u/Medical_Week_5979

Part 1

Most of my life, much of my existence really, is blunted. I move through life half there, detached; what little emotions I have are translucent, and struggle to break into the surface of my consciousness. Sometimes, however, I awake as if from a long dream, into what I imagine reality should be. Things are clear, lucid, I feel an ache in my chest. I close my eyes and I’m flying among the vibrant stars, reaching out and touching the dust of the milky-way. If only I was always like this, I say to myself, I would have everything figured out, I would see clearly. But, alas, it seems I am resigned to a mute hollowness. Why can’t I fix it?

I was brought back to my senses, a loud car horn startling me out of my thoughts. It was Frank, parked in front of the courthouse, glaring at me with impatience. I gave him a wave and stepped out of the stark shadows beneath the overhang into the bright afternoon sun. It was like stepping through a veil, one moment submerged in blackness, the next in the harsh light. I made my way down the steps, my eyes taking a moment to adjust. I breathed in all sorts of smells, pollen and a hint of cooking pizza, and enjoyed the lazy clouds making their way across the sky. At least it’s good to be alive on a day like today!

“This is awful, on a miserable day like this you’re taking your sweet time?” Frank scowled at me as I opened the door and sat next to him.

“How so?”

“Today’s rookie day. Every couple months, we do a joint training mission with all the newbies.” He pulled out, barely checking his mirrors. A car honked and he flipped them off. “Like a kindergarten field trip or something. We’re picking up Emma then heading to the site”

I rested my elbow on the window and watched the passing buildings blur together. “Well sorry I took so long. They really had it out for me.”

“For a damn parking ticket for your bike?”

“Yeah, two-fifty fine and everything. Whole thing. The judge got pretty mad too.”

“I can’t say you don’t deserve it,” he said, chuckling.

“I swear, they hate me, specifically. I feel like they even follow me sometimes.”

“Who follows … what? The judge?” Frank glanced at me with a raised eyebrow.

“No, not the judge. Well maybe,” I started becoming more animated, “Who knows who they delegate for that kind of stuff. But I feel eyes on me! And cars too, black vans!”

“Why would anyone take interest in you?”

“You know these nefarious organizations. Who knows what kind of twisted goals they have? When I couldn’t get a job, I thought they were on my ass for being unemployed.”

“So a conspiracy against bums?” He said, half in disbelief, half in mild amusement.

“Yes, that’s it, a conspiracy! It’s all connected!” I exclaimed.

Just then we stopped and Emma opened the door, only catching the last part, “Oh I think the Buddha spoke of that.”

“What?”

“Interconnecteness? I saw it on instagram reels. Or was it Jesus?” Oh damn, she doesn’t even use Tik-Tok. 

“Well, you know, I downloaded Instagram reels one time,” I replied. "First video, saw a Chinese construction worker turned into paste. Like fucking red mist. Brutal. After that I deleted it. But I was traumatized for a few hours, seriously.”

“The algorithms suggest what you like.” Frank interjected with a judgmental glance. He turned the car key, the engine rumbled to life, and we were off down the street again.

“Yeah, see! Spyware! My point exactly!”

In the days following my first at work, I must say I’m proud of how much I stepped up my game. After my shifts, I dedicated one hour to studying the employee handbook. Sometimes this would be cut into by tv watching or staring into space, I’m not perfect after all. Nonetheless, I managed to at least open the heavy, yellowed thing and spend time reading its contents and memorizing important details. 

In between policy amendments and pages upon pages of stuffy bureaucratic nonsense, there was useful practical information. Blue prints and instructions for the various odd gadgets that I now had access to, like the trusty suction-burst and others. It wasn’t necessary, far from it, as no permit was required for their use. So my studying was essentially non-essential. But, if I was going to improve at this job, and not find myself in a dangerous situation pants down, I had to learn it.

I always considered myself as having two modes. One, entirely inert, unable to find the energy to take a piss in the morning without an hour of social media scrolling. Two, typically as a result of external pressure, awake, focused, fluid, with a sense of mastery and competence. 

The best example, before a difficult exam, my brain could hold surprising amounts of information, even if I forgot it right after. And during those two hours of writing, I felt unstoppable, everything else falling away, and me becoming a conduit of the syllabus, hitting every point the professor wanted to hear. Academic sucking up as I called it.

Our first stop was at a gas station, around an hour from our destination, and two hours after we began. Emma had to go to the bathroom, and so Frank reluctantly pulled into a run-down, rusted establishment off the highway. It had a convenience store that served hot food, but after one look at the green skinned hot dogs, I settled on a drink. Outside, me and Frank waited, me sipping a lukewarm beer and him a Dr. Pepper. The high sun beat down and the sharp scent of gasoline and old piss floated up with the dust. 

“Don’t drink on the job?” I said. 

“Me? Not a drop these days, one year sober. Doc said it was bad for my health,” he said, his leg bent against the wall. 

“No offense but you don’t strike me as the health conscious guy.” I gestured to the cigarette limb that seemed perpetually attached to his mouth.

“Everyone needs their vices, you learn that around here quickly. That’s why I’m not writing you up for intoxication and negligence.”

I nodded in understanding of the first bit and in thanks for the second. A silence hung over us for a beat. At a pump, an overweight man with greasy black hair had his card declined, and he continued to mash it in and out of the reader in frustration. 

“I have a temper too. So it’s a good thing I’m not drinking, or I would’ve kicked your ass a while ago.” He laughed. 

I smiled slightly, unsure if he was completely joking, and changed the subject. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask. How the hell did you throw your hat so well back at the house?”

