ACS Dreamscape
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Registered Phenomena Code: 813
Object Class: Alpha-White (Explained)
Additional Properties: Extra-dimensional
The endless bridge within ALTR-N2WU
Containment Protocols: The original memotic quanta[1][2] of RPC-813 are stored within the A7 memotic vault, under exclusive jurisdiction of Black Site-131. A digitized transcript of each received memotic quantity has been forwarded to involved Research personnel. Transcripts are distributed by Head Researcher Steele.
Description: RPC-813 designates a series of cross-dimension transmissions, conveyed in the form of memotic vectors[3] through the infoplane[4] and received through the Labrador Sea memotic singularity1. Once decrypted and analyzed, the transmissions were found to originate from a previously unknown alternate reality (hereby designated ALTR-N2WU), transmitted by Dr. Garsow, an Assistant Researcher who had been lost and presumed dead 28 days prior.
An ALTR-N2WU beach house overlooking the Sea
(Full Resolution)
On June 13, 2019, an event occurred in which Site-014 was destroyed by a nuclear blast.2 At the northern end of Site-014 was room A11-B, the primary experimentation room for extra-dimensional travel. The nuclear blast occurred at the same time that a prototype portal device was being tested, causing severe reality destabilization.
Security footage streamed to off-site data storage showed that the initial shockwave caused the extra-dimensional portal to rupture, generating several spatial distortions within the immediate area. Dr. Garsow and an additional five individuals passed into these spatial distortions before the full blast could reach the room.
| Head Researcher Steele <bethanysteele@authority.rpc> cc: Researcher Abramson, Researcher Cobb, Researcher Gold… [13 recipients] |
June 14th, 2019, 12:13 PM |
As I understand the situation, many of the members on Project Portal are still unaware of the events that occurred yesterday. I have been instructed by Head Researcher Padilla Jones to act as her replacement for the time being. In short, there was a nuclear explosion within the Site-014 facility. Of the 25 personnel in our team, twelve were present in the labs at the time of the disaster, including Head Researcher Jones. She is currently in care for radiation poisoning. I've been told she is likely to recover, but she will be out of commission for a while. Many of the other personnel are not so lucky. Researchers Torres, Mason and Mcneil are no longer with us. They either died instantly during the blast, or perished soon after from radiation sickness. Researchers Kline and Sparks are in critical condition, and Researcher Phillips is under assessment.
The remaining personnel, being Researcher Miller, Researcher Mata, Researcher Hobbs and Assistant Researcher Lyons and Assistant Researcher Garsow, are currently lost, but may still be alive… somewhere. The initial shockwave from the nuclear blast caused an active portal device to be disrupted, which caused a number of inter-dimensional rifts to be generated within the area. We believe that these five personnel, as well as a CSD subject named Stagmond, were transported through these rifts.
Miller and Lyons are believed to have died during passage. I don't know how to sugarcoat this, so I'll just say it outright. Multiple rifts had formed through their bodies, sundering them. We believe that Researcher Miller was killed instantly and suffered no pain, and Researcher Lyons lost consciousness almost immediately, sparing him from a prolonged death.
The remaining four persons could still be alive out there, in theory. But they could be anywhere in the multiverse and we have no way of knowing. Most likely, they entered realities uninhabitable for human life and were quickly destroyed. We will likely never know what happened to them.
Now that you're all up to speed, here's how things are going to move forward. Project Portal has been temporarily suspended, to be reevaluated in six months minimum or sooner if Head Researcher Jones recovers quicker than expected. Normally, the thirteen remaining members of the project would be dispersed over various other endeavors during this suspension; however, Head Researcher Jones has requested we relocate to Site-277 in Arizona and conclude a number of our ongoing research projects that are near completion.
I understand if anyone wishes to transfer or take a mental health leave of absence. Anyone who does not will be required to undergo a psychiatric review.
I've never been much of a leader, but in difficult times we are all required to fill desperate voids. May you all stay strong and push forward for the progress of science, for the Research Division, and for the people we've lost.
Bethany Steele, Site-277 Head Researcher
Date: June 22, 2019
Everyone thinks the people we lost to the rifts are dead and it pisses me off. It's too early to give up on them. I convinced Dr. Steele to initiate an investigation of the Site-014 wreckage. She and I went, escorted by MST Echo-8, in order to search for remnants of the dimensional rifts. If we could just find something, it could be enough to figure out where the rifts had led, and maybe we could find a way to bring our co-workers back to this reality.
I performed a majority of the investigation, with Steele remaining at the nearby Installation-014 recovery outpost. The rest of the team refused to come at all. They were afraid of the radiation and heard rumors about uncontained anomalies lurking the area. If they had an ounce of hope, they'd know the risk is worthwhile. We can't just let our personnel down if they might still be out there.
The Authority's radiation-resistant suiting is excellent, and Echo-8 kept guard in case of emergency. Every moment we waste makes recovery less and less likely, so there was no time to wait for the radiation to dissipate and for every single lesser anomaly to be recontained.
Unfortunately, we didn't have much luck with the investigation. There didn't seem to be any remnants of the portal rifts. We'll just have to keep focused, and hope something comes up. If any of them are alive, they may be able to make contact with us first.
I can't speak for most of them, but I know Doctor Garsow very personally. If he has the means, he'll get back. He'd never stop trying.
Assistant Researcher Bentham Cobb
Date: June 24, 2019
Most of us are very pessimistic toward the idea of saving anyone. Bentham is the only person who really gives a shit anymore. A few people left the team to work elsewhere, and I can't blame them. There's not much left to work on here. Maybe this is a sign from the universe that the Authority isn't meant to develop portal technology.
Bentham really wants to believe they're still alive in those alternate realities they travelled to, but it just seems so impossible to me. They've probably all suffocated to death after appearing in the middle of empty space, or burned to death after appearing in the middle of a star, or were obliterated upon entering an unstable reality that can't support the existence of organized matter. The odds of anyone appearing somewhere they can survive is incredibly slim. Bentham is hoping for a miracle at this point. That kind of untempered optimism makes it a lot more painful when reality eventually hits.
He's a very compassionate person, so I don't doubt he cares about every person we lost, but I can't help but suspect Bentham is pushing so hard for Garsow in particular. He cares an awful lot about getting Garsow back.
I went through a similar experience years ago. Ultimately, it's best to accept when a loved one is gone, and to move on with your life. I accept that our co-workers have passed, and I find solace in them being at peace. Bentham is going to be all the more devastated if he can't accept that.
Researcher Gold
Date: June 28, 2019
I've been digging through a lot of documents in the RPC Database, hoping for something that might help. Yesturday, I was able to find something quite promising. It's called the "Anderson Coherency Scale". Apparently it measures the stability of alternate realities from a zero-to-six scale. I think this is something that Garsow actually studied extensively a few years ago for a different project.
There's a phenomenon that it implies about realities with a slightly lower coherency than baseline. ACS-3 level realities are highly malleable, meaning they can become drastically altered. The inventor of the system, Dr. Anderson, describes this as a dreamlike quality.
Toward the end of one paper, he discusses how differing coherencies interact with one another, and goes over several examples. One example was the idea of a baseline-coherency entity being transported into a reduced-coherency space.
This hadn't been tested in practice, but he posits that the reduced-coherency space could define itself in relation to the memories and mental state of the higher-coherency inhabitant. Maybe the reality could take a form that allows one of our co-workers to still be alive? I'm going to keep looking into this.
Assistant Researcher Bentham Cobb
Psychiatric Review 813.1
Foreword: Per standard psychiatric protocol, all personnel of Project Portal underwent a psychiatric review in order to determine their mental stabilities following the sudden loss of their colleagues. All personnel were determined fit to continue work.
Of note, Researcher Cobb provided a description of a recurrent dream which he'd been experiencing since the Site-014 event. It is available below.
