'Thought'
"Speech"
(Warning: Self Harm at the end)
(Ivory POV)
The blue light from the monitor cast shadows across Ivory's face as she leaned forward in her gaming chair. Her fingers danced across the keyboard with practiced precision, her right hand occasionally darting to the mouse for a quick adjustment. On screen, Jesse Faden the protagonist of Control hurtled through the Astral Plane, Service Weapon morphing between forms as she battled the final boss of the AWE expansion.
"Come on, come on," Ivory muttered, her eyes narrowed in concentration.
It was nearly 2 AM in her small apartment, but Ivory had promised herself she would finish the DLC tonight. Classes started again on Monday, and her weekends would soon be consumed by assignments and group projects. The thought alone made her reach for the energy drink beside her keyboard her fifth tonight.
As Jesse unleashed a devastating ground slam attack, the boss's health bar depleted to nothing. Emil Hartman an amalgamation of darkness that had once been a man dissolved into motes of light and a cutscene began to play.
"Finally!" Ivory smiled, setting down her controller and stretching her arms above her head. A dull pain had been building behind her eyes for the last hour, but she'd ignored it, determined to reach the conclusion. Now, as the tension of gameplay released, the headache surged forward with renewed intensity.
She massaged her temples as Jesse's voice narrated the epilogue. The game had captivated her since she'd purchased it on sale last week its surreal atmosphere, the brutalist architecture of the Federal Bureau of Control, and the way reality bent and warped within its walls. Something about the story of Jesse Faden searching for her lost brother resonated with Ivory. Perhaps it was that sense of being adrift, of searching for connections in a world that often made little sense.
Ivory had moved to this city for university three years ago, leaving behind her hometown and the few friends she'd had there. Making new connections hadn't come easily. Her roommate from freshman year had transferred to another school, and her course load left little time for socializing. Most evenings found her here, in front of her computer, experiencing adventures vicariously through digital avatars.
As the credits began to roll, the pain behind Ivory's eyes intensified. It felt different from her usual stress headaches, sharper, more localized as if someone had inserted a needle directly into her brain. She winced, reaching for her bottle of painkillers in the desk drawer.
"Shit," she muttered, finding the bottle empty. She'd meant to pick up more yesterday but had forgotten in her rush to get home and continue playing.
The credits continued their slow crawl up the screen. Normally, Ivory would watch them through to the end, a habit born from years of finding post-credit scenes in movies and games. Tonight, however, the glowing text against the dark background only intensified her headache.
She stood up, swaying slightly as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Sleep. She needed sleep.
Ivory didn't bother turning off her computer, just hit the monitor's power button, plunging the room into darkness save for the small LED lights on her tower. She stumbled toward her bed, not bothering to change out of her sweatpants and oversized t-shirt emblazoned with the logo from an indie game she'd loved years ago.
The pain had spread now, radiating down her neck and across her shoulders. She collapsed onto the unmade bed, pulling the comforter over herself despite the warmth of the summer night. A strange numbness had begun in her fingertips, spreading slowly up her arms.
'Should I call someone?' The thought formed hazily in her mind, but the effort of reaching for her phone on the nightstand seemed insurmountable.
'It's just a migraine' she reasoned with herself. 'I'll feel better in the morning.'
As Ivory drifted towards unconsciousness, strange images flashed behind her closed eyelids—brutalist corridors twisting impossibly, objects suspended in midair, walls that breathed and shifted. For a moment, she thought she heard whispering as if the darkness around her had found a voice.
'Just dreams' she thought as consciousness slipped away. 'Just the game getting in my head.'
Ivory never woke up.
In the silence of the apartment, the LED light on the computer tower blinked steadily, marking the passage of seconds, then minutes, then hours. Outside, the night gradually gave way to dawn, sunlight creeping through the gaps in the blinds to illuminate the still form on the bed.
Then, with no hand to guide it, the monitor flickered back to life.