“This?” He removed his hat and inspected it. “It’s weighted, part of old tech produced by the bureau. Great for neck muscles.”

Emma walked out of the store, the bell over the door dinging. She stretched and fixed her hair. Not to be crude, but it always amazed me how women had the courage to use convenience store bathrooms. They must be the stronger sex, because every one I’ve been to is run down, the worst having unidentifiable residue on the toilet seats. Who knows how many buts have sat on it and the last time it was cleaned? There are options, sure, hovering, placing toilet paper over it. I wonder what Emma did?

“OKAY! Time to keep this road trip going, I’m so excited, I love long car rides, should we play eye spy next, or maybe—” she rambled as she marched to the car. 

With dawning horror, I tried to gulp but my mouth was too dry. She was a bare asser, no doubt about it. 

Another hour of incessant car games and the car rumbled to a halt at a modest farm house. In front of it, a beat down and loose dirt lot where rusted tools were scattered.  Beyond it, overgrown grass where crops may have once been grown, which stretched into the horizon, and a forest on one side that cut it off. I opened the car door,  stepped out onto the dirt, and a plume of dust scattered. Four other cars were parked outside, and a mass of seven people stood near the entrance.

“Finally. Five more minutes and we would’ve started without you,” said a large man and waved us over. He had an unkempt beard and a craggy forehead, his brows folding over his eyes. 

“Ha. The kids had to use the bathroom. I told them to go before we left.” Frank walked up to him and punched him in the arm. I joined the periphery of the group and my face scrunched at the comment. 

“Hey you must be the new guy. When did you start?” A guy said, around my age, with black hair. 

“Like two weeks ago. Names Stevie.”

“I’m Martin, I’ve been here for a month.”

“And I’m Casey.” Another guy, brown hair and glasses, smiling. 

“Nice to meet you guys.” 

I surveyed the group, three more men and one woman. That made ten of us with Frank, Emma, and I. 

“Okay, listen up!” Frank's friend boomed. “For those not aware, my name is Willy. This is a training mission, first and foremost. But it’s also an opportunity for you to meet your colleagues, learn to work as a team, and recognize that our culture plays as hard as we work!”

I shuddered. Here it comes. 

“As such, before we do anything, I’ll give everyone an opportunity to introduce themselves. State your name and four fun facts about yourself.”

Four! I’ve endured my fair share of draconian icebreakers before, but four? The highest I can ever think of is two, maybe three. Beyond that I always draw a blank, and end up standing there with a mock thinking pose until they move on. Here, I can’t afford that. My very career depends on getting this right!

“Why don’t you go first Patty?” Willy looked at the woman next to him. She was dressed in an oversized suit with an ill-fitting tie.

“Oh, well…” Her voice cracked a bit, and she wiped her palms on the pant legs. “I-I guess I like baking, and nature, and movies, and…” she spat out and stopped. “Uh… what else… oh my…”

Thank the Gods above, a sacrifice, and more time for me to think. I tilted my head up, then to the ground. A ladybug inched up a grass blade. I scratched my face. Still nothing. 

“I’m Lucas…”

“I’m Fredrick…”

Their voices blended together and then I couldn’t hear anything else over the pounding of my heart. The entirety of my being, all of my brainpower, was tunnel visioned on thinking of two more things that could be considered interesting, yet also non-offensive enough for a work environment.

“Well?” Willy said, his voice a harpoon that pierced my daze. Everyone was staring at me expectantly. 

“Me, uhh… You know…” I said.

He nodded, waited a second. “What?”

I shifted, and put my hand up to my chin, face burning. Even my other go to’s had escaped me. “I like dogs?”

“What kind of dog breed is your favorite?” Martin said and smirked at me.

“Uhhh…” Shit shit shit. “Poodles? They don’t shed?”

Silence again. Willy’s eyes widened and his seamed forehead lifted. Next to him Frank’s face was blank and expressionless. “Okay, next.”

I exhaled, a one hundred pound burden lifted off me. That could’ve gone a lot worse. Once the circuit had been run through, we moved to the house. I lagged behind the group with Casey and Martin, my hands in my pockets. A thunderhead rolled in across the horizon, the grey whirlpool of vapor devouring the pleasant blue. The air stilled, as if it was holding its breath, awaiting the impending storm. 

“So Poodles are really your favorite?” Martin said. 

“Oh that?”  I leaned against the stair railing. “I’m actually more of a cat person. I think my grandparents had a poodle though.”

“Wait, you don’t like dogs? Then why was that a fun fact?” Casey said. He looked at me like a science experiment, or one of those frogs he undoubtedly bisected alive as a kid. 

“I like them, just prefer cats.”

“Everyone look at me, look at me!” Willy stood on the porch and did jazz hands and a wiggly little dance. “We’re here because we got reports of an enmeshment incident. A few casualties around this area. There’s already a partially set up base of operations inside. After we get it all ready, we’ll scout a bit, take out any we see. Easy.”

In the field, a few figures appeared, and an inconsistent gait gave them a wobble. No one besides me noticed, their attention still on Willy. He yammered on and on: set up this there, do this and this or it’s a rule violation, don’t get written up. As he went on, the figures got closer and closer. I thought they were drunk farmers, angry that we were on their property. But when I made out their features, the scattered eyes and the red growths, my mild curiosity was replaced by familiar dread. 

“H-hey, guys?” I pointed. Willy shot me a glare, his lecture brought to an end. Then a grin stretched his wrinkles taut. 

“Looks like they came to us, that makes our job easier. Lucas, Damien, you’re with me.” 