Date: July 8, 2019
I've been having this dream every night for weeks. I wake up at a fishing port by a lake which I used to visit as a kid. My father used to take me and my sister fishing. She'd always whine and complain and say she hated our fishing trips, but would always come anyway, just so she didn't have to stay home alone.
In the dream, there's a beach on the side of the port that didn't exist in real life. During these dreams, I've never acknowledged the beach. I would usually go down to the end of the dock and cast out a fishing line, and then I'd wake up. Or I'd go back to the parking lot and search for my father, but the lot would be empty, and again I'd wake up. But last night, I went down to the beach instead.
The dream was oddly vivid. As I walked along the beach, the waves got louder and the fishing dock disappeared. The lake turned into an ocean and the beach expanded until it stretched all the way to the horizon, like desert dunes with no warrant to exist.
The beach gave me a weird feeling of nostalgia, like it's a place I won't visit for a very long time.
I stopped walking and just waited at the beach for hours. There was something I needed to wait for, but I didn't know what it would be. Eventually I saw something appear from over the horizon. It was a man in a business suit. I knew it wasn't what I was waiting for, but I was relieved to finally see something new on that lifeless beach.
The man came up to me and introduced himself as an employee of Nucorp. He referred to himself as an "Oneironaut" and began reciting poetry.
I asked the man, was he real or just part of the dream? He told me that I couldn't be sure, but he was as real as the beach we stood on. He explained: "Most dreams are representations of internal strife, merely meaningless fabrications. But this beach is special. This beach is important."
He said he couldn't bring Garsow back, but this beach could help resolve the project. I don't know what "the project" is supposed to refer to exactly.
"Dream's end can't come too soon" was the last thing he said before I woke up.
I'm not sure how much control I really have over my unconscious actions, but hopefully I can go to the beach again if I continue to have this dream. I need to get back there. I think that beach is real, in some sense. I need Garsow to find it while I'm there.
Assistant Researcher Bentham Cobb
Conclusion: It was decided that Researcher Cobb would be allowed to continue work on the team despite the unusual dream.
The RPC-813 transmissions are transcribed below, cataloged chronologically with additional research logs included. All content has been left unaltered.
Transmission received: July 11, 2019
test #407 testing testing peepeepoopoo WhyWontYouJustFuckingWORK
Oh shit, it actually went through. Apologies for that.
My name is Dr. Henry Garsow. I'm an assistant researcher on the Portal project. There was a blast—an explosion of some kind. That's the last thing I remember before ending up… here.
I need to make this quick. I'm doing this all from my phone and I'm on 15% battery, dropping fast.
This place is bizarre. Everything feels wrong. It shouldn't exist and it shouldn't be stable. Yet it does, and it is. Well, only barely stable.
Everything is off in this world. Topology doesn't make sense. It's like an optical illusion that's been forced into physical reality. Light doesn't work correctly: shadows sometimes go in the wrong directions, objects and areas often glow vibrantly.
You know what, I should be able to send an image. Hold on.
I took this picture a few days ago. That dock is holding up an entire landmass, fit with houses, trees and cars. It's not a perspective thing—I went down to the shore to check. It's like three different scenes bashed together. That water looks like the shore of a beach but it's actually the side of a river, but the bridge didn't even reach the other side. It stopped halfway in midair, no supports or anything. Just… floating.
Phone's at 3%. Sending that image must have drained a lot. I'm an idiot, should have expected that. I'll get to how I was able to establish communication.
I've studied ACS since before joining the Portal project, and it turns out one of my conjectures may be accurate. It's very easy for matter and information to transfer from a low-coherency space to a high one. This would explain why Project Portal has been so unsuccessful, meanwhile we get anomalies coming from low-coherency alt-realities all the time.
I was able to establish a connection using a radio transmitter and a make-shift extra-dimensional portal unit. It's all very hacky. It sends angled vectors through the infospace which bounce between the infoplanes of individual realities. I had to build the radio myself with bought parts.
Once you've obtained this world's reality signature, I think you'll be able to get me out of here. Hopefully these transmissions provide the data you need for that. If you're able to establish any kind of connection, please send me some kind of signal.
I've been trying to find a USB charger the last few days, but none of them seem to work. Not to mention how unhelpful the store clerks are.
Strange how I've been using my phone for days and only now is it running out of charge. Maybe batteries last longer here, for some reason. Or for no reason. Seems like things don't need reasons here—rational ones, anyway.
1% now. I need to go find a way to charge this phone. Oh, and one last thing—I need Bentham to know I'm alright.
Date: July 11, 2019
This is so important. I need to write something in my journal, but I can't figure out how to express it all. I just can't believe it. We'll begin working on finding the reality signature immediately.
Assistant Researcher Bentham Cobb
Date: July 11, 2019
Would ya look at that. Bentham was right. He was ecstatic when we found out about the transmission. I feel almost foolish to have accepted the end so soon. Maybe things will turn out alright.
Researcher Gold
Transmission received: July 12, 2019
I'm back and my phone is fully charged.
Simply placing the phone next to an outlet caused it to start charging, no need to plug it into anything. I'm getting the feeling any tech I construct is going to be hit-or-miss. It's a miracle I got this transmitter working.
One thing I should mention that caught me off-guard about this place: there's always music playing. Disembodied music, no apparent source. It feels a bit eerie. No, eerie isn't the right word. It actually feels kind of normal. It doesn't feel out of place at all. This reality is too random and nonsensical for anything to be out of place. I recorded a bit of the music using my phone. I should be able to send an audio file. Let's see.
Yeah, sweet. I'm going to continue so you might as well listen as I go.
Attached File
Fair warning, you might need to adjust the volume on that.
I have yet to receive a message back from you, so I must assume that you haven't been able to obtain the reality signature through my transmissions alone. I was afraid of this.
I might have to find the reality signature myself and send it over. It will take a lot of work to set up the equipment. I'm not certain it will even be feasible, but I'll certainly try. Everything here either works like magic or doesn't work at all. Just takes persistence to keep going until you finally achieve success. I'll get there.
Oh right, I need to fully explain the situation I'm working from.
When I passed into this reality, the explosion left me dazed and disoriented. I arrived on that bridge I showed in the first transmission, and I assumed everything was an insane hallucination — had I gotten a concussion? — But as the dizziness wore off, and the "hallucinations" didn't dissipate, I realized I was in some deep shit.
I sat on the side of the bridge for a long time, horrified that reality itself would fall apart and consume me at any moment. Eventually I was able to convince myself that I wasn't in immediate danger, and that I needed to get my bearings.
Across the bridge was a huge cityscape. From where I stood, it looked as though half the city was lit at overcast daylight, the rest at early nightfall. The backdrop sky abruptly transformed from late evening to a rich, blue cosmos. I'll send another photo.
Attached File
There's a lot of weirdness in this photo, but what is most interesting to me is the tallest skyscraper around the middle of the image. It looks like two different buildings were mashed together in such an unnatural, yet calming blend. This tower has a balcony on the other side of it, near the top. I'd like to go up there one day. The view must be even more spectacular.
I come back to here a lot, just for this view of the city and to remind myself how I got here. The bridge on the right of the photo is the same bridge I appeared on. I said before that it didn't reach the other side of the river. In actuality, half the bridge swaps in and out of existence at random points during the day. Sometimes it vanishes when you're walking on top and you just have to swim to shore. Most people are weirdly fine with that, but no one ever drives their car across.
Anyway, after I had calmed down and gotten my bearings, I began asking people on the street for information about this reality. They answered my questions without missing a beat. No one felt the need to ask "who are you? And why did you appear out of thin air?" I couldn't be more displaced from home, but even I'm not out of place here.
Of the people I asked, one helpful lady told me about an apartment building near the center of the city. Apparently the receptionist would give me a room in exchange for performing various manual labor tasks. The place was called "The Emrprr". I have no idea how to pronounce that, and neither does anybody else. Everyone pronounces it differently.
