfeeling. A mission is afoot, and he instantly clicks the first folder of many. Trying to count, it appears to be roughly 56, but the man is so quick-handed that I don't have a chance to think. The first file inside the folder is a video, a surveillance video of a train attempting to leave the town. The train goes just far enough to be leaving the town, and then the footage glitches. 2 seconds after, the train is seen reversing down the same railroad.
"I don't understand. Is this a train spotting video?" He asks, as if he's being made fun of, but then he looks deeper at the video. "That train did a U-turn." as he rewinds the video, he points out the numbers on the side of the first carriage that read "11561", as the second reads "11562" and so on until the 6th carriage. What I had believed to be the train reversing, was the train bouncing back nose first back to its starting point. The carriage 11566 should have been first, but the train had appeared to have been picked up and turned around. How else would it come back like that? We click another file next to it, this time being a document that explains this hypothesis. The exact theory I was scratching my head over about the train doing a U-turn.
"We are living in a bubble. A dome, if you will. A soul cannot exit the dome. If they do attempt to, they are returned back to their exiting point at the moment of their exit. Further analysis is desired. However, all agents sent out for recognisance have lost will to speak about such situation. I desire someone who will remember, a soul connected to the main game. A contender, or main protagonist, if you will. Contenders I have in mind include 12 people other than myself with a special trait. Further analysis is desired."
What a load of bullshit.
As if we've been stuck in a bubble for this long.
How long, exactly?
God knows.
Million face man - we'll call him Milli for short - speaks, confused at first, and immediately dismissive.
"You had me riled up and set on pursuit for conspiracy theories?"
"I wouldn't have invited him out for ice cream." I say out loud.
"What did you just say?" He sounds almost insulted.
That was supposed to be in my head.
"That aside, I don't care if you have plans, we're going to investigate this in person. I don't believe the nonsense in front of us." His insulting tone progressively increasing.
"Why don't we check more files? There are what looks to be hundreds." My index finger hovers over specific files on the screen. Folders with numbers that excel triple digits, numbers no-one sane would immediately understand. We click a folder labelled '22 5 2' and click the video. It's a video of Raphael himself, sitting in front of the camera, talking as if he cracked some kind of code.
*
"My name is Raphael, as you may know. I am currently the smartest and wisest mind alive within the Spider's Web. It's unknown exactly how long we've been here, or how many would technically exist within it, but one thing is for certain. We started with 3, and have now progressed to 13 individual souls caught in the Web. God hasn't explained how one finds themself in the Web, and given the additional 10 souls appearing almost overnight, we can assume one of two things. Either A; a soul can enter the Web, but not escape - hence the name Spider's Web. This is the least favourable outcome, due to the inevitability that one can escape. There is also B; individuals within the Web can obtain personal consciousness and maintain their memories inside the Web. With this theory, we can presume multiple things."
Milli simply stares at the screen, almost dumbfounded at the mass of information in front of him. No words escape his cold lips.
"Think of the Web as a computer program. Overload the program with as much information and the program either stops working or prompts to restart the system. Restart the system and we finally reach June 8th. My second hypothesis involves God. If as many people obtain consciousness, we can collectively conduct an all-out question assault and chastise God into setting things right, herself. As unfavourable as it sounds, due to the dependency that we need every single individual to comply with the Celestial Judgement program."
Both of us glance briefly at one another almost to signify that we have a plan, maybe even an iota of a plan, but immediately look back at the screen when we realise Raphael hasn't stopped monologuing.
"However, there is also a third presumption to assume. C; that one person among us 13 is an outlier, and not only doesn't belong, but whose very existence holds us in the perpetual and eternal judgement of June 7th. Find the outlier, throw them out the Web, and the week should resume."
We both pause in a stricken stupor. Kill the outlier and erase the cycle? 13 unique souls trapped in a web? What does any of this truly mean?
"Or kill them. Choices are many. I leave these memoirs to peruse and ponder at one's experience. Please consult memoir 717 for further details on each possible theory."
*
Milli takes a minute to process the hoard of information we'd just absorbed. After what feels like an eternity, he stands up. His stature overshadows mine immediately. He stands at 6'4" while i stand at 5'8". I look up into his cold and almost passionless eyes.
"Give me 3 reasons why I shouldn't kill you for wasting my time."
"You don't believe it?"
"No, I don't believe it. This operation was a waste of
time." He breaks out a Nokia phone and starts typing as if he's breaking an encrypted code of sorts, and places his phone to his ear. He speaks softly but the room is so small that I hear his and his receivers every word.
"Agent?" I hear over the phone.
"What mission did you send me on?"
"Recon."
"I've just undergone reconnaissance, but the information I've just received is supernatural at best. You'd be better off sending the D-Squad."
"Request denied. D-Squad, although are skilled in supernatural operations are not designated to this sector."
Milli pauses in thought.
"You've barely been there for 24 hours. Are you retracting this mission?"
Milli pauses once more before unveiling an almost unbelievable tone. "Barely 24 hours? I've been here
for 2 years."
"Now is not the time for humour, Agent. I expect results by tomorrow morning." Her voice is robotic in nature. Uncaring, unwavering, devoted to the mission. She hangs up immediately after her demand.
"2 years, huh? It's been that long?" I exclaim in an almost sarcastic tone.
"You stop talking. You speak your mind too much. Talk in your head from now on." As cold as ice.
Since I'm talking in my head now…
What a dick.
I'd do anything to be partnered up with a cute girl in a purple tracksuit right now.
"We're going."