They confidently strutted down the steps and Willy rolled up his sleeve to reveal a hidden blade that was strapped to his arm. He shook his hand and it extended, slicing some tall grass nearby. I made my way to where Frank and Emma were standing, up the stairs and near the door. Emma’s eyes tracked the men with a sparkle.

“More of those spider guys?” I asked.

“Hmmm-hmm.” Emma hummed.

“And if we’re lucky that’ll be all of ‘em and we can go home early,” Frank said. 

“Before the storm?” I glanced at it. It loomed above and methodically gnarled itself forward.

Emma held her finger out. “Should be about an hour. If there are more we’ll get caught in it.”

“Hour? How do you know that” 

“I’m interested in meteorology.” She shrugged. “That was one of my fun facts. Mereology too. Weren’t you listening?”

“Uh-huh.”

A cloud passed by overheard, momentarily darkening the area. Thunder rippled in the distance, and a breeze rustled the tall grass. The three men continued forward, efficiently, like this was as simple as flipping the hundredth burger of the day. I frowned. Some of the grass was moving differently, out of tune with the rest. 

The men had made it further into the field, within spitting distance of the figures, and Willy raised his hand in preparation to strike. I flicked my eyes up and tracked a single raindrop as it made its journey, landed on Willy's shirt, and rolled off, its final destination a hand reaching around his leg. I opened my mouth, nothing came out, I closed it and my eyes. The screaming started soon after. 

“What the fuck?!” Frank exclaimed.

The sweet darkness of ignorance felt like the warmth of a womb. But all babies must be brought screaming into the light of reality. I squinted my eyes open. All around, more figures were shooting out of the grass, too many to count. They descended upon the intrepid professionals, getting their fingers into any hole they could. 

They pulled, spreading open Willy and the others eye sockets, their mouths and tongue. The clothes, fiercely ripped off, allowed their fingers to dig into the skin, the intestines and guts. Willy writhed and yelled on the ground, his cool demeanor reduced to a frightened animal running on shock and adrenaline. He attempted to crawl away, the contents of his stomach exposed, yet more grabbed him and he was soon torn apart.

“Everyone inside now!” Frank ordered. 

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I swung open the door and dove inside, followed by Emma, Martin, Casey, Patty, another guy (Lucas?), and finally Frank. He slammed the door and braced against it. Everyone else stood, breathing hard, their perspiration running down their faces. Being the only one on the ground, I was primarily embarrassed. I got up, dusted myself off, and gave my voice an edge.

“What now, we need to figure something out,” I said.

Everyone's eyes shot towards me, like they were seeing me for the first time. I stood up straighter. My hands shook a bit so I hid them behind my back and gave my best stern expression. The eyes lingered for a beat then moved to Frank, who wore a grimace.

“We need to figure something out, get moving,” Frank said, and he left the door to pace the room. 

I nodded along with the others. Apparently they forgot this was my idea or hadn’t heard me. Best course was to pretend I hadn’t said anything either and kick myself later. 

“It had to be some kind of ambush,” Frank said.

“Is this behavior out of the ordinary?” Martin questioned.

“Not particularly. But the scale is highly unusual,” Emma responded.

“Oh my God, they’re dead…” Patty covered her mouth and rushed to a corner, where she promptly began sobbing.

I scooted to the window and opened the curtain. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of them, enough to saturate the field with bodies, made their way towards us. I yanked it shut and the metal rings scraped the bar.

“Not good,” I said.

“How many?” Frank asked.

“More than we can handle with our stuff.” There was machinery around the room, but little of any kind of heavy duty weaponry. Mostly spy gadgets and smaller trinkets.

“Okay. First, we need to see what we’re working with. Emma and Casey, that’s on you. See if there’s any useful weapons or items. Me, Martin, Fredrick, and Stevie will fortify the room. Got it?”

Two things to note. First, Lucas, of course, was the one who was retired with Willy. So it was actually Fredrick who joined us. Second, as I was clumsy searching the room for a hammer and board to adhere to the window, I noticed a buzzing in my pocket. I thought it was my phone, perhaps my mom checking in on me. But, when I reached into my pocket, I pulled out a disc shaped thing. It was pulsing and a red light was flashing angrily. 

“What is that?” Frank was staring, jaw clenched.

“I don’t know, I found it in my pocket. Weird thing, right?”

“You –  you fucking idiot.” His hands cradled his face. “Are you wearing the same pants as our first assignment? Did you even wash them?”

“Well, I-I only wore them once you see, and –”

“THAT’S A FUCKING EMITTER! IT DRAWS THEM TO US!” he bellowed. 

The room went silent and everyone was frozen. Before I could respond, clomping footsteps made their way up the outside steps and the door burst open.

“Moshi moshi!” A crazed man stood in the doorway, his hair a mess and eyes wild. Who is that? 

Suddenly, he exploded. Blood, gore, and bone fragments splattered the room and the gush of air from it tossed my hair back. I spat out what might’ve been some brain and large intestine mixed with skull, coppery and meaty in my mouth. I imagine this was close to what people experienced going from black and white film to technicolor. The once monochromatic wall of the room was now covered with a neon red. 

Too much stimulation, an assault of colors and shapes gave me a screaming headache. I pressed my hand against my head, half consciously backed into the corner, besides Patty, and slid down the wall into a fetal position, holding my legs close and shivering. There was an occasional drop of liquid, and I couldn’t tell if it was a leak in the ceiling, dripping blood from my face, or tears. 

The scene resumed around me, though it took on a rather dreamlike quality. Frank barked orders and there was a mad rush as people fortified. There was banging on the walls, the figures trying to break in. Emma was next to a pile of machines, tinkering, reverie and intense focus on her face, completely suited for this environment, a fish in water. She was wiring multiple suction bursts to a central matrix, and attaching a smattering of other gizmos and gadgets. I focused on Frank's words, unsure of how much time had passed.