I headed into the city. The main street was bustling with people, but no one had any distinct characteristics. I had trouble getting through the crowd. Luckily, I was able to find the Emrprr building rather quickly thanks to a lot of oddly specific signs that were posted all over. For some reason, there was a lot of random paperwork overflowing from manholes and from storm drains at the side of streets.
The building looks like a medium-sized suburban house, colored in bands of reds, oranges and blues. The building is also weirdly small for a supposed apartment complex. There weren't any walls or rooms inside the house, just one big house-shaped space. It was well-lit but empty, the only thing present being a receptionist at her desk.
I went up to the receptionist, and without saying a thing, she berated me with a flurry of questions. "Do you have any physical disabilities?" "How much do you weigh in kiggapounds?" "Are you a real person?"
I answered all of her questions and then she handed me a half-sheet of paper. It was a contract—a weirdly short one. Only 3 sentences.
"By signing this contract, you agree to do your job in exchange for living space. If you do not do your job, your living space will be revoked. You will be free to take your belongings with you if your space is revoked."
I signed the contract and she escorted me to a door at the side of the room. I swear, the door wasn't there when I came in. It was like an elevator door, with 400 buttons, but each had a random symbol instead of a floor number. She told me to press the button with the blue, crescent-shaped moon to access my room. I pressed the button and the door slid open. Inside was a cushy little place with just enough space for everything I needed. I stepped through the doorway with a stride.
"Your job starts tomorrow morning. There's a light on the inside of your room, above the door. It will light up when it's time. Don't sleep in," she said before closing the door.
The first thing I noticed when I walked into the room was the square window opposite me. I could see something strange through the window: clouds. The building was in the sky. And the clouds were shooting past the window, rapidly ascending- No, the building was descending. It was rapidly falling to the ground.
If this were in Baseline Reality, I would have been in horrible terror. But this isn't Baseline. This is normal. I pressed my face against the window, watching in awe, waiting to see what would happen when the Emrprr hit the ground.
It didn't hit the ground though. Just before crashing, it warped back to above the clouds. Every time it's about to hit the ground, it warps back up and begins falling again.
A consequence of being in constant freefall is that everything in my room is completely weightless.
The second thing I noticed: the building was falling from a completely different part of the city than the location of the suburban house I entered from. In fact, I could see the reception building from my window. I went back through the sliding door, out to the reception area, out of the house, into the city streets, and I ran downtown as fast as I could.
Lo and behold, there it was. A rectangular, concrete building, perpetually falling from the sky. It was tall, too. I counted fifty floors.
Date: July 12, 2019
These transmissions are a total breakthrough. Everyone on the team has been overjoyed to finally have some hope. I think the rest of the lost personnel are, well, a lost cause. We'll just have to focus on Garsow.
Our current objective is to scour Authority records for any Alternate Realities that match the descriptions given by him. If we can find something, we may be in luck.
Head Researcher Steele
Date: July 12, 2019
Bentham doesn't care much at all about the reality Garsow is trapped in. It's a shame because it's all so intriguing and I would love to discuss it with him. I guess Bentham is just dead-set on obtaining the reality signature, so any discussion about Garsow's experience in the dreamscape would be a distraction.
I get it. He wants to focus on getting Garsow back. But still, it doesn't seem like Garsow is in any immediate danger, so why rush? If Garsow's going to be stuck in there for the time being, I'd hope it's at least interesting.
That said, I know Bentham's going through a lot. Maybe he just can't process it right now.
Researcher Gold
Date: July 12, 2019
I don't think there's any way to obtain the reality signature from these transmissions. It's just raw fucking data. There's no context. They're practically appearing out of the ether. I don't know if there's anything we can do directly. We'll just have to hope Garsow finds a way to relay the reality signature. But I suspect it won't be as easy as sending any other message through. I'm sure he'll find a way to do it no matter how difficult.
Maybe if we finish Project Portal, we'll be able to open a gateway by the time he is able to send us the signature.
Assistant Researcher Bentham Cobb
Transmission received: July 14, 2019
At this point, I'm certain you can't get the reality signature. But there's still other ways I could get home.
Plan A: constructing a Riktor M.I. reader in order to obtain the signature of this reality. I should be able to send over the reality signature the same way I'm transmitting these messages. Then you create a portal to bring me back using the signature.
Backup plan: I build the portal myself using Baseline's reality signature.
If Plan A works, I won't need to construct a portal myself, but you'll need to finish Project Portal. If I recall, the estimate for when we'd develop stable portal technology was… quite a long time from when I left. It's possible that time travels slower in this reality relative to Baseline, meaning it may only be a short while from my perspective before you are able to construct a portal to bring me back, but the opposite may be true; it may take far too long or never be completed.
For the backup plan, I'd need to use my own matter in order to obtain Baseline's reality signature. If I take too long to create the R.M.I. Reader, my matter will have mixed with that of this reality to the point that no signature can be produced. I only have a couple months before my nails, hair, skin, etc. are useless.
Internal organs could remain pure for longer—maybe I can get someone to cut out part of my liver. I also have my Baseline clothes I came here with, but they might end up being lost to this reality before I get the chance to pull out the signature.
It's been a few weeks since I arrived. I'm so fucking homesick. I know I'll get back soon. I need to.
Date: June 14, 2019
If we can't find any record of the dreamscape in the Authority's ALTR files, returning to Project Portal may be the best course of action in order to bring Garsow back. I think we have very few options, and it's getting hard to know what to do. We'll get him back somehow.
I don't even want to comment on the internal organs part. We can bring him back before he gets to that point.
Assistant Researcher Bentham Cobb
Transmission received: July 15, 2019
The Emrprr's jobs have been… interesting. There's usually three or four a week. The first job was to go down to the empty lot underneath the Emrprr and clean up all the broken furniture. Apparently, anything people lob off balconies or out their windows doesn't get warped back up with the building. It smashes into the ground below.
One of my neighbors said there used to be a bakery here, before the Emrprr existed. But there was a zoning issue when they tried to get the Emrprr apartment project through city approval—the city ordered it to be built at the same lot as the bakery.
It would have taken ages to get city management to sort out the conflict, and of course the Emrprr guys couldn't just bulldoze the bakery—that'd have to go through city council as well—so, naturally, they built the apartment above the bakery.
Thing was though… the bakery didn't have a roof. That was their whole shtick—they were that one bakery that didn't have a roof.
Customers didn't like all the furniture constantly crashing in from above, so the bakery owner put a giant net over the building to catch all the furniture. But that drove off customers too.
They were coming to the bakery for the open-sky experience. The net ruined that for people. So customers stopped coming and the bakery went out of business. Over time, the consistent pelting by furniture destroyed the building and now it's just a bunch of rubble. But the old owner is stubborn and won't give up the land rights, so even though there's nothing in the lot anymore, the Emrprr can't put the apartment on the ground.
Oh and I have no idea why all this furniture is dropping. Everyone says it's a rare occurrence and never on purpose, yet it happens enough to be a monthly chore to clean up the ground. Who the hell is throwing entire beds off their balconies by accident?
Transmission received: July 16, 2019
Earlier today, I travelled across the street from the Emrprr's reception building and went into a coffee shop. The menu was an unreadable, shifting garble of text on an orange sign, yet I was still able to understand what it said, somewhat.
Even though I could read some the menu, I didn't know what any of the items were. I told the guy at the register, "just give me something average." I'm not much of a coffee person.
He takes a cup of water and pours it into the back of a coffee maker. Then he grabs a little foil of coffee mix and places it into a slot on the thing.
He presses a small, red button on the machine, and a stream of coffee comes out, except it flows upward instead of down. As if gravity was reversed.
And you know what the guy does? He shrugs his shoulders, rolls his eyes, and grabs a mop to clean the ceiling.
It was so mundane to him, like it had happened a million times before. I say to him, "that must happen a lot."
