Dr. Rhodes, a Level-2 junior researcher at Site-305, had discovered the anomaly’s effects on his left thigh which was then reported to the Site Director. He was subsequently quarantined.
Subject Rhodes was capable of writing onto paper during quarantine and reported his experiences. Materials were provided and recorded by Research staff on a daily basis. The following are excerpts from these writings.
Day: 1
Lost: Majority of left thigh.
Mood: Shock hasn't settled in yet
These journals never end well.
Usually, I'm the one they tell to transcribe these sorts of things, like most Junior Researchers. I've read about slow, steady declines into madness so many times that they seemed almost repetitive.
And here I am. They don't want to tell me the specifics, but I already know what the phenomenon can do. I was here when that man from Farenight was brought inside. There was shouting coming from down the hall from my superior's office. I look out the doorway and I see this figure strapped to a roller bed, completely headless and thrashing against the restraints.
His arm came free- literally slipping through the straps- and he began to swat at the air. I couldn't shake the impression that he was trying to push someone away from him. But it wasn't the doctors that he was afraid of.
I know what 781 can do. I've seen fragments of it, passing through my hands with whatever documentation needs to be filed with the anomaly. But it feels so removed. It's not that I don't care, it feels like I can't care. I should be panicking, begging for a cure, but I watch my leg slowly disappear and I can't say it bothers me.
They gave me a format to report my experiences, and I've filled it to the best of my ability. Not that surprised they had a category for "dematerialization" in there.
And now the people I used to work with are staring at me, expecting more to be written down. I don't know what to say. That I'm going to die? Or worse, I don't die, but instead, I keep living as atoms or whatever this anomaly reduces you to. I don't think that part has really settled in yet for me.
I'm not afraid. Not because I'm particularly brave or religious or anything along those lines, but I can't really say I've processed it. I've been told what'll happen to me, I have read what will happen, and I've seen it, too.
Why doesn't this bother me more?
Day: 4
Lost: Right ear
Mood: Alarmed
I felt a biting sensation on my right ear earlier today. I ran a hand along the side of my head to feel for whatever it was, and found I couldn't. It was gone. But that light pain was still there, a tugging feeling. It was like teeth, human teeth. They weren't biting hard, but it was more like the way someone would nibble on your ear playfully. My wife would do that. Can't recall her name at the moment. Likely due to stress.
Couldn't be phantom pain. It was too real. I could feel hot breath on
Day: 5
Lost: Portions of the right head. Skull visible. Most of left leg.
Mood:
The researchers have told me to just keep journaling, and to document in detail what happened. They're going to keep an ASF guard outside my door, but I don't know how that'll help.
What happened yesterday was that I was writing about that bite when I heard someone whisper in my ear, the same ear that I lost. I set my pen down and jumped from my chair, and the sound stopped. I walked away from my desk and stood very still.
And then the whispering came back. I could only hear it in the one ear that was missing. I could barely make out what it was saying, but it was this man's voice. He had the lightest dixie accent, and his words were almost sultry from what I could parse.
I called for help. Researchers, and eventually the ASF, came to the window as I described how there was someone else in the room that I couldn't see, trying to talk to me.
They nodded a little. Asked me if I've been experiencing any other "sensations". Told me to journal more and asked one of the guards to stay by the door. And then they left as if nothing had happened.
The voice came again soon after. It didn't go away until I tried to kick it.
Day: 7
Lost: Lips, most of lower body.
Mood: Removed
The last part of me that feels warm is my fingers and some semblance of my knuckles.
I can move them, but they seem distant now. I feel like I'm floating. I suppose I am.
Hands keep touching me. Occasionally they feel the parts of me that are still intact, and I watch as my arm crumbles. Then my waist.
It's getting hard to focus. I can't stop feeling lethargic. My head is swimming with questions. How am I alive? Where is my blood going?
I can see my muscles twitch.
Day: 9
Lost: Right eye
Mood:
I see a man standing there, a fleeting man. There is nothing above his mouth, as the entirety of his upper head is dissolved, like it was blown apart. Bits of brain suspended in mid-air.
The condition has exposed the inside of my thigh. This man is picking at the bones within my leg and biting at my skin. His tongue runs along the right arm and with it goes my epidermis. It’s like acid, but it doesn’t burn, it doesn’t hurt.
I’m crying out for someone to help. The guard asks me what’s wrong. They sound like they’re underwater, but the man whispering is as clear as day. He’s talking and I can feel the words erode my brain.
The guard can't seem to understand what I'm saying. She looks afraid. I can see in the mirror that most of my jaw is gone.
She's only hearing the sounds of my tongue flailing in the air and my lungs heaving.
The fleeting man laughs through a half-formed throat as she slowly backs away from me and leaves.
Once she's gone, he holds my head in his hand, cupping it. He’s speaking to me. His chest cavity is agape, intestines sagging. He places my arm inside of his guts.
"Write this down," he says. "I want to remember you, before I forget again."
"I am a god. My charge is thresholds and transitions. Moments between, not the before or the immortal after." The man runs his tongue along his teeth which quickly disappear at the contact.
"This makes me a lonely, loathsome thing. Any company will leave me. All lovers are always short-lived. We can only touch so long as you are going."
He departs in the flutter of dust and sand.
Day:
Lost:
Mood:
Have not written in few hours. Can’t track time. Watch gone.
Recall difficult. The process of encoding memories is compromised. Writing is also a challenge now that my few remaining fingers are less than they were before. I cannot see how ma y remain.
The man is standing there. The world around me is dis olvi g. His hand on leg. Grasps thigh. H do n t ate mself. I fe l
e
m
p
t
y
The final written record of Subject Rhodes was on the 10th day of his condition's progress. The majority is scarcely legible, as at that point, Rhodes lost the majority of his remaining hand. The victim had dissolved completely while writing.
Subject Rhodes’ belongings have been distributed amongst his family as per request.
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