“The first thing that is non-negotiable is drawing them away. Obviously, given enough time, they’ll break in. The good news is, what got us into this mess will also get us out of it,” Frank said.

People rested and stood in a semi-circle around him. He picked up one of the circular emitters from a large pile. He was in a pragmatic mindset, but I couldn’t help noticing an offness to his mannerisms, like he was close to losing it and barely holding together. The more he spoke, the more that dissipated, and the tenor and confidence of his voice strengthened.  

He continued, “The bad news is, we’ll need volunteers. Given the present situation, there’s a possibility they won’t make it, and the plan will fail. Meaning, both personal risk and risk to the entire group.”

“Whats the status on back up? Or a clean-up crew,” Casey asked.

“Shit, at this rate, we’ll need an entire army,” Martin said. 

“At least an hour out.” Frank sighed. “We’re on our own. And I hate to say, this amount likely means a queen is nearby.”

Fredrick pointed to Emma. He was a jock, hat turned back, likely well versed in the art of getting drunk off light beer and putting roofies in women’s drinks. “That seems like a bad idea.” At least prudence hadn’t escaped him. 

“Like Frank said, we’re on our own. Plus it’ll be cool,” Emma said.

“I ain’t got nothing wrong with explosions in movies, but I don’t wanna die either,” Fredrick responded. 

“Ideally we’ll be long gone before it goes off,” Frank said. “And if not, better than being torn apart. I understand it’s desperate, however the tactical advantage is invaluable. If successful, it’ll seriously interrupt their echolocation, agitate them, give us an opening to get out of here. What’s the progress Emma?”

“Ten minutes until it’s ready, and I can install a fifteen minute timer. Thirty minutes total, if we wanted it to be fast,” Emma said.

“Fast would be best,” Frank said. “As I said, we need volunteers. Who’s willing to get out there, save our asses? There might be a bonus.”

“I do noooot trust that bomb,” Fredrick whined. Probably because he didn’t like the idea of a woman engineer. “Better out there than here. I’ll go man.”

“I suppose I’m feeling rather claustrophobic as well. Count me in. I was endowed, as a child, with utter self confidence and the belief that I can will–" Casey said. 

My head pounded, cut him off, and I put it between my legs. The image kept replaying in my head. The man exploding, the people torn apart outside, my obvious fault. I was terrified, sure, but an overwhelming guilt tore at me, the indisputable fact that I was responsible for the deaths of others, that my life was over. I staggered up, things snapped back into focus.
 
“I’ll go,” I proclaimed.

Everyone stopped and stared at me.

“Absolutely not,” Martin said and walked up to me. “In case you forgot, you’re a dumbass. You’ll get us all killed.”

“I have to do this.”

“No you don’t.”

“And you want to?”

“Better me than you!” He shoved me.

Frank stepped in and broke us apart. He whispered something to Martin, who frowned then smiled and relented . 

Frank addressed everyone, “I’m not the biggest fan of it either. The damage is already done, though. We have three people, if only one succeeds, those are good odds. It’s a warm body game. Not like we have any other choice.” 

Frank turned to me and put a hand on my shoulder. It was imperceptibly shaking. “I can’t sugar coat it kid, you fucked up big time. But pull this off? We’re sitting pretty, capiche? So don’t fuck up again or weasel out or I’ll kill you.”

I nodded, a peculiar resolve bubbling within me. 

“Listen up everyone!” He faced the room. “Here’s the plan!”

McDonald’s at midnight is where dreams happen. That’s what my mom said to me, and what her mother said to her. Intergenerational wisdom, a chain of knowledge.

I am a woman, and so I write like one. Sometimes I like to get fries with a milkshake at McDonald’s at midnight. There are always creeps about, but I don’t mind, as I can sense them and give them a slapping to if they look in my direction. 

This time, oh boy, he didn’t look at me, which is why my slapping radar was off. Was he blind? I wish. No. He simply kept his eyes down, walked backwards, sat across from me backwards. 

“You gonna finish those fries?” He spoke without opening his mouth. I couldn’t have known that because he was facing away from me. Don’t trust me. 

My woman sense got the better of me, and I didn’t respond. A worker came to ask me if anything was wrong and I slapped him and he left. 

“Are you gonna finish those fries?” He repeated.

I got up and left. I don’t even want to get started on LA fitness. Is anywhere safe from creeps? 

There comes a time in every young adult's life when they must strike out on their own, forge their own path. Leave behind old habits and routines, and the safety and comfort of their bubble. Change the world and have it change them. Or so they say. To my mind, there is nothing more base, more defiling, than change. The very concept is an affront to human control and dignity. No, I would not change. External circumstances may force action, but I intended to keep as much the same as I conceivably could. 

I lay in bed, staring at my slowly rotating ceiling fan. Periodically it would wobble, and each time I hoped it would come loose and smash my skull. After a few more minutes of blinking and quiet prayers, I unfortunately had to get on with it. I peeled my shirt from my sweaty, moist body, and sat up to take inventory. A laundry basket filled to the brim, even more clothes strewn about. A half eaten pizza on my desk, flies buzzing and darting about hungrily. How long had that been there? Sniffing my armpits, I decided that question was best left unanswered. 

The good news was, I cleaned up well. The bad news, it was the first day of my new job. The one thing everyone tells you about a liberal arts major is that barista positions are at least guaranteed employment. Well, after four years and a degree later, I can confirm that’s not the case.  Even though I applied to every coffee shop, fast food restaurant, and Walmart in a fifty mile vicinity, I hadn’t received so much as a call back. I was desperate, and to avoid being kicked out onto the street, I had to broaden my search.