His reply surprised me: "This is the first time that's ever happened."
So I say, "all these crazy things happen and you aren't the slightest bit afraid? At any moment, something could happen that could hurt you—even kill you, and you don't mind?"
He replies: "Not sure what you mean. I don't really get hurt. Maybe bad things just don't happen the way you think they do?"
Then I say: "Huh. I just got the strangest sense of déjà vu. I think I remember having this conversation before, but I expected you to say something else."
"That kind of thing has been happening a lot lately. I think it's got something to do with that weird company showing up. 'Nucorporate Industry' I think."
I say: "Huh. I'll keep an ear out for that name. Kind of rings a bell, actually."
He made me another cup of coffee and it came out normally this time. It was pretty good. He said it was a Cappuccino.
Date: July 16, 2019
Quite fascinating. I wonder if it would be possible to use low-coherency environments to read untranslatable text like this. Something to consider for future projects.
I shared this idea with my colleagues. Dr. Bray was quite interested, but Bentham was a bit displeased that we were off-task.
Researcher Gold
Date: July 16, 2019
Was he talking about Nucorp Industries? How strange. I wonder why they would exist there. Maybe the Nucorp in Baseline could help somehow. I'd have to convince Steele to make some kind of communication though.
Let's just keep digging for alternate reality records for now. We're getting close to completion on that, but still no finds.
Assistant Researcher Bentham Cobb
Transmission received: July 28, 2019
There's this mall that I went to today, near the far east of the city. I was hoping to find an electronics store as I was in need of a lot of specific components for the R.M.I. reader.
The entire first floor of the mall is upside down. I can't get any answer as to why.
The first-floor stores all had to have their furniture on the "ceiling", which is actually the ground since everything is reversed. As a consequence, you could stand on top of the recessed lighting and cause the room to dim. Other than that, there isn't much I have to say about the mall. I ended up finding a library and didn't explore the rest of it.
I spent most of my time there reading about this world's history, which is unbelievably rich. There's whole empires and dynasties, cultures and regions, places unlike anything from Baseline. Apparently in this reality, the Roman Empire only lasted 13 years, and in that time they went through over 20,000 rulers. North of the Roman Empire were several Chinese Dynasties, which somehow existed between the Mediterranean and Europe.
In the Americas, the Aztecs lived inside the Andes Mountains, like the dwarves from those books by Randolph Gowering. In Canada, there is apparently a kingdom of snowmen which still exists to this day. Above that is apparently a desert of black sand, and above that is apparently another snowman kingdom, I think? It's a bit confusing.
In Russia, there seems to be some kind of Catholic Distributionist system ruled by a Czar, and Australia hasn't existed since it was abolished in the 1450s. In Africa there is war that has been active for 300 years, between the Ethiopians and several species of sapient rodents.
After a few hours, I left the library and decided to head out to the edge of the city, just to gaze over the horizon and think about what's out there. I couldn't stay there for long, though. I get a weird feeling whenever I'm at the city outskirts. It can be a bit disconcerting to linger out there.
I decided to head back to the mall. I almost went back to the library, then I saw an electronics store. I'd completely forgotten that's why I came in the first place. I wasted away most of a day of progress because of some sidetrack bullshit. I can't survive here unless I'm able to fight the distractions.
Date: July 28, 2019
It seems Garsow is really struggling to keep on top of his work. I can't imagine how difficult it must be to keep track of everything in such a chaotic environment. Hopefully Garsow can keep everything in order.
Maybe there's something inherent to this reality that's inhibiting his productivity. It's like the world itself is working against him.
Researcher Gold
Transmission received: July 29, 2019
Progress on the R.M.I. Reader is slow, but still going steady.
Trying to get the components to stay together is difficult, and it's getting harder for me to stay focused.
I've been along for the ride a lot of the time, going with the flow of this reality. I hate it so much. Everything is just so amazing.
I don't feel homesick anymore. That scares me.
I still have things to hold onto, to keep me pushing forward.
I don't know what's going on back home, Ben, but wait up for me.
Date: July 30, 2019
We've exhausted all records of alternate realities for which we have clearance. No luck.
It would be unreasonable of me to request higher clearance for such a relatively lesser project. We will just have to find a different solution.
Head Researcher Steele
Transmission received: August 2, 2019
You wouldn't believe it. Nucorp Industries3 is in this reality.
And not just an alternate version of Nucorp. This is the actual Nucorp. It's just bizarre. Apparently Nucorp has been involved across multiple realities.
I found out through a telephone call, just now. Here I'll tell you what they said. I have a pretty good memory.
"Hello! This is Nucorp Industries representative J.J.J. Patricks speaking! The N2WU-Plane Nucorp Facility is in dire need of test subjects! Pay is fifty Canadian Dollar-Pounds per hour. Testing will involve XRR9-Plane, D2AJ-Plane and BR1G-Plane world entities. Report to the entrance at Seven & Four Avenue for work. Look for the 車庫 garage atop the wall!"
BR1G is the code we use for Baseline Reality. This must be the same Nucorp. Or possibly two different Nucorps in connection with each other.
I have to go there right now. Getting that reality signature has been… hard. I was starting to think I'd never get it. But this could be another way home.
I'm on Three & Nine Avenue right now. This street is very busy right now. There's usually not so many people. Nucorp should be a few blocks north and one or two east.
Huh. There's this guy on the other side of the road. Some kind of business man, talking on the phone with a company associate… but he has a paper bag over his head.
He keeps bumping into walls and signs because he can't see. The hell is he doing? How has he managed to stay on the sidewalk?
Oh, spoke too soon. He just fumbled out into the street. In the middle of traffic. The dude is dodging every car.
Well, I've got somewhere to be. I'm heading north right now. I think I see the place.
Yup, here it is.
Attached File
There's an… elevator button? What is it with this place and elevators?
The garage door slid open. There's an actual elevator inside this time. Only goes down.
Here goes nothing.
Holy shit. For a few seconds, the elevator's walls flashed out of existence and I could see the entire Nucorp facility through the earth, as if all the stone was invisible.
I saw huge testing rooms, paperwork mazes, and four-dimensional cubicles. Hypercubicles? The entire facility must be at least as big as the aboveground city.
Every room is made with white tiles, marble and plastic. There's cliché potted plants everywhere—half of them seem to be unearthly species. There's a lot of humans working here, and also non-humans. They must be inter-dimensional beings.
I'm nearing the bottom. There's a person(?) in the entrance room. Some kind of humanoid isopod creature, wearing a business suit.
I've reached the bottom. Oh huh, the isopod can speak English. He says I need to put my phone away.
The following transmission was received prior to the last; however, it is contextually apparent that it was transmitted afterward.
Transmission received: August 1, 2019
Attached File
Isopod Kushim: 'Ello, dandiprat. Would you be here for the testing initiative?
Garsow: Y- You're an isopod.
Isopod Kushim: …Yes, I am an isopod. And my name is Kushim. Now answer my inquiry, froward.
Garsow: Yeah, I am.
Isopod Kushim: Er, are you texting someone? Put that gaud away. You won't be needing it.
Garsow: Uh, alright.
[Garsow sends one last transmission before placing the phone in his pocket.]
Garsow: So… you're an isopod.
Isopod Kushim: Yes, popinjay. I am an isopod. Or at least, it's my vessel. This guy isn't the happiest that I'm in control of his body, heh. Our beings and internal entities have begun to blend together somewhat, as is traditional for these typical parasital-parasocial relationships. Anyhow, there's a lot of rooms to fare. I'll have some paperwork for you to fill out at the receptionist room. Hie, follow.
[The walls are opaque, painted a metallic blue. At the center of the room is a broken desk, collapsed under several heavy stacks of papers. There is a computer beside the desk but it doesn't work.]
