u/Thick-Assumption3400

Me again, Obduratus-19. Yeah, I’ll explain the number change in a bit, but that trans-iterative memory transfer insurance sure came in handy. Anyway, I had an unusual call yesterday. Nothing that weirded me out very much, but I thought you guys might find it interesting.

Yesterday, I was on lunch break. I was down in the cafeteria eating a bowl of Dopamine-O’s. I usually go for the Original flavor, but they were out and only had the new Social Media. They are fine, but way too sweet for me. Anyway, I am about halfway through my food when my friend from Tome and Artifacts, Spiciosus-89, came and sat next to me.

Now, I like Spiciosus, but he talks ALL. THE. TIME. It’s always some conspiracy theory of his. He might even be right in some cases (like he was about why we can no longer have newspapers in the bathroom), but it’s hard to care or know what to take seriously. As he was doing his usual babble, he mentioned something that piqued my interest. He mentioned a few tickets that came across his desk about some artifacts behaving strangely.

“What kind of strange behavior are you guys seeing?” I asked.

“Weird stuff, man…” he trailed. “Like, summoning crystals only bringing in half of a creature, Continuum Blankets stretching and shrinking on their own, Books and Tomes doing weird stuff.”

I put my spoon down and leaned in slightly. “I had something weird happen with my gas station guy,” I told him.

“The one that keeps dropping the RELS book? He finally die?”

“No,” I started. I told him about how the book would open the portal when open and close it when closed. I told him about the ziptie fix.

“That’s the kind of stuff we are seeing, man. I got a feeling…” He looked around and over his shoulder. “I think something’s coming, man. Something big.” At about that time, my boss, Rick, walked by with a tray of Worm Holes. Spiciosus stood up, pointed at him, then yelled, “And he knows about it!”

Rick turned and looked. One of his faces was locked on Spiciosus, the other watched me carefully. Without either of them saying a word, Rick raised a hand and dematerialized Spiciosus where he stood. That may seem extreme to some, but this was pretty common, especially with Spiciosus. He got blasted by someone in management all the time (remember his high number?).

Anyway, I went back to my desk and my palantir was already screaming. I answered. On the line was a (supposed) cultist who had accidentally summoned the wrong beast.

“What beast were you trying to summon?” I asked.

“I wanted the one that does the whole gravitational vortex thing,” his voice was frantic.

“Which one did you summon?”

“The Ice Titan.” My brow furrowed in confusion and disbelief.

“How did you manage that?”

“My Eldritch is a little rusty o-KAY?” The way his voice squeaked on “KAY” caught my ear.

“Sir… how old are you?” There was silence on the line. “Sir?”

“Why does that matter?”

“Do you want help?”

“Fine! I’m 85!”

My hand slapped my forehead. “And you’re a-”

“Chronovetus, yeah.”

This was just great. I was dealing with an adolescent Chronovetus messing around in their dad’s artifacts room. “Is your dad there?” I asked. I began moving my tablet to the right page. It was taking forever to swipe. They really need a search function on these things.

“No! I don’t want to bring my dad into this, just help me put the Ice Titan back!”

“Fine, I’m trying.” My finger was flipping pages furiously when suddenly my tablet froze. I mean it literally froze and was covered in ice. Ice Titans send ice across dimensions provided they have a connection like a palantir. Luckily, I heard the kid’s mom bust in the door and start yelling at him. She got the Ice Titan put back. Everything was good.

I could hear her chastising the kid. Before I could say anything, the kid hung up. So I sat there with a frozen tablet until it was time to clock out. Kind of a typical day, really.

Well, that’s it for today. Obduratus-19…

Oh yeah the number. So when I went to leave, I tried to use the stairs (trying to stay in shape) but the stairs were gone. They got replaced with a black hole. Turns out it was a prank from Accounting. They spaghettified about 20 of us before we caught on. Pretty good prank really.

Well, luckily I had that insurance. I bought up to get the Realtime Refresh and Standby options so as soon as one iteration was gone, my other one activated, in my apartment, as if nothing happened. Might raise my rates a bit, but nothing crazy. We gotta think about how to get Accounting back.