“Come on, come on,” I said to myself, digging through a relatively cleaner looking pile of clothes near the foot of my bed. 

“Get down here now!” A shrill scream came from downstairs.

“Jesus Christ Mom, I’m coming!”

Quickening the pace, I opened the dresser and thankfully scored. One last pair of underwear, still clean. Pulling together some khakis that passed the smell test, a wrinkled collared shirt, and my worn pair of shoes, I darted across the hall towards the bathroom. A shower of muffled crying later and I was downstairs.

“Look at the time!” My mom scolded, wagging her finger at me. Her appearance always reminded me of a sad bull dog with nasal congestion. “Late on your first day. Pathetic. No son of mine.”

“Still going to make it,” I said with a smile and a wink, before tearing out the front door.

“I sure hope so or you’re out first thing tomorrow!” She called after me.

The sun, just beginning to rise, cast long shadows across the yard. Fumbling with the keys in my pocket, I hurried to the street sign where my bike was locked. A white slip was stuck to the handlebar and in disbelief I examined it. A parking ticket? I swiveled my head up and down the street, the soft and wet early morning an illusion that would soon give way to blistering heat. A lone crow stared at me from the powerline.

“I don’t suppose you did this!” I shouted at it. It cocked its head in curiosity. If crows were smarter I could’ve sworn it was mocking me.

“Shut the hell up dumbass we’re trynna sleep!” A neighbor barked at me from one of the uniform, suburban houses across the street.

I smiled sheepishly, jammed the ticket in my pocket, and unlocked my bike. With a polite wave in the general direction of the voice, I was off. Pedaling like a madman, I blasted down the street, weaving past curbside trash cans rudely placed in the bike lane. I swerved to avoid another bin, and a car, blasting 2010’s music on the radio, probably too poor to afford an aux, slammed the horn. I raised my fist in anger, and he returned the sentiment by glaring daggers at me through the side mirror. Peculiar red blemishes encircled his eyes.  Promptly, I put my hand down and stared straight ahead like I didn’t see him. The old thing sped off with a cough and sputter of the engine. The smoke made my eyes sting. 

Eventually, I arrived huffing and panting to my destination. Located atop a steep hill, a view gave way to the sprawling city in the distance. Suburbs and quiet residential neighborhoods transformed into densely packed skyscrapers. I took a deep breath in and enjoyed the sight for one last lingering moment. 

The building to my left was at least eighty stories tall, and its width nearly took up the entire block. Each floor progressively became nicer and more well maintained. The bottom floors were old and in need of renovation, with cracks in the glass and peeling paint. Conversely, the higher ones were gleaming, a sleek finish and spotless windows. Some floors from the top, a massive balcony jutted out; from my position, I could only catch a glimpse of the tops of palm trees that, presumably, gathered around a pool. Above the entrance was a logo with an eagle holding curved swords in its talons and the acronym ‘ASIB’ in bold letters. 

Steeling my nerves, I parked my bike and strode confidently inside. At the reception desk, an old woman typed absent mindedly at a keyboard. Her saucer sized glasses reflected the dull glow of the computer screen.

“Hi.” I greeted. “I’m a new employee, part of the investigation and processing department.”

She didn’t respond. I swear I even saw a bit of drool escape her lips and pool on the table. I got closer, cleared my throat, and tried again.

“Hello? It’s my first day on the job and I was wondering if you could point me in the right direction?” 

Without peeling her eyes from the computer, she raised a frail, shaking hand and pointed to my right towards the elevator. Thanking her, I proceeded. When I was about halfway across the room she mumbled, “Seventh one this month, poor things. Won’t make it. Won’t make it.” 

I spun around, only to be greeted by a yellow smile that contained a hint of sadness, before once more she became absorbed with the screen.

I hurriedly mashed the elevator button, and as I was waiting, a long list of names next to it caught my attention. They correspond to floor numbers and had all sorts of self-important titles. What even is a Director of the Partial Operations Committee? Nice job Mark Wallace, doing good work there!* *I rolled my eyes. 

When the elevator arrived, it didn’t take long to find my department. Located on the seventh floor, and down a hallway, I was met with an open floor office. Desks pressed against each other, creating a claustrophobic maze, and people darted to and fro. A young woman, a bit older than me, stood waiting as I entered. She was dressed in business casual, pleated black pants, leather belt, collared white shirt with stripes, and a black tie. Her dark hair hung in a helmet bob and her gray eyes sparkled with friendliness. 

“Hi I’m–” 

“Yes, you must be the new recruit! Stevie, right?” She said cheerfully, looking down at her watch. “And timely too.”

“I try my best.” I rubbed the back of my head, trying to forget the mad rush of the morning. 

 We made our way to the center of the room, where I sat down across from her at a cluttered desk. Hurried people rushed past us, juggling stacks of paper and cups of coffee. The general noise and chatter faded into the background as she pulled out an envelope.

“My name is Emma, and I’ll be your performance supervisor," she said with a smile. “Before we can send you on your first field mission, there are some final questions I have to ask.” 

“Shoot."

“Okay! First, and this is purely customary, are you an organ donor?” She questioned, her eyes glancing up from a notepad. 

“Organ donor?” My gaze drifted to the ceiling and I wracked my brain. “You know, is there a maybe option? I can’t really remember.”

“I’ll put: open to the possibility on his deathbed. Next, any phobias, mental health disorders, prone to panic in high stress environments?”