[Wood crates of paperwork fill the edges of the room. The papers are colored a tranquil turquoise. Some of the paperwork has overflown and spilled onto the floor, pooling on the ground like puddles. There is text on the boxes, but it's an unreadable mess. The papers appear similar. There is a single doorway on the left side of the room leading into the rest of the facility. The papers do not have any valuable information on them.]
[Kushim exits through a new second doorway and Garsow follows behind.]
[They travel through a lengthy hallway. A coarse, wobbling texture maps the walls; the ceiling flickers. The room is illuminated but there are no lights. Garsow peers into each room as they pass through the hall. Most are mundane labs with researchers performing busywork. In the second to last room on the left, there's a rabbit sleeping snugly on a bed. There's a half-eaten carrot beside its right foot.]
[At the end of the hallway, they reach a flight of stairs. A flight of stairs. The stairs are flying and the two hitch a ride down. At the bottom is a hallway similar to the first but thinner and with neon-green paint in strict lines across the walls. There are five doors on each side of the hall. Three doors have glass windows; the rest are sealed.]
Garsow: So, uh, how did an isopod such as yourself end up working at a Nucorp facility?
Isopod Kushim: The siblings of this vessel don't wontedly pore on worthless human matters. However, I am not the isopod. I am a domineering parasite. But your inquire still applies as I am also one of a kind for this place. Howbeit, as you can see, I lack antennae atop this isopod's pate.
[For a moment, Kushim pauses to take a good, judgemental look at Garsow. He then snaps his fingers and a pair of eyeglasses manifests on his face.]
Isopod Kushim: I can't do much for this entity without them. They were my only connection to the hivemind—those bastards from Ziusudra tore them off. 'Tween uncles and soil those steed seed soaking saturnists were. It takes nigh a millennia for the antennae to grow back. 'Till then I've got no otherwhere to here for my future.
Garsow: H- Hivemind?
Isopod Kushim: Mother's kin stretch the multiverse. I've lost my antennae thrice before, twice when I was still a swain. Each time I occupied a different isopod's headspace. I'd swash my blade in the infinite taiga, capturing wenches with my stripes against those I tilted with.
[Kushim's glasses begin to slip and he nudges them back into place.]
Isopod Kushim: A statuary carved me and my steed into stone—I slit his throat when the tocsin rang. That varlet deserved a vale for the flux he'd poured atop the statue. Then I felt love for a fizgig fishwife. The wife had more drought than a Saharan. What an embarrass on my existence.
Garsow: What the fuck are you talking about?
Isopod Kushim: Fudge to you, grudgeon. Your virtue is immedicable. You should eat love apples off lead plates like the saturnists.
Garsow: Wait… love apples are tomatos aren't they? You're talking about how people used to die from lead poisoning by eating tomatoes off of dinner plates made of lead.
Isopod Kushim: Zounds. Ye aren't dumb as a plowed yoke after all.
Garsow: What is Ziusudra?
Isopod Kushim: A sore city that deserves sepulture under quadruple the ice. That dump overbrims with dark, upright grimalkin. I lost my antennae over some corrupt, colloguing star. Incidentally, I was dragged by the breech to this reality as Nucorp fled the negotiating tables. Fourscore dozen years more and I'll be free of this wretched Nucorp once again.
Garsow: I'll uh… stay away from any Ziusudra then.
[Within the first room on the left is a large moose, substantially larger than any real moose. It seems intelligent, possibly sapient. Someone whispers into its ear. The room is labelled "D2AJ-Plane".]
Garsow: What kind of work does Nucorp do here?
Isopod Kushim: Paperwork.
[Within the second windowed room is an infinitely big, urbanized library which contains every possible clinical document that can exist. An uncountable number of androids slave away, organizing the endless bureaucracy that can never be resolved. Winged demon-creatures fly through, eating the papers. The androids couldn't seem happier.]
Garsow: What's with the robots in there?
Isopod Kushim: They're iron knaves, manufactured with the portion of moil.
Garsow: Okay then.
[Within the third windowed room is an insane man laughing hysterically at an incredibly funny television show. They continue without acknowledging him. They turn the corner to a new hallway. The receptionist room is visible at the end, but there are three more side-rooms to peer into.]
[The first door on the left leads directly to a room of the Emrprr with a large balcony overlooking the sky. The room is packed with several dozen pieces of furniture, each of various styles and compositions. The Nucorp employees seem to be measuring how 'boring' each piece of furniture is, and throwing the ones that are not boring enough off the balcony.]
Garsow: So that's where all the furniture I have to clean up comes from.
[The first door on the right contains a room with a live camera feed of the partially vanishing bridge, and a big, red, unlabeled button on a pedestal. There is a notepad and pen on a desk with a tally count of at least 35, but there may be more tallies counted on previous pages that aren't visible.]
[The second door on the right has nothing inside except for various pictures of the city on its walls. There is a photograph of the upside-down mall; a photograph of suburban highrises; a photograph of a lake with many boats (the geometry of the scene does not make much sense); and a photograph of a gloomy bridge, not to be confused with the half-vanishing bridge (a sticky note is beside it, labelled "Endless?").]
[There are also several photographs of city streets, laid out in a pattern meant to mimic the city street map; it should look like a grid but there are strange turns, missing chunks and seven-way intersections.]
[Largest of any image in the room is a picture of the Sea with a question mark drawn over it in marker; a separate, smaller photograph of a palm tree is attached in the top left corner, partially obscuring the question mark.]
[There is no second door on the left but maybe there was before, at some point. They reach the reception room. It is remarkably empty, only a desk with an inch-high stack of papers atop.]
Isopod Kushim: We're here!
[Kushim grabs the stack of papers from the desk and drops them into Garsow's hands.]
Isopod Kushim: Hie, read all of this.
Garsow: Are you fucking serious? How much is this?
Isopod Kushim: Are you an illiterate horse-coper? Just read it.
[The documents are an incomprehensible mess of jumbled text, yet Garsow is able to fully understand the content. He rapidly flips through all the papers, reading them in full.]
Garsow: There's a lot of stuff about rubber ducks in here.
Isopod Kushim: The E-U-L-A is different for everyone.
Garsow: Listen man, I'm up for anything you can throw at me if you can bring me home. I'm not from this reality. I just really need to get home. I'm… kinda desperate, at this point. It's been hard.
Isopod Kushim: Erm, no. I don't believe I'm able to help you.
Garsow: Please. This is my best shot. You have to do something.
Isopod Kushim: Er, ehm… I see. You're quite the unfortunate one, aren't you, to be trapped in a reality as doomed as this? I feel ruth for you, I must admit. Natheless, it would be quite the amount of paperwork to bring you home. Nucorp Industries prides itself on its existence across all of the multiverse, however, true multiverse power is only visionary.
[Kushim's glasses nearly fall off his face but he manages to catch them and put them back into position.]
Isopod Kushim: Nucorp is an infinite bureaucracy. The chance for any request on cross-reality matters to become entrapped within Inter-Corp Logistics for all of eternity is… substantially high. You cannot conjure me to bring you home, but I can be of some service to you still.
[Kushim takes a chewed wad of gum from his left pocket and sticks it onto Garsow's phone. The gum folds over the entire device as circuitry and metal pieces rise from inside.]
Isopod Kushim: There. You should have a lot more capabilities on that gadget now. And not for a doit. To note, this entire discussion has now been indited in auto-generated text, including descriptions of all scenes and actions.
Garsow: Wait really? How the hell did it record the conversation before you put that thing on?
Isopod Kushim: Timeline and cross-reality nonsense go hand and hand here. Also, your device is now optimized for cross-reality information throughput. It's hooked up to the infospace properly. It uh, it sends everything in large three-dimensional chunks now, as memotic quaternions. That makes it much more efficient.
[Again, Kushim's glasses begin to slip and he nudges them back into position.]
Isopod Kushim: Your shitty device was trying to send 2D vectors across parallel planes of the infospace, ridiculous. That was taking about a week for each signal to reach home. This new method should take about, erm, five and a half days per signal.