Anyway, that’s all for today.

New body, same me,

Obduratus-19

Hey guys, Obduratus-18 here. It didn’t take long to get something interesting. Some of you are probably wondering how a day in this job could ever be anything else, but if you’ve seen one universe implode, you’ve seen them all. It’s like anything else, you get used to it after a while.

Anyway, you guys probably remember that my palantir screamed at the end of the last transcription. It was indeed that guy from the QT and he had dropped that tome again. I’m not sure why, but every time he does, it falls open on the same page that opens that portal to His universe’s Realm of Eternal Limbastic Suspension (RELS). I get that it’s weird for him, but honestly, his isn’t even that bad. Most of the time you can hear wailing and crying when the portal is open, but his is quiet. I think he’s overreacting.

Anyway, he had dropped it again (I don’t know why he insists on moving it at all), and the portal opened back up. The call started and I pulled up the relevant trouble shooting checklist on my tablet and began going through the list. I greeted, “Hello, Corrective Holistic Anomaly Support and Management Systems, Eldritch and Cosmic department. Obduratus-18 speaking.”

“It happened again, man! 3rd time this week!”

“Could I have your name, sir?”

A sigh on the other line. “Tom Breen.”

I made note of it on the form in front of me. “What seems to be the problem, Tom?”

“I was moving inventory off the shelf in the freezer, that stupid book fell off and I have a portal in the basement again.”

“Did you try closing the book and opening it again?” I asked.

“Yes! Don’t you think I tried that? You ask me to do that everytime!” His voice had turned to annoyed anger.

“Well, could you do it once for me while I have you on the line?”

“No! I’ve already done that. It’s a waste of time to do it again.”

I sighed. This was how it always went with this guy. Didn’t matter how many times he made the exact same mistake and had to call me for help, I always had to fight him to try the thing, that I know will fix the issue.

Using my best customer service voice, I said, “I can tell you are really frustrated. I would love to help you with your problem, but I have to follow the steps on my end. So would you mind closing the book and opening it again, to see if that works?” An exasperated huff came from the other end and I heard the book close.

“Hey,” he started. “It went away.”

“That’s excellent to hear,” I said with feigned happiness and surprise.

“No,” he said, a twinge of bewilderment in his voice. “I mean it went away when I closed it, but I hadn't opened it back yet."

Now, to the reader, that might not seem weird, but the way these books work, you can typically close them and leave a portal open. That way, whoever has the book can carry it under their arm instead of holding it open the whole time. It will typically close whatever portal you opened after you open the book again because the book assumes you want a new portal. Older versions closed the portal every time you closed the book. This led to a lot of accidents where people got mostly or halfway through a portal and either closed or dropped the book, resulting in dismemberment. It was a real headache for the help desk.

“Huh,” I said, somewhat confused. “What happens when you open it back up?” I could tell Tom was hesitant, but just as curious as me. I heard the book open.

“The portal opened again.” This was really weird. I had him open and close a few more times. Same result. Closed book, no portal. Open book, portal.

We agreed that the best decision was to just zip tie it shut and leave it in the freezer. I will probably escalate the ticket to Artifacts and Tomes later, but we will see what happens. Doing that is a lot of paper work, and it seems fixed for now.

I know it wasn’t too exciting, but it was pretty weird. After that, I answered a call for a guy that got stuck in a time loop. Turned out he had bumped into a Gravinite crystal in the park. Was an easy fix, but he kept starting the loop walking into traffic. That’s gotta be annoying.

Anyway, I will let you guys know if there’s anything else worth mentioning.

Bored,

Obduratus-18

I’m not 100% sure which world, dimension, time, universe, or timeline this will end up in, but I just wanted to put my experience out there. A lot of people don’t know about what me and my colleagues do, but I think it’s important that people know. If nothing else, it will keep me entertained between calls.

I work at the help desk for an organization called The Corrective Holistic Anomaly Support and Management Systems (The CHASMS). It’s a multi-universal/dimensional government department meant to handle issues that arise as it relates to existential dread, timeline breaks and loops, eldritch mishaps, and other world/universe ending or altering issues. There is a whole hierarchy of bureaucracy like there is in any workplace (my boss Rick is a literal two faced squid head, nice guy though). We tried to get a new water cooler in the break room, but Styx, our vendor, said the new ones are on back order.