The desktop background a photo Ivory had taken during her single semester abroad in Finland disappeared as Control launched itself. The distinctive red logo filled the screen momentarily before fading to black.
In the empty apartment, Jesse Faden's voice emerged from the speakers:
"You ever wonder about that poster? The one that used to hang in your classroom, the landscape with the trees? It's different for each of us, but it's always there, hiding something..."
As Jesse spoke, something strange happened to the monitor. The edges of the screen began to curl inward, the plastic warping as if affected by intense heat. But there was no heat only a subtle vibration that traveled through the desk, up the walls, across the ceiling.
The surface of the screen rippled, distorting the image. Then, impossibly, the corner began to peel back, like wallpaper coming loose after years of neglect. Behind it was not the expected circuitry and components of a modern display, but darkness, a darkness that seemed to extend far beyond the confines of the thin monitor.
A draft of cold air spilled from this opening, carrying with it the smell of concrete and industrial cleaner. Papers on Ivory's desk stirred in the unnatural breeze.
The peeling continued, the monitor's surface rolling back like a scroll being unfurled. The darkness behind it grew, a rectangular void that defied the physical limitations of the computer setup.
"...sometimes the poster is torn, and you realize what's behind it"
Something shifted in the apartment's atmosphere. The air pressure changed subtly at first, then with growing intensity. A pen rolled across Ivory's desk, then a notebook slid toward the monitor. The breeze that had been gently stirring the papers transformed into a current, all of it flowing toward the peeling screen.
On the bed, Ivory's body remained motionless, but a strand of her hair lifted, pulled by the invisible force now emanating from the computer.
The suction grew stronger. A coffee mug tipped over, spilling days-old remnants across the desk before the empty cup was dragged toward the monitor. It clattered against the screen's edge, teetering there for a moment before disappearing into the darkness beyond.
The void was hungry. Insistent.
More objects began to move a textbook, a phone charger, a pair of earbuds all sliding toward the monitor as if caught in an invisible tide. The force reached throughout the room, stirring curtains, rattling cabinet doors, creating a low, persistent sound like wind through a tunnel.
On the bed, Ivory's body shifted. Her arm, which had been hanging limply over the edge of the mattress, lifted slightly, pulled by the growing vacuum. Her hair fanned out around her head, every strand pointing toward the computer like iron filings drawn to a magnet.
The suction intensified. The desk chair the one Ivory had been sitting in hours before rolled across the floor, bumping against obstacles before finally lodging itself against the desk. A poster on the wall ironically, one for Control that she'd ordered online after starting the game tore free from its pushpins and flattened against the monitor before being consumed by the void.
And then, Ivory's body began to move.
It started slowly a slight shift across the bed sheets, her form sliding incrementally toward the edge of the mattress. The comforter that had been covering her was pulled away first, floating across the room like a ghost before vanishing into the monitor. The pillow followed, then the sheets.
Ivory's body lifted from the bed, suspended in mid-air for a breath-taking moment. She hung there, arms and legs dangling limply, hair streaming forward, her entire being caught in the impossible current flowing toward the void.
Then she accelerated.
Her body flew across the room, colliding with furniture along the way. For a moment, she hovered before the monitor, her face illuminated by the light from the screen, the same light that had been her constant companion during countless nights of gaming.
Had anyone been there to witness it, they might have sworn they saw her eyelids flutter.
Then, impossibly, her body began to compress, to fold in upon itself as it approached the monitor. Physics bent, reality warped, and Ivory—all five feet and seven inches of her—was drawn through the peeling screen and into the darkness beyond.
The last trace of her in the apartment was her outstretched hand, fingers splayed as if reaching for something before it too disappeared into the void.
For a moment after she vanished, the suction continued, drawing smaller objects into the monitor a hair tie, a crumpled receipt, dust particles that glowed like stars as they spiraled into darkness. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the force dissipated. The peeled edges of the screen began to fold back into place, sealing the breach between worlds.