Garsow: Woah. You suddenly don't sound like you're from the 1700s.
Isopod Kushim: Truespeak isn't compatible with scientific converse.
Garsow: Huh. Can the phone receive signals now? If you can't help me get home, surely the Authority at home could.
Isopod Kushim: Unfortunately it cannot recieve signals. I could try to make contact with your reality's Authority myself but that would require a lot of paperwork too. I suppose I could enter the papers into the system at the least.
Garsow: Thank you sir.
Isopod Kushim: I can't promise that it will go through. If you want to return home, I advise you work on that within your own means.
Garsow: I appreciate your kindness.
Isopod Kushim: Now, about the E-U-L-A. I haven't asked, what is your home reality?
Garsow: I'm from ALTR-BR1G.
Isopod Kushim: Oh, for fu- We're doing testing on entities of that reality for the next dozen sennights. We need entities from other realities for results to be, erm, scientifically pure.
Garsow: Well then.
Isopod Kushim: Be on your way. I have no use to suffer you any longer.
[Kushim begins shoving Garsow back through the facility.]
Garsow: Wha- Are you still going to push those papers through?
Isopod Kushim: Yes, yes, I will. Just get out of here. I'm expiring from your nerdy voice and ridiculous apparel.
Garsow: My nerdy voice? You sound like a prehistoric wizard. And what's with the fucking glasses that keep slipping off your face?
Isopod Kushim: They are anti-glasses. Instead of providing clarity to the sight-empaired, they make my vision blurrier when I don't want to look at someone's stupid face and unsavory suiting!
I have to say, this automatic transcription feature is absolutely amazing.
Also… maybe I shouldn't have worn a Hawaiian-style button-down to the Nucorp facility.
Date: August 3, 2019
It's clear that Nucorp is the best chance we have. Yet Steele refuses to do anything.
We have Nucorp in our reality. Why can't we get in contact? What's the issue?
Garsow is an invaluable researcher. He was right about low-coherency realities having easier output of material and data, and I've never even seen the kind of infospace concepts he's working with. I don't think anyone had thought of visualizing every infoplane of the multiverse as a stack in a 3D space. A researcher this valuable is certainly worth a damn phone call to Nucorp.
Assistant Researcher Bentham Cobb
Date: August 4, 2019
A few researchers have left the team. Dr. Bray actually went to work on the low-coherency text translation concept with the lettermen at the Cryptology Department.
Bentham is starting to lose his cool. I've never seen him like this. I try to comfort him and get him to stay focused on the work. He's very angry that Steele won't get into contact with Nucorp, but that's not something she's really able to do. She'd need to somehow find someone with the clearance to contact outside organizations, and convince that person that it's worth calling them to help save a single researcher. The Authority just doesn't have the energy to care for every single person.
With a bit of luck I think we'll get Garsow back eventually. We just need him to send over the reality signature, and it won't be long before we can build our own portal if he doesn't do it himself. We don't need Nucorp.
Researcher Gold
Transmission received: September 14, 2019
I returned to the bridge I appeared on to see the view of the cityscape again. Unfortunately, half the bridge was missing at the time, so I went to a park near the middle of the city instead.
It might be the craziest scene I've seen so far.
Just look at that image. Really get a close look. The more you do, the weirder it becomes and the less it makes sense.
Try to picture yourself being here. It has that nice lakeside fresh air. There's lots of wildlife making noise, and the waves are splashing against the bank.
We had a lot of good times, didn't we Ben? I remember we'd sit by lakes like this one. They were just boring normal lakes, but those times were just as unreal.
Date: September 15, 2019
Head Researcher Padilla Jones is still in intensive care. She's been doing much worse than we had hoped. It's looking like I'll have to remain head researcher for a long time.
I've reinstated Project Portal. If we are able to obtain the reality signature from Dr. Garsow, we will need effective portal technology to retrieve him. Efforts to reach Garsow ourselves have been unsuccessful, so we are just going to have to move on. If Garsow is never able to transmit the reality signature, then we will not make any further effort to bring him back.
Head Researcher Steele
Transmission received: September 20, 2019
I realized just now, I haven't been working on getting home for at least a week. I can't remember the last time I really sat down and got something done. How could it have slipped my mind for so long? I still think about getting home, but I haven't been thinking about the work I need to do to make it happen.
Date: September 29, 2019
It doesn't look like we'll be able to bring Garsow back. Steele is reorganizing the team to shift focus away from the Garsow stuff, but I asked her to still keep me updated on any transmissions he sends. I'm interested in seeing how they go.
I've been doing my own research on ACS, and it's not looking good. When an object of one coherency is placed within the bounds of a different coherency system, the object will tend to increase or decrease in coherency in order to reach an equilibrium with the surrounding reality. I think Garsow actually mentioned something about this in one of the transmissions, but he probably doesn't realize the implications.
If this change in coherency happens to Garsow himself, he will slowly become lost to the surrounding area. To put it another way, I believe he will slowly blend with the dreamscape until he can no longer be separated. Based on Garsow's waning motivation, I think this process has already begun. I haven't told Bentham about this, and I don't think I should.
Researcher Gold
Transmission received: October 12, 2019
I decided today I'd test the waters and leave the city bounds. I knew I wouldn't get very far on foot, but just the feeling of being outside the city would be enough.
I began walking north along a dusty trail. As I traveled out, I could see new things appearing from the horizon. There were sheep grazing in the distance, beautiful fluffy sheep. There was also a thick forest, trees with bark colored black as coal, and leaves glowing vibrant as neon lights. In another direction, there was what seemed to be a desert. It was the farthest away, and loomed over the horizon just barely. I couldn't get a good view of it.
Then that weird feeling from when I left the upside-down mall came back. The farther I traveled, the stronger it became. It was some kind of force, trying to pull me back to the city. It almost felt like the voice of someone calling me to come back, only silent. Eventually I couldn't bear it anymore. I had to come back. But I saw the sheep, the forest, the desert. Eventually I'll be able to escape. I'll see the world and everything in it.
Date: November 13, 2019
Gold is worried I'll have the beach dream in the middle of the night and forget it by the time I wake up, but I'm not worried about that. I remember all my dreams.
Researcher Bentham Cobb
Transmission received: November 22, 2019
I had a very weird dream last night. Weird even for here. The details are blurry, and I almost have this feeling like the events of the dream happened in real life, in a strange broken sense. I recall a man with a bag over his head, stumbling through the street. I traveled up a long flight of stairs, much longer than it should have been. Or maybe it was much too short? Anyway, I reached the top and met a little dragon lizard who could speak. He called himself Zuku and operated this giant machine which could control the weather. I watched him spin knobs and flip switches; the clouds danced in the sky as I gazed through a porthole window. Lightning bounced from cloud to cloud. It was so elegant and beautiful.
The lizard stopped and asked me to leave, but only after I said something about sushi, not sure what. Then I entered another room and met someone who claimed to be a member of the Directorate. They had their own version of the Authority. Since I had this dream, I've tried to find that building or any indication that this city actually has its own Authority, but no luck.
When I woke up, I realized my auto-transcriber had a fresh file loaded. Somehow it had recorded part of the dream.
I'll send the file. It seems like it only recorded this single section of the dream. I don't clearly remember anything that happened before or after, so the context is a bit lost on me.
[Garsow leaves the room and continues ascending the stairs for about fifty more levels. At the top of the stairwell is a double door with a big triangle marking on it. It's the Authority logo, but turned 90 degrees, pointing to the right.]
[The door is unlocked. Garsow heads inside. It's a small meeting room, only one person within, wearing slick, black attire. There are gizmos and machines all around the room.]
Garsow: This is the Authority…?
Global Director: Yes, the Directorate to be precise. I'm the only GD at work today.
Garsow: You just… are in this building? All the doors left unlocked? Out in the open? No secrecy?