The CHASMS employs a lot of people, beings, what have you. Some do normal paper work stuff, there’s a mailroom, upper and middle management, and tasks forces. There is also a help desk people can call into and that’s where I work. My name is Obduratus-18, but HR really wants us to stop using the numbers, so just Obduratus is fine. I suspect they don’t want us thinking too hard about the number because it has something to do with the reanimation/iteration project over at the rebirth department. I don’t see what the big deal is though.

When I started, I did the time based calls, but recently I got moved over to eldritch and cosmic support. Bigger headaches, but it came with a nice pay raise. I was only getting paid 20 time cycles an hour (which might sound like a lot until you realize that the cafeteria coffee costs 3 full lifetimes) and the bottom tier health insurance, but now I get 17 multiversal recreation tokens an hour and the top tier insurance that actually covers trans-iterative memory transfers. In this job, you really need it.

The workplace is pretty nice. I have a cubicle. It’s pretty normal with its grey dividers, desk, chair, etc. The main differences are things like the walls of the building being made of solidified dread, and that’s not a figurative language. The stuff is obviously depressing to work in, but is cheap to manufacture, so the whole place is built in it and insulated with silence.

Instead of a phone, I get a palantir. It’s not your run of the mill sort either. This one screams when a call comes through. It’s jarring at first, but you get used to it. I have a stone tablet in front of me that has the manual. It’s pretty handy. When not in use, it just looks like a flat rock, but you double tap the face and ancient runes appear. You swipe to turn pages and find what you need.

Well, the palantir is screaming, looks like line 9. That’s a transfer from space warping. I bet it’s that gas station guy opening that portal in the basement again. I swear he accidentally drops that book once a week. I told him I was putting him on hold if he did it again.

Signing off for now,

Obduratus-18

(I’ll let you know when something interesting happens.)

With each step the old bridge rattles and sways. It’s caked with rust, dirty, and the old scars of time and neglect. By all appearances, it had been there for decades, unmaintained. Holes had rotted through the hand rails that still remained. The others looked to have fallen away long ago. But this was impossible, as I had only delivered the materials, brand new and fresh from the factory, to build it a few weeks ago. 

We built the site quickly when there was a large energy signature detected there. As energy miners, my brother and I saw dollar signs. Mark couldn’t wait to get started and insisted on managing the site himself. I’m not one for long periods spent off world, so he got no argument from me. 

Just two days ago, we received a distress call from the site. The voice on the other end wasn’t one we recognized. It was thin, almost wheezy like a frail old man. It was hard to make out what was being said. The com signature came from Darren in the explosives department. I had always liked Darren. The mention of the name always brings the image of his warm smile with a single gold tooth in the front. If someone else was using his com to contact us, something must have happened to him. 

What worried me even more was that we had heard no call from Mark. Was he hurt? Why wasn’t he able to make the call? With all other personnel tied up and since I was worried for Darren and Mark, I decided to go check out the site and see what happened. 

Now, standing on the bridge, I am more perplexed than before I arrived. Everything, from the bridge and equipment looked like it had been abandoned for decades. How could that be?

I’m careful as I make my slow advance. The supports have rotted out in places, making the bridge rock back and forth. The lack of hand rails here and there is less than reassuring. The motion makes my stomach turn. I can see the opening of the mine, which encourages me to keep going. There is a light. Surely that’s a good thing. 

When I finally make it to the opening of the mine I find a small fire. Dark shapes line the floor near the walls, just outside the boundary of the flame. I scan the area for signs of life. Nothing. Near the fire I spot something shiny. I stoop to pick it up. It’s a knife. Mark’s knife, but not as I last saw it. The blade was brown with rust, chipped at the edges. Only a small sliver of chrome on the handle has any luster left. This was the knife Dad gave him when he turned twelve, something he did for both of us. He never would have left it on the ground. It’s obvious now, something bad has happened. My eyes catch the fire again and I realize... the flame isn't moving. A still tongue of light completely still as if frozen in time.