The monitor displayed the game once more the Control logo pulsing gently against a black background, waiting.
__________________________________
Ivory floated in nothingness, disconnected from all sensation. No pain, no weight, no texture against her skin. Not even the subtle awareness of her own breathing. Was she still breathing? Did she still have lungs? A body at all?
'Am I dead?' The thought formed, proving she still had consciousness if nothing else.
Gradually, a new sensation emerged a tingling at what she perceived to be her fingertips, spreading slowly up her arms, across her torso, down her legs. Her body, remembering itself.
Then, light. A pinprick at first, growing steadily brighter until it engulfed her field of vision. Ivory squeezed her eyes shut against the glare, only then realizing she had eyes to close.
When she opened them again, she found herself hovering in a vast, obsidian void. No walls, no ceiling, no floor, just infinite blackness stretching in all directions. Yet somehow, her body was illuminated, as if by a spotlight with no discernible source.
"Hello?" she called out, her voice sounding strange to her own ears both muffled and too clear, as if the void both absorbed and amplified sound simultaneously.
No response came. Not immediately. But as Ivory's awareness sharpened, she noticed something materializing before her a translucent, blue-tinged interface hovering at eye level. It resembled a holographic screen, flickering slightly at the edges as if still stabilizing.
Text appeared on the screen:
WELCOME TO THE THRESHOLD
CHARACTER CREATION PROTOCOL INITIATED
PLEASE SELECT UNIVERSE TEMPLATE
Ivory stared, uncomprehending. Character creation? Universe template? This was like something from a game, but with a fidelity that no technology she knew could achieve. She reached out hesitantly, her hand passing through the hologram without resistance, yet somehow triggering a response.
The screen expanded, revealing a vast scrolling list of what appeared to be titles some familiar, others obscure. They were organized into categories: Books, Films, Television, Video Games, Board Games, Mythology, Historical Periods.
"What is this?" Ivory whispered, the reality of her situation still not fully registering.
As if in response, a new text box appeared:
THE THRESHOLD IS THE NEXUS BETWEEN REALITIES
YOU HAVE CROSSED OVER
YOU MUST CHOOSE A NEW REALITY FRAMEWORK
A cold dread settled in Ivory's stomach. Crossed over? New reality? Was this some bizarre afterlife? A hallucination brought on by her headache? Or something else entirely, something beyond her understanding?
Curiosity overcame fear, and she began to browse through the list. Under Fiction, she saw titles like "Star Wars," "Lord of the Rings," "Game of Thrones." Under Video Games, titles scrolled past: "The Legend of Zelda," "Halo," "Mass Effect," "Final Fantasy," and then
"Control."
The word left her lips unbidden as the title appeared in the scrolling list. The interface immediately halted its movement, the selected title pulsing with a soft red light.
CONTROL UNIVERSE SELECTED
WARNING: SELECTION WILL BECOME PERMANENT UPON CONFIRMATION
PROCEED?
Ivory hesitated. Part of her screamed that this couldn't be happening, that none of this was real. But another part the part that had been captivated by the strange, surreal world of the Federal Bureau of Control felt an inexplicable pull toward this option. After all, she had just spent dozens of hours immersed in that reality. She knew its rules, its dangers, its mysteries.
"Yes," she said finally, her voice steadier than she expected. "Proceed."
The interface flickered, then transformed. The list of universes disappeared, replaced by a new screen:
GENDER SELECTION LOCKED TO BINARY OPTIONS IN CONTROL UNIVERSE
PLEASE SELECT CHARACTER TEMPLATE
Before Ivory could respond, the void around her shifted. Two figures materialized several feet away, standing on nothing, illuminated by the same sourceless light that revealed her own form.
On the left stood a mannequin-like figure that perfectly resembled Jesse Faden, Director of the Federal Bureau of Control. Same auburn hair, same intensity in her eyes, same utilitarian clothing. On the right stood another figure, one that made Ivory's breath catch in her throat.
