Post by hyperthermal on Aug 18, 2016 20:39:34 GMT -6
Author's Note: Please give any constructive criticisms you can think of. This story is the product of a stream of consciousness, and as such, will be incredibly surreal. The aim is an environment and atmosphere based on total incomprehension.
Chapter One: Feeling, Light, and Passport.
Everyone has had that moment happen to them, many times during their life. You're on a bridge with low railings; you are on the highway, your windows open, something of great value in hand; you stand at an intersection, a large red hand glowing from across the street. You get this peculiar, disgusting feeling: why not jump, just toss that thing out, flop down in front of that huge truck. Of course, you resist this urge, why wouldn't you? It goes against any instincts and learned behaviors you've ever had, and your mind resumes normalcy. It goes without saying that some people do not ignore this urge, and they just toss themselves into danger: all risk, no reward. For most of them, you know exactly what happens. But there are a few, a very small few, who undergo something entirely inexplicable, a sensation on all possible senses that cannot be explained as a simple daydream or hallucination. We can skip the specific details on this for now. Where this story, more accurately described as a series of tangentially related events in a sequence rather than narrative, truly begins is in a rather nice public park, far from any sort of immediate dangers. It is here where Sam had one of those moments happens to them, and they cautiously followed this feeling.
Sam was, perhaps is, by all means, an average human being. When I mention Sam, the human being that enjoys regularly walking and taking in the wonders of the world, who has an innate curiosity toward the fantastic and mundane, a strong appetite but a weak stomach, you should know what they look like: that first person you think of, that's Sam.
Anyways, it was a nice day at the park. Perhaps great, though maybe a few degrees hotter than it should've. The park was predominantly green, though a few splotches here and there were yellowing from the heat. There was a dark blue grey pathway winding through this park, only breaking up when it reached light grey wooden bridges over shin deep, dark streams. Said streams would regularly have various ducks lazily float on the surface of the water, some underwater greens swaying with the current, perhaps some small fish that only show up as vague shapes, even in the clearest water. Sam crossed the bridge, and that's when they saw something glint, nay, actively emit light from within a shrub just off to their side. Now, that light could have been anything if you only glanced at it quickly: a small flashlight left on and abandoned, for instance. Sam did not glance at it quickly, and they saw that light for what it was: it was akin to the warm light from an open cottage on a cozy, snow covered winter's day. And yet, this inviting glow felt somehow dangerous, or at the very least risky, to Sam. Thus, Sam had that feeling. They pushed aside the leaves and branches, and walked into the light.
Something peculiar about the light that Sam noted was that once inside, the bright, orange yellow light was all they could see, and yet it was not blinding. Imagine closing your eyes: you see black, right? Open up Photoshop, splotch down solid black on the canvas. Press "Ctrl" and "U" at once, check the "colorize" box, and fiddle with the settings until you get the color of orange sherbet. Close your eyes again, and pretend that you see that orange sherbet instead of black. It was exactly like that, except when Sam closed their eyes in the sherbet, they could see black, albeit with a bit of a red tinge that you get when you look at light directly with your eyes closed. Sam's walk through this area was by all means short, somewhere under half a minute, yet it was longer than it had any right to be. Once this was all done with, Sam entered a doorway shaped opening in the light, and a fittingly shaped iron door gently and lovingly slammed shut with the force of a meteorite striking your favorite toe. Sam was no longer in the park. Maybe they were, but I personally am not discounting the possibility that this room was technically in the park, or maybe under a hill that wasn't there.
This room was not as brightly lit as the hallway of sherbet, pretty much near the opposite in fact, but there was still enough from the single spotlight in the ceiling's center to see everything in the circular room. The walls were a random, yet pleasing rainbow smear color, and the floor had a classic black and white checker pattern. The edge where the solid grey ceiling met the wall were dark, only visible from minor reflections of light off of every surface. To Sam's six o'clock was the door. To the twelve was a section of wall that was cut out and put in place, a hinge at its bottom. This of course had a purpose, one that would be made very clear to Sam after a moment had passed.