“Am I a pussy? No.” I shook my head vehemently.

“Ok that's that!” She shut the notebook and got up.“Time for your first assignment. One last thing. You watched the training videos sent to your house, correct?”

“Yes I did." Of course I would never admit I spent the previous afternoons avoiding them in favor of videogames, movies, and masturbation. What, you want me to get fired on my first day?

A few hours later we found ourselves parked in front of an unassuming family home. The newest addition to our crew was Frank, my mentor. Apparently, each new recruit is assigned both a supervisor and a mentor. The supervisor, Emma, to make sure everything goes smoothly on the first few assignments and to file a new employee report to the bureau. The mentor to show you the ropes long term. 

Needless to say Frank was a lot less glad to be there. Sat in the front seat, he had a half-finished cigarette in his mouth and his hair was fighting a losing battle with his forehead. Emma in the passenger seat left me feeling like I was babysat in the back. 

We got out and stood in front of the car. The swingset in the yard creaked back and forth to a light breeze, the chains clinking together. 

“Hey kid, grab the gear in the back.” Frank commanded in a gravelly voice. He flicked his cigarette to the ground and twisted his shoe over it. His trenchcoat was soaked in sweat, particularly around his armpits; evidently worth the cool factor on this increasingly hot day.

Walking around back I opened the trunk and my eyes widened at the sight. Wires, coils, and odd looking machinery lay in a heap. “Uh, which one do you want?” I called.

“Lord in heaven,” He huffed, raising his hands to the sky in exasperation. “You’re so perfect up there, while I’m stuck with the assholes down here. They get worse every year, don’t they?” 

“You know as well as I do there’s a learning curve!” Emma chirped.

“Learning curve or that word I’m not allowed to say anymore. I can never tell.” Frank retrieved his worn cowboy hat from the front seat and strode towards the house without looking at me, his coat blowing in the wind. Jackass. Emma followed, file diligently in hand. 

“Grab the suction-burst and three pairs of knuckle dusters.” Frank said over his shoulder. 

I nodded in confirmation, grabbed the entire tangled mess, and a circular disk fell out of it and hit the ground. There was a flashing red light and slight vibration emanating from it. I picked it up, put it into my back pocket, and trailed behind them. Up close the previously normal looking house revealed ominous strangeness. The blinds were shuttered and one of the windows was slightly cracked. Despite still being sunny, the day felt darker, as if an invisible shadow had been cast around the perimeter of the house. My hair rose into goosebumps. 

“What do we got today?” Frank grumbled.

“Should be a ten-five. So nothing more than a negative-two-PPW.”  Emma gave a reassuring grin. “Nothing too serious for the new guy.”

I gave her a nod in return, my arms starting to burn from carrying the pile of junk.  Believe it or not I flipped through the employee training manual. But these terms were in one ear out the other. 

“Anyone home?!” Frank boomed, his fist banging on the door. There was no response. He waited a moment and repeated. The air filled with hollow thuds then an oppressive silence. 

“Never that easy,” Frank sighed. “Looks like we're going in.”

“Got it. I’ll meet you guys inside after I report back to HQ on our status. Should take ten minutes to upload, outdated tech and all, " Emma said and turned back towards the car.

“You’re with me kid,” Frank said.

With that slight acknowledgement of my existence, he raised his foot and kicked at the door. The wood cracked and squealed in protest, but it wasn’t long before it splintered open. The interior was pitch black. Frank walked in and tried the light switch by the door. When there was no response, he flicked on a flashlight, its beam penetrating the inky darkness. Dust hung in the air, its swirls and twists like an oil painting. 

I walked in tentatively and dropped the gear. Frank tossed me a flashlight, it sailed through the air, and I fumbled it in my hands trying to catch it. Even though I couldn’t see him I could almost feel the eye roll. 

“I’ll take the upstairs. You clear down here,”  Frank said.

“You want me to clear this all by myself? On my first day?” I protested. “I know what kind of work this is. What if it’s dangerous?”

“Listen, and I hope this can get through your dense head.” He walked closer to me, his eyes narrow and his face barely lit in the dim glow of his light. Up close, his breath smelled of tobacco and sour mint. “You signed up for this, knowing the risks. Do your damn job.”

Although I hated to admit it, he was right. At that point, all I could do was imagine the sweet smell of the paycheck arriving in the mail, grit my teeth, and do as he said. Besides, everyone knows the upstairs is where the shit usually goes down. If there’s any trouble, Frank’ll be the one to encounter it. Best case scenario he dies and I get promoted, a medal for my bravery, or at the very least a better mentor. 

The living room connected to the dining room and kitchen. So, after a few sweeps of my flashlight, I moved on to a hallway near the staircase. Down it, there were two doors that faced each other and one at the very end. I took a couple steps, the floorboards creaking. One particularly loud one made me cringe. The hallway in front of me stretched and warped, a faint, flickering light under the rightmost door. I decided to check that one first. I stuck out my hand, now slightly trembling, towards the doorknob. It was cold, cold enough that I flinched my hand back at the sudden change in temperature. 

I told myself that they would never send a rookie on a dangerous first assignment. I told myself to trust Emma and the department. Any other day I might’ve been right. Too bad I’m an unlucky bastard. 

I inhaled in through the nose out through the mouth and pushed open the door. A rush of frigid air pushed past me, and I couldn't tell if it was that or fear that made me shake more. Inside was a bathroom with a tub in the center. Overflowing with running water, a man lay there, mouth agape and foam bubbling out. A red ring surrounded his eyes, which darted about erratically from side to side as if searching for an invisible mosquito.