Ahti, the enigmatic janitor from the game. Finnish, elderly, with wispy white hair and a weathered face creased by equal parts mischief and wisdom. He stood with a mop in one hand, dressed in blue coveralls, exactly as he appeared in the game.
"Female or male template," the interface prompted. "Choose wisely."
Ivory studied the two options. Jesse Faden was the protagonist of Control, the character she had played as, the one whose abilities she had mastered. The logical choice. But Ahti... there had always been something about the janitor that enamered her. In the game, he seemed to exist outside the Bureau's reality, unaffected by the Hiss invasion, able to navigate the shifting architecture of the Oldest House with ease. And him speaking, oooo (I love Ahti).
"Hi," Ivory said uncertainly, looking between the two mannequins.
To her shock, the Ahti figure's right eye closed in a deliberate wink.
"Did you" Ivory started, then fell silent as the mannequin's features shifted from rigid immobility to animated life.
"Welcome, girl," Ahti said, his Finnish accent thick but perfectly understandable. "First day on the job, eh? Always the hardest." He leaned on his mop, looking entirely comfortable standing in the middle of an infinite void.
Ivory glanced at the Jesse mannequin, which remained motionless, then back at Ahti. "uhhhh, You're not supposed to be able to move. Or talk. This is just a character selection screen."
Ahti chuckled, a sound like dry leaves rustling. "Rules, rules, rules. The only rule the fish needs to know is how to swim." He tapped the side of his nose knowingly. "Some of us, we swim between the realities. Like you now."
A faint voice echoed through the void neither male nor female, neither young nor old seemingly coming from the interface itself: "ERROR. ANOMALY DETECTED. RECALIBRATING."
Ahti ignored the voice completely. "They think they understand the Oldest House." He shook his head, clearly amused. "Like claiming to understand the ocean because you've seen the shore." He took a step toward Ivory, then another, moving off the invisible platform where he had first appeared.
"This isn't...you can't " Ivory stammered, backing away slightly.
"Cannot? Should not? Would not?" Ahti laughed again. "The fish does not ask permission from the lake." He glanced at the holographic interface, then at the still-motionless Jesse mannequin. "Director Faden, she is good. Strong. But not bound by the Bureau. By their rules. Their..." he waved his hand, searching for the word, "...bureaucracy."
The disembodied voice returned, more insistent: "CRITICAL ERROR. UNAUTHORIZED MOBILITY. PROTOCOL VIOLATION."
With that, he turned and simply walked away, moving deeper into the void, his figure growing smaller with distance before finally disappearing entirely.
Ivory stood frozen, her mind struggling to process what had just happened. The Jesse mannequin remained in place, unmoving, seemingly unaware of what had just occurred.
The interface flickered erratically, lines of code appearing and disappearing too quickly to read. Finally, it stabilized, displaying a new message:
ANOMALY CONTAINED
CHARACTER SELECTION MUST PROCEED
CHOOSE TEMPLATE: JESSE FADEN (DIRECTOR) OR -----------
The Ahti option had vanished completely. It was as if he had never been there at all.
But Ivory had seen him. Had spoken with him. And more importantly, she realized, he had recognized her not as a player in a game, but as something else.
Ivory took a deep breath, steadying herself in the weightless void. Behind the interface, far in the distance, she thought she caught a glimpse of movement, the figure of an elderly janitor, mop in hand, disappearing around a corner that shouldn't exist in an infinite space.
Decision made, Ivory reached for the interface. Whatever this was afterlife, parallel dimension, or elaborate hallucination she was going to find Ahti again. She was going to get answers.
And to do that, she needed to become someone who could navigate the impossible architecture of the Oldest House. Someone who could impose control against chaos Someone who understood that in the Federal Bureau of Control, nothing was ever quite as it seemed.
Ivory stared at the interface, her decision clear. The Jesse Faden template pulsed with a soft red light as she reached toward it.