With a mechanical creak and squeak and groan and shiver, the hatch popped open, and a thing came out. Now, it was not quite "a thing", but that's the best thing that Sam could describe it as in that first moment they saw it. It was mechanical, an elongated, jointed structure with a head sized sphere at the end. The coloring on it was a pure white and red pattern, straight out of a Christmas candy cane. The material was not quite like candy cane, of course, it was more like that shiny plastic texture you think of when you think of modern ideas of futuristic, robotic technology. The sphere had a black, shiny rectangular ring going across its front, a hint of small cameras whirring and swiveling to observe surroundings.
"I would need to see your passport, please," it said. The voice was synthetic, yet complex enough to sound like actual speech with a robotic resonance to it.
"... What?" was all Sam could muster. They had not seen anything like it.
"Your passport," it repeated, "please."
"I don't..."
The machine's neck thrashed about, making hideous squealing and roaring noises that overtook the whirring of devices and motors. As quickly as its outburst began, it resumed its original stance, staring at Sam. "Your. Passport."
"I don't have one," Sam said, cringing in preparation for the worst. The smooth, round head cocked to the side, computing the variables and implications of what this statement made. With a sudden jolt, the neck snapped into a more relaxed, amiable position.
"My apologies," it said, "Beginning ID creation process. Enjoy the ceremony."
A delightful, ear piercing ring pushed through the entire room. All of Sam was laid out entirely flat, stretching out to the walls and elongating along with the room's changing width. Four openings on the head appeared, and long, thin muscles tipped with feathery, barnacle like brushes reached out. These things began to file through and pluck the fibers of Sam's being. The sound of a dentist's drill could be heard behind Sam, and they felt the inside of their spine rupture outward painlessly.
"Forty three percent," the machine said, "Sixty seven percent."
Sam was gently pressed back into shape, a tiny, soft mallet knocking against their forehead in a short rhythm.
"One hundred percent," it finished, "Identification created. Pleased to welcome you, number 000082. If needed, you can change your ID to fit your name. I would recommend going with 'Sam.'"
Sam rubbed their sides, which had started to feel just a little bit tender. "Yeah, Sam's my name anyway," they said.
The machine's spherical head split wide open in a vertical fashion, revealing dozens of razor sharp teeth and rich, red and purple gums. Six glands were laid out on the sides, each resembling the pouch a snake's tongue would reside in. With a revolting hacking and wheezing sound, the glands pushed out a quick puff of confetti. The head closed once more. "Congratulations, Sam," it said, "You have successfully reconfigured your ID, and are now an honorary tourizen of Truespeak Designation: !oWʿ̅ẒṮḒ, Preferred Language Designation: Blank. We look forward to you coming up with a suitable name for your default language."
The machine retracted back into its hole, and it was just now that Sam realized that the room was a sort of elevator. The iron door's top was sinking below the floor, and the rainbow pattern on the wall moved accordingly. Strangely, the hatch the device retracted into was still in place, it's coloration changing according to the pattern.
Needless to say, Sam had absolutely no idea where they were, nor what was going on. In their defense, many people who ended up here had even less of a clue. Of all the unknown amount of people who had ended up in this room, only 81 before Sam had stuck around long enough for the machine to make an ID for them, and fewer still even went along with the elevator ride once the process was completed. Shortly after Sam's elevator had gone up, another person, Daniel, entered into the same room, yet it wasn't the same as Sam wasn't in this version of it. He came in sliding on the floor, and deeply regretting that urge he had to jump off that bridge. As the machine came out, it was met with various curses and swears, along with overwhelming amounts of begging to be brought back. It obliged, of course, and Daniel found himself again at the edge of the bridge. Shaken by the experience, he stiffly marched home, vowing to never speak of this to anyone, lest he be tossed into an asylum.