Global Director: Of course. Why would we need to hide?
Garsow: It's counter intuitive. If you're locking up all the dangerous anomalies in the world, wouldn't people feel safer not knowing the dangers exist in the first place?
Global Director: I don't follow. Anomalies?
Garsow: You don't- You don't know what an anomaly is?
Global Director: I know what the word means, but you seem to be using it with some special connotation. We saw how you originated here—through a portal. I assume your home universe is very different.
Garsow: Yes, definitely. It's a lot more stable. This place is chaotic. The unexpected is a constant.
Global Director: I take it you worked for an equivalent of the Authority, one much grander. We've been keeping an eye on you. It's clear you're not a threat, so we've left you be.
Garsow: Of course. I would never harm anyone on purpose.
Global Director: …Did you have a reason for coming up here?
Garsow: OH! Right. I was curious about the weather repeating. In my home universe, weather is chaotic and extremely messy, near impossible to track and predict with total accuracy. Yet in this reality, where everything is chaotic, the weather somehow isn't.
Global Director: We keep the weather consistent so that people feel secure. Storms bring fear; rain brings sorrow. It's human nature. We've gotten rid of all that nasty stuff. We also blast music all throughout the city. It helps especially with keeping people unproductive. And then the third thing we do is destroy all dangerous aspects of our world. We have a thing for that—a big toad with telekinetic abilities. His name is Garkuk and he lives in the basement.
Garsow: Wait, what? Did you say "unproductive"? Why are you keeping people unproductive?
Global Director: This world is a chaotic mess. Productivity breeds conflict, which breeds fear and instability. For a world to be functional, either reality or society needs to be stable. The former isn't an option for us so we control what we can.
Garsow: How can you be sure?
Global Director: We believe Garkuk is able to see the future.
Garsow: Huh. You know what, that makes a lot of sense. I'm talking about the productivity thing, not the toad. The magic toad makes no sense at all.
Global Director: Anything else you wanted to ask?
Garsow: Yes, one thing. Why do you keep this all a secret? And why am I allowed to hear any of this?
Global Director: I already told you, we don't keep it a secret.
Garsow: Everyone I've asked about the music and the weather have no idea why things are this way.
Global Director: Just because it isn't common knowledge doesn't mean it's a secret. You're just the first person to ask.
I have no idea why I thought the weather was predictable here. That isn't the case. The weather has never been a repeating pattern. It's just as chaotic as in Baseline.
I'm quite fascinated by the idea that the music has a source, though. I hadn't even considered that.
I remember that during the dream, after I left the building, there was music playing on my walk home. I can still recall it vividly, like it's ringing in my ears. Could that really be fabricated for a dream? How could none of this have actually happened? On the other hand, though, how could any of it have happened? It doesn't make sense.
Hold on, I think my phone actually recorded that music as well, the same way it recorded that section of the dream. I'll send the file.
Attached File
Transmission received: November 23, 2019
Every audio file I record, every photograph I take, everything. The sea is always there. But it isn't real. It's nowhere. I think I have to find it. I have this feeling like I've never felt before. I need to find the ocean.
Date: November 23, 2019
I haven't been able to have the beach dream in weeks. I think it's gone. It's just gone. I'm so sorry, Garsow. I'm so fucking sorry. You need me there but I just can't find it. I've even had the dream of the fishing dock, but the beach isn't there anymore. I can't get to it. I can't. I'm sorry.
Researcher Bentham Cobb
Transmission received: February 9, 2020
I can hear the waves crashing but I've never seen the sea. If it exists, it's elusive. Perhaps it's down one single alleyway that opens out into that vast, blue expanse. I can hear seagulls cawing, always. But there aren't any seagulls.
The ocean exists somewhere—I'm certain of that.
Transmission received: June 2, 2020
No one ever dies. Nothing ever ends. This world isn't a place for final conclusions, and I'm okay with that.
I went to the library today. This world has a lot of history. Important people died, civilizations went through and through. Stories actually had endings. I'm not sure if those things actually happened—if this reality existed before I came here. Everything I experience has no conclusion; it all just keeps moving forward.
There were a lot of books about dreams in the library. You can never remember the start of a dream—you're always in the middle of the story as you experience it. But surely the beginning of the dream still happened, right?
If you wake up soon enough after you fall asleep, would you remember how the dream started—the very first moment? I spent all my life unable to fathom the end of experience, death. Now I struggle to remember the start. Maybe dreams aren't real, and neither is this place. I'm certain that I'm forgetting events now. I have a weird feeling that events are repeating, and the past is changing to fit the present.
I could be in a coma.
Maybe I'm okay with that.
Yeah, I'd be okay with that.
I am okay with that.
Transmission received: July 15, 2020
I don't think I'll be coming back.
Date: November 25, 2019
Bentham and I are the only ones still reading Garsow's transmissions. Even Steele doesn't want to anymore. All of us except for Bentham have accepted that it's a lost cause… We aren't going to be saving any of the people we lost in Site-014 — certainly not Garsow. But Bentham still thinks it's possible. Well, I think he knows it isn't possible. But he desperately wants it to be.
Everyone I know who's worked in Research for as long as Bentham has changed; their reason for joining the Authority is no longer why they work here. Bentham is the only exception. I don't know how he's still so compassionate. He stays in the labs and keeps working, even after everyone else has gone home. It's all so pointless.
He's a damn fool, but I'll admit, he has something that the rest of us fools don't.
Researcher Gold
Date: November 26, 2019
Gold is really trying to get me to give up on Garsow. I'm sick of hearing it. I'm not going to give up on him no matter how much it hurts me. I owe it to him. And it's not a waste of time for us to be trying, either. We need Dr. Garsow back. I don't believe we will ever complete Project Portal without him.
Researcher Bentham Cobb
I just want you to finally come back. I can't move on. There's a small part of you that still wants to come back, you haven't completely abandoned me. You can still return if you get up and fight.
Please, just wake up from your dream, so I can wake up from this nightmare.
I so badly wish I had a way to communicate to you. I pray that you can somehow know how I feel, and what I need you to know. Please come home.
Transmission received: September 1, 2020
I returned to the bridge I appeared on. At least, I think it was the one I appeared on. I'm forgetting a lot of things.
I didn't come to see the view of the city like usual. I came to look out beyond the city's bounds, to see where the only road leaving the city goes. Whatever force was keeping me within the city's bounds was gone.
The outside world was a crumpled, moving mess of hills and forests. I could hear waves crashing below me and smell salt in the air, masking the city's traffic and scent. I walked for miles. The road stayed steady as the world around blurred. Then I heard a voice.
Voice of Garkuk: You are nearing an impasse, Garsow.
[The disembodied voice has no clear source. Garsow continues down the road.]
Garsow: Do you recognize me? I've never heard you before.
[Only the sloshing waves and cawing gulls are audible. A strong, unnatural wind pushes against Garsow's clothes and skin.]
Voice of Garkuk: We have met once, in a different time. Things turned out much differently for you. You were deeply hurting, but you wouldn't show it.
Garsow: A different time?
Voice of Garkuk: I'm sure you remember bits and pieces. You're trying to reach the Sea, correct?
Garsow: Yes, I am.
Voice of Garkuk: This world isn't what it seems. There are no people beyond the city. No nations, empires, or history. This world is only the city, and beyond it is only deterioration. You're heading to the dream's end.
Garsow: I don't care about that anymore. I've seen the forest and the desert. I know I can get to those if I keep going.
Voice of Garkuk: The desert is the Sea's beach, Garsow. Past the forests, the beach surrounds the entire world. You can reach it, but the world falls apart at the end of the sand, just before you can reach the water.
Garsow: As long as I can get there, I'll do whatever it takes.
Voice of Garkuk: Keep walking. Keep your conviction, and it won't be as hard as you think.
[Garsow says nothing. The ocean wind continues, relentless. He continues walking.]