"Jesse Faden," she said firmly. "I select the Director."
DIRECTOR TEMPLATE SELECTED
PROCEEDING TO ABILITY CONFIGURATION
The void around her shifted, the mannequin of Jesse disappearing as a new interface materialized. A holographic representation of a female human form appeared, with Jesse's proportions but lacking distinct features, as if waiting to be fully defined.
BASIC ABILITIES PRE-SELECTED:
- ENHANCED ACROBATICS
- INCREASED STRENGTH
- HEIGHTENED RESISTANCE TO PHYSICAL DAMAGE
ADDITIONAL ABILITIES AVAILABLE. SELECT ALL THAT APPLY:
Ivory didn't hesitate. "I want all of Jesse Faden's abilities from the game. Launch, Shield, Seize, Levitate, Evade, and Melee. But let the OOPs remain unbound when they eventually form."
The interface flickered in acknowledgment, and the humanoid form before her began to glow with various colors red for Launch, blue for Shield, green for Seize. A golden aura enveloped the feet, representing Levitate, while a shimmer of white light indicated Evade and a pulsing energy around the hands signified Melee.
PARAUTILITARIAN ABILITIES CONFIRMED
But Ivory wasn't finished. "I also select Polaris."
The interface paused, then displayed:
WARNING: DECEASED RESONANCE-BASED ENTITY BINDING IS PERMANENT AND IRREVERSIBLE PROCEED WITH POLARIS INTEGRATION?
"Yes," Ivory said without hesitation, remembering how in the game, Polaris had been Jesse's guide and protector, the mysterious entity that had saved her from the Hiss and helped her navigate the Oldest House.
A brilliant blue light burst from the center of the holographic form, pulsating like a heartbeat. It spread outward in spiraling patterns, forming intricate geometric shapes that resembled the resonance patterns seen throughout Control.
POLARIS INTEGRATION COMPLETE PROCEEDING TO ORIGIN CONFIGURATION
PLEASE DEFINE CHARACTER ORIGIN NARRATIVE
A text field appeared before Ivory, waiting for input. She considered carefully. In the game, Jesse had come to the Federal Bureau of Control searching for her brother Dylan, who had been taken after the Ordinary AWE. But Ivory wasn't Jesse.
With newfound confidence, she began to articulate her origin story, the words appearing on the holographic interface as she spoke:
"You and the Oldest House are now one entity. Who came first is a mystery, but what is known is that as long as one of you exists, the other shall as well."
The interface shimmered, lines of code running along its edges as it processed this unorthodox origin.
Ivory continued, "As you and the Oldest House are one, you are now designated as the Prime Director. Your authority is the highest within the Oldest House, and as such, you have the ability to appoint a Sub-Director, or you can let the Service Weapon choose for you, which in turn will help you run the day-to-day operations."
She paused, wondering if this bold declaration would be rejected. Instead, the interface pulsed with acceptance:
ORIGIN NARRATIVE ACCEPTED DESIGNATION: PRIME DIRECTOR CONFIRMED SYMBIOTIC RELATIONSHIP WITH OLDEST HOUSE ESTABLISHED
A new notification appeared before her:
BINDING PRIME SERVICE WEAPON - IN PROGRESS
The void around her began to change. The endless blackness gave way to shifting patterns of concrete and marble, reminiscent of the brutalist architecture of the Federal Bureau of Control. The holographic interfaces remained, but now they seemed anchored to the gradually solidifying reality.
PRIME SERVICE WEAPON - GRANTS ABSOLUTE AUTHORITY WITHIN THE OLDEST HOUSE. YOU ARE THE TRUE DIRECTOR OF THE FEDERAL BUREAU OF CONTROL.
Before Ivory's eyes, a gun materialized floating in mid-air, spinning slowly. But it wasn't an ordinary weapon. Its shape shifted continuously, morphing between different forms that she recognized from the game.