I walk to the end of the light’s reach and turn on my flashlight. By now, I am thinking some terrible accident has occurred and brace myself for the sight of bodies. Unfortunately, that’s what I find, but, again, not how I expected. All the bodies are wearing the typical uniforms of our company, but, like everything else here, they look like they have been laying here forever. The distress call only came in two days ago, so I would expect to see the dead be more fresh. Instead, they had decayed down to the bones. Like a mass grave of an ancient people. 

Suddenly, I see a green light erupt from deeper within the mine. I call out Mark’s name, but there is no answer. Cautiously, I step deeper. I try to step over the bones littering the path, but a few break beneath my feet. The green glow becomes brighter until I enter a small room. As I step into the room, I get the feeling that the light is aware I am here. I find the source of the light in the center of the room, a large single crystal the size of an armchair. It glows a sickly green and seems to pulse slightly. 

Along the wall I see two more dead, again in our uniforms. I approach them to inspect. One of them is holding a com, just like one we would use to radio home. I already know what the name will say before I look at the badge, but I look anyway. Sure enough, it’s Darren. There is no skin left on his skull for me to verify his face, but I spy a familiar gold tooth. 

There is another body, sitting next to him. I already know… it’s Mark. But, with tears in my eyes, I scan the badge anyway. Mark. My heart quickens and my breaths quiver. Tears trickle down my cheek and memories of our boyhood adventures flood my mind. While my eyes are looking upon the hollow skull, I only see the face of the boy opening the pocket knife on his twelfth birthday. 

A wave of light explodes from the crystal. I feel a pain in my knees, catching myself. As I briefly look at my hand, I notice it looks different. More wrinkled than I recall. I look into the hollow eyes of my brother. Another wave of light. I feel weaker. I look at my hand again. This time it looks familiar. Like our father’s. 

Pulses of light continue to burst from the crystal. With each one, I feel weaker. My breath becomes more labored. My steps, more difficult as I try to run out of the mine. My knees begin to ache and wobble. I trip over the bones in my way and I feel a snap in my hip as it breaks on impact. I try to cry out in pain, but the voice that escapes is old and frail. 

I lay in pain, mouth agape, trying to figure out how to raise myself and get out of the mine. My eyes catch the small fire. Still burning. Still unmoving. With what little strength still lingers in my arms, I reach forward and try to drag myself along with my arthritic boney fingers. Another pulse of light and suddenly my energy is gone. I see animals born, grown, and dying in seconds. Seedlings explode into trees. My eyes are dimming. My body is a mass of immovable flesh and bone. 

The world ages in front of my eyes until I have no eyes left. Darkness. Slowly, a light creeps into my vision. Dim at first. Pulsing. Becoming brighter. My sight morphs into a wash of green light. Floating, but still. Everything else moves around me. I am riding the wave of green light. No, I am the green light. Through the planet, then out. Through the infinite expanse ahead. My sadness is left behind with my bones as they fall to dust. I try to look around me, but there is no me. There is no around. 

I exist now, before, and long into the after. 

With each step the old bridge rattles and sways. It’s caked with rust, dirty, and the old scars of time and neglect. By all appearances, it had been there for decades, unmaintained. Holes had rotted through the hand rails that still remained. The others looked to have fallen away long ago. But this was impossible, as I had only delivered the materials, brand new and fresh from the factory, to build it a few weeks ago. 

We built the site quickly when there was a large energy signature detected there. As energy miners, my brother and I saw dollar signs. Mark couldn’t wait to get started and insisted on managing the site himself. I’m not one for long periods spent off world, so he got no argument from me. 

Just two days ago, we received a distress call from the site. The voice on the other end wasn’t one we recognized. It was thin, almost wheezy like a frail old man. It was hard to make out what was being said. The com signature came from Darren in the explosives department. I had always liked Darren. The mention of the name always brings the image of his warm smile with a single gold tooth in the front. If someone else was using his com to contact us, something must have happened to him. 

What worried me even more was that we had heard no call from Mark. Was he hurt? Why wasn’t he able to make the call? With all other personnel tied up and since I was worried for Darren and Mark, I decided to go check out the site and see what happened. 