I took a step back, too shocked to say anything, my grip on the flashlight faltering. It clattered to the ground, slicing the room in two. In the shadows of the corner, the light revealed a shape and eight pale dots that shimmered to life. It let out a nauseating sound, like teeth grinding and clicking together. Then, it scuttled into view, illuminated fully. 

The size of a large dog, it was spiderlike in all but one feature: it was entirely composed of human body parts. Arms jutted out of the two abdomens, contorting at the elbow joint and ending in hands with wiggling fingers. Its eyes were human and aware, but they didn’t seem like they wanted to be there. Instead, they were wide open and terrified. One of them even seemed pleading, with tears dribbling out. And the cherry on fucking top was that weird bump or whatever they have on the end. It was a human penis, undulating and veiny. Though I would never admit afterwards, for a brief moment the thought did occur that it was bigger than mine. Shameful, but I quickly buried the thought, because I’m not gonna be one upped by a spider. 

It took another curious scuttle towards me, then stopped, almost like it was testing me. For minutes that felt like eons, this teasing behavior continued. It would move forward, stop, and resume after a short pause. I was completely frozen. Viscous spittle oozed from its mouth. Its fangs, actually two thick fingers with sharpened nails, rubbed together impatiently. Finally, the silence was broken by Frank stomping down the hallway.

 “Nothing up there, kid!” he hollered. 

The spider’s and my head both snapped toward him. Frank stopped and looked at me, backed up against the wall. Then he looked at the spider, which was now in the hallway, only a foot or two away from me. “Wh–” he started, a tired realization setting in. “Ah. One of these pests.”

“FRANK HELP ME!” I screeched, my trance broken and my voice a few octaves higher. 

Frank immediately sprung into action. He first threw his hat at the spider, sending it flying through the air and with little air drag. It momentarily drew the spider's attention and Frank took the opportunity. He charged down the hallway, lumbering but with surprising speed. I caught his eyes for a moment, and his face communicated condemning disappointment, and perhaps a hint of concern. The hat landed square on the spider's face. As it tried to shake its head, Frank, now on top of it, raised his hand and punched hard. A loud crack permeated the air as his knuckles connected with the hat and face. The spider stumbled back a few steps.

I took the opportunity and quickly shuffled along the wall, not taking my eyes off it or showing my back. My sweat smeared in a trail behind me, deepening the shade of the paint. Frank and the spider were now in full swing. The best way I could describe it is like listening to jazz. There were sudden bursts of movement, the spider swiping one of its limbs and Frank dodging; or Frank going for a strike and the spider deflecting. It looked, on the surface, like random movements with no logic, sporadic and unplanned. But the more I observed, the more it was like a well composed piece of music. I must say I was impressed, the old guy knew what he was doing. 

For all the flair in the world, however, the spider was actually gaining the upper hand. Frank was on the back foot now, and step by step coming closer to me. He grimaced, his teeth clenched. The spider seized the moment, striking with one of its hands. Frank blocked, but it grabbed his arm, slamming him to the ground. The other arms of the spider pounced, all at once springing towards him. I moved my hands to my mouth. Should I help him? What the hell could I do?

“HA HA HA!” A maniacal laugh came from behind me. The sound of a motor starting as well, humming with intensity. I turned around, and there was Emma, a wild grin across her face, her eyes wide and ecstatic. In her arm was some kind of contraption, one of the machines I brought in. It was similar to a garden hose, and a sparkling red energy was bubbling from the spout. It tousled her hair.

“TAKE THIS YOU JERK!” A blast of energy erupted from the thing, cracking towards the spider and Frank.

Frank barely got out of the way before the beam collided with it, but it wasn’t the prettiest of landings. He hit his head on the ground, not having enough time to cover it with his arms. The spider fared far worse. It was sent flying across the hall and smashed right through the door. Splinters burst out in all directions. I covered my eyes with my arm and a few needles burrowed into it. 

Emma was huffing now, her hair a mess, but still with that unraveled smile of the insane. “Got it!”

Behind her another spider crawled from the ceiling to the floor. It braced itself, its fingers rubbing in anticipation and its penis spewing white.

“H-Hey watch..!” I started, but it was too late. The thing jumped onto her and they both crashed to the ground. There, it laced its fingers around her mouth. I tried to move, raising my hand, but the spider hissed at me and I stopped in my tracks. It dragged her up the stairs and no amount of flailing broke its stern grip. In Emma's eyes ecstasy was gone, replaced by a bottomless, calculating gray. Then they were up and out of sight.

A panic washed over me. If there were more of those things, if they had made such quick work of the “experts”, what the hell was I to do? The only thing flashing through my mind was to get out, to survive. I moved on instinct, sped-walked through the house, and paused by the door. Next to it was still that pile of wires and gadgets.

 I weighed my options. I could get out of here, make a run for it. But if I left now that could be game over for both of my superiors. The last I saw of Frank, he was out cold, and who knows if that beam took out the spider, it could be feasting on his organs. Emma could be torn in two or worse. On the other hand I also knew I didn’t want to stay here. After all, I could get ambushed and I couldn’t shake the prickling sensation of being watched. So I compromised. I grabbed the pile of stuff and flung open the door. I would figure out one of these weapons, then triumphantly return and save them! Hopefully. 

The same mundane neighborhood greeted me, the sun setting and casting vibrant oranges and pinks across the sky. The air was still and quiet, the world indifferent to the whole debacle I just went through. A handful of people were walking about and enjoying the evening. I threw the pile on the lawn and wiped my forehead. Ok, it shouldn't be too bad. I bent down and untangled the wires to separate the machinery. There was another one of those hoses that Emma had used. It was connected to a small box with a control panel on it. It should be as simple as pressing a few buttons, totally intuitive.