SERVICE WEAPON FORMS AVAILABLE:
- GRIP (STANDARD PISTOL)
- SHATTER (SHOTGUN)
- SPIN (SUBMACHINE GUN)
- PIERCE (RIFLE)
- CHARGE (Explosive Launcher)
Ivory reached out, her fingers closing around the handle of the Service Weapon. As her skin made contact, a surge of energy coursed through her body a connection forming, binding the weapon to her will. She felt its power, its history, its potential.
"All of them," she said, her voice stronger now, more assured. "I select all forms of the Service Weapon."
The gun pulsed in acknowledgment, cycling rapidly through each configuration before settling back into its default Grip form.
ALL SERVICE WEAPON FORMS BOUND TO PRIME DIRECTOR
CHARACTER CREATION COMPLETE
INITIALIZING REALITY INTEGRATION
The void around Ivory began to change, the endless blackness giving way to something more defined. The holographic interfaces flickered and faded, their purpose fulfilled. As the last notification disappeared, Ivory expected to find herself fully integrated into the world of Control perhaps standing in the Oldest House, ready to begin her new existence as Prime Director.
Instead, a single object materialized before her: the Director's desk.
It appeared exactly as she remembered from the game a massive, brutalist slab of concrete and wood, imposing in its simplicity. Behind it stood the Director's chair, high-backed and austere. Nothing else materialized no walls, no ceiling, no floor. Just the desk and chair, floating in a liminal space between the void and reality.
Ivory approached cautiously, the Service Weapon still in her hand. "Hello?" she called out, her voice echoing strangely in the not-quite-space around her. "Is there... something else I need to do?"
No response came. The desk remained, waiting.
She circled it once, examining the surface. There were no papers, no computer, no personal effects, only the smooth expanse of the desktop, cold and impersonal. The chair was positioned as if someone had just stepped away, expecting to return momentarily.
Minutes passed. Or perhaps hours—time felt fluid in this in-between place. Ivory grew increasingly confused. Had something gone wrong with the process? Was there a step she had missed?
And then it hit her. A memory from the game flashed through her mind: Zachariah Trench, the previous Director, sitting at this very desk. The Service Weapon in his hand. The ritual that had to be performed.
"Oh," she whispered, understanding dawning. "Oh no."
In Control, the role of Director wasn't merely appointed, it was claimed through a ritual suicide. Trench had shot himself. And now, to fully assume the role of Prime Director, to complete her integration with the Oldest House...
Ivory looked down at the Service Weapon in her hand. It pulsed gently, as if acknowledging her realization.
"Is this the only way?" she asked the empty space. No answer came, but she knew.
She approached the chair slowly, each step heavy with the weight of her understanding. The Service Weapon felt heavier in her hand, its presence more insistent. As she stood before the chair, she remembered Jesse's thoughts when she had found Trench's body: Why did he do it? Or was this always how it ended for those who took up the mantle of Director?
She lowered herself into the chair, the material cold against her back. The Service Weapon hummed in her grip, its form shifting briefly through all its configurations before settling back into Grip. The desk before her remained empty, awaiting what came next.
"I accept the role of Prime Director," Ivory said aloud, her voice steady despite the hammering of her heart. "I accept the responsibility of the Oldest House."
She raised the Service Weapon slowly, the barrel cool against her temple. Her hand trembled slightly, but her resolve remained firm Ivory closed her eyes. She thought of her small apartment, her computer, her life before all of it now seeming distant and dreamlike. Then she thought of the world she was entering—the brutalist corridors of the Oldest House, the ever-shifting architecture, the mysteries and powers and dangers that awaited her.
Her finger tightened on the trigger.
The sound was deafening in the silent void a single gunshot that seemed to ripple outward, distorting the very fabric of reality around her. There was pain, sharp and sudden, but it lasted only an instant before being replaced by something else a sensation of expansion, of her consciousness spreading outward like ripples in a pond, touching the edges of something vast and ancient.