Now, standing on the bridge, I am more perplexed than before I arrived. Everything, from the bridge and equipment looked like it had been abandoned for decades. How could that be?

I’m careful as I make my slow advance. The supports have rotted out in places, making the bridge rock back and forth. The lack of hand rails here and there is less than reassuring. The motion makes my stomach turn. I can see the opening of the mine, which encourages me to keep going. There is a light. Surely that’s a good thing. 

When I finally make it to the opening of the mine I find a small fire. Dark shapes line the floor near the walls, just outside the boundary of the flame. I scan the area for signs of life. Nothing. Near the fire I spot something shiny. I stoop to pick it up. It’s a knife. Mark’s knife, but not as I last saw it. The blade was brown with rust, chipped at the edges. Only a small sliver of chrome on the handle has any luster left. This was the knife Dad gave him when he turned twelve, something he did for both of us. He never would have left it on the ground. It’s obvious now, something bad has happened. My eyes catch the fire again and I realize... the flame isn't moving. A still tongue of light completely still as if frozen in time.

I walk to the end of the light’s reach and turn on my flashlight. By now, I am thinking some terrible accident has occurred and brace myself for the sight of bodies. Unfortunately, that’s what I find, but, again, not how I expected. All the bodies are wearing the typical uniforms of our company, but, like everything else here, they look like they have been laying here forever. The distress call only came in two days ago, so I would expect to see the dead be more fresh. Instead, they had decayed down to the bones. Like a mass grave of an ancient people. 

Suddenly, I see a green light erupt from deeper within the mine. I call out Mark’s name, but there is no answer. Cautiously, I step deeper. I try to step over the bones littering the path, but a few break beneath my feet. The green glow becomes brighter until I enter a small room. As I step into the room, I get the feeling that the light is aware I am here. I find the source of the light in the center of the room, a large single crystal the size of an armchair. It glows a sickly green and seems to pulse slightly. 

Along the wall I see two more dead, again in our uniforms. I approach them to inspect. One of them is holding a com, just like one we would use to radio home. I already know what the name will say before I look at the badge, but I look anyway. Sure enough, it’s Darren. There is no skin left on his skull for me to verify his face, but I spy a familiar gold tooth. 

There is another body, sitting next to him. I already know… it’s Mark. But, with tears in my eyes, I scan the badge anyway. Mark. My heart quickens and my breaths quiver. Tears trickle down my cheek and memories of our boyhood adventures flood my mind. While my eyes are looking upon the hollow skull, I only see the face of the boy opening the pocket knife on his twelfth birthday. 

A wave of light explodes from the crystal. I feel a pain in my knees, catching myself. As I briefly look at my hand, I notice it looks different. More wrinkled than I recall. I look into the hollow eyes of my brother. Another wave of light. I feel weaker. I look at my hand again. This time it looks familiar. Like our father’s. 

Pulses of light continue to burst from the crystal. With each one, I feel weaker. My breath becomes more labored. My steps, more difficult as I try to run out of the mine. My knees begin to ache and wobble. I trip over the bones in my way and I feel a snap in my hip as it breaks on impact. I try to cry out in pain, but the voice that escapes is old and frail. 

I lay in pain, mouth agape, trying to figure out how to raise myself and get out of the mine. My eyes catch the small fire. Still burning. Still unmoving. With what little strength still lingers in my arms, I reach forward and try to drag myself along with my arthritic boney fingers. Another pulse of light and suddenly my energy is gone. I see animals born, grown, and dying in seconds. Seedlings explode into trees. My eyes are dimming. My body is a mass of immovable flesh and bone. 

The world ages in front of my eyes until I have no eyes left. Darkness. Slowly, a light creeps into my vision. Dim at first. Pulsing. Becoming brighter. My sight morphs into a wash of green light. Floating, but still. Everything else moves around me. I am riding the wave of green light. No, I am the green light. Through the planet, then out. Through the infinite expanse ahead. My sadness is left behind with my bones as they fall to dust. I try to look around me, but there is no me. There is no around. 

I exist now, before, and long into the after.