Garsow: I need to reach the end of this bridge.
Voice of Garkuk: This bridge has no end.
[Garsow stops.]
Garsow: Then where am I going? Where the fuck am I going?
[Garkuk says nothing.]
Garsow: Huh? Fucking say something.
Voice of Garkuk: This is your threshold to pass.
Garsow: Cut the crap. I didn't abandon every comfort in my life just to walk down an endless bridge while a disembodied voice spouts unhelpful bullshit.
[After a moment of silence, Garsow smacks his hand to his face and pushes up, running his fingers through his thin, dark hair. Then he collapses to the cold bridge floor.]
[He lies there, unable to think, unable to count the seconds passing. Instead he feels for when one moment becomes the next moment, and counts each moment. After thirty, the voice finally speaks.]
Voice of Garkuk: Are you dead?
Garsow: If only.
[Another seven moments.]
Garsow: I just need something. Give me something.
Voice of Garkuk: Why are you looking for the ocean?
Garsow: I don't fucking know. I'm just doing it.
Voice of Garkuk: Ask yourself. Why are you looking for it?
[Another twelve moments.]
Garsow: Why am I looking… for the ocean?
Garsow: I don't know. I don't…
Garsow: I can see it everywhere. I can even smell the saltwater. But it's the one thing I can't find.
[Garsow rolls over to the side of the bridge. There is no wall or guardrails at the edge. He leans over to see the water below. But there's nothing down there. The bridge fades away to a white void. He turns himself back over away from the edge.]
Garsow: Why am I searching for it?
Garsow: It doesn't even exist.
Garsow: Nothing in this place exists.
Garsow: I've been gone for so fucking long.
[Small droplets descend from his eyes down to the ground. The salty air was causing his eyes to water. He wipes them with the sleeve of his shirt. The tear-coated sand quickly dries up.]
Garsow: I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't want to go home. I should feel guilty but I don't.
Garsow: I don't want to go home, but I should.
Garsow: I don't understand why I don't feel like a terrible person for doing this to you.
[Garsow sits up, sand clinging to his back. For five moments, he watches the black-capped waves gently crashing. The sand at the shore becomes soaked as the waves fall, then burns up to a dry crisp as the waves recede.]
Garsow: This is here. Everything here. This is the only thing that's real.
Bentham: I don't know what to say.
[Bentham is standing a few meters away. The fishing dock is visible a long way down the beach. The air isn't as salty anymore.]
Bentham: I've been having this dream a lot. I don't know how, but I knew you'd be here.
Garsow: What happened to me?
Bentham: You've been in a coma for a very long time. It's… so good to see you again…
[Bentham is choking on his words. They both cry.]
Garsow: I'm so sorry. I gave up on you. I could have come back. I could have kept working-
Bentham: It's okay. It's not your fault. None of that was real.
Garsow: What is real then?
Bentham: I don't know. The Nucorp researchers were able to get me here, but they said we'd only be able to do this a single time. This is a dream for me, but for you it'll be the last part of reality.
Garsow: Why am I asleep? What happened?
Bentham: We were in a car accident. You got a concussion… We thought you were going to wake up, but you just didn't.
Garsow: How long has it been?
Bentham: Almost fifteen years.
Garsow: Fuck. I don't want to know what's changed. I can barely remember how things were when I left.
Bentham: Do you remember the fishing dock I always told you about?
Garsow: From when you were a kid?
Bentham: That's the one. It's back this way.
[Bentham walks Garsow back to the dock.]
Garsow: Man, the planks of wood this dock is made of. Could it be any crappier? Haha, I remember how you got splinters all over your hands every time you came here.
Bentham: Yeah. I was a dumb kid. I always forgot that it was so splintery, so I'd rest my hands on the wood while sitting at the end.
Garsow: As if you ever got smart.
Bentham: Hah, yeah. We're both still morons.
[Garsow walks to the end of the dock and sits. Bentham sits beside him.]
Garsow: Ben, I don't want to go back to sleep.
Bentham: I know. I don't want to wake up from this dream.
Garsow: How much time do we even have?
Bentham: A few more moments, I think.
[They sit at the end of the dock together, watching the perfect waves in the ocean roll across the horizon. Garsow doesn't bother counting. There's seagulls squawking from the side of the dock. He can hear how the waves on the left hit the shore before the waves on the right.]
Bentham: I thought it'd be over now.
Garsow: Maybe there's one last moment left.
[Bentham locks his arms around Garsow's body.]
Garsow: I love you, Ben.
Bentham: I love you too. Goodbye forever, Henry.
Garsow: Goodbye. Thank you for this dream.
[Garsow falls back to sleep.]
Transmission received: September 2, 2020
Garsow: This is the last transmission I'll be sending. You can stop trying to reach me now.
[Garsow begins to cry but wipes the tears from his eyes.]
Garsow: I don't have much to say, which doesn't feel quite right. I'm… not sure what it means.
[There's a long pause.]
Garsow: Don't wait up for me. Just, be okay.
[Garsow takes the camera out onto the balcony and positions it toward the city outskirts. Grassy hills roll in the distance, folding between and through each other, matter passing through matter in contradiction.]
Garsow: Something's different now. But I don't know what it was like before.
[The undulations surround the city in all directions—a uniform expanse, stretching to the horizon, sweeping and weaving. The road leaving the city rolls over hills and out of sight. The sky is painted dark blue with splotches of purple, clouds of blazing reds—fiery sunsets isolated to fluffy shapes against a sunless sky.]
Garsow: Goodbye, Ben.
[A presently nonexistent star lights the clouds like torches. It doesn't make sense. It doesn't make sense. There's plenty of time to watch the birds go by and smell the fresh air. Nothing will tell you not to.]
Garsow: Hopefully it all works out.
Attached File
Interview Log 813.1
Interviewed: Researcher Bentham Cobb
Interviewer: Researcher Derek Gold
Foreword: This interview was held, somewhat informally, by Researcher Gold prior to Researcher Cobb's reading of the final RPC-813 transmissions. Researcher Gold brought the transcript to the interview in order to refresh Researcher Cobb's memories of the dream if needed.
[BEGIN LOG]
Researcher Cobb: Weird but alright. I'll do an interview. What's your interest here?
Researcher Gold: The last transmission just came. I read the whole thing. Man… how do you feel?
Researcher Cobb: Huh? What are you talking about?
[Researcher Gold hands Researcher Cobb a printed transcript. He reads it silently.]
Researcher Cobb: This doesn't make any sense. I don't remember any of this.
Researcher Gold: I told you you'd forget the dream if it was in the middle of the night, didn't I?
[Researcher Cobb clenches his fists and incidentally snaps a pencil.]
Researcher Cobb: No, this dream never happened. It's nonsensical. There was never a car accident or a concussion. He isn't in our reality and there's no machine to let me enter his dream. That wasn't me who said any of that.
Researcher Gold: Okay, okay. You should sit down.
[Researcher Gold brings Researcher Cobb to a cushioned chair.]
Researcher Gold: Let yourself process everything.
Researcher Cobb: I don't know how. What the fuck am I supposed to think?
Researcher Gold: Well, think about it this way. It might not have been you you, but a version of you had the chance to talk to him. You gave him closure. He'll finally be alright in there.
Researcher Cobb: So what? It wasn't actually me. Why would it matter if it wasn't me?
Researcher Gold: You don't care that Garsow was able to find peace?
Researcher Cobb: No-no, of course I care. I just- It's so confusing. Fifteen years? It's only been two. I can't imagine how I'll feel after fifteen fucking years.
Researcher Gold: I know it's confusing, I know. Take it slowly. It'll be alright.
[Researcher Cobb begins to cry into his hands.]
Researcher Gold: Let it out. Just let it all out. It'll be okay.
Researcher Cobb: Okay.
[END LOG]
Closing Statement: On October 25, 2020, the RPC-813 research project was indefinitely closed.
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