"Where?" Even though I was ordered, the question still escapes my mouth.
Annoyed, he looks at me and simply states: "Train station."
*
A road trip with a contract killer is not something a lot of people can cross off their bucket list in the year 2000. However, for people like me, the immortal, first time experiences come every single day.
Milli hails a taxi and a car I really don't see often immediately brakes in front of us. A car with no licence plate, covered from top to bottom in pure dark blackness, from the windows to the rims on the wheels. He tells me to get in back while he immediately opens the door to the passenger seat.
The inside of the car is built for comfort. Armrests equipped with cup holders pull out from the middle-backseat. Seats are the most comfortable leather I've ever felt underneath me, already warmed up as if a radiator had been there prior. I can imagine someone living in this car and never needing to be anywhere else.
Milli types something into the sat-nav (that means satellite navigator if you're listening, God) and directs the driver to the nearest immediate train station. For now, to halt confusion, let's call this train station… Heart Station. To paint a picture, we have 4 stations in our town. Due to the growth of the town in the mid-eighties, we've had to expand out public transport, meaning we have an underground railroad system and an overground railroad system. Rumours came out that there's a secret middle-ground railroad that exists between here and there, but those rumours exist to stop people like me from taking trains.
I suppose they worked, because this is my first time
coming here in what feels like over six centuries.
The people of this town call the stations all by different names. The one we're coming up to is the Heart station, because it's closer to the heart of the town. I suppose we'll get a train from here to one of the other 3 stations, being either the Hair Station, Thumb Station, or Sole Station. Either one will take you outside the town's parameter. Unironically, these stations have many names. Hair Station used to be called Head Station, which was unironically changed to Brain Station, which wasn't much better. Thumb station used to be called Finger Station, which was promptly changed to Hand Station, and changed after that to Thumb Station due to the amount of fights that broke out there due to the inappropriate naming of the station.
Sole Station remains feared and abandoned, due to the connection to the human soul that was severed there. A child was held captive by a recently-disbanded cult that had taken residence within our town walls. It took hours of compromise and bartering, but… The best thing to do here is spell out the scenario.
*
August 13th, 1999, was a Friday. While most people were going to school, work, or on a daily stroll, a mother and her daughter were on their way to church. It had turned out that the church was not actually a religious church, but a cult dedicated to separating the human soul due to the belief that it had a physical form which could be remove via sacrifice under specific means. The mother was all too aware of their intentions, and purposefully brought her daughter to be the sacrifice they needed. 10am, right after "service", they placed a sleeping herb into her communion drink, just enough to knock her out for a few hours, and carried her into Sole Station.
The cultists ushered everyone out of the station, blocked off the train lines, commandeered the control panels, literally taking control over the whole vicinity. The people, as confused as they were, complied either due to fear or trust. By the last person leaving, the cultists had blocked the only entrance to the station with their largest followers. Not a soul enters, maybe a soul leaves.
Drawing a circle on the floor with chalk and wax from their ceremonial candles, they place the child in the middle and start to chant in tongues. The child, unbeknownst to most people, only wanted her mother to be happy. Her mother was a single woman, boyfriend killed himself after her announced pregnancy, left her with a large amount of debt due to the fact that he was unemployed and an addict. Mother blamed the daughter the whole
time. Most people who know the story believe Mother deliberately did this to get back at her late deceased boyfriend, but the faith in the cult was so refined and practiced that from the outside, you'd believe she was a devout follower.
After a few eternity-felt hours, the child is ultimately sacrificed. Her blood remains in the circle to this day. Not one person wants to go back. The control panel's offline, no power goes there anymore, the entrance is blocked off. It looks just the same as it did nearly a calendar year ago. Even now, townsfolk believe her soul did leave, and inhabits haunted beings that drift through the streets. No-one knows what she looked like anymore, except the facts being that she was 10-years old and loved ice cream.
How bizarre.
*
Heart Station remains the price and joy of the town. A grand staircase to tire you out by the top of it, and you can see most of the town from the top, too. It's air conditioned, it's large enough to never get crowded, but also manageable by the staff.
I really fucking hate it here.
I can't get my thoughts in order, it feels like I've got a flash bang going off in both of my ears being here. I feel stuffed into a box, I'm hyperventilating, sweating marbles, if I could go home now, I'd be there already.
Milli stands next to me, almost patiently, as if he's waiting for the anxiety to break. He takes a single step, and I follow. We make for the station, and purchase a day return ticket to any station out of town. I walk one step behind him as he leads me onto the next train out. The train starts whirring, humming, and slowly but surely reaches a speed in which it feels as if the world is spinning faster. Rollercoaster speeds. At least until -
"Here we are." That monotonous voice again. I look around and realise we're at Hair Station. I breathe deeply, and join him in leaving the train.
"So we're trainspotting?" I ask, just to get a response.
"We are train observing." he reassures.
"We're trainspotting." I reiterate.
He scoffs without making any direct eye contact rather than the occasional side-eye. We sit in silence on the train platform waiting for the train to continue moving, focusing on every single number on the side of every carriage. I write some down on my hand in a pen I didn't know I had on my person, and eventually, the train starts moving again. 11781, 11782, 11783, all until 11793. The train leaves until we believe we can't see it anymore, and then immediately returns as if making a U-turn. Taking an even closer inspection, there isn't a driver either. Was there a driver in the first place? What happened to them? Is it worth finding out? The only way to do this again is tomorrow, so either I kill myself now and wake up at 7, or I stick the day through and see where this leads. Unfortunately I'm going to have to do the latter.