I picked up the box and flipped it around. There were no words, just a simple diagram that showed a guy getting vaporized with a red X covering it. Not helpful! I tried a few buttons but it beeped back at me, like an annoying bird. I was a noodle, my arms and legs weak. I looked back at the house. Out of all the people to help them they were stuck with me. 

My self pity was interrupted by the sputter of a car engine in the distance. Drag racers in a suburban purgatory like this? There must be fifty ‘slow down kids at play’ signs. Obviously not deterred, it gradually increased in volume, until its roar and the screeching of tires rippled through the serene evening. Rounding the corner and careening into view was that same car from earlier this morning. The piece of shit was blasting ‘Kickstart My Heart’ on the radio this time. By now I was completely unfazed, nothing could surprise me, so I just stared with my mouth slightly agape at its approaching. 

The pedestrians regarded him first with mild annoyance. When they realized he wasn’t stopping, they tried to get out of the way. Unfortunately, some guy walking had his earbuds in. The car, going about eighty miles per hour at this point, rammed right into him. The poor guy went over the windshield and turned into a red streak the second he hit the pavement. I leaped out of the way, the car blurring past me. It rammed straight into the house and crumpled with a crunch. Glass shattered and the driver was flung from his seat and splatted against the wall. 

Sprawled on the ground, I still clutched the hose box. Dry grass pressed against my arm and it itched terribly. I thought the idiot took care of himself. Soon enough, however, his joints popped back into place and he peeled himself from the wall. His entire face was red now, not only his eyes, and blisters of varying sizes covered his skin. He shambled over to me and let out a groan of pleasure. I used the box to yank the hose spout towards me and started mashing the buttons at random. It beeped and beeped, until, with the right order, a jingle played.

“Fuck you!” I hollered and pressed down. It took a second to rumble to life and released with a violent burst, the energy tearing through his face. Brain matter dripped inside the hole that was left behind and his teeth floated in a pool that had formed in his throat. He gurgled a bit and collapsed. When I let go of the trigger, the hose sputtered out as well. I got up and raised my hands into the air triumphantly.

 “Holy shit, I did it!”

“I wouldn’t celebrate too soon.” Frank said, staggering out of the door and holding his arm. He raised a shaking finger and pointed to the house next door. The beam had also taken off part of the roof. Shit. 

“Ah…”

“It means more paper work for me, that’s for sure. At least you didn't die.”

“You know what's crazy, I saw that guy earlier today. Small world.”

“Him?” Frank walked up to him and poked him with his foot. Blood squirted out of the hole and stained his shoe.  “He’s part of their reproductive cycle. Must’ve been out late at night, ambushed. They plant their eggs in them, then they’re drawn back to the nest.”

“I mean what are the odds though.”

“Listen, kid, as long as I've been here, I would be less surprised if I won the lottery. Call the clean up crew.” He tossed a phone to me and limped to the car.  

“Hey, is Emma alright–” 

“You got one, nice job! ” Emma interrupted, coming out of the darkness of the house like a phantom. She was all ruffled up and covered in fluids of all kinds. Some were clearly blood but I don’t want to speculate on the rest. “He’s right about the paperwork though. We made a real mess this time!”

“Paperwork? So the day isn't over?” I groaned. “But it’s evening. Isn’t that like a union violation or something?”

As a matter of fact, it wasn’t, because we’re not unionized. That’s all I could smolder over as I wrote out report after report and signed page after page. I don’t even think we get breaks, and I’m pretty sure I saw a timer in the bathroom stall when taking a shit. So no safe haven to scroll on my phone to kill time. When I got home, it was well past midnight, and I was beat. Yet I had to be in the office by 6:30am sharp tomorrow. Thank God for that angel, my mom, who was waiting for me with dinner. I was grateful for cold spaghetti for the first time in my life.

“So how did your first day go, my sweetie pie?” She pinched my cheeks.

“Ah ma stop it.”  I brushed her hand aside. “It was fine. Intense at points. I might quit.”

Her face darkened immediately. “No you won’t, or it’s the streets.”

“Yeah I know, I know.” I stirred the spaghetti and blew on it out of habit. My mom pensively got up and took a picture from the counter. She set it down on the table. It was my college graduation photo. My mom and dad and I were smiling and had our arms around each other.

“You know, that was the proudest and happiest day of his life," she said, her eyes watering. "His son, finishing college. He knew you were meant for great things.”

I studied the picture for a moment. Then, I finished my meal and went upstairs to my room. I moved some dirty clothes off it, plopped down on my bed and stared up. The ceiling fan was wobbling all the same. I went through the day in my head, all the stress and the horror. There’s no way I’m keeping that job, I thought. Risking my life, plus those poor people who died, the hours, no benefits, the paperwork…

My eyes drifted to the window and I recalled the day of my graduation. I wasn’t happy, far from it, more so anxious and dejected about the future. But my mom was right, I don’t think I saw dad with that much joy in his eyes. A strange flash caught my attention from outside the window. I got up and peered through the blinds. All that was there was a black van driving down the street. 

I paced the room. Maybe I could apply to grad school, maybe I could find other work. Where though? I had to admit, too, it was a bit nice keeping busy, and the money didn’t hurt. I could even climb the promotion ladder, my degree could be useful too. I could get off the street and into a cushy office job. No more risking my life, complete safety. With that, I resolved to keep the job. If things got worse, no biggy, I could step back and reevaluate. My days of being a loser were finally coming to a close. That comfort lulled me into an exhausted, dead slumber. 